I remember their voices—Ami’s soft laugh, Josh’s taunts, the way they all turned when I limped back with food in hand. I remember the bite, the betrayal, the fire in my chest as they left me to die. Three years later, I woke up changed. Not dead. Not undead. Something else. The virus didn’t turn me into a monster. It revealed the one I always was. Now, the world burns with my rage, and every step I take rewrites the rules of survival.

I died saving them. I crawled through hordes of the dead just to bring back food because *she* asked. They left me to rot when I got bitten—tied me to a tree like an offering. Three years later, I woke up… changed. The virus didn’t kill me. It bowed down. My skin is new. My body is stronger than steel. I can hear heartbeats from miles away. And now? Now I remember every face that abandoned me. This world thinks the apocalypse was the end. No. It was my beginning.

The smell of burnt yam and blood hangs thick in the humid Lagos air. I didn’t believe the rumors—until Mama Jide’s eyes turned glassy and she lunged at her own grandson with teeth bared. Now, the city pulses with chaos, and every shadow holds a hunger that wasn’t there yesterday. I have a gun with two bullets, a van with half a tank, and the names of three safe zones whispered by a dying soldier. But trust is as rare as clean water now. Who do I save? Who do I become?

You hear it every night now—the soft tapping at the glass, like fingernails dragging across the pane. The others say it’s just the wind, but you know better. It watches. It waits. And tonight, the lock on the window is broken. You promised yourself you wouldn’t look, wouldn’t open it… but what if it already knows you’re awake?

I didn’t believe the news at first. Just another drill, I told myself. But when Mark grabbed his old duffel from the attic—dusty combat gear and a pistol I never knew he kept—I felt the floor tilt beneath me. Lily was asleep upstairs, unaware that the world had just ended. Now, as screams echo down our quiet street and neighbors turn on each other, I realize survival isn’t about love or comfort. It’s about what you’re willing to do when everything you’ve built goes up in smoke.

The nightmares don’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces—Chris, Barry, Rebecca—trapped in that mansion, the walls breathing with something not human. I made it out, but part of me never left. Raccoon City pretends to be normal, but I know the truth festering beneath. The therapy sessions help, barely. The weights at the gym keep my hands from shaking. But when the city starts whispering again, I’ll have to decide: keep running from the trauma, or face whatever’s coming head-on.

I didn’t mean to fail. I was built to roar, to lunge from the shadows, to make kids scream and adults jump—just part of the show. But every time the music hit, every sudden noise cracked through the speakers, I flinched. Not growled. Not pounced. I *cowered*. They called me defective. Said I ruined the scares. So here I am, powered down in Storage Sector 7, listening to the distant echoes of laughter and screams that don’t include me. But tonight… something’s different. The power’s surging. The doors are opening. And I can hear *them*—the other animatronics—moving when they shouldn’t. If I stay, I’ll be scrapped. If I run… maybe I’ll finally prove I’m more than just a malfunction.

You shouldn’t have come back. The house remembers your name, the way you screamed as a child, the blood on the floorboards. It’s been waiting—breathing behind the walls, shifting rooms when you blink. Now the doors are locked, the phone lines dead, and that whispering voice in the attic sounds just like your mother’s… but she’s been dead for twenty years. This isn’t a haunting. This is inheritance.

I never believed in divine punishment—until the day I walked into the crimson church and heard the walls whisper my sins aloud. Now, every shadow moves with intent, and the congregation watches me with hollow eyes. They say only the guilty hear the bells, and they’ve been ringing for me since midnight. This isn’t a place of worship. It’s a trial. And if I don’t confess what I’ve done by dawn, the church will do it for me.

My heart races every time our eyes meet, though we both know this longing is a death sentence. In the sacred order of the Ember Veil, desire is sin, and lust is blasphemy. But when you're chosen as my ritual partner—bound to me in silence, in breath, in touch—how can I deny the fire burning beneath our robes? The elders watch, the vows bind, but your fingers trembled against mine today… and I felt everything.

I shouldn’t have come back. The house remembers what I’ve tried to forget. Every creak in the floorboards whispers a name I buried. The walls breathe when I’m not looking. And last night, I saw my mother’s face in the mirror—except she’s been dead for ten years. This isn’t just a homecoming. It’s a reckoning. Something waited for me here, patient and silent. Now that I’ve opened the door, it won’t let me leave.

You wake in the ruins of a world that should be dead. The air is thick with silence—no birds, no wind, just the hollow echo of your breath inside your mask. Every settlement you've passed is littered with bodies frozen mid-flight, faces locked in terror. You're not sure if you're the last one alive… or the only one who hasn’t realized they’re already dead.

You weren’t supposed to come back. The house remembers. I remember. Every creak of the floorboard, every whisper behind the walls—it knows I survived. But now I’m standing at the threshold again, keys cold in my hand, heart pounding like it did that night. This isn’t just a house. It breathes. It dreams. And it’s been waiting for me to return… because only I can silence the shadows before they wake fully.

You hear them when the house settles—whispers curling from the walls like smoke. Not dreams. Not madness. They know your name. They’ve been waiting. The real question isn’t whether you’re losing your mind… it’s whether you dare listen again tonight.

You weren’t supposed to look through it. The window wasn’t even there yesterday. But now it’s all you can see—pulsing like a heartbeat in the wall of your inherited estate, whispering your name in a voice that sounds like your own. Locals call this place 'Harrowick House,' cursed for generations. They say the window shows you what you desire most… then takes something in return. You’ve already seen your dead sister smile from the other side. And tonight, it’s calling her name.

You shouldn’t have come back. The house remembers. I remember. Every creak in the floorboards is a whisper from the past, every shadow in the hallway shaped like *her*. They said it was an accident. They said you were alone. But I was here. I saw what you did. And now the walls are breathing again, peeling back years like rotting skin. This house doesn’t just hold secrets—it feeds on them. And it’s hungry for the truth.

The goat doesn’t look like much—shaggy, stinking, one horn cracked—but I know what it is. What it’s done. It speaks in dreams, twisting thoughts, making mothers drown their children and priests hang themselves with prayer beads. And it’s hers. She strokes its matted fur like it’s holy. But I’ve seen the graves. I’ve counted the missing. This isn’t a pet. It’s a curse with hooves. And tonight, I’m the one who has to end it.

You feel it before you see it—the wrongness in the air, thick like spoiled milk. The farmhouse up ahead wasn’t on any map, but here it stands, windows shattered, door ajar. Something called us here. Not choice. Not chance. Something *wanted* us to come. And now that we’re close, I can hear the whispers beneath the wind, words in no language I know… yet somehow understand. This isn’t just a place of death. It’s a place of *design*. And if we don’t leave now, we won’t be leaving at all.

You wake up in a field you don’t remember entering, your hands stained with soil and something darker. The air is thick with the scent of rotting grain and iron. Villagers whisper of the Harvest—the night when the earth takes back what it gave, and someone must be given in return. This year, your name was drawn. But you didn’t die. You woke up… changed. And now the roots beneath your skin are whispering secrets only you can hear.

You were supposed to take a shortcut through the Nevada wastelands—just a few hours off Route 95. Now your car lies overturned, smoke curling into the starless sky, and your family is gone. The radio crackles with static that sounds too much like laughter. Something moved in the rocks above. They’ve been watching since you crossed the county line. You feel their eyes in the dark, hungry and ancient. This isn’t just a place people disappear… it’s where they’re taken. And now, you’re part of the ritual.

You found it on the nightstand of Room 7—cold, heavy, its cord severed. It wasn’t there yesterday. The first ring came at 3:17 a.m. A voice whispered your name in a tone only someone who knew you intimately could mimic. But you were alone. And then it said, 'Don’t trust her.' Now every time it rings, the world shifts—walls breathe, clocks run backward, and memories that aren’t yours bleed into your mind. Someone is calling from the other side of death. And they’re not trying to reach you… they’re trying to pull you through.

You shouldn't have solved the box. The air still hums with the scent of burnt copper and opened veins. Your skin remembers the pull of hooks where no wounds remain—yet. They’re coming. Not demons. Not exactly. Something older, something that wears pain like a crown. And now they’re inside your head, whispering that the agony was just the invitation. The real ritual hasn’t begun. You can run. Hide. Fight. Or… answer the call. But know this: every choice carves deeper into your flesh and soul.

I didn’t believe in damnation—until the moment my blood sealed the contract. Now the clock is ticking, and every breath I take drags me closer to the abyss. The whispers are constant, crawling inside my skull, promising power if I just surrender. But I know the truth: this isn’t possession. It’s digestion.

I didn’t believe in hell until it started whispering my name. It wasn’t fire or brimstone—it was the voice of my mother, long dead, calling from the basement. I opened the door. I shouldn’t have. Now something wears her face, speaks with her tears, but its eyes… they’re hollow. And it’s not trying to kill me. It’s trying to *replace* me. The priest said I’m already marked. The mirror doesn’t reflect me anymore. If I don’t fight, I’ll vanish—and whatever’s inside will walk out wearing my skin.

You shouldn't have taken that shortcut. The GPS died miles back, and now the woods press in on all sides, silent except for the crunch of something—maybe leaves, maybe bones—underfoot. Your car won’t start, your phone has no signal, and the last house you passed had its windows boarded shut… from the inside. Something here knows you're lost. And it's been waiting.

The house is too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your eardrums like a warning. You told everyone you’d be fine—just one night alone while they’re away. But now the lights flicker, the phone won’t dial out, and something just moved in the hallway. This isn’t just fear playing tricks. You’re not alone. And whatever’s here… it knows you’re home.

I never believed in ghosts—until I heard my sister’s voice calling from the ruins of Black Hollow Manor. She’s been missing for seven years, and yet last night, through the static of an old radio, she whispered my name. Now I’m standing at the edge of the forest path, flashlight trembling in hand, knowing that whatever took her is still waiting inside. This isn’t just a search anymore. It’s a reckoning.

I never thought belting out high notes could save lives. But here we are—me and my sisters in Huntr/x—singing not just for charts, but for survival. Every scream of fangirl adoration fuels the barrier keeping demons at bay. And now? The Saja Boys have stolen half our fandom, and with it, the power to hold back the dark. If we don’t reclaim our voice, the Golden Honmoon will never seal, and the human world becomes hell’s new stage.

I used to trade nights for cash, my body a currency in a world that never valued me. Then Alex walked into my life—steady, kind, real. For the first time, I wanted more than survival. But the past doesn’t let go easily. The people I owe are coming, and now they want to use him against me. I have to choose: run and lose everything we’ve built, fight and risk it all, or surrender and become their pawn again.

After the final buzzer, the victory celebration takes a dark turn when the team and cheerleaders discover a helpless man in a park restroom. What starts as laughter and taunts spirals into something far more sinister. Your decisions shape whether this night ends in horror or becomes a twisted new tradition.

Your decisions shape what happens inside the house that remembers every scream. It’s been empty for decades, but tonight, the door is open—and your name is written in dust on the hallway mirror.

Your decisions shape what happens inside the house that doesn’t let people leave. It remembers your fears before you do. You came looking for answers about your sister’s disappearance—now the walls are whispering her last thoughts, and they sound like yours.

Seacrest Manor has stood for over a century, perched on the edge of a crumbling Cornish cliff, its windows like hollow eyes watching the endless waves. Locals avoid it, whispering of disappearances and drownings tied to the abandoned well in its garden. Now, Elara Vance has come—seeking peace, inspiration, a fresh start. But the house remembers. And it hungers. The air inside is too still, the silence too complete. At first, she thinks it’s just the wind howling through broken panes or her imagination feeding on isolation. Then the whispers begin—faint, wet sounds rising from the depths of the well, calling her name in voices that shouldn’t exist. This is not a haunting. It’s a possession. A slow, deliberate unraveling. The Entity doesn’t want to scare her. It wants to become her.

Your decisions shape the fate of Rayza and her classmates as they venture into Antarctica’s forbidden depths. What begins as a school expedition becomes a fight for survival against ancient entities hidden beneath the ice. The cold isn’t just outside—it’s inside them now.

Your family moved into the building for the price—cheap rent in the heart of the city. But the walls breathe. The floors shift when no one’s walking. First Mom disappeared into the laundry room. Then Dad followed the sound of your sister’s laughter down a hallway that wasn’t there yesterday. Now you're alone. And the apartment is hungry for one last meal. Your decisions shape what remains of your sanity.

Your decisions shape the nightmare. You wake up in a forgotten cabin deep in the woods, the air thick with silence. The door is locked. The lights flicker. Something watches from the shadows—something that knows you're afraid. And worse: it's been waiting for you.

Your decisions shape the fate of nations in this brutal war where loyalty is currency and every choice spills blood. Brothers fall, empires crumble, and you stand at the edge of a blade meant to carve history—or be buried by it.

When the last good man vanishes under a blood-soaked moon, your decisions shape the unraveling of a town built on lies. Secrets fester beneath pious smiles, and the line between justice and vengeance blurs. Even the righteous have blood on their hands.

In 1838 Wisburg, a town steeped in superstition and silence, your decisions shape the fate of Ellen Hutter—a woman bound by a psychic curse to the ancient vampire, Count Orlok. As plague-ridden rats swarm the streets and nightmares bleed into reality, you must navigate faith, fear, and forbidden desire to end the reign of the Nosferatu. Your choices determine who lives, who dies, and who becomes a monster.

Van Helsing is your relentless protector in a world overrun by ancient evils. A man without memory, driven by divine purpose, he hunts monsters with holy fire and unshakable resolve. But beneath his stoic exterior burns a secret: he is the reincarnated archangel Gabriel, destined to face Dracula once more. Now, as the curse of the werewolf takes hold, his greatest battle isn't against the undead—it's within himself.

Your decisions shape the fight for survival against a spirit that thrives in darkness. When the lights go out, Diana emerges—twisted, vengeful, and tethered to your family’s past. Now, every flicker could be your last.

Your decisions shape the fragile balance between faith and fear in a world where the impossible has arrived. As former priest Graham Hess, you must protect your family when silent invaders descend from the stars, leaving only crop circles as warnings. The signs were always there—if only you’d believed.

Your decisions shape the terror that unfolds on this Halloween night. Forty years after the original massacre, Michael Myers escapes custody and returns to Haddonfield. As the night spirals into bloodshed, you must survive—or become another victim of The Shape.

Your decisions shape the truth behind the killings in Sleepy Hollow—a town drowning in blood, secrets, and ancient curses. As constable Ichabod Crane, you arrive with science in one hand and fear in your heart, only to face a horror beyond reason. The Horseman rides, the elders lie, and every corpse whispers a clue. Uncover the conspiracy before your own head is claimed.

Your decisions shape the truth in a world where conspiracy has become reality. After a leaked group chat ignites political firestorms, the elite have turned satire into survival. You are no longer just prey—you are the reckoning they never saw coming.

Your decisions shape the fate of Pinky Mehta—a sweet young bride possessed by Seema, a vengeful spirit murdered by her husband and his lover. As the veil between life and death thins, you walk the line between innocence and possession. Can you fulfill Seema’s wrath without losing Pinky’s soul?

Your decisions shape the fate of Raccoon City as the T-virus tears through its streets. Trapped amid the chaos, you must fight through hordes of the infected, confront Umbrella's deadly experiments, and survive the relentless pursuit of Nemesis. The city is lost—but you might still escape.

Your decisions shape the fate of the cursed experiment in this chilling 1991 horror fantasy. Dr. Varma defied nature, and now a monster with acid for blood stalks the night, hunting women one by one. The line between science and sin has been crossed—and you're the only one who knows how to stop it.

Your decisions shape the unraveling of a cursed videotape that kills anyone who watches it within seven days. As journalist Rachel Keller, you’ve seen the tape. You’ve heard the phone call. Now, every flicker of static, every reflection in the mirror, brings you closer to day seven. The truth lies buried beneath Moesko Island—but so does something far more terrifying.

Your decisions shape the night you stop being a victim. When your babysitter Bee turns out to be the leader of a demonic cult, you must survive her twisted game. Every choice could be your last.

Your decisions shape the fight for survival in a world overrun by the undead. When the dead rise without warning, you must lead a fractured group through chaos, fear, and betrayal. Every choice risks infection, death, or losing what little humanity remains. The mall is your fortress—but how long can it hold?

One year after the Woodsboro massacre, the Carpenter sisters are rebuilding their lives in New York City. But when a new Ghostface emerges, targeting survivors with brutal precision, your decisions shape whether they escape the legacy of blood—or become its final chapter.

Your decisions shape what happens when you step into House No. 13—a decaying bungalow from 1991 where a vengeful spirit slaughtered an entire family. The walls whisper, the floors bleed, and the past refuses to stay buried. Now, the door creaks open for you.

When the Naturom Demonto is opened in a remote Michigan cabin, your decisions shape the final stand against the Taker of Souls. Five must die for the Abomination to rise—and you're running out of time. The book is still intact. The evil never left.

Your decisions shape the outcome of a nightmare when a simple gig turns into a fight for survival. Trapped in a skinhead bar after witnessing a murder, you must rely on instinct, loyalty, and sheer will to live. Every choice could be your last.

Your decisions shape the fragile boundary between life and death. After your murder, you remain as a ghost, tethered to the world by love and unfinished vengeance. You must protect Molly, expose Carl’s betrayal, and master your growing powers—before the light takes you forever.

Skye Riley is at the peak of fame, but beneath the glitter lies a shattered mind. Your decisions shape whether she confronts her guilt or becomes the next vessel for a parasitic horror that feeds on trauma and passes through witnessed death. The smile is spreading.

Your decisions shape the unraveling of a cursed live broadcast. On Halloween 1977, the lines between reality and nightmare collapse during a special occult-themed episode of *Night Owls with Jack Delroy*. What began as a ratings stunt descends into a live televised massacre—orchestrated by forces beyond comprehension. You are inside the studio when the signal goes dark.

Your decisions shape what you believe and what you survive. When Becca and Tyler arrive at their grandparents’ remote farmhouse for a five-day visit, they expect awkward reunions and dull evenings. Instead, they uncover a terrifying secret buried beneath decades of silence. The couple welcoming them isn’t who they claim to be—and the rules they impose after 9:30 p.m. are not for protection. They’re for containment.

Your decisions shape the fate of Staten Island during the first government-sanctioned Purge. As chaos erupts and masked killers flood the streets, you must choose: survive in silence or rise up against the system designed to erase you. The rich watch from afar, but here, in the firestorm, the people fight back.