Is this an illusion or does it happen for real? Some doors are better closed, some secrets are not to reveal. Dare to join the Horror Nights Story online on this page. Try to stay conscious and keep sane. No one is going to believe you. Two shotfirers, Nolan and Scott had a usual day at work. Then something went wrong. One of them was carried away by a horrible monster. It depends on you if he survives or joins his colleague. Help him get out of the mine and not be eaten alive. Not so much, but still better than nothing.
The hordes of blood-thirsty wretches are crawling to you. The mission seems complicated: endure the 5 nights. You also need to take care of another room with an oxygen generator. And watch out for the electric blackout. This game works perfectly in modern browsers and requires no installation.
Horror Nights Story has been played by thousands of gamers who rated it 4. Did you enjoy this game? On our website, you can play Horror Nights Story in a browser free of charge. Downloading cheats can also infect your computer with harmful software, so be careful!
Play now. Horror Nights Story. FNF Online. Kogama Ghost House. Spooky Ghosts Jigsaw. Tarawih Ramadhan Adventure. Flappy Ghost Adventure. Hungry Shark. Torture The Trollface. Dogy Kangaroo Jumping. Multi Tank Battle. Gravity Snowman Christmas. Super Snail Jungle Adventure. Lick Them All. You have to get to the end of tunnel as soon as possible and not get eaten alive! While also taking care of another room with oxygen generator.
Watch out for the electric blackout No craft will help you here, just your legs so you can escape from this nightmare! Features: - Easy touch control - 3D cube world with monsters - Challenging life puzzle game - Five nights to beat - Mine location - Find a way how to resist attacks - Figure out how to survive with limited supplies - Whole new horror story!
Anyway apart from that i like this game. I really love this game and enjoy playing it and also agree that you shouldn't have to pay to continue but I will get to the point. Anybody can answer this question if they know the answer. Thank you very much! Shame Bell Deluxe. The Pillar. Splash Cars.
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|Interlocked heart necklace||Two shotfirers, Nolan and Scott had a usual day at work. Ellie Get Ready With Me 2. One of them was carried away by a horrible monster. Dogy Kangaroo Jumping. Scary Child. Comments 0. Drive and Paint.|
|Apple macbook us keyboard||I really love this game and enjoy playing it and also agree that you shouldn't have to pay to continue but I will get to the point. Watch out for the electric blackout Play now. Lethal Sniper 3D: Army Shooter. Donut Shooter. You better dig fast and escape! No craft will help you ipad mac, just your legs so you can escape from this nightmare!|
|All commands for apple macbook pro 2016||Donut Shooter. Horror nights story really love this game and enjoy playing it and also agree that you shouldn't have to pay to continue but I will get to the point. Prepare your mind for hordes of scary monsters like ghost and bats, that are crawling through an old mine, trying to get you! The mission seems complicated: endure the 5 nights. Gravity Snowman Christmas.|
Sound and silence. Without one, the other cannot exist. Of course he fights evil. I am Dartalian, one of His most Holy and Righteous angels. I roam the Earth, disposing of evil wherever I find it. I kill the monsters you don't ever want to know about. I crush them completely so you can sleep at night. You humans have no idea how many of you live because of the work I do. Ted Bundy? Jack the Ripper? For balance. The ones I destroy are What's funny, is while I would wager you never have heard the name Dartalian in any relegious texts, I bet you have heard of me.
Americans, for example, have their own name for me. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. There was no pearly gate. The only reason I knew I was in a cave was because I had just passed the entrance. The rock wall rose behind me with no ceiling in sight. I knew this was it, this was what religion talked about, what man feared.. I had just entered the gate to hell. I felt the presence of the cave as if it was a living, breathing creature.
The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed me. Then there was the voice, it came from inside and all around. I did know. I've lived as good as I could". The silence took over the space as my words died out. It seemed like an hour went by before the response came. I never believed any of this", I uttered "Is that why I am here? I continued: "They say the greatest trick you ever pulled was convincing the world you don't exist""No, the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world that there is an alternative""There is no God?
The cave trembled with the words: "I am God. It was one a. He hadn't moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right, and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement.
Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run, you idiot? He'd never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? You can afford a lawyer. Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him.
They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. His body trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. He let out a defeated sigh. Let me —"I am terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your son's bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I'm very sorry for your loss. Have you ever walked into a room and found a vampire? No, not the sexy kind, but a foul creature with bony limbs and ashen skin?
The kind that snarls as you enter, like a beast about to pounce? The kind that roots you to the spot with its sunken, hypnotic eyes, rendering you unable to flee as you watch the hideous thing uncoil from the shadows? Has your heart started racing though your legs refuse to?
Have you felt time slow as the creature crosses the room in the darkness of a blink? Have you shuddered with fear when it places one clawed hand atop your head and another under your chin so it can tilt you, exposing your neck? Have you squirmed as its rough, dry tongue slides down your cheek, over your jaw, to your throat, in a slithering search that's seeking your artery?
Have you felt its hot breath release in a hiss against your skin when it probes your pulse—the flow that leads to your brain? Has its tongue rested there, throbbing slightly as if savoring the moment? Have you then experienced a sinking, sucking blackness as you discover that not all vampires feed on blood—some feed on memories? Well, have you? Maybe not. But let me rephrase the question:Have you ever walked into a room and suddenly forgotten why you came in?
The doctor pulled the stethoscope ear tips out and hung the device around his neck. Weatherby, all of your tests have come back negative and my examination shows nothing abnormal. A psychologist can help I need answers. They seem to have a life all their own. I can't hold a job. I'm under investigation for assault. I almost killed my neighbor. This can't go on. I'll try anything at this point.
He was convinced that despite what the doctors said, it was not a psychological problem. That night, a frustrated and angry Adam sat in a chair and drank bourbon. Drunk and hopeless, he stumbled to the garage and started the table saw, then slowly lowered his wrists toward the screaming blade. Detective Armstrong entered the garage where several uniformed officers stood over the blood-soaked body.
He apparently chopped off his hands with the table saw and bled to death. I don't know why I looked up, but when I did I saw him there. He stood against my window. His forehead rested against the glass, and his eyes were still and light and he smiled a lipstick-red, cartoonish grin.
And he just stood there in the window. My wife was upstairs sleeping, my son was in his crib and I couldn't move I froze and watched him looking past me through the glass. Oh, please no. His smile never moved but he put a hand up and slid it down the glass, watching me. With matted hair and yellow skin and face through the window.
I couldn't do anything. I just stayed there, frozen, feet still in the bushes I was pruning, looking into my home. People started falling from the sky by the close of the decade. They were never clothed, always naked, always a petrifying grin on their faces.
It had been just a few at first, but then hundreds and thousands would fall at a time, destroying cars, homes, blocking off highways. Strange discoveries were made upon research; they were human, but lacked any blood, intestines, even a heart. No one could explain the hideous grins they had, or even where they came from. It was a woman in Costa Rica who made the latest and most disturbing discovery.
She recognized one of the fallen bodies as a long dead relative, one who died back when she had been a teenager. Then more and more identifications were made. Soon people were picking out their long dead loved ones amongst the video feeds, cadaver piles, and crematoriums.
No one could explain why they were coming back, falling from the sky. Even more distressing, after disposing of the bodies, it wouldn't be long until that same body came plummeting from the sky again. You could not get rid of them, no matter what. People were getting killed by the higher volume of falling bodies, and soon after burial, they too, began to fall.
My mother was killed when a body landed on her car, crushing her. The next week, the news reported on a body that had gotten lodged in an airplane windshield. They say when hell is full; the dead shall walk the earth. What about heaven? I watched as my soon to be father-in-law held his daughter's hand as he walked down the aisle.
Tears streamed down his face as the wedding march that played in the background reminded him that, in a few minutes, he would be watching me hold his daughter's hand and slipping on her ring. He walked up to the altar and I took hold of her hand, grinning from ear to ear. It was the happiest day of my life. My bride's father got down on his knees and started begging. Just please give my daughter back.
Panicked, I run through the abandoned farm. I can't find her. Not in the old house. Not in the barn. I run into the empty field, heart racing. As I scan the area, I run into a mound of dirt and trip, sprawling to the ground. Getting up, it hits me. Abandoned farm. I tripped over freshly tilled earth. Crouching down, I start frantically clawing with my hands. Scooping handfuls of dirt, I hit something hard. I hear muffled cries. I start digging again, but realize it's taking too long.
Looking around, I see a garden shed. I sprint to it, ripping the door open. I see a shovel, still caked in dirt. Probably the same one that bastard buried her with. I grab it. Running back, I started digging with purpose. Soon the wooden box is exposed. I toss the shovel, and rip open the crate. She stares back at me, eyes wide.
But alive. I sigh with relief. Thank God. I reach into my bag, pulling out my rag and chloroform. I crouch down, placing it over her face. She struggles, faints. I toss her over my shoulder. You almost had me though!
My turn. Where did you put her? Drowning's an issue though. I smile, watching him go. I love adult Hide and Seek. Look, I'll be the first to admit I'm a complete bastard. I'm also lazy. I'm only here to find the idiot, because there's almost always an idiot. This support group is pretty typical. We connected online, decided on a quiet place, and now we're all sitting cross-legged in a circle. Real Kumbaya crap. Jerome takes the lead, pouring everyone a cup of tea as he starts talking.
You can drink your tea, but only after explaining why you're here. I'll start. I can see why—the guy's ugly as sin. He sips his tea while the mousy chick speaks next. Gotta admire Miyu. She's probably not the idiot. Next to talk are a legless veteran, a broke businessman, a needle-tracked junkie, and a diseased old crone. Then it's my turn. Everyone hates me. Afterwards, we're all sitting quietly when Jerome keels over. Then Miyu's eyes roll back and she slumps forward. Only the fat kid reacts.
No one wants to die alone, kid. I love it! These suicide meetups are a sadist's dream, and I never have to lift a finger. Little Emily vanished last year. Now they're pouring new sidewalks in my neighborhood, and I've found her name in the wet cement, written in remembrance. But it was written in reverse. And from below. I bought a new house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap, but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the city. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker.
While I had managed to get him arrested, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes just constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind. The house itself was big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap.
However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since then, and all of them were very happy with it. I loved the house. Its interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable.
The people of Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or inviting me over for dinner. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much as I breathed. Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a few nights.
It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he couldn't fall asleep if he didn't feel like he was being watched.
He was finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the night. Only it wasn't a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old girl, just so her corpse could stare at him. The story gave me shivers, and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes just watching me no matter how I turned.
Today, however, was the first day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes. Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged itself into the wall. As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde. I've been watching the police peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they've found pairs of eyes in little glass jars.
The scariest thing is, each and every one was staring at me. Cradling my four-year-old daughter in my arms, all I could do was listen as the screaming outside the house got louder and louder, interspersed with sounds of violence and horrible, horrible wet thuds and the unmistakable echo of muscle and sinew resisting the force that was slowly tearing them apart. It started just three days ago. Something happened, out there in the world, and before we even get news of what's going on, seemingly half of the world is gone.
Police and military were unable to stop it, providing such a short frame of resistance it's hard to know whether it was real or just a fluke. There was no centralised target, no way to use our most powerful weapons, not without incinerating ourselves in the process. They poured forth across the world, from wherever it was that it started. I hear banging on the door downstairs, and the screams of people being slaughtered, unable to mount a proper resistance against such a force. It doesn't take long before the pounding gives way to splintering and the sound of shattering wood.
They're in the house. No more than a moment or two passes before the door to the bedroom starts shuddering. The things I piled against it are holding, for now, but I know, realistically, that they're going to manage to come through. I keep rocking my little girl, humming a lullaby in her ear to calm her as she cries. The pounding grows in force and volume, the frame starting to crack.
I put my little girl on my lap, her back to my chest, and I stroke her head with both hands, from the top of her scalp, down across her ears, just as I've done ever since she was a baby. Just the way she loves it. The effect is instantaneous.
Her desperate crying calms to a series of sobs and hiccoughs, her small body shuddering against mine in fear. I keep humming to her, soothing her hair, acting for all the world as if nothing is out of place, not a single thing amiss. Agonisingly slowly, in a reverse cadence of the sound of splintering wood, she calms down. I can feel it when she stops tensing, as I keep stroking her down the sides of her head.
A final hiccough of a sob, and she falls quiet, her body relaxed. She doesn't even have time to realise what's happening as I twist her neck with a violent jerk, accompanied by a dry snap of a sound. She's dead before she can even slump down into my lap.
The door is giving way, the furniture pushed back. I may be torn limb from limb while I scream, but at least my baby angel's safe from harm. I pointed the gun at the sick bastard who killed my wife. He sobbed as he feared for what was to come. I pulled the trigger. If only he spoke and tried to reason with me then maybe he could've lived.
But that was obviously not going to happen. After all, he was born just a few minutes ago. In the year the Messiah came back down to Earth. She performed miracles and cured the sick. There was no doubt as to her authenticity. She appeared to all nations at once. All believed. All worshipped her. Some time later, after this period of our history known as the Age of Peace, She dropped a bombshell on us. She warned us that Heaven was almost full. Nobody had gone to Hell during this Age.
There were a fixed amount of spots left. Paradise would be closed to all who died after the Gates close. That is when the Mass Suicides began. Taking your own life, She had told us, was not a sin if you died a pious man. The race was on! She looked on and was pleased. She returned to her home, to her throne of fire and flames, and greeted all with a nod of her wicked horns.
I flung myself through the door and vaulted the toppled, long-dead refrigerator that served as an ineffective barricade in front of me. My legs propelled me through the room and into the small hallway on the other side. I couldn't stop to eat the expired contents of the fridge, appealing to me despite their stench after several days without food.
The shrieks of pain and cries for mercy around me spurred my body onward and filled me with unexpected energy in spite of my hunger. We were at war. I came to a halt in front of a small bathroom. A noise. Something behind the shower curtain. My fear heightened and images of the enemy flooded my mind.
Merciless beasts wearing human skin, devouring indiscriminately, accepting no pleas and respecting no argument. It had begun as we expected, with a virus. There was no humanity left in them. Just mindless rage, twisted bodies, and some primal urge to consume others.
And if you are a fan of two-sentence horror stories, we promise, this post will leave you scared mindless. This post may include affiliate links. Overly helpful neighbour closed the door after you walked in, left it open, and drunkely fell asleep on the floor? Graboid27 Report. Clayboy Report. I wonder, if you have a condensed ghost story, if you spilled water on it, would it grow into a short story or novel. Carolers waiting to sing, Mormons there for a service project, neighbors waiting to surprise you with a fresh coat of house paint?
Gagege Report. Madredchris Report. I always felt safe as a kid because I thought any strange noise in the middle of the night would be my cat. I once heard some light knocking while I was drawing and listening to a CD. I looked around, saw nothing, didn't pay attention, dismissed it as some random sound. Then the album has finished and I wanted to change the CD But atop the CD player there it was - a grasshopper as huge as a fist!
Calamitosity Report. CakeIsAMeme Report. KeresMagnus Report. Wartortlesthebestest Report. This doesn't need to be horror. A celebrity with a troubled personality perhaps. Ravn Report. DeathHamster1 Report. Mikeyseventyfive Report. AnarchistWaffles Report. StoryTellerBob Report. This feels kinda like a sci-fi story about engineering artificial memories and experiences. RamsesThePigeon Report. Nezzatic Report. Fredrick Brown Report. NuclearPink Report.
Superdorps Report. You go to the bathroom first, when you hear some knocking. It was her, telling you to hurry up 'cause it's urgent. Horseseverywhere Report. Anyone can write on Bored Panda. Start writing! Follow Bored Panda on Google News! Follow us on Flipboard. Your image is too large, maximum file size is 8 MB.
Error occurred when generating embed. Please check link and try again. Inga is a List Curator at Bored Panda. She is a Creative Industries graduate and has a Bachelor's degree in Communication. This panda's mission is to find and cover perfect topics which would satisfy our readers' curiosity, kill the boredom, or simply make them laugh. As the topics of her lists are so broad, so is Inga's personal preferences. She loves dogs but can't resist snuggling a cat, she likes creepy docuseries but also cute animated movies like Zootopia, her music taste varies from Indie Rock to Pop and Rave, she likes relaxing crafts, yet she usually spends her evenings dancing.
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