Story 1 : The Cartographer’S Curse
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The sky over Montevern Ridge was the color of old ash when Ethan Hale pulled off the highway. The sun had long since sunk behind the tree line, leaving behind only a bruised streak of light. The GPS on his phone had died an hour ago, the signal dropping somewhere between the forgotten gas stations and the endless stretch of pines that clawed at the edges of the road.
He’d promised himself a break—three days off the grid, away from the newsroom, away from the noise. A simple plan: rent a car, drive north, find a lake, disappear for a while. No emails. No calls. Just air and silence.
The rental place wasn’t what he expected.
It was little more than a shack welded to an old service garage, its flickering sign reading “Ridgeway Auto & Hire.” Inside, the air smelled faintly of gasoline and coffee gone bad. Behind the counter sat a man with thinning gray hair, his eyes locked on a small television playing static.
“You need a ride or a miracle?” the man asked, barely glancing up.
“Maybe both,” Ethan replied, forcing a tired smile.
The man didn’t laugh. He slid a sheet of paper across the counter—handwritten, with boxes drawn in pen instead of printed lines. The ink was faded. It looked more like a hospital form from the 1970s than a rental agreement. Ethan signed it anyway.
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Story 2 : Echoes in the Lens
Clara Reeves never intended to ride the late train that night.
It was one of those spontaneous choices that seem harmless at first — a detour to clear her head, to escape the city’s noise for a weekend by the coast. She had finished an exhausting month covering a local corruption case for The Sentinel, the kind of assignment that chewed you up, spat you out, and still expected you to smile for the next deadline.
So when she boarded the 10:42 outbound to Greybridge, a fog-soaked town nestled between forest and sea, it felt like a breath of air she hadn’t earned but desperately needed. The train was nearly empty — just a few commuters staring blankly at their phones, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence.
She dropped into a window seat, resting her head against the cold glass, and stared at the reflection of her own tired face. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks dulled her mind. For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to drift.
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Two TRUE Scary Stories for Sleep
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===============================
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===============================
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