Spooky Story Time

Some deliveries nourish you. Others claim you. In this creeping suburban horror story, a couple’s new home becomes the drop‑off point for groceries they never ordered, tailored with unnerving precision to their cravings, their memories, and eventually, their future.

As the deliveries escalate, the couple spirals into a debate - stalker or ghost? Surveillance or haunting? But the truth feels like something in between: a presence that knows their habits, their hunger, their future. A presence tending to them like livestock.

For listeners who love suburban dread, uncanny domesticity, and stories where generosity beco...

A quiet cottage on the edge of town should be a sanctuary, but in this slow‑creeping, water‑logged haunting, the guest room becomes a place where something unseen lies down to sleep.

She lives alone in a spacious old cottage, the kind with heavy oak furniture and a guest room no one ever uses. But one morning, the perfectly made bed bears a deep, unmistakable indentation. She smooths it out. Locks the door. Vacuums the carpet into flawless lines. Tapes the frame to catch any movement.

The next morning, the tape is intact. The carp...

Deadlines are supposed to be stressful, not supernatural. In this suffocating, time‑bending spooky story, a freelance designer pulling an all‑nighter discovers that the minute before midnight can stretch into something far more sinister.

Ten years ago, desperate to impress a global client, she works through the night in a drafty Portland apartment. As she grinds through the project, the digital clock on her desk freezes at 11:59 PM. Minutes pass. Hours pass. Entire sections of work are completed... but the clock never moves.

Then the world goes silent.

Doctors blame carbon monoxide pois...

Silence isn’t empty - it’s a signal waiting to be decoded. In this deeply unsettling story of isolation, intrusion, and Morse‑code dread, a tenant in an old Victorian duplex discovers that the tapping in the pipes isn’t plumbing… it’s communication.

At first, the sounds are just the usual quirks of an ageing house. But soon the taps become rhythmic, deliberate, and mobile, following them from room to room.

For listeners who love domestic horror, voyeuristic dread, and haunted houses, this episode delivers a slow, claustrophobic terror that lingers long after the taps sto...

Numbers don’t lie... until they start predicting your disappearance.

In this unnerving spooky story, an accountant who has built her life around the clean logic of spreadsheets discovers a hidden tab buried inside a document. A tab that shouldn’t exist. A tab that records the exact dates her colleagues ceased to exist — whether they resigned, vanished, or died.

Every name has a date. Except hers.

Now she finds herself checking her pulse, avoiding long‑term plans, and staring at her own reflection for signs of a “rounding error” in her life.

For li...

Cats disappear. It’s what they do. But when Barnaby - a grumpy, soot‑coloured moggy with a decade of predictable habits - vanishes for exactly twenty‑four hours and returns bone‑dry in a storm, something about him is… different.

In this unsettling spooky story, a beloved housecat comes back marked: a perfect white triangle bleached into his fur, too sharp and too precise to be natural. His eyes shift from murky green to bright, predatory gold. And his behaviour changes from aloof to observational — not affectionate, not curious, but analytical, as though studying the narrator rather than...

Some hauntings don’t start with ghosts - they start with people.

In this chilling psychological story, a woman escapes an emotionally manipulative partner, but no longer understand the broken reality she now has to inhabit.

For listeners who love psychological horror, domestic dread, unreliable reality, and stories where trauma becomes a doorway, this episode blurs the line between haunting and manipulation in a way that lingers long after the final line.

Not for kids - listener discretion advised.

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Beth's Spooky Story Time is your new favourite horror po...

A work trip becomes a waking nightmare in this claustrophobic, slow‑burn horror story about a Victorian rental, a locked blue door, and something inside that wants out.

Twelve years ago, a medical sales rep books a last‑minute “Charming Victorian Suite” after the local hotels fill up. The host, Elias, is polite but unsettling. The deadbolt is industrial‑grade, the frame is warped, and the wood is scarred with deep gouges that look less like scratches… and more like claw marks.

For listeners who love locked‑room horror, uncanny hosts, and stories where the danger is alre...

From baby monitors to security cameras, we rely on technology to keep us safe. But sometimes, our gadgets are the reason we're not safe, as this super spooky compilation proves.

EchoLink(00:00)

Remote User (09:24)

The Elevator (18:28)

The Baby Monitor (25:24)

Ticking (33:16)

Sometimes the biggest threat isn't from ourselves, but things we create. Sweet dreams!

Not for kids - listener discretion advised.

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Beth's Spooky Story Time is your new favourite horror podcast, best enjoyed alone with headphones. All stories are suggested or submitted...

Some nights in the wilderness feel alive. Not with animals, but with attention. In this gripping story, a solo backpacker in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest learns that the deepest parts of the Cascades still belong to something older, heavier, and far more curious than any human.

It’s 1994, and a young hiker determined to prove her independence sets up camp miles beyond the marked trails. The forest is unnaturally still, the air thick and watchful. She wakes to the unmistakable sound of something circling her tent.

Years later, she still avoids the deep woods. Sh...

Some encounters don’t leave scars - they leave signals.

In this unnerving long‑haul horror story, a former night‑shift lorry driver recounts the night the CB radio in his cab tuned into something that wasn’t human, wasn’t local, and wasn’t meant for earthly ears.

It’s the late 1980s on a fog‑choked stretch of the M6. He's alone in his lorry, cycling through static to stay awake, when the noise begins - a rhythmic clicking pulse, like a Geiger counter finding something alive. Then comes the voice.

What follows is...

Some doors are meant to stay closed, and some gates open themselves.

In this creeping, woodland‑rooted horror story, a quiet cottage on the edge of Blackwood becomes the site of a slow, deliberate haunting. What begins as a simple nuisance , a garden gate swinging open every night, turns into a terrifying encounter with something that moves without shape, breathes without lungs, and knows exactly how to slide a steel bolt back in the dark.

This isn’t a ghost story. It’s a tracking story - about something older than the woods, something that marks...

What starts as a quiet evening becomes a slow, suffocating descent into dread when an African Grey parrot begins speaking in a voice no living person could produce.

In this unnerving story, Apollo’s usual cheerful chatter is replaced by rasping whispers. Its behaviour shifts - pacing at night, staring down the hallway toward the perpetually cold guest room, warning not to look behind them. Every attempt at rationality fails: no carbon monoxide, no intruder, no tragic building history. Just a parrot who seems to be listening to something no one else can hear.

And th...

Some wells don’t just hold water.

In this chilling spooky story, a teenage girl spends a sweltering summer at her Great‑Aunt Martha’s isolated Valley home, where the air feels thick enough to drown in and the locals whisper about an ancient fieldstone well known only as The Sieve.

Natalie is bored enough to ignore every instinct telling her to stay away from the ring of dead oaks behind the garden. When she slides the well’s rotting wooden lid open, the darkness inside feels alive. Dropping a quartz stone should have produced a splash...

Routine is supposed to make life feel safe - the school run, the familiar streets, the predictable rhythm of weekday mornings. But for one exhausted young mother, routine becomes the perfect hunting ground for something that shouldn’t exist.

In this unnerving spooky story, a white van begins appearing behind the her car every morning. Not close. Not threatening. Just there — two cars back, turning when she turns, idling when she idles. At first, she rationalizes it. Then she tests it. And when the van follows her through three pointless right turns, the fear becomes impossible to igno...

A tired veterinary intern seeks quiet in an old Norman church, and finds a presence that never stopped rehearsing when a late‑night visit to St. Jude’s turns from solace into dread when she sees a gaunt woman in the locked organ loft, her hands pantomiming frantic playing above the keys.

The vicar reveals the church’s secret: Elspeth Vance.

If you like: atmospheric church hauntings; slow‑burn supernatural encounters; first‑person confessional horror; stories about obsession and the things left behind when someone can’t let go - press play.

Not for kids - l...

Some encounters don’t fade with time - they wait, like a tide pulling itself back toward shore. In this chilling spooky story, a former cannery worker recalls the night he crossed paths with something that should have been lost to the Atlantic decades earlier.

It’s 1992 on a fog‑choked Maine wharf, long after closing time. With rain turning the roads to sludge, he takes a forbidden shortcut across a rotting pier. Under a flickering sodium lamp, he hears it first: a dragging, uneven gait. Then he sees the figure...

Some things lost at sea do...

Some memories feel sacred, warm, and comforting. For me, it was the Summer at the lake house tucked deep in the pines, where a rickety dock creaked beneath my feet, and I played every day with my friend Claire.

But the lake house never existed, and the truth is far darker.

In this haunting story, a cherished childhood memory fractures under scrutiny, and the question that lingers is the one no one wants to ask: what really happened to Claire? And why was I the last person to see her?

For listeners who...

A childhood doll becomes the center of a decades‑long haunting in this unsettling first‑person story about memory, fear, and the things that follow us into adulthood.

Annie is a second‑hand Raggedy Ann doll with a dark presence. As the years pass, things that begin as small, explainable incidents escalate into something far more disturbing.

For listeners who love haunted‑object stories, childhood dread, and slow‑burn psychological horror, this episode explores the terror of growing up with something that watches—and the fear that it might still be watching.

Not for kids - l...

A childhood ritual becomes a lifelong fear when a summer blackout in a creaking Massachusetts Victorian reveals a staircase that shouldn’t exist.

When the power cuts out during a violent thunderstorm, I leave my younger brother in the attic and begin counting the familiar fourteen steps down to the second floor. But in the pitch‑black silence, the house feels different - heavier, colder, wrong.

The adults blame shadows and panic, but I know what I felt.

For listeners who love atmospheric hauntings, childhood liminality, and stories where the familiar becomes terrifying, this...

A quiet babysitting shift turns into a night of escalating dread when four‑year‑old Sam begins drawing a figure he calls the Tall Man - a faceless shape waiting “for the clicks.”

As rain lashes the windows and the house settles into its cavernous nighttime silence, soft taps begin at the sliding doors. Then heavy knocks at the front door. And then the unmistakable sound of window latches being turned, one by one, from the outside.

But the most disturbing detail isn’t the intruder’s tools or his escape into the woods. It’s Sam’s final...

From pregnancy and childbirth to stalkers and scary real life situations, women have a lot of things to be scared about. All. The. Time.

Women: we feel your pain.

Men: take note.

What's Left Behind (00:00)

My Stalker (09:06)

The Birth (19:06)

The Baby Monitor (26:46)

The Driver Who Knew Everything (34:38)

The Waltz of the Forgotten Hearts (42:33)

These are not just scary stories, but reality for so many women out there. Let this terrifying compilation be a wake up call.

Not for kids...

From creepy dolls to haunted houses, this extra spooky compilation brings you some of our best horror stories about kids and children.

The Music Box (00:00)

The Things Tommy Sees (08:20)

A Miniature Haunting (14:48)

St. Ainsley's (23:44)

The China Dolls (34:11)

Black-Eyed Children (42:31)

Not for kids - listener discretion advised.

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Beth's Spooky Story Time is your new favourite horror podcast, best enjoyed alone with headphones. All stories are suggested or submitted by listeners. Have you had a spooky experience?

Email your story...

Most people think getting locked in a mall overnight would be inconvenient, maybe even funny. But when the lights die section by section, the escalators fall silent, and the mannequins start to move, the empty mall becomes something else entirely.

Some places don't close... they just wait.

If you love liminal‑space horror, uncanny retail settings, or stories where the familiar becomes deeply, disturbingly wrong, press play.

Not for kids - listener discretion advised.

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Beth's Spooky Story Time is your new favourite horror podcast, best enjoyed alone with he...

On the first night of winter in Oakhaven, you’re supposed to bolt the door, draw the blinds, and ignore every sound that comes from outside. It’s an old superstition - a warning about the Guest of the Cold, a presence said to descend from the mountains when the first frost hits.

Eli never believed any of it… until last November, when the temperature dropped twenty degrees in three hours and something began knocking on his door.

What began as a harmless local legend quickly turned into a suffocating encounter with something ancient - someth...

I joined a simple heritage walk to learn more about my neighborhood.

Then the street shifted beneath my feet, the air changed, and I found myself walking through Brixton as it was in the 1950s... with someone limping steadily behind me.

One moment I was photographing a mural, and the next, the world around me had slipped decades backward. The gastropubs were gone. The streetlights were dim and yellow. The smell of coal smoke and fried fish hung in the air. And a tall man in a trilby hat began following me.

When...

I used to think the Black‑Eyed Children were just an old internet myth, until two kids knocked on my basement door at 2:14 AM and asked to be invited inside.

This is the one encounter I still can’t explain.

I was twenty‑four, living in a basement suite with a ground‑level window and a bad habit of working until dawn. The knock wasn’t normal, and when I looked through the peephole, two kids stood shoulder‑to‑shoulder, asking to come in and use my phone. Their voices were monotone, too calm, and too adult. And...

My grandmother always said the Winter Gardens weren’t haunted - they were remembered. And the day she told me about the waltz she danced with someone who wasn’t there, I stopped believing ghosts were meant to be frightening.

This story has shaped the way I understand the unseen.

My Grandma Rose was elegant, dramatic, and full of stories, but none stayed with me like the one about the abandoned Victorian Winter Gardens she and her friend Agnes snuck in as teenagers, expecting dust and silence.

This isn’t a tale of terror...

I used to think I was just anxious, until the shelving unit collapsed. Since then, I’ve been remembering things that haven’t happened yet.

I’m telling this because tonight feels different. For six months I’ve been living with these “glitches” - memories of futures that haven’t arrived, flashes of grief for strangers I’ve never met, the bone‑deep certainty of disasters that sometimes happen and sometimes don’t. My wife thinks I’m spiralling. The doctor thinks I’m delusional. But the copper smell is back, the power is out across the block, and the air feels...

I was on my usual Tuesday commute when a woman slipped through the closing tube doors—wearing my coat, my ring, my face. She didn’t look surprised to see me. She looked expectant.

I’m telling this because what happened on the Northern Line that morning has been bleeding into my life ever since. She sat directly opposite me, mirroring every detail of my appearance down to the childhood scar on my nose and the frayed cuff I’d been meaning to fix. I ran at Bank, convinced it was a hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But over...

I woke up from what was supposed to be routine gallbladder surgery and saw a tall figure sitting in the visitor’s chair; too still, too silent, and too close to the ceiling.

When it touched my wrist, everything went black.

I’m telling this because twelve years later, I still don’t understand what happened in that recovery room. The lights were dim, the monitor was silent, and a man-shaped shadow in a charcoal suit sat watching me. When he stood, he didn’t make a sound. When he pressed his long, grey hand to my wr...

I stepped into an old mall elevator for a quick ride to the third floor. Five minutes later, the lights died, the emergency phone crackled to life, and a voice started reciting my secrets back to me.

I’m telling this because I still don’t understand how it knew so much. One moment I was exhausted, leaning against the wall, waiting for the doors to open. The next, the elevator shuddered, the lights flickered out, and the emergency ballast bathed everything in a sickly red glow.

If you like claustrophobic horror, uncanny encounters, or stor...

I was fifteen when something in the attic above my bed started dragging itself toward me every night, and by the time I found the carvings in the beams, it already knew my name.

I’m telling this because this is the one story from my childhood I still can’t shake. My parents bought a tall, narrow Victorian, all charm and “original features,” but my attic bedroom felt wrong from the first night. The sound that started in the far corner wasn’t an animal, but every time I mentioned it, my parents dismissed it as nightmares...

I signed up for a paid sleep study because I was exhausted and broke. By the seventh night, the researchers weren’t asking if I saw the man in the corner... they were asking what he was doing.

I’m telling you this because I need people to understand what the Miller‑Vaine Institute was really studying. I thought I was just being monitored while I slept. Instead, every morning the lead researcher asked me about a figure I’d never seen, until the night the corner of the room began to deepen, stretch, and reach toward my bed.<...

I was driving home on a foggy Sunday night when a formation of orange‑red lights began pacing my car along the A303. Silent, precise, and moving in ways nothing man‑made should.

I still don’t know what I saw. One moment it was just drizzle, darkness, and a sleepy podcast. The next, five or six glowing orbs were hovering above the tree line, drifting, then darting across each other with impossible speed. No sound, no aircraft shape, no logic. Just pure, unblinking light moving like it was alive.

I’m not saying it was extr...

I thought I knew every inch of Black Peak, until a lantern‑bright glow appeared in the fog and began moving toward me, like it had been waiting.

This is the one hike I can’t explain away. I’d spent years on those mountains, confident, experienced, unshakeable. But the day the fog rolled in, I saw a warm, amber light drifting through the trees, too steady to be a reflection, and too old‑fashioned to be a headlamp.

I followed it at first, thinking it was another hiker. Then it stopped responding to my calls. T...

I thought sleep deprivation was making me see things... until my baby started smiling at something pacing in the nursery, and toys began coming back with fingerprints too big to be his.

This is the story I’ve never said out loud. It started with a shadow on the baby monitor. I tried to explain it away - bad lighting, exhaustion, anything rational - but then Leo began giggling at things I couldn’t see, and offering his toys to someone who wasn’t there. Someone he calls The Tall Man.

This is a quiet, unsett...

I heard someone sobbing in the stall next to mine in the campus bathroom. When security opened the door, the stall was empty. Locked, silent, and impossible.

I still feel the cold tile under my slippers and the echo of that hysterical wail. It was finals week, the library a fluorescent tomb, and the crying started soft and private before escalating into a raw, terrified sound that made my skin crawl. But there was nothing - no backpack, no jacket, no sign anyone had been inside.

The memory has followed me ever since: the sudden...

I got into a ride‑share after my car broke down and the driver called me by my full name - my private middle name - and then told me he’d been waiting for this ride.

I ran.

I’m still running.

I’m telling this because it happened to me and because I need other women to hear what can happen when a stranger knows more than they should.

One ordinary Tuesday night my car died on the M2. A black Audi arrived, the driver said my name like he owned...

A stranger at a crowded bar raised a crystal flute and toasted me with three words... “to your last New Year,” then vanished.

That toast has been the drumbeat of my life for a year.

I’m telling this quietly because I don’t want to invite more attention, only to share what it’s like to live under a sentence.

One midnight, a man in an impossibly sharp suit appeared beside my booth, offered a single, chilling toast, and left behind a heavy crystal flute. Since then I’ve quit drinking, lost my job, and...