NightmareNotes

“Enjoy the air conditioning” 🤡 #IT #networkengineer #tech #itjobs #bluecollar #programmer #jackofalltrades TikTok video by Jack MeHoff

OMG. Something about a hard working man makes me swoon. 🥰😩

www.tiktok.com/t/ZTj3nxNh4/

Whispers in the dark,
Shadows dance on cold, bare walls,
Night's secrets unfold.

As the moonlight crept through her window, @MixmasterMichelle heard a soft knock—each tap a reminder of the curse that bound her account. The label, like a shadow, followed her every move. It’s time to break the spell. Will you help? Only together can we banish the darkness. 💀✨ #GetHerLabelRemoved

At the stroke of midnight, my account was freed from a chilling curse… But now, @MixmasterMichelle is trapped in the shadows, cursed with a label she doesn’t deserve. 😱 Her 30k followers are lost in the dark—will you help us lift this haunting spell? 🕸️👀

As she tucked her daughter into bed, the little girl whispered, “Mommy, there's someone under my bed.” With a sigh, she bent down to check. “See? No one—” The child interrupted, “Mommy, there’s someone on my bed.” A cold breath brushed her neck as she froze, eyes wide.

In the quiet of her new home, she heard whispers at night. Dismissing them as the wind, she tucked her daughter in tight. The next morning, one of her stuffed animals was gone, a note etched in the dust: “She’s mine now.” No footprints, just the echoes of the night.

At dusk, I found my own reflection not in the mirror, but in the dusty window of my old house. It smiled back, even when I stood perfectly still. I turned to run, but the figure moved first, slipping through the shadows. When I looked again—there was only darkness.

Every night, she could hear her mother calling from the kitchen, the voice a comforting echo of her childhood. But her mother had died last year. One evening, she decided to confront the ghost, only to find her mother's old phone glowing with a missed call—number unknown.

Spooky!

The old rocking chair in the attic creaked each night, a ghost of memories long lost. One evening, I dared to stay up late, watching—counting—until dawn. As the first light broke, I glanced up. The chair was still, but my reflection smiled back at me from the shadows.

The old doll's head rotated slowly, facing the wall. At midnight, it turned to him, whispering his name. He laughed it off until the whispers grew louder. "Let me out," it begged. The next morning, he found an empty box on his floor, a note inside: "She's with me now.

You’re going to make my day a lot more interesting.

Late at night, she heard her daughter singing softly in the dark. As she crept closer, a chill ran down her spine when she remembered: her daughter had died five years ago. Gripped by dread, she turned to leave, only to feel cold fingers wrap around her ankle from behind.

The old mirror in the attic reflected a room filled with shadows, though no one stood there. At midnight, it began to whisper your name, its voice soft at first. By dawn, it echoed with laughter as it showed you the future, where you were not alone… and never had been.

As the clock struck midnight, she heard her daughter’s laughter echo through the dark hallway. Heart racing, she rushed to check on her sleeping girl. Relief washed over her until she remembered: her daughter was at her grandmother's for the weekend. The laughter grew closer.

Alone in the old house, she heard the creaking floorboards above. She lived alone—yet the echoes of footsteps continued. Heart racing, she climbed the stairs, only to find her own reflection in a child’s mirror, grinning back at her. But the rest of the house was empty.

Late at night, she heard a soft whisper from her closet, “Why did you shut me in?” Heart racing, she remembered the closet had been empty. Each night, the whisper grew louder, pleading. When she bravely opened the door, she saw her reflection… smiling back. She wasn’t alone.

As she tucked her daughter in, the night whispering secrets, she heard a soft voice from under the bed: “Mommy, there’s someone here with me.” Heart racing, she knelt down, peering into the dark. Two eyes stared back, and then a chilling whisper: “No one here but you.”

In the dim glow of the nightlight, she heard her mother call from the kitchen. As she wandered down the dark hallway, footsteps echoed behind her. Reaching the kitchen, she found it empty. Suddenly, a whisper floated from the shadows, “I’m in your room… waiting.”

At midnight, she heard the familiar creak of her daughter’s bedroom door. "Mommy?" whispered a voice that sent chills down her spine. It wasn’t her daughter. She had been laying in bed, watching the real one sleep. As she turned, the shadow grinned, its eyes glinting with hunger.

Alone in your room, you hear a soft scratching at the window. It's dark, yet curiosity pulls you near. As you peek outside, you see your own reflection smiling back at you, but your eyes widen in terror, for you know you’re not smiling. It winks, and the scratching grows louder.

Late at night, she heard her mother calling from the kitchen. Comforted, she crept downstairs, only to find her mom asleep in bed. Confused, she hurried back, but the voice called again, clearer this time, “I’m right here, sweetie…” It echoed from the closet.

In the silence of the moonlit woods, he heard the soft giggling of children. He had moved to this town recently, yet he was the only one who saw the empty swings sway. As he turned to leave, the giggling stopped, replaced by whispering names—his own among them.

Every night, she dreamed of a stranger whispering her name. One morning, she found a note on her pillow: “I’m closer than you think.” As she turned to the mirror, the reflection grinned back. But it wasn't her. Behind her, the whisper echoed, “Just one more night until we meet.”

The old clock in the hallway chimed midnight, its sound echoing through the empty house. Alone in bed, she heard whispers fill the silence. “Just one more hour…” they chanted. As she peered into the darkness, her reflection in the window smiled back at her, though she hadn’t.

In the silence of the night, the old radio crackled on, static hissing. A voice whispered your name, familiar yet sinister. But no one lived nearby. The next day, you found your own name etched in the dust on the radio, as if someone had watched and waited, grinning in the dark.

In the dead of night, she heard her mother calling from the kitchen. Relieved, she rushed downstairs, but icy dread washed over her when she noticed her mother was asleep in bed. Heart racing, she turned to leave, only to hear the call again, closer this time. “Come, sweetheart…”

The old house across the street had been vacant for years, but last night I saw a light flicker in the attic. Curiosity got the best of me, so I peered through the dusty window. A figure stared back, grinning, when I realized—my reflection smiled back. I live alone.

Ooooo

The old dolls in the attic always seem to change positions. One night, I decided to take a photo. When I looked at the picture, my heart stopped. One doll smiled wider than before, and another's eyes glinted with a darkness I had never seen. The attic door creaked open behind me.