9 Scary Stories to Tell Your Friends

Set the Atmosphere: Turn off the lights, use a flashlight under your chin, or tell the story around a crackling campfire. The setting makes all the difference.

Use Suspense: Slow down your speech, pause at the right moments, and let the tension build. The longer the silence, the scarier the moment.

Use Sound Effects: A sudden whisper, a deep growl, or a distant knock can make the story feel real. Change your tone to match the mood—soft and eerie or loud and shocking.

Engage Your Audience: Lock eyes with your listeners, lean in close, and draw them into the story. If possible, involve them—ask questions or make them feel like they’re part of it.

Know Your Audience: Tailor your story to the group. Younger listeners might get scared too easily, while older ones might love a dark twist. Pick the right level of fear to keep everyone hooked.

A driver is heading home late at night when they spot a pale, shivering young woman standing by the roadside. She looks lost, her dress soaked from the misty air. Feeling sorry for her, the driver offers her a ride. She gets in silently, her voice barely above a whisper as she gives an address.

As they drive, she barely speaks, just staring out the window. When they arrive, the driver turns to tell her they’ve reached her stop—only to find the seat empty. The door never opened.

Shaken, they knock on the house’s door. An old woman answers, her face filled with sorrow. “That was my daughter,” she murmurs. “She died on that road… twenty years ago.”

Some say she’s still waiting for a ride home.

A babysitter tucks the children into bed and settles on the couch, flipping through the channels. The phone rings. A low, raspy voice breathes, “Have you checked the children?”

Her stomach tightens. She hangs up, thinking it’s a prank. But the phone rings again. The same voice, slower this time. “Why haven’t you checked them?”

Her hands tremble as she calls the police. Minutes later, the phone rings once more. A frantic officer shouts, “Get out now! The calls are coming from inside the house!”

The last thing she hears before she runs is a soft creak from the staircase.

A couple is parked in a secluded area when a breaking news alert interrupts the radio. An escaped asylum patient is on the loose. He has a hook for a hand.

Nervous, the girl urges her boyfriend to leave, but he teases her, turning up the music instead. Then, something scratches against the car. The girl gasps. “Did you hear that?”

Annoyed, the boyfriend starts the car and speeds off. When they finally reach home, he smirks—until his face drains of color.

Hanging from the door handle, swaying in the breeze, is a rusted, bloodied hook.

A person walks home alone through the dimly lit streets of the city. The night is silent. Too silent. Then, they see him.

A man in a dark suit, standing beneath a flickering streetlamp, smiling. His grin is too wide, his eyes too bright.

The person quickens their pace. The Smiling Man does too.

They break into a run, their breath ragged. Footsteps echo behind them. They glance back—he’s still smiling.

They duck into an alley, trembling. Silence.

Then, right behind them, a whisper.

“You stopped. That’s no fun.”

A late-night knock at the door startles a man awake. Through the peephole, two children stand perfectly still. “Can we come in?” they ask in unison, their voices hollow and robotic.

Something feels wrong. Their eyes are pure black. No pupils. No whites. Just darkness.

A static hum fills the air. The man stumbles backward as the children press their hands against the door. The buzzing grows louder. The doorknob begins to turn.

No one knows what happens to those who let them in.

A group of teenagers dares each other to summon Bloody Mary. They turn off the lights, light a candle, and stare into the mirror.

“Bloody Mary… Bloody Mary… Bloody Mary.”

Silence.

Then, a shadow moves in the glass. One girl gasps. Her reflection is smiling. But she isn’t.

The mirror fogs up. A single word appears, written in red.

Mine.

A girl living on the 10th floor notices something strange. Every night, when she turns off the lights, there’s a face staring at her through the window.

She convinces herself it’s her imagination. Until one night, the face moves closer. Its grin stretches wider.

Terrified, she calls maintenance. The worker goes pale when she mentions her window.

“That can’t be,” he whispers. “That window was sealed shut decades ago.”

That night, she wakes to a whisper. The face is still there. But this time, the window is open.

A girl notices something strange about her mirror. Her reflection lags behind her movements, as if watching, thinking.

One night, she brushes her teeth and freezes. Her reflection isn’t moving.

It stares at her, unblinking. Then it mouths words she didn’t say. The mirror fogs up, and letters appear.

Let me out.

A rideshare driver picks up a woman in a soaked white dress. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t blink, just stares out the window.

At the drop-off, she vanishes. Confused, the driver checks the app. The ride status says:

Passenger canceled. Did you see her?

His hands tremble as he glances at the backseat. It’s wet. Strands of kelp cling to the seat.

Then, in the rearview mirror, he sees her.

Sitting in the backseat. Smiling.

A family moves into an old house and discovers a locked basement door. They ask the realtor about it, and she hesitates. “That room… isn’t part of the house.”

One night, the door creaks open. Inside is a nursery, untouched since 1923. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper. A mobile dangles over the crib, spinning slowly.

The rocking chair is still moving.

A child insists a clown is living in their closet. The parents dismiss it as a nightmare—until one night, they find a red nose on the floor. Then, oversized shoes under the bed.

That night, the child wakes up screaming.

A figure stands in the doorway, its painted face split into a wide grin.

“You told,” the clown whispers.

The light flicks off.