Real Ghost Stories Online

This chilling true ghost story follows one individual from childhood into adulthood, as a dark presence attached itself and refused to let go. What began as a subtle sense of being watched at night grew into a relentless haunting that followed across homes, cities, and years. This is not a simple haunted house story—it is the story of a haunting that chose a person, not a place. From strange weather patterns isolated to a single yard, to surgical flashes of light bleaching the night sky, the signs became impossible to ignore. Neatly arranged rings of twigs appeared outside windows, and deliberate knocks moved methodically across the glass at three in the morning. Pets growled at empty air, neighbors whispered of strange histories, and eventually, a friend named B confirmed the terror by witnessing the figure himself: a man in black, pale and motionless at the fence. The haunting escalated into terrifying episodes of sleep paralysis, with the entity grinning through the window, its mouth stretched too wide t

Some people claim they were “born sensitive,” and in Brenda’s case, the paranormal seems to have marked her life from the very beginning. In this chilling call, Brenda shares multiple stories that trace back to her mother’s pregnancy — starting with a strange man at the door who somehow knew she was expecting, even though it wasn’t visible. The very next night, the family home was surrounded by screeching owls, an omen in Hispanic folklore that signaled something dark. A bullet carved with a cross drove them away, but the terror didn’t end there. As a baby, Brenda remembers her crib facing the window — something her mother confirmed years later — and soon after she began to speak, she terrified her parents by saying, “The Mono is coming.” One night she screamed that the Mono had grabbed her hand, eyes locked on something unseen as her mother tried to comfort her. Later, she cried about “the hairy hand” reaching for her in the bunk bed she shared with her sister From prophetic strangers to omens of death, f

Grief can make the world feel uncanny — and sometimes the uncanny feels like comfort. In this episode we hear from multiple listeners whose lives were changed by strange coincidences and possible messages from the other side. One woman flies across the country after her father dies and begins seeing small, specific signs: the Breakfast Club song playing at impossible moments, a yellow balloon that bursts on the exact anniversary, a mysterious phone ring that shouldn’t have connected — and recurring dreams where Dad insists, “I’m not dead… I faked my death.” Are these comforting visitations, or our minds searching for connection? We also debate memorial choices: cremation keepsakes and urn jewelry that let families carry a piece of a loved one, and whether that matters to the departed. Then we shift to other eerie submissions — a college Christmas with a Polaroid that keeps ending up in the trash, an EVP capture that sounds like a chilling whisper, and a man who kept seeing the synchronicity number 11:11 duri

From the week after a young family moved into a 1973 North Carolina home, the ordinary became inexplicable: deadbolts clunking with no visitor, booted footsteps down empty halls, thunderous booms that shook the ceiling, and scratching behind the walls with no trace of rodents. For listeners who love haunted house testimony, poltergeist phenomena, and first-person paranormal accounts, this episode is a steady, escalating portrait of domestic terror. Jonathon’s narrative tracks years of small, maddening provocations: a shower curtain slammed open though no one stood in the tub, a Lionel train repeatedly knocked off its track while his bedroom door was locked, and a living-room curio cabinet that registered a baseball-bat smash with no broken glass. Neighbors later reported lights blazing and the sound of splintering wood while the house stood empty—incidents that sent his father back to the property with a pistol only to find nothing. The family eventually discovered Native American arrowheads and burial mound

This is a Grave Talks CLASSIC EPISODE! Malvern Manor stands as one of the most haunted locations in the United States, drawing investigators, skeptics, and thrill-seekers from across the country. But what makes this unassuming building in Iowa such a magnet for the paranormal? At the turn of the century, Malvern Manor opened its doors as a hotel. In time, its purpose shifted—first into a nursing facility, later a group home for the mentally ill and disabled. With every transition came new stories, new tragedies, and new scars imprinted on its walls. Eventually, the building fell into disrepair. Its only remaining residents? The spirits of those who never left. Visitors and investigators have reported apparitions roaming its halls, disembodied voices echoing through rooms, objects moving on their own, and an atmosphere so heavy it feels alive. The manor is said to host a cast of spectral characters: a woman tied to a brutal murder, restless children whose lives ended too soon, and countless others who carri

The infamous Conjuring house — the Rhode Island farmhouse that inspired one of the most successful horror franchises of all time — is back in the headlines. Tony, Carol, and Todd break down the bizarre and messy saga surrounding the property. Once a mecca for ghost hunters, the house fell into financial turmoil and foreclosure. Alongside that came whispers of dishonesty, revoked permits, staff resignations, and endless allegations about how the property was managed. Investigations stopped, tours were suspended, and the home became more known for scandal than spirits. Now, the Conjuring house is set for auction on Halloween night — and the paranormal community is buzzing. Is the property still truly haunted, or just cursed by mismanagement? What happens when the most famous “haunted house in America” turns into a legal and financial circus? This segment is equal parts true-crime business drama and paranormal fascination, peeling back the curtain on what really goes on when a haunted house becomes an enterpr

Some houses don’t just hold memories — they absorb them, twist them, and spit them back out in ways that can haunt a family for generations. This is one of those true haunted house stories. For nearly 40 years, one family lived under the same roof. Arguments, laughter, fear, and grief soaked into its walls. And from the youngest child’s earliest memories, the house seemed alive — flickering fans that switched on by themselves, shadows passing across doors, footsteps echoing when no one was there. At first, it seemed harmless, even dismissible. But then came the Ouija board. What began as a childhood prank turned into something darker — sisters unable to breathe mid-session, children terrified of closets, and whispers in the night that mimicked family members’ voices. And always, looming in the background, was the man in the top hat. He appeared in the backyard in broad daylight. He stood in doorways, silent and towering. Friends who never believed in the paranormal saw him, too — proving this was no simple

Some war stories never leave the battlefield — even when the soldiers do. In tonight’s chilling true account, a Vietnam veteran recalls the only brush with the supernatural he’s had in 74 years of life — and it happened deep in the Mekong Delta. While serving night duty at a Special Forces C-team, he was tasked with monitoring communications and handling emergencies. One night, a wounded American, Sergeant T, was flown in after a grenade trap nearly destroyed his airboat. His injury was minor but serious: a small hole above the eye, possibly pressing on the optic nerve. Medics recommended evacuation to Saigon, and the sergeant was flown out. Two days later, reports came back thanking the officer for returning Sergeant T. Confused, he went to retrieve the man — only to be told by multiple soldiers that they had seen him walking around, bandaged head and all, even heading to the showers. His girlfriend in the village was questioned. Everyone swore he was still alive. But when the officer returned to headquar

Tonight’s episode stitches together a strange patchwork of small-town weirdness — submitted by a listener who grew up collecting odd moments that never quite fit any single explanation. It begins at a high-school sleepover, where a sophomore exploring dark third-floor hallways hears a single, echoing female hum coming from the girls’ bathroom. The hum terrifies half the students and later connects — in rumor and research — to an old fire and stories of a missing girl. From there the caller moves through childhood hauntings: a clown-like giggle in an empty apartment, the eerie creak of classrooms that feel “watched,” and the creep of energy in an old school that feels older than its bricks. The episode pivots into the uncanny: while exploring a demolition site, two kids watch a slow, three-light object hang over them, then flicker like liquid and streak away — a sighting that one friend later denies remembering. The show’s centerpiece is the strangest claim: during a thunderstorm, the world went translucent

What begins as small, almost laughable disruptions — lost keys, TV remotes turning up in the freezer, dishes sliding across a countertop — soon mutates into something far more disturbing. her haunting didn’t arrive with footsteps or whispers. It crashed into her reality like a flood. One night, she was overtaken by a rush of blackness, the roar of rushing water, and a vivid, cinematic image she could not shake: a 19th-century woman in a heavy blue dress, clinging to a ledge in a concrete tunnel, her hair pinned back in a bun, her eyes wide with terror. This wasn’t imagination. This was intrusion. From that moment forward, her life carried the marks of the haunting. The apartment reeked of wet stone. Mud appeared under her partner’s fingernails with no explanation. Strange stones showed up where they didn’t belong. And the next morning, a chilling synchronicity — Google’s daily doodle displayed a woman in a blue dress that mirrored Abigail’s vision exactly. But the story doesn’t stop at the apparition. List

This is a Grave Talks CLASSIC EPISODE! Welcome to a Grave Talks Classic Episode—a chilling journey into one of Australia’s darkest and most haunted places: Aradale Asylum. From the mid-1800s through the 1900s, “lunatic asylums” were common across the world. But few carry the same weight of tragedy, despair, and paranormal activity as Aradale. Built as a sprawling facility designed to lock away anyone deemed “undesirable” by society, its cold brick walls became a prison for thousands of souls. At Aradale, mental illness was only one reason people were admitted. Speaking a different language, behaving “improperly,” or simply being unwanted was often enough to be sentenced to a life behind its doors. For many, that sentence was permanent. Death came long before freedom. Today, Aradale is no longer a working asylum—but its halls are far from empty. Visitors and paranormal investigators alike have reported phantom voices, shadowy figures, footsteps in deserted wards, and an overwhelming presence of sorrow that

A listener’s letter brings us one of the most chilling ongoing childhood hauntings ever told. It began innocently enough: every morning at sunrise, they saw a man walking past the house. But as they looked closer, they realized he was missing something crucial… his head. What followed was a string of escalating horrors: pounding footsteps racing up and down the stairs at night, whispers calling their name in the bathroom, and a nightmarish vision of skeletal hands clawing from beneath the bed. The encounters became so frequent that the writer started assuming everyone else saw them too — until they realized they were completely alone. Tony, Carol, and Todd react with the perfect blend of chills and laughs — joking about closet “hands” and coats that move, while also digging into the unsettling reality that some kids seem more sensitive to the paranormal. Once you’ve seen a shadow or heard those footsteps, you never really forget. This segment captures the very essence of creepy childhood memories and the t

Some nights never leave you. For Jen, Sara, and Sara’s boyfriend, that night was April 30th, 2008—a night that started in silence and ended in screams, shadow figures, and a hospital resuscitation. Jen wasn’t a thrill-seeker. She was a hardworking woman with roots in Ukraine. But after one trip back to the old country, she returned with more than memories. She came back with a spirit—the apparition of a little famine girl from the 1930s Holodomor. At first the girl appeared in dreams, pale and hollow-eyed but calm. Soon, Jen began to see her in waking life. And then, one night, everything changed. Jen woke to find five shadow beings at her bedside—four feet tall, their mouths lined with jagged white teeth. Floating above them was the famine child. With a wave of her arm, Jen was thrown from her bed by an unseen force. Terrified, she clutched her Bible to her chest, whispering for help as her body froze, trembled, and refused to breathe properly. By the time Sara and her boyfriend found her, Jen was rockin

On a cold December evening in Surrey, England, two separate callers reported the same terrifying sight: headlights swerving off the busy A3 road and disappearing into the trees. Convinced they’d just witnessed a crash, police raced to the scene — but the road was empty, the barriers intact, and no fresh tire marks scarred the embankment. Still, the officers pressed on. Venturing deep into the undergrowth, they uncovered a nightmare: a badly wrecked car, hidden from view and overgrown by brush. The vehicle’s battery was long dead, its headlights impossible to ignite. And nearby, they made a darker discovery — the decomposed skeletal remains of a man. The car belonged to a Londoner reported missing nearly a year earlier, in July of 2002. Dental records confirmed the bones were his. Pathologists estimated he’d been dead for months, killed in what looked like a crash no one had ever seen… until that December night. But how could members of the public report headlights veering off the road that very evening, wh

Imagine living across from a graveyard for forty-three years — and slowly realizing your home has become a mirror image of The Amityville Horror. That’s the reality Katie faced in Oyster Bay, Long Island, in a story so terrifying it left her with PTSD. At first, the haunting was subtle. Certain rooms in the house carried an oppressive heaviness, so overwhelming that Katie, an empath, could barely enter them without running out. Then came the footsteps — heavy, deliberate, pacing the upstairs hallway night after night. She thought it was her father. He thought it was her. Neither of them were moving. Soon, things escalated. Unplugged electronics. Doors opening. Nights spent downstairs while footsteps thundered up and down the staircase with no one there. But nothing could prepare Katie for the night it revealed itself. After turning off her TV, she rolled over and saw a massive black figure standing in her room — tall, thin, something like a Slender Man cloaked in shadow. Frozen in fear, she cried herself t

Her neighbor Tom was the kind of man you always saw on his porch radio, smoking after work. When he was found dead by the river, Lena thought it was over. Instead, it triggered weeks of terrifying activity that forced her to sell her home cheap. First came country music playing through his darkened house. Then the smell of pipe tobacco filling Lena’s bedroom at 2 a.m. Then the knocks — always three, always at the back door. A security camera cut to black each time. Scratches appeared on doors, black smudges near her bed, and footprints in the mud that led to her porch and stopped. Friends witnessed it too: a basement door slamming, footsteps climbing stairs, dreams of a faceless man by the river pointing at her chest. The final horror — every living room window fogged from the inside, with three streaks drawn on the glass. Was it Tom? Or something darker? One thing’s certain: this true haunted house story proves sometimes the dead don’t leave quietly. #TrueStory #HauntedHouse #RealHaunting #GhostStory #Gh

This is a Grave Talks CLASSIC EPISODE! Welcome to a Grave Talks Classic Episode—a chilling journey into one of Australia’s darkest and most haunted places: Aradale Asylum. From the mid-1800s through the 1900s, “lunatic asylums” were common across the world. But few carry the same weight of tragedy, despair, and paranormal activity as Aradale. Built as a sprawling facility designed to lock away anyone deemed “undesirable” by society, its cold brick walls became a prison for thousands of souls. At Aradale, mental illness was only one reason people were admitted. Speaking a different language, behaving “improperly,” or simply being unwanted was often enough to be sentenced to a life behind its doors. For many, that sentence was permanent. Death came long before freedom. Today, Aradale is no longer a working asylum—but its halls are far from empty. Visitors and paranormal investigators alike have reported phantom voices, shadowy figures, footsteps in deserted wards, and an overwhelming presence of sorrow that

Caller Brandy from Austin, Texas, delivers a chilling story that mixes grief, music, and the unexplained. After moving from California and working exhausting overnight shifts, she tried to grab sleep during the day. But her rest was broken by phantom footsteps racing across laminate floors. Each time she called out — silence. Each time she checked, only her sleeping dog. Then, days after Tom Petty’s death, her mom’s phone suddenly started blasting one of his songs — no caller, no alert, no reason. The timing was uncanny, especially since Brandy admits she took Petty’s death extremely hard, as though she’d lost someone she truly knew. The crew unpacks this story with a mix of empathy and fascination: how artists can shape our lives so profoundly that their passing feels personal, why music often feels like a bridge between the living and the dead, and whether this was a coincidence or a ghostly farewell. From Merle Haggard to Suzanne Somers, they tie in their own moments of pop culture grief and the paranorm

Some hauntings start with a slam. This one began with a song. At just four years old, she woke in the night to hear a woman’s voice singing a lullaby in her room. Gentle, melodic… but impossible. No one was there. No rocking chair. No mother at her bedside. Just the unmistakable voice of someone who shouldn’t exist. That was the first time. Soon, the activity escalated. A presence sat on her bed, pressing down through the blanket and touching her arm with a real, solid hand. Footsteps echoed in empty hallways. The kitchen screen door creaked open on its own. And at the end of the hallway, night after night, she felt eyes watching her from the dark. As she grew older, the haunting followed. With her best friend Annie, cold spots appeared in classrooms, shadow figures dissolved into trees, and one night a table was flipped upside down while they slept beside it — the glass of water sitting perfectly upright on the floor beneath. Paranormal activity didn’t just visit; it lived with them. Years later, the hou

Sometimes, the scariest paranormal encounters don’t happen in abandoned asylums or creepy graveyards — they happen in the most ordinary of places: your in-laws’ house. In this chilling true ghost story, a woman staying with her husband’s family to study for medical school found herself face-to-face with something unexplainable. At first, the culprit seemed obvious — the family cat, “Smudge,” making a ruckus outside the bedroom door. The noises, the banging, the meowing all pointed to a pet desperate for attention. Problem solved. Or so she thought. But hours later, the knocking returned. Louder. Sharper. More deliberate. This time, when she opened the door — flashlight in hand — there was nothing. No cat, no person, no reason for the sounds that had been shaking the door moments before. The dread settled in her chest as she realized Smudge was curled up quietly in another room the whole time. That’s when the presence made itself known — the heavy sensation of being watched, the creeping cold, the feeling o