People gather to share one good reason: the thrill. If you love tension, mystery, and a shiver down your spine, this guide on scary stories to tell in the dark is for you.
In this article you will learn how to pick, structure, and deliver classic and original scary stories to tell in the dark. You will also find templates, examples, psychological reasons these tales work, and FAQs that help you prepare for any audience.
Why scary stories to tell in the dark still matter
Scary stories are not just entertainment. They are cultural glue. From oral legends to printed collections, tales that frighten help communities share values and fears, teach caution, and build resilience.
The classic collection Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz shows how short, punchy folk tales can haunt generations and spark controversy over content and imagery.
Psychologists explain why we return to scary stories. The thrill of fear, safely contained, triggers tension and then relief, which creates pleasure. The excitation transfer theory describes this effect well: fear heightens emotion, and the resolution boosts enjoyment. That dynamic partly explains why people still choose scary stories to tell in the dark.
Storytelling also helps listeners build resilience. Research shows storytelling supports children’s ability to process difficult events and develop coping skills. When done thoughtfully, scary stories to tell in the dark can be a way to rehearse fear safely.
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark
Gather ’round, if you dare—because when the lights go out, the real stories begin. Are you ready to hear tales that will make your skin crawl and your heart race? Stay close, and let’s dive into the darkest corners where fear lurks, waiting for its moment to strike.
1. The Shadow in the Corner
Emma sat at her desk. The room was still. Only the hum of the fan filled the silence. It was late—far later than she meant to stay up.
She had deadlines. She had to finish the report.
The clock ticked loudly, almost mocking her. 2:47 a.m. Her eyes ached. She was so tired. But she couldn’t stop now.
The light from her desk lamp cast long shadows. The corner of the room was dark, almost too dark. But that was nothing unusual. She lived alone. She was used to it.
For a moment, she blinked, letting her gaze drift over the room. The bookshelves, the little plant on the windowsill. The cluttered desk. Her safe space.
But then, something felt wrong.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Goosebumps prickled across her arms. A chill swept through the room.
Emma stopped typing. She sat still, her fingers hovering over the keys. What was that?
Her eyes darted around. There was something… off. It wasn’t the air conditioning. It wasn’t the window slightly cracked open.
It was the corner.
She turned her head slowly. A shadow. A dark figure stood there. At first, she thought it was just the light playing tricks on her. But it didn’t feel right.
The figure wasn’t just a shadow. It was shaped. It was tall, towering over her. Dark, almost liquid. It didn’t reflect any light. It just… stood there.
Her heart began to race.
It didn’t move. It didn’t make a sound. But Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching her. Waiting.
Her breath hitched. Was it a person? No. It couldn’t be. No one was supposed to be here.
She stood, pushing her chair back slowly. The sound of the wheels scraping against the floor echoed in the silence. Her knees trembled.
Emma leaned toward the figure. Trying to get a better look.
Was it real? Was she imagining it?
The darkness seemed deeper, thicker around it. It felt like the shadow was growing. Expanding. The room, once comforting, now seemed to close in around her.
She tried to call out, but her voice caught in her throat. What could she say? What would she even say?
She looked down at her hands. Her palms were clammy. She wiped them on her pants.
The figure didn’t move. But she knew it was aware of her.
She glanced over her shoulder. The door. Locked.
No way out.
Emma looked back at the corner. The figure was still there. Still watching.
She felt her pulse hammering in her chest. Her skin was tingling. The air was thick. Heavier. Like it was pressing against her.
Her mind raced. Is this a dream?
But it felt so real.
The figure shifted. Just a little.
No. It couldn’t be moving. But it was.
Slowly, it turned. Ever so slightly. Its dark shape pivoted toward her.
Her breath caught. Her legs were shaking now. But her feet felt frozen to the ground.
Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
It smiled.
Or at least, that’s what it seemed like. There was no face. No features. Just a gaping, impossible smile. A void, stretching wide. A grin that felt wrong. Too wide.
Her stomach churned. Her hands shook.
She opened her mouth. To scream? To call for help? But nothing came out. The room had swallowed her voice.
The figure moved again. Closer.
It didn’t take a step. It just was there. Closer.
Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe.
The smile grew. Wider. Bigger. Impossible. But real.
Suddenly, the door slammed. Hard.
Emma’s heart jumped. Her head snapped toward it.
The door. She hadn’t moved. Had she?
She was alone.
The door wasn’t supposed to be closed.
Her hands fumbled for the handle. Why isn’t it opening?
She pulled again. The door didn’t move. It wouldn’t budge.
Oh God, oh God.
The room was closing in. The walls. The air. It was all pressing against her. The figure in the corner wasn’t just standing there anymore. It was moving closer.
Her breathing became ragged.
I have to get out. I have to get out.
She yanked the door again. Nothing.
It was so cold. Her breath fogged in the air. The air felt like ice.
She was freezing.
She turned, but the figure wasn’t in the corner anymore. It was closer. Almost right behind her.
She could feel it. A cold draft brushed her neck. She shuddered.
No.
She whirled around. But nothing was there.
The room was empty. The figure had vanished.
Her heart was still racing. Her mind was spinning. She was dizzy.
She pressed her back against the door, her hands on the knob. Her legs were trembling, weak.
Had she imagined it?
Had she?
But there was no denying it. She knew what she saw.
She heard a sound. A scrape.
Her head snapped up. The shadow was moving again. This time, it was far too close.
Behind her.
No footsteps. Just a presence. Something cold. Something wrong.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Then, the light flickered. Once. Twice.
The smile returned.
A voice. Low. Whispers. It seemed to come from everywhere.
“Don’t leave, Emma.”
The door. The door is open.
She didn’t know how. She didn’t care.
She ran.
The figure didn’t follow. But she could feel it. Just behind her. Watching her.
The hallway seemed to stretch longer, darker.
She stumbled down the stairs, her breath shallow. The lights flickered overhead.
Outside. She needed to get outside.
But as she reached the door, she felt a pull. A tug. A cold pressure, like hands on her shoulders.
“Emma…”
She threw the door open. The cold night air hit her face. She stumbled outside.
Her heart was racing. Her body frozen with fear.
It was gone.
But it wasn’t.
It never was.
2. The Echo in the Hall
Jake had just moved into a new apartment. It was small. Cozy, even. But the building had a strange feeling to it.
He didn’t mind it at first. He liked being alone. It was quiet. Peaceful. The perfect space to write. But over the past few weeks, something had been off.
He couldn’t put his finger on it. The hallways felt too long. The silence, too heavy. Even the walls felt too close.
The first few nights, it didn’t bother him. He settled into a routine. Wake up. Work. Eat. Write.
But then, he started hearing it.
Footsteps.
At first, it was subtle. The faintest sound, like someone walking just out of sight. Maybe it was the pipes. Maybe the building was old. He tried to ignore it. But it kept happening.
Every night, around midnight. Slow, deliberate footsteps. Like someone pacing up and down the hallway.
Jake would stop whatever he was doing. Listening. Trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. But the hallway was always empty when he checked.
Still, the footsteps didn’t stop.
On the third night, he decided to confront it.
He stood in the hallway, listening carefully. He’d just heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Slowly, he walked toward the sound. He moved quietly, trying to be as silent as possible.
The footsteps stopped.
Jake paused. His heart began to race. Was it someone else in the building? Or was it something else?
He turned the corner, but the hallway was empty. Nothing. No one.
The footsteps had stopped.
Jake rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe he was just tired.
But the next night, it happened again.
Tap… tap… tap.
He was awake this time, sitting in his chair. Writing, when he heard it. He froze. His hand hovered over the keyboard. The footsteps sounded so close.
He couldn’t ignore it anymore. This time, Jake stood up quickly. He grabbed his flashlight, and without thinking, walked toward the sound.
The hallway stretched out in front of him. The light flickered as he stepped into the corridor. The sound was getting louder, closer.
Tap… tap… tap.
But when Jake turned the corner again, there was no one there.
The hallway was silent.
He walked the length of the hall. His flashlight illuminated every empty apartment door, every dark corner. Nothing.
The footsteps were gone.
He turned back to his apartment, but when he did, he heard the sound again. This time, it was behind him.
Tap… tap… tap.
Jake’s skin prickled. He was no longer alone. He turned quickly, pointing the flashlight into the dark, but the hallway remained still.
The steps stopped.
He swallowed hard, staring down the empty corridor.
What was going on? Was it just the old building settling?
He had to find out. He couldn’t leave it alone. Jake started walking down the hall again. This time, his footsteps echoed in the silence. His own echo bounced off the walls, amplifying his own uncertainty.
As he walked, he noticed something strange. The light above him flickered again, dimming for a split second before returning to normal. It happened again. And again.
Tap… tap… tap.
Louder this time. The footsteps seemed to be right beside him. Jake’s heart pounded in his chest. He turned to look behind him. Nothing. But the sound was unmistakable.
His flashlight beam swept through the hallway, and that’s when he saw it.
A door.
It was ajar. The door to Apartment 2B. He hadn’t noticed it before. The light from the hallway reflected off the cracked door, casting strange shadows in the dark.
Jake’s curiosity got the better of him. He stepped closer, slowly. His fingers wrapped around the cold doorknob. The echo of his breathing filled his ears.
He pushed the door open. It creaked.
The apartment inside was dark. Dust filled the air. It had been empty for months, but the door… the door had been left open.
Jake stepped inside, his flashlight illuminating the dim room. The air felt colder than in the hall. The silence was thick. Unsettling.
The footsteps stopped. But now, there was something else. A sound. A faint whisper. Like someone breathing in the room with him.
Jake spun around. His flashlight flickered.
Nothing.
He walked further in, every step echoing in the emptiness.
Tap… tap… tap.
The footsteps were back. But this time, they were right behind him.
His pulse raced. He didn’t dare turn around. He had to get out.
Jake rushed back toward the door. His hand fumbled for the handle. His heart was pounding in his chest.
Tap… tap… tap.
He turned to find the hallway just behind him, but as he stepped out, something stopped him. The door slammed shut. Hard.
Jake gasped. His breath caught in his throat. He grabbed the doorknob again, but it wouldn’t turn.
The footsteps were growing louder. The air in the hallway felt thick, like he was being suffocated.
He turned. His flashlight illuminated the dark hallway again, but this time, something was different.
At the far end of the hall, he saw a figure. Just standing there. A shadowy shape. It was tall, dark, and motionless.
Jake’s blood ran cold. His instincts screamed at him to run. But his feet wouldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.
The figure didn’t move. It just stood there, staring at him.
Tap… tap… tap.
The sound grew louder, echoing in Jake’s head. He could feel it in his chest now. It was like the footsteps were coming from everywhere.
He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, the figure was gone.
But the footsteps didn’t stop.
Jake backed away slowly, but the hallway seemed longer now. The echo of his footsteps bounced back at him, getting louder. It was all he could hear. Tap… tap… tap.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Every corner of the hallway felt like it was closing in on him. The walls felt tighter. The shadows seemed to move.
Then, he heard the whisper again. Closer. Louder. Right in his ear.
“Jake…”
The voice was soft, almost sweet. But there was something dark in it. Something wrong.
He whirled around, his flashlight spinning wildly. The hallway was empty.
But then he saw it. The door to Apartment 2B. It was open again.
The footsteps were no longer in the hall. They were inside the apartment.
Jake turned and ran. He sprinted down the hall, the echo of his steps following him. He didn’t stop. He didn’t look back.
His apartment door was just ahead. He fumbled with the key, almost dropping it. The hallway behind him seemed endless.
He finally opened the door and slammed it shut, leaning against it, gasping for air. His heart raced.
Jake locked the door. And then he listened.
The footsteps had stopped. The hall was quiet again.
But Jake couldn’t shake the feeling.
He turned to look out the window, the city lights casting long shadows across his room.
That night, Jake couldn’t sleep. The echo of the footsteps lingered in his mind.
He knew it wasn’t over.
3. The Girl Who Never Left
Tommy loved exploring.
The old school near his house was his favorite spot.
It had been abandoned for years. Some said it was haunted.
A young girl named Emily had disappeared there, years ago.
She vanished one night after a school event.
No one knew what happened to her.
Some thought she ran away.
Others believed she was taken.
But some said her ghost still roamed the halls.
Tommy didn’t believe in ghosts.
He loved the school’s mystery.
It was his playground.
One chilly autumn afternoon, he slipped through the cracked gate.
The place was overgrown. Vines crawled up the walls.
The building was dark and empty.
It felt forgotten, like time had stopped here.
Tommy pushed open the creaky door.
Dust floated in the air as he stepped inside.
The hall was silent.
No sound but his footsteps.
He moved slowly, exploring each classroom.
Old desks, chalkboards covered in dust.
He glanced around, eager for something new to discover.
But then, he saw something.
At the end of the hallway, a door was slightly ajar.
A faint light flickered inside.
Curiosity pulled him forward.
He reached for the handle and turned it slowly.
The door creaked as it opened.
Inside was a classroom frozen in time.
Desks in neat rows, though some were tipped over.
A chalkboard covered in layers of dust.
But it was the picture on the wall that caught his eye.
A framed photograph.
A young girl.
Her face was familiar.
She had dark, curly hair, and a bright smile.
Her eyes seemed to follow Tommy.
He stepped closer, drawn to her.
Something about her face…
It was almost like he had seen her before.
His heart thudded in his chest.
He stared at the picture.
Why did she look so familiar?
As he leaned in, the silence in the room deepened.
His hand brushed the dust on the frame.
Then, he heard it.
A voice.
A whisper.
“Why are you leaving so soon, Tommy?”
Tommy froze.
His blood ran cold.
He spun around.
The room was empty.
He looked again, but no one was there.
No one in the doorway.
No footsteps.
He waited, listening.
Nothing.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Was he imagining it?
He stepped back slowly.
The air in the room felt heavier.
The chill seeped into his bones.
Then the voice came again.
Clearer this time.
“Don’t go yet, Tommy.”
Tommy’s breath caught in his throat.
He glanced over his shoulder at the door.
He should leave.
He wanted to leave.
But something held him there.
Something in the air.
The voice… it was real.
It wasn’t a trick.
Tommy turned back toward the picture.
Her eyes seemed to draw him in.
The girl’s smile was too wide now.
He could feel it.
A presence.
But there was no one.
Just the picture.
“Emily…” Tommy whispered, his voice trembling.
The name slipped out, like it was on the tip of his tongue.
The girl in the photo.
Her name was Emily.
The same girl who had disappeared.
But why was her picture still here?
He should’ve left.
But he couldn’t look away.
He stepped closer.
His feet seemed to move on their own.
His hands shook as he reached out.
His fingers brushed the frame.
That’s when he noticed something else.
In the bottom corner of the photo, there was writing.
Barely legible.
“Emily—Class of 1957.”
His stomach dropped.
This was her.
This was the girl from the story.
The one who disappeared.
But how was the photo still here?
Why was it hanging on this wall?
He stepped back, his mind racing.
The voice whispered again, soft but insistent.
“Why don’t you stay, Tommy?”
The voice came from behind him.
He whipped around.
No one.
He was alone.
But his legs felt weak.
A cold sweat beaded on his skin.
The air grew thick, suffocating.
Tommy’s eyes darted to the door.
He had to leave.
But something kept him rooted in place.
A tug.
A pull.
Like the picture was calling him.
Suddenly, a sound behind him.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Too loud for a place so quiet.
Tommy turned.
And there she was.
Standing in the doorway.
The girl from the picture.
Her curly hair framed a pale face.
Her smile was wide.
But her eyes…
Her eyes were dark.
Too dark.
Too empty.
Tommy opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He couldn’t breathe.
He wanted to run, but his body wouldn’t move.
She stepped forward.
Her feet didn’t touch the ground.
She glided toward him, her gaze never leaving his.
“Emily?” Tommy whispered.
Her smile didn’t fade.
She stepped closer.
Closer.
Tommy backed up, his heart pounding.
He reached for the door.
But she was right behind him now.
He could feel the cold coming from her.
It was ice cold.
“Why are you here?” Tommy managed to ask.
Her voice was quiet.
“I’m waiting,” she said, her voice soft but hollow.
“Waiting for someone to see me.”
Tommy’s pulse raced.
He needed to leave.
He couldn’t stay.
But his legs refused to move.
Her hand reached out toward him.
Her fingers were pale, thin.
Her grip was tight as she grabbed his wrist.
Her touch was like ice.
Tommy screamed, but no sound came out.
He struggled to break free.
But she held on, pulling him closer.
Her smile grew wider.
“Don’t go, Tommy.”
Tommy yanked with all his strength.
Finally, he broke free.
He ran for the door.
His heart was in his throat.
His breath came in shallow gasps.
He had to get out.
He flung open the door.
But as he stepped into the hallway, the voice followed.
“Don’t forget me, Tommy.”
He turned around.
She was standing in the doorway.
Her face twisted with that same, impossible smile.
“Don’t forget me…”
The voice echoed in his ears.
Tommy’s body screamed for him to run.
But he couldn’t move fast enough.
He raced down the hallway.
Out the door.
Into the open air.
He didn’t stop until he reached his house.
He slammed the door behind him.
But as he lay in bed that night, he could still hear her.
Her voice.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
They were still waiting.
4. The Lullaby in the Wind
It was late when Sarah decided to take the walk home.
The night was cold, the wind biting at her skin.
She lived on the edge of town, near the old woods.
The kind of place people avoided after dark.
She didn’t mind the walk. She’d always loved the quiet.
The trees seemed to stretch toward the sky, their branches swaying in the wind.
But tonight, something was different.
The air felt heavier, like something was waiting.
A chill ran down her spine as she pulled her jacket tighter around her.
She started down the path. The familiar route home, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights in the distance.
The wind howled through the trees, but there was something else.
A sound, faint at first. A melody.
A lullaby.
It was soft. So soft that Sarah thought she imagined it.
But it came again.
The wind carried the sound, clear and distant.
It sounded like a woman’s voice, singing a song she didn’t know.
Sarah stopped in her tracks.
It was strange. Out of place.
She glanced around. The woods were dark, the trees casting long shadows.
No one was around.
She tried to shake off the feeling. Maybe it was the wind.
But the lullaby kept coming.
Her heart started to beat faster.
It wasn’t just a song. It was a cry.
A whisper.
A plea.
The wind picked up, the melody growing louder.
It seemed to swirl around her, getting closer.
“Who’s there?” Sarah called out. Her voice barely carried.
No answer.
The wind howled again, and the lullaby followed.
Now it felt different.
Now it felt like it was calling to her.
Sarah’s pulse quickened.
It was so familiar.
The song. She knew it from somewhere.
But where?
The wind wrapped around her, tugging at her hair.
The voice was louder now. Clearer.
The song seemed to echo through the trees, bouncing off the shadows.
“Who’s there?” Sarah whispered again, her voice trembling.
But no one answered.
The melody didn’t stop. It didn’t waver.
It was like it was made for her. A lullaby meant only for Sarah.
She took a few steps forward.
Her feet moved on their own, almost like she wasn’t in control anymore.
The trees parted in front of her, revealing a small clearing.
And there, in the middle, was an old, dilapidated house.
It wasn’t there earlier.
She would’ve noticed.
It was an old cottage, weathered by time, its windows dark and empty.
The door was slightly ajar.
The lullaby came from inside.
Sarah stood frozen.
The voice was so close now. She could hear every note, every breath.
The wind pushed her forward, urging her toward the house.
Her legs moved, though her mind screamed at her to turn back.
She stepped onto the creaky porch.
The door opened slowly, the hinges groaning in protest.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay.
The smell was almost unbearable.
But the lullaby continued. Soft. Gentle.
It was coming from the farthest room.
Sarah didn’t think. She just moved.
Her feet carried her down the dark hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath her.
The melody was louder now, almost deafening.
It was too much.
But still, she walked.
The hallway stretched on forever.
The shadows seemed to move, twisting and changing.
Then, she reached the door.
The music stopped.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
And then, a voice.
It was low.
Soft.
“Come in.”
Sarah hesitated.
The door creaked open.
She stepped inside.
The room was small, dimly lit by a single candle on the floor.
In the center of the room, a rocking chair sat in the corner.
It rocked back and forth.
But no one was sitting in it.
The lullaby began again.
Faint. Echoing.
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat.
Her heart was racing now.
The chair moved, the sound of it creaking in the silence.
And then, it stopped.
Sarah stood frozen in place.
The wind seemed to howl outside.
The lullaby grew louder, as if it was right next to her.
And then, she saw it.
A figure, pale and still, standing in the corner of the room.
It was a woman.
But her face—her face was blurred, like the wind had wiped it away.
The figure reached out a hand.
“Come closer,” it whispered.
Sarah’s body didn’t obey.
Her legs felt heavy, like they were filled with stone.
But the figure reached further, the hand trembling.
The wind howled again.
And the lullaby began to fade.
Sarah stepped back, slowly, away from the figure.
Her breath came in short gasps.
She turned toward the door, her hands shaking.
But as she reached for the handle, the door slammed shut.
The figure was right behind her now.
The voice was louder.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
The air grew colder.
The candle flickered, casting strange shadows across the walls.
“Why are you here?” Sarah whispered, her voice barely a sound.
The figure didn’t answer.
It just stood there.
The lullaby returned, only now it wasn’t soft. It was shrill.
A wail.
The figure’s hand reached for her again.
And then, the song stopped.
Everything was silent.
For a moment, Sarah thought it was over.
But then, she felt it.
The cold hand on her shoulder.
A whisper in her ear.
“You’re never leaving.”
Her heart stopped.
She twisted around, but the figure wasn’t there anymore.
It was gone.
The room was empty.
But the lullaby played again, fainter this time, as if it was already far away.
Sarah opened the door quickly, her hands shaking.
She stepped outside.
The air was cold.
The wind was still.
And the lullaby was gone.
But when Sarah looked back at the house, she could see the shadow of the woman in the window.
Still waiting.
Still singing.
She ran. She didn’t stop until she reached the end of the path.
But even then, she couldn’t shake the feeling.
That the lullaby was still in the wind.
5. The Unseen Passenger
It was a late night when Mia decided to take the drive home.
The roads were empty, the streetlights dim and flickering.
She had just finished a long shift at the diner.
She was tired, but the quiet drive would give her time to unwind.
The highway stretched out before her, the headlights cutting through the darkness.
It was a calm night.
The kind where everything feels too still.
Mia turned up the radio to fill the silence.
The hum of the engine and the soft tunes were the only sounds in the car.
But then, something strange happened.
A cold breeze brushed against her neck.
She shivered, glancing around.
But there was no open window.
The air in the car felt fine. Normal.
Still, the chill lingered.
Mia rubbed her neck, trying to shake off the feeling.
But it didn’t go away.
The feeling grew stronger.
She looked into the rearview mirror.
Nothing.
No car behind her.
Just the empty road.
The chill continued to creep over her, spreading down her spine.
Her heart began to beat faster.
Suddenly, the radio flickered.
The music stopped.
Static filled the air, loud and sharp.
She reached out to adjust it.
But before she could touch the dial, the static stopped.
And a voice came through.
It was faint at first, as if coming from far away.
“Where are you going, Mia?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
She froze, eyes wide.
The voice sounded like… like someone was sitting in the backseat.
She looked in the rearview mirror again.
Nothing.
No one.
Just the dark road behind her.
Her heart raced.
Who could be in her car? Who could have said that?
“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice shaking.
There was no response.
The road ahead was empty, nothing but darkness.
She glanced at the rearview again.
Still nothing.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe the tiredness was messing with her mind.
But then, the voice came again.
“Why are you so scared, Mia?”
The words chilled her to the bone.
She swerved slightly, her grip tightening.
Her eyes darted to the side mirror.
Nothing.
Nothing but the endless stretch of road.
The voice wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t forceful.
It was soft.
Calm.
It came from behind her, like a whisper in the car, just behind her ear.
She glanced quickly to the backseat.
Still empty.
Her chest tightened.
She could feel something in the air, thick and suffocating.
The voice whispered again, low and slow.
“Why don’t you look at me?”
Her heart hammered in her chest.
She was scared now. Scared in a way she couldn’t explain.
She didn’t want to look.
But she felt the pull.
The curiosity.
She couldn’t help it.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, she turned her head to the backseat.
Nothing.
Just the empty seat.
The darkness.
But it felt wrong.
It felt like there was something there.
She turned back to the road quickly.
Her hands were trembling.
She needed to get home.
Just a little longer.
She pressed on the gas, hoping to reach the turnoff soon.
But as she did, she felt it again.
The cold.
A cold presence, like a hand on her shoulder.
Her skin crawled.
She looked in the rearview again.
Still nothing.
But the feeling didn’t go away.
She could feel it.
The weight of it.
The pressure.
She turned the radio back on, louder this time, trying to drown out the unease growing in her chest.
But the static came again.
The voice.
“Stop the car.”
Her eyes widened.
She didn’t want to stop.
She couldn’t.
But the voice was insistent.
“Stop the car, Mia.”
Her body tensed.
Her eyes darted to the road.
She saw a dim light up ahead.
A turnoff.
The only thing around for miles.
Without thinking, she pressed the brake.
The car slowed down.
Her heart was pounding in her chest, as if it were trying to escape.
The voice in the car was quiet now.
Silent.
The car rolled to a stop by the side of the road.
She gripped the wheel, her knuckles white.
Her breath was shallow.
The silence seemed to press in on her from all sides.
She didn’t want to look back.
She didn’t want to know what was behind her.
But the voice came once more.
“Why did you stop?”
She couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Her voice was shaky. “Who are you?”
There was a pause.
A long pause.
And then, a soft chuckle.
“I’m right here.”
Her heart stopped.
The air was colder now.
So cold that she could see her breath fogging in the rearview mirror.
Something moved in the backseat.
Mia’s body went stiff.
She didn’t dare turn around.
The figure seemed to grow in the mirror.
A shadow, creeping toward her.
A whisper.
“Don’t turn around, Mia.”
The words made her freeze.
She didn’t want to listen.
She didn’t want to obey.
But her body betrayed her.
She turned.
The backseat was still empty.
There was nothing.
Nothing but the dark.
Her breathing became frantic.
She slammed the car into drive.
She didn’t even look at the road as she stepped on the gas.
She sped past the turnoff.
And then, the voice stopped.
The air felt normal again.
She could breathe.
The tension in her chest loosened.
Her hands were still shaking, though.
Her heart still pounded.
And then, a thought crossed her mind.
She hadn’t even passed the turnoff yet.
She glanced in the rearview mirror.
The dark road behind her stretched on.
But there was something else now.
A figure, standing by the side of the road.
It was a man.
A tall, shadowed figure.
His face was blurred, indistinct.
And yet, she knew.
He was looking at her.
He was watching.
She sped up.
Her foot pressed harder on the gas pedal.
But the figure stayed behind her, never moving.
“Look at me,” the voice whispered, barely audible.
She didn’t want to.
She didn’t dare.
But as she passed the figure, she saw it in the rearview.
A shadow.
No, not a shadow.
A face.
It was a face she recognized.
A face she had seen before.
Her breath caught.
The face.
It was hers.
6. The Smile That Never Fades
It was late when Lily decided to take the shortcut home.
She had worked a long shift at the café, the kind of shift that left her drained.
Her apartment was a few blocks away, and the shortcut through the alley always saved time.
It was quiet, dark, but she didn’t mind the solitude.
She walked quickly, the air crisp, the only sound the shuffle of her boots on the damp pavement.
The alley was narrow, bordered by tall, dark buildings that blocked out most of the light.
She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck.
The streetlamps flickered ahead.
Something felt off tonight.
Lily tried to shake the feeling.
Maybe it was the exhaustion.
Maybe it was just the dark.
She walked faster, glancing around.
The alley was empty.
Too empty.
A soft breeze brushed past her, carrying a strange scent—something sweet. Almost like perfume.
But there was no one around.
She turned a corner, and that’s when she saw it.
A figure standing in the shadows.
A woman.
Her back was to Lily.
The woman’s hair was long, dark, and tangled.
Her shoulders hunched, as if she were lost in thought.
Lily hesitated.
She wanted to walk past quickly.
But something in the way the woman stood—so still, so quiet—made her stop.
“Are you okay?” Lily called out, her voice breaking the silence.
The woman didn’t move.
Lily took a step closer.
“Excuse me, are you lost?”
Still, no movement.
Lily’s gut twisted.
This wasn’t right.
She turned to leave, but then the woman spoke.
Her voice was low, barely a whisper.
“I’m waiting for someone.”
Lily stopped.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Who are you waiting for?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure why she stayed.
The woman turned around slowly, her head tilting just enough to meet Lily’s eyes.
And that’s when Lily saw it.
The smile.
It wasn’t natural.
It was wide.
Far too wide.
The corners of the woman’s mouth stretched impossibly far, like they had been pulled by invisible hands.
Lily’s breath caught in her throat.
Her feet froze.
The woman’s smile never wavered.
It was unsettling.
It was wrong.
The woman took a step forward, the smile never leaving her face.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she repeated, her voice now more melodic, almost too sweet.
Lily stepped back, her pulse quickening.
Her instincts screamed at her to run.
But she couldn’t move.
The woman’s smile stayed, unchanging, unbroken.
It was as if the expression had become part of her, stuck in place.
Lily finally found her voice.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her words shaky but firm.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and the smile stretched even wider.
“I told you,” she said, the words laced with a soft, chilling laugh. “I’m waiting for someone.”
Lily took another step back, her legs trembling.
The woman didn’t stop.
She kept coming closer, her smile never fading.
Lily’s heart hammered in her chest.
What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she blinking? Why didn’t the smile change?
Her mind raced.
She had to get out of there.
But as she turned to run, the woman whispered softly, “Don’t leave. You’ll spoil everything.”
Lily froze.
She turned back.
The woman had stopped moving.
She was just standing there, the smile fixed on her face.
“I’m waiting for someone,” the woman repeated, but this time her voice sounded… different.
A little too familiar.
It was like she had been saying the same thing for hours, days, years.
Lily’s throat went dry.
Her feet moved again, and this time she didn’t stop.
She ran down the alley, the sound of her shoes echoing off the walls.
But as she reached the end, she felt it.
The cold.
The shadow.
Something was behind her.
Lily spun around.
Nothing.
Just the alley, silent and still.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
But then, the voice came again.
“I’m waiting for you.”
Lily froze.
It wasn’t the woman’s voice anymore.
It was her own voice.
The one she had just heard speak.
But it was… wrong.
It was deeper. Hollow.
It echoed through the alley, bouncing off the walls.
Lily’s chest tightened.
She whirled around.
And there she was.
The woman.
But now, she was closer.
So much closer.
And the smile.
It had stretched even further.
It was grotesque now, twisted, with no end.
Lily could feel it.
The woman wasn’t real.
She wasn’t.
She was just a shadow, a thing from the darkness, a smile that wouldn’t fade.
The woman took another step, her hands outstretched.
Lily stumbled back, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Her eyes were wide, searching for an escape.
She turned to the street, but the alley seemed to stretch on forever.
No matter which way she ran, she couldn’t get away.
The woman’s smile filled her vision.
It consumed her thoughts.
“Don’t run,” the woman said, her voice now echoing in Lily’s head. “It’s too late for that.”
Lily screamed.
She ran again, her legs burning, but the alley seemed endless.
The streetlights flickered and went out one by one.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the woman was gone.
The alley was empty.
Silent.
Lily stood frozen, her mind racing.
Had it been real?
She couldn’t breathe.
She turned toward the street.
But as she stepped into the light, she saw something.
A reflection.
Her own face.
But it wasn’t her face anymore.
It was the woman’s smile.
The same smile.
The one that never fades.
And that’s when Lily realized.
She wasn’t alone.
7. The Phone Call from Home
Mia had just returned to her apartment after a long day at work.
The city outside was loud and restless, but inside, her small one-bedroom felt like a cave—quiet, dim, and still.
She kicked off her shoes by the door and dropped her bag on the floor with a heavy thud. The fluorescent light above flickered once before steadying. Her body ached, the kind of tired that seeps into your bones and makes every movement feel slow.
She moved to the kitchen, half-thinking about dinner but mostly thinking about her bed. The fridge hummed softly. The hum was comforting.
Then, her phone buzzed on the counter.
Mia glanced down at the screen.
Mom.
She smiled. That small, automatic kind of smile that appears before you even know it’s there.
It had been a few days since they’d talked—three, maybe four. She’d meant to call but never found the time. Between work, laundry, and the constant noise of life, calling home always seemed like something she’d do tomorrow.
She picked up the phone and answered.
“Hey, Mom.”
There was a pause.
Then, her mother’s voice drifted through the speaker, warm and familiar.
“Hi, sweetheart. I was just checking on you. How’s everything going?”
Mia smiled again, the fatigue easing a little from her shoulders.
“Busy. Same old, same old. You know how it is.”
Her mom chuckled softly. “I do. I’m just glad to hear your voice. Are you still planning to visit next weekend?”
Mia frowned, thinking.
“Yeah… I think so. I’ll get the time off, hopefully.”
There was another pause. Not long, but long enough for Mia to notice.
Her mom’s voice sounded… different.
Softer. Like it was coming from farther away than usual.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked, leaning against the counter, her voice cautious.
“I’m fine, honey,” her mom replied, but the words were slow, careful. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long week.”
Something about the way she said it made Mia’s stomach tighten.
Her mom was always the strong one—the kind of person who could keep going no matter what. She didn’t sound like that now.
“You sure?” Mia pressed. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
Silence.
A long one.
Then:
“I’m really tired, Mia. Just a little under the weather, I guess.”
Mia hesitated. “Okay. Well… you know you can always call me if you need anything, right?”
Her mom laughed softly, but it wasn’t right. It was thin. Strained.
“I know, sweetie. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”
But Mia did.
Even after the call ended.
She sat for a long time in the quiet kitchen, staring at the dark screen of her phone, the unease in her chest refusing to settle.
Eventually, she told herself she was being dramatic. Her mom was fine. Probably just tired. Maybe she’d caught a cold.
Still, the unease followed her into the living room.
She turned on the TV for background noise and curled up on the couch, but she wasn’t really watching. Her thoughts drifted back to that strange pause, the way her mom’s laugh had sounded hollow, like something pretending to be normal.
Then, the phone buzzed again.
Mia’s heart jumped.
She glanced at the screen.
Mom.
Her brow furrowed.
Why was she calling again?
Mia picked up immediately.
“Mom? You okay?”
Silence.
Mia pulled the phone from her ear. The timer was running—someone was on the line.
“Mom?” she said again, her voice a whisper now.
And then, a sound.
A breath.
Not hers.
“Mia…”
The voice was faint, distant. It sounded like her mother, but something about it was wrong.
It was deeper. Slow. Like it was being dragged through water.
“Mom?” Mia said, standing up now. “Mom, what’s going on?”
The voice came again, low and trembling.
“Mia… you have to listen to me.”
Her chest tightened.
“What’s happening?”
The voice broke—crackling, distorted.
“Don’t go home. Please. Don’t come back here.”
Mia froze.
Her skin prickled with cold.
“What? What do you mean, ‘don’t come back’? Mom, are you okay?”
But the line went dead.
She stood there in silence, staring at her reflection in the dark TV screen, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Was it a bad connection? A prank?
No. That had been her mom’s number. Her voice—or close to it.
She tried calling back. It rang once. Then twice. Then straight to voicemail.
Her mother’s recorded voice played: “Hi, it’s me. Leave a message after the beep.”
Mia’s breath came out shaky.
She hung up.
Minutes passed.
The city hummed outside. Cars. Distant laughter. The world was moving, but Mia was frozen.
Then the phone buzzed again.
A text this time.
From: Mom
“You’re not safe there. You need to leave now.”
Mia’s heart stopped.
She reread it, her mind scrambling for sense.
Was her mom in danger? Was she in danger?
She tried to type a reply, but her hands were shaking too much.
What are you talking about? she typed, and hit send.
No response.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Then, another message appeared.
“I’m sorry.”
That was all.
Mia grabbed her keys. She didn’t know what she was doing—only that she had to go.
Her mom was two hours away in their small hometown.
She’d drive. She’d figure it out on the way.
As she reached for the doorknob, the phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn’t a text or call.
It was a video message.
From Mom.
Mia hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.
Every instinct told her not to open it.
But she did.
The screen lit up with static before the image slowly came into focus.
Her mother stood in her kitchen.
At least—it looked like her.
The light was wrong. Too dim. The shadows behind her pulsed like they were breathing.
Her mom’s face was pale, drained of color. Her smile—wide, too wide—stretched in a way that wasn’t natural.
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“Mia… don’t come back here. It’s too late. You should never have called.”
Mia’s breath hitched.
The video flickered. Her mom’s face twitched, her eyes unfocused for a split second—then the video ended.
The phone screen went black.
Mia dropped it on the floor.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that wasn’t real. That wasn’t—”
The lights in her apartment flickered.
Twice.
Then went out.
Her heart pounded in the dark.
She stumbled toward the window, fumbling for her phone’s flashlight. Her fingers brushed the screen—
—and the phone lit up again.
An incoming call.
Mom.
Mia stared at it, frozen.
Her finger trembled as she swiped to answer.
“Mom?” she whispered.
At first, there was only static.
Then, a sound—something like breathing.
Slow. Wet. Heavy.
Then, her mother’s voice, soft and steady.
Mia… I’m sorry. But you have to leave.”
Mia’s throat went dry.
“Leave where? What’s happening? Where are you?”
The voice didn’t respond right away.
When it did, it wasn’t her mother anymore.
It was lower. Sharper.
“Mia,” it said, “she’s already here.”
The call disconnected.
Her breath caught in her throat. She turned slowly toward the doorway.
The door handle moved.
Just slightly.
She stepped back, her body rigid, her mind screaming at her to run.
The door creaked open.
A figure stood in the doorway.
For a moment, her brain refused to make sense of what it saw.
It was her mother.
But her eyes were empty.
Black, bottomless.
Her face pale as paper.
And that same wide smile stretched across her face, too wide, too still.
“Mom?” Mia whispered.
Her mother—or whatever wore her mother’s shape—tilted her head.
Then she smiled even wider.
“You shouldn’t have answered,” she said.
The lights flickered once more.
Then everything went dark.
Who should tell scary stories to tell in the dark?
- Camp leaders and youth workers who want memorable evenings.
- Parents who want to share spooky fun with older children.
- Teachers exploring folklore and oral history.
- Friends at sleepovers and bonfires who like thrill-seeking.
Match the story to the audience. For younger listeners, keep imagery suggestive. For adults, you can explore moral ambiguity and subtle dread.
Types of scary stories to tell in the dark
Urban legends and modern myths
Short, often plausible, and told as if true. They work because listeners can imagine them happening to someone they know.
Folk tales and cautionary tales
Stories that warn: take care crossing the bridge, or don’t accept rides. These are classic camp staples.
Psychological, slow-burn stories
Build mood over time. They rely on atmosphere more than jump scares.
Shock and twist stories
Short tales with an unexpected ending. They make great closers for a session.
Personal ghost encounters
Told in first person, these feel immediate. Use sparingly and honestly.
Elements that make scary stories to tell in the dark effective
- Setting: Darkness, hush, and limited visibility amplify fear.
- Pacing: Short sentences raise tempo. Slow, descriptive sentences stretch tension.
- Sensory detail: Smells, small sounds, and tactile descriptions ground the audience.
- Relatable stakes: Keep danger close to everyday life.
- A clean twist or payoff: A satisfying reveal makes the fear meaningful.
- Economy: Short stories often land harder than long ones.
How to structure a scary story to tell in the dark (a simple template)
- Open with a small, normal scene. Let listeners relax.
- Introduce a strange detail. A light that won’t go out, a footstep.
- Raise stakes gradually. Add sensory cues and contradictions.
- Climax with the unknown. Don’t overexplain. Leave some things offstage.
- Deliver a clear payoff or unresolved chill. Either outcome can work.
Delivery techniques for telling scary stories to tell in the dark
- Control volume. Speak softly to draw listeners closer, then raise your voice briefly at a key moment.
- Use pauses. Silence is a tool. Pause before the twist.
- Eye contact and body language. Small gestures sell large scares.
- Prop use. A creak, a flashlight, or a small sound effect can change mood.
- Call-and-response. Ask the group to imagine or answer a question. You invite them into the story.
- Repeat a motif. Repeating a single line or sound creates anticipation.
For more practical tips, community storytellers suggest staging and timing as the two most critical variables.
Adapting scary stories to tell in the dark for different audiences
- Young kids: Reduce gore, emphasize mystery and moral lesson. Keep endings clear.
- Adolescents: Longer builds and psychological twists work well. Use local settings.
- Adults: Embed moral ambiguity and slow dread. Explore themes such as regret, guilt, and memory.
The psychology: why we seek scary stories to tell in the dark
Researchers note several mechanisms behind horror enjoyment. Fear in a safe environment offers controlled arousal. The tension culminates in relief when the story resolves, creating neurochemical payoff. People also use scary stories to confront taboo themes and mortality in a contained way. Studies and reviews of horror enjoyment support the idea that horror can be both pleasurable and psychologically useful. If you want to craft stories with real impact, use suspense, plausible stakes, and a human connection.
Safety and ethics when telling scary stories to tell in the dark
- Know your audience. Do not tell graphic stories to very young children.
- Avoid real trauma. Do not use a listener’s real loss or PTSD triggers.
- Consent in intimate settings. Warn listeners if a story contains strong themes.
- Be culturally respectful. When using folklore or legends from other communities, cite origins and avoid appropriation. For reliable folklore resources, consult the Library of Congress guides on legends and oral storytelling.
Using scary stories to tell in the dark in education and therapy
Storytelling is a tool in education and mental health. Teachers use folklore to teach cultural history and narrative skills.
Therapists sometimes use controlled storytelling to help children explore fear and resilience. Recent studies find storytelling can support children’s psychological resilience by helping them make sense of difficult experiences.
That makes carefully selected scary stories to tell in the dark potentially beneficial, when used with care.
How to write your own scary story to tell in the dark: a step-by-step workshop
- Choose the kernel: a single unsettling image or line.
- Limit the cast: 1-3 characters keeps focus.
- Set a clear timeframe: one night, an hour, a moment.
- Start in the ordinary: small domestic details build believability.
- Introduce the oddity: something that does not fit.
- Raise tension with sensory detail: a smell, a sound, a shadow.
- Deliver the twist: reveal enough to be satisfying but not overclear.
- Edit for length: tighten language and cut extraneous details.
- Rehearse aloud: timing matters more than you expect.
Use this short checklist to transform a concept into a full story.
Top mistakes to avoid when telling scary stories to tell in the dark
- Over-explaining the ending.
- Using clichés without fresh detail.
- Being loud without control.
- Including real-life personal trauma without consent.
- Forgetting to pace the story; rush ruins suspense.
Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)
Q: What are quick scary stories to tell in the dark for campfires?
A: Short urban-legend style tales with a punchline, like the “photobooth stranger” or “lullaby on the wind,” work best for campfire pacing.
Q: Can scary stories to tell in the dark help children build resilience?
A: Yes, when age-appropriate and framed safely, storytelling helps children process fear and build coping skills. Recent research links storytelling with resilience in youth.
Q: Are some scary stories inappropriate?
A: Yes. Avoid graphic violence and topics that might trigger trauma. Tailor content to your listeners.
Q: How can I make my scary stories to tell in the dark original?
A: Localize details, switch perspectives, and use a repeated motif to create a unique voice.
Q: Are scary stories to tell in the dark harmful?
A: Generally no, when used responsibly. They can be cathartic. However, misuse around vulnerable people can be harmful. Know your audience.
Quick checklist before your next spooky night
- Choose 3-5 stories that fit your listeners.
- Practice out loud at least twice.
- Prepare a few props or ambient sounds.
- Have a safe word or gentle exit for anyone uncomfortable.
- End with a warm, grounding activity like snacks or a calm group game.
Conclusion
Scary stories to tell in the dark are a timeless way to create connection, test fear, and practice resilience. Use concise pacing, vivid sensory detail, and careful audience awareness to make each tale land.
Whether you adapt a classic urban legend, write a quick twist story, or retell a family ghost story, the right delivery turns a simple line into a lasting memory.
Try one tonight and watch the room lean in. If you want help turning one of the templates above into a full-length tale, tell me which template you prefer and I will expand it into a polished story.
Call to action: Save this guide, pick one template, and rehearse it aloud tonight. Share your version and I will help edit it into a performance-ready story.
