恐怖故事分享地

I have a friend who really loves fishing. One night, as usual, he went fishing with two other friends. They barely caught any fish that day. When they were about to go home, my friend's fishing rod suddenly moved. But when he reeled it in, there was nothing there. That night, my friend started having diarrhea. It was so severe that he had to go to the emergency room in the middle of the night. He was hospitalized for three days. But they couldn't find anything wrong. It was so bad he couldn't even go to work. Then, his sister, who has the ability to see ghosts, told his older brother: 'Brother, it looks like a girl is following behind our second brother. And she looks very angry.' So my friend went to see a former teacher of his. That teacher took him to a very powerful master nearby. The master immediately drew him a talisman. And he strongly advised him to stick the talisman on his door. He said the master asked him if he had been to any waterside places recently. He said he had been fishing recently. Then the master said he had encountered a 'North Wind Evil Spirit' (煞神). He is very fierce and can kill people. That's why he had been having diarrhea.

At two in the morning, Kobayashi, who lives alone, was woken up by the automatic wake-up sound of his phone's voice assistant. "I'm here, please speak." The phone screen emitted a dazzling white light in the dark room. Kobayashi groggily picked up his phone, thinking he had accidentally pressed a button in his sleep, and casually turned off the screen, closing his eyes again. Two minutes later, the phone screen lit up again. "I'm here, please speak." Kobayashi became annoyed and tapped on the voice settings, intending to directly disable the voice activation feature. Just then, he saw the chat history behind the voice assistant— Over the past three hours, the phone had automatically recorded dozens of conversational commands: 01:12 Voice command: "Is he sleeping?" 01:13 Voice Assistant: "Yes, the user is currently in a stationary state." 01:45 Voice command: "Is the rope on the ceiling strong enough?" 01:46 Voice Assistant: "According to search results, this specification of nylon rope can bear a weight of 150 kg." 02:01 Voice command: "Is he awake?" 02:02 Voice Assistant: "Detecting breathing rate…" Kobayashi froze, his blood running cold. At that moment, the phone emitted its final automatic voice response: "Answering the previous question: Yes, he is awake now." Kobayashi felt an icy breath on his neck.

The Last Subway Train Xiao Chen worked overtime until midnight and managed to catch the last subway. The carriage was empty, with only him sitting in the middle. After the train started, the carriage broadcast announced: "Next stop, Heping Road. Passengers alighting, please prepare." Xiao Chen, wearing earphones and looking at his phone, didn't pay much attention. But after ten minutes, the train was still speeding through the tunnel, showing no signs of slowing down. He waited a few more minutes, then looked up at the LED lights on the route map above the carriage door. Strangely, all the station name lights were off, except for the red light for the words "Terminus," which was flashing frantically. Just then, the iron door at the carriage connection creaked open. A cleaning lady in uniform pushed a trash cart and walked over. Head down, she silently began to sweep the floor. Xiao Chen felt uneasy and couldn't help but ask, "Auntie, why isn't this train stopping? Where is it going?" The auntie didn't look up, her broom still moving, and replied in a mechanical tone: "This is an express train. No one gets on or off midway." Xiao Chen frowned. "Express? Express to where?" Only then did the auntie slowly raise her head. Her face had no features, only a large, gaping mouth. She whispered softly: "Didn't you notice? When you got into the carriage just now, your shoe soles weren't touching the ground." Xiao Chen instinctively looked down—his feet were floating in mid-air. And in the reflection on the corridor glass, the entire carriage was packed with expressionless people, all turning their heads in unison to look at him...

Lao Li was cleaning out his old family home when he stumbled upon a thick photo album. Inside, he found a black and white family portrait taken forty years ago, capturing the scene of his great-great-grandmother's 100th birthday. She was seated in a grand armchair in the center, with three generations of family members crowded behind her, everyone sporting a strange, stiff smile. Lao Li took out a magnifying glass to examine the photo, trying to identify the elders. After a long look, he suddenly noticed a peculiar detail: though dozens of people in the photo were looking at the camera, the pupils of almost everyone's eyes reflected the light from a window. Only the great-great-grandmother, seated in the middle, had completely black eyes, reflecting no light at all. Feeling a chill crawl up his spine, Lao Li turned the photo over. Written on the back in brushstrokes was the record from that year: 'September, Year of the Gengshen, the old lady's 100th birthday, family commemorative photo.' Below it, a smaller line of text read: 'The old lady passed away in August. The body was not yet buried; she was propped up with a wooden stick behind her back and her eyes were sewn shut for the photo.' Lao Li gasped. Just as he was about to close the album, he noticed that the curve of the great-great-grandmother's lips in the photo seemed to have widened a bit more than before.

This is a ghost story that appeared on Japan's 2ch in 2011. In the poster's family, there was a custom: after visiting ancestral graves, they would light a lantern at the gravesite and carry the flame back to the main house on foot. There were four rules to follow during the journey: ① The lantern's flame must not go out. If it does, you must immediately return to the gravesite and relight it. ② You cannot run. ③ The lantern must be carried by the youngest person among the companions. ④ You must absolutely not look at a small shrine along the way. The poster himself carried the lantern when he was a child. Each time they approached the small shrine, his mother would cover his eyes until they passed it. Years later, his grandmother told him the true meaning behind these rules. The lantern's flame is a 'yorishiro' (a medium for ancestors to attach to and return home); you can't run because doing so makes it easy for 'that thing' to notice you. (Note: 'Yorishiro (よりしろ/yorishiro)' is a concept in Shinto and folk beliefs, simply put, it's a medium or object that allows spirits, ancestral souls, etc., to 'attach and descend'.) 'That thing' preferentially attacks the weak, which is why the youngest child carries the lantern, positioned under the ancestors' strongest protection. As for the last rule— If you see 'that thing' directly, even the ancestors' protection will no longer be effective.

In the middle of the night, I was woken up by the sound of sharpening a knife from the living room. Drowsily, I walked out of the bedroom and saw my mom, her back to me, vigorously sharpening a kitchen knife under the moonlight. "Mom, what are you doing in the middle of the night?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. Without stopping her actions, she replied in an extremely cold, low voice, "Don't look at her face. I'm holding her off for you, hurry back to your room and lock the door..." Just then, my phone in my pocket vibrated. I looked down and opened the screen, seeing a text message my mom had sent five minutes ago: 'Honey, Mom has to work late tonight and won't be home. Remember to lock the door when you sleep alone.' My whole body stiffened, and the 'mom' in front of me slowly began to turn her head backward at an unbelievable angle...

The Sound of Fingernails in the Wall The first night I moved into this studio apartment, I heard a sound from inside the wall. It was faint and rhythmic, like fingernails slowly scraping against a cement surface. It came from the wall by my headboard. The landlord said the next unit was a storage room and nobody lived there. I listened against the wall all night, and the sound moved with me. If I moved left, it moved left. If I moved right, it moved right. The next day, I took a hammer and chipped away a small section of the wall. Inside were red bricks, nothing else. After replastering it, the sound disappeared. I thought I had solved it. Until last night, as I was lying on my side scrolling through my phone, the sound returned. This time it was closer, as if coming from inside my pillow. The rhythm of the scratching fingernails sped up, carrying a sense of urgency. I pressed my ear to the mattress. The sound was coming from below. I lifted the bed frame and saw a fresh crack in the cement floor beneath the bed. The edge of the crack was covered in bloody fingernail fragments. Something was moving inside the fissure. A pale hand was slowly, inch by inch, pushing its way up. My phone suddenly lit up. A message from the landlord: "Forgot to tell you, the previous tenant was also chipping away at the wall under the bed before they went missing. They said someone inside the wall was knocking on them." The crack widened another inch. On the ring finger of that hand was a ring identical to mine.

Delivery driver Ajie received a late-night order to a deserted funeral parlor. The note read: 'Leave the money in the mailbox, don't ring the doorbell.' He reluctantly arrived and found a 1997 coin in the mailbox. 'What kind of joke is this?' Ajie complained to the air. Just as he was about to leave, his phone pinged: 'Order completed. Please rate.' A shiver ran down his spine as he fled on his motorcycle. In his rearview mirror, a blurry figure in burial clothes stood under a streetlight, slowly waving at him. Back home, his phone lit up again – a five-star rating from the same account, with a single message: 'Thank you. I've waited so long for someone to finally deliver.' Ajie immediately checked his order history and discovered that this account had placed an order every single day for the past thirty years, never canceling, and never having it delivered. The delivery address note read: 'The deceased's last supper.' Ever since that day, Ajie's phone automatically places an order every night at 10 PM, always to his own address.

Netizen Find a way to get off the train quickly. Netizen How much battery do you have left on your phone? 03:44 Hasumi My battery is almost dead. That person's behavior has been getting stranger and stranger since a while ago. I'm looking for a chance to escape. And now he's started muttering to himself. Saying things I can't understand at all. Just in case— This might be my last message. After this, "Hasumi" did not leave any further messages in this live stream. The original "Kisaragi Station" live stream ended here at 3:44 AM on January 9, 2004. On June 30, 2011, a person claiming to be "Hasumi" appeared in the comment section of a creepypasta website, stating they had "finally returned to the original world after 7 years." She said that the driver of the train stopped, a stranger appeared and made the driver disappear, telling her to run towards a distant light. When she opened her eyes again, she was back at a familiar station, but the year was 2011. However, this epilogue is generally not considered an official sequel to the original post. In 2004, Hasumi used the Trip identifier "◆KkRQjKFCDs" to prevent impersonation; however, the 2011 comment appeared on a different website and did not use the original Trip to prove identity. Therefore, researchers tend to believe that the two are likely not the same person. So, if we only recognize the original 2004 live stream— Where Hasumi ultimately went remains a mystery, with the story ending at her 03:44 message.

I can't find any tunnel called Isanuki. Hasumi The sounds from behind are still getting closer. I decided to go in. If I get through safely, I'll leave another message. 03:10 Hasumi I'm out of the tunnel. There's someone ahead. Looks like listening to everyone was the right call. Thank you. I'm crying so much right now, they might mistake me for a ghost. Netizen Wait. Who is that person? Netizen Don't go closer. 03:20 Hasumi Sorry for making you worry. That person seems very kind. He agreed to give me a ride to a nearby station. There seems to be a business hotel or something around too. Thank you all so much. Netizen At this hour, in a place like that, why is there someone? Netizen Ask them where this is first. Hasumi I asked. He said it's: "Hina." But... I don't think that's possible. Netizen There is a place called Hina in Fuji City, Shizuoka Prefecture. But the location doesn't match at all, right? Netizen You should get out. Netizen Is that person really okay? Hasumi The car keeps driving into the mountains. I can't see any place nearby where we could park. And... That person hasn't said a word to me for a while now.