10 Short Scary Stories||Short Story Compilation.

10 Short Scary Stories||Short Story Compilation.


“HELLO MY BABIES, Welcome too Dreamland Orchard!”Please
like and subscribe and become a Dreamland Baby. You are about to hear Ten,short scary stories
compilation. Story number one:
Cheater, “Come on, baby. Let me stay a little longer.” “You should leave, Ryan,” I say, looking at
the bedroom door, “my husband will be back soon.” “What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, we both know you want me to stay.” “Oh, Really.” I sigh and look at him. Maybe he should stay. Just as I shift my weight toward him, I hear
the front door close. “Dang. Oh Dang”. I knew you should have left.” Ryan looks desperate. “Honey, I’m home!” I look under the bed, to see if he can possibly
hide there. It’s too small. “Honey? Is everything alright” “Yeah, Will! Everything’s fine!” I shout back. “I’m going upstairs!” Freak. Maybe the closet? I open it. Not possible. “Honey what?” William doesn’t finish the phrase. He looks at Ryan, who’s about half his size. He looks disappointed for a few seconds. He makes a poker face and walks toward the
closet. He reaches for the top and grabs something. “Jesus Christ,” Ryan says as Will pulls out
the pistol from the top of the closet. Will loads the gun. He whistles a happy tune as he does it. I cover my face with my hands to not see what
he’ll do to Ryan, but I can still see from the spaces between my fingers. Suddenly, William takes out his phone from
his pocket and dials a number. Three digits. He calls and puts the gun’s barrel to Ryan’s
forehead. He puts a finger to his mouth and makes a
shushing sound. Tears stream from my face. I lower my hands and put them together to
pray. “Hello? Police? There’s someone in my house. I can hear him threatening my wife. I think he has a gun!” He says with a shaky voice. His face remains as indifferent as ever. “Please get here quickly, I think he’ll hurt
her. Can you see my location using my phone? Ok, good. Please send someone.” I silently pray he doesn’t shoot Ryan. He hangs up the phone, looks at it, and smashes
it against the wall. It shatters. He looks angry now. The pressure of the barrel is making Ryan’s
forehead turn red. Ryan has his eyes closed. William takes a few steps back and puts the
gun to his head. Story number 2. Sent/Received, 6 New messages from [restricted]. [Received 12:51am] your the guy that went
to harrisons bar with Amber on friday? [Received 12:56am] you need to leave her alone
you cant give her what she needs. [Received 1:12am] text me back i dont like
being ignored! [Received 1:27am] BAD THINGS happen to people
who get in the way of true love, and thats what me and Amber have is TRUE LOVE! [Received 1:40am] im sorry for getting angry
with you its just , Amber is everything to me i love her more than anything please ,PLEASE,
just stop seeing my love and everything will be ok im am not going to hurt you. {Screenshot Captured} Contacts>Amber (cute girl from econ) Messages Sent 8:15am,Hey that guy you told me about
with the restricted number sent me this ,photo attached. Received 8:19am, Oh my God I’m so sorry. I understand if you want to cancel our date
tonight. Sent 8:22am, Why would I do that? I’m not afraid of this guy. Just pick me and Ethan up outside the gym
at 6 and we’ll go from there! Received 8:25am, Ok smiles, I’m sorry you
got dragged into this, the detective says he’s working on identifying this guy. Contacts, Ethan Reiss, Messages Sent 8:27am, bro,check out what this crazy
dude sent me! Photo attached. Received 8:32am, “Holy, this guy really is
unhinged.” Has Amber seen these? Sent 8:33am,yeah. Received 8:33 am, How did he even get your
freaking number? This is honestly some scary freak bro. Sent 8:34am, I’m not scared of him, probably
some basement dweller who won’t do freak. I gotta get to class, I’ll see you at the
gym at 5. Amber will pick us up at 6. Received 8:35am, Alright dude fine. Just please at least consider taking this
seriously for my sake? New message from, restricted. Received 11:32am, i know you dont cancel your
date for tonight why are you doing this to me,I love her in a way you could never understand
and, you are STEALING HER FROM ME! Sent 11:35am, She doesn’t even know who you
are you freaking spastic. You seriously need some mental help. Received 11:36am, if im CRAZY its because
shes MAKING ME CRAZY! By dating DOUCHEBAGS like YOU when she has
TRUE LOVE RIGHT HERE! This is your LAST warning STOP STEALING HER
FROM ME! Sent 11:38am, Nah freak you I’ll do what I
want. 2 new messages from, Ethan Reiss. Received 5 10pm, Where are you? Received 5 26pm, Come on dude I’m really worried
about you. 5 33pm through 6 06pm, 6 missed calls from,Ethan
Reiss. 6 01pm through 8 38pm, 18 missed calls from,
Amber. cute girl from econ. 6:30pm through 11:20pm, 126 missed calls from,
Mom. Story number three. Second death. We stared with resignation. The wormhole shot us across the galaxy, billions
of miles away from our planet. In a matter of seconds. “We did what we could captain” uttered my
crew member James. “We have no choice but to wait for our death”. Before being grabbed by the wormhole, the
sun had been emitting an unnatural colour. My boys and i were sent into orbit to investigate,
but even a child could tell that the sun was nearing its end. What we had predicted came to pass. It was in an instant. The sun exploded. The men and I inside the space station were
left helpless as we watched the sun burn our world. In a vain attempt to say farewell to our families,
we sent a transmission to any who could hear: “Please! Anyone! Our home is dying!” Before we could hear anyone, a wormhole ripped
and consumed our spacecraft, disabling all our engines. The crew and I were torn away from spacetime,
and displaced a few light days away from Earth. It had been a few hours in this unfamiliar
place. Having seen a familiar galaxy nearby we studied
back on Earth, we traced our wormhole opening’s location. It was with this knowledge that we located
our Sun. To many of us’ surprise , we saw our sun,
no more special than the stars around it, in its former glow and wonderful light. A huge sigh rolled through the crew mates,
many of whom feeling compelled to think we had just experienced a bad dream, but I had
to remind them the cruel reality of our situation. “Gentlemen. This light we see is the light from a few
days ago. What we are looking at are the remnants of
our once living solar system” i announced regrettably. Having succumbed to our circumstance, we sat
and started to distract ourselves with tales. I learned of James love for poetry. I found a mutual lover of jazz in Marcus. Peter spoke of this lady with tits so massive
we could see them from this place. It helped remove the sombre atmosphere, but
all hope was lost. We just cherised what was our former sun through
the cold windows of our shuttle. Its colour grew weaker and weaker. That was, until we started receiving a signal
from the direction of our Sun. We jumped for joy. Our optimism replenished. Many of us cried and hugged each other, thinking
this bad dream would finally end. Marcus rushed anxiously to the computer and
we recieved a broadcast. “Please! Anyone! Our home is dying!” No sooner after we had heard the signal, the
light we saw coming from our sun disappeared and we stared on at the uncaring void that
was our former Solar system. Story number four. Seance. “So you have to light the candle AFTER you
turn off the lights, otherwise it won’t work.” “Yeah, Katie, I know,” Andi whispered
huffily. “Then get in there!” Katie said, shoving Andi towards the bathroom. “Alright already, god!” Andi walked inside and closed the door, ignoring
the giggles of the girls outside. She shook her head and walked over to the
sink. This was so dumb. She didn’t even want to be here, but her
mom and Katie’s were close friends, so she always had to accept whatever birthday or
slumber party invitation Katie was forced to extend. And now here she was, at yet another sleepover,
playing Katie’s newest obsession: summoning the Shadowman. Andi wasn’t sure what the difference was
between the Shadowman, CandyMan, or any other spirit summoned through a mirror. Probably nothing. She sighed and turned off the lights, lighting
the candle. “Ready!” The giggling outside intensified before slowly
quieting down. Then the chanting started. “Shadowman, Shadowman, he hates the day. Shadowman, Shadowman, come out and play!” As each verse ended their voices grew louder,
more expectant. Andi began counting. They were supposed to chant four times and
then knock, inviting the Shadowman in. That was the theory, anyway. “Shadowman, Shadowman, he hates the day!” They were almost yelling now. Andi gripped the candle and waited. One more verse to go. Despite herself, she was actually growing
nervous. She knew it was nonsense, but standing in
the dark, looking at her wide-eyed reflection distorted by the flame, Andi felt a shiver
run down her spine. “Shadowman, Shadowman! COME OUT AND PLAY!” the girls finished,
before there was a loud knock on the door. Andi held her breath and waited. Outside was completely silent. She leaned forward a bit as the candle wavered. Surely that was just her imagination? Another knock rang through the bathroom. Andi yelped and jumped back. Now the knocks were more like bangs, quick
and insistent. Dropping the candle, Andi began to twist the
door handle, but it was no use: it wouldn’t open. “Guys, this isn’t funny! Let me out! Andi begged, trying to fight back tears. A pair of hands reached out from behind and
grabbed her. Andi screamed, throwing all her weight against
the door, crashing out to raucous laughter. Scared and confused, she looked behind her
to see Nell doubled over in stitches, the shower curtain flung wide open from where
she had been hiding. “That’s not funny!” Andi shouted, pushing away from everyone. “Oh come on, don’t wet yourself,” Katie
chuckled. “Besides, you should’ve seen your face—priceless!” Andi stopped, her shoulders hunched, shivering. The other girls brushed past her back to the
living room, unconcerned. As Katie walked by she glanced over at Andi
and stopped. She was smiling, but it was more of a grimace
than a smile. “Andi? No hard feelings, yeah?” Katie said nervously. A shadow passed over Andi’s face as she
looked up into Katie’s eyes. “Of course not, now come on. Let’s go play.” store number five. The Hermès Collision I remember driving our newborn home from the
hospital with my wife. I fidgeted with the radio dial as we talked
excitedly. That’s when I heard it, “asteroid, collision,”
course, chances at 100%, cataclysmic event,” my stomach dropped and I felt the heat of
panic growing from my neck to encircle my head. We drove home in silence. The emotion of bringing a new life into the
world that he would fail to experience fully was one of undeniable hopelessness. It wasn’t until we got home that we learned
the asteroid, named Hermès, would not arrive for another 85 years. Forced to confront our own mortality, but
with most of the population figuring to be gone long before the impact anyway, something
miraculous happened. Things got better. First, we became practical and ethical, sterilizing
ourselves to curb the future doomed. People on a sinking ship became kind towards
one another. We continued our jobs with a sense of pride
knowing we were the last generation; teachers, doctors, garbagemen, pilots, plumbers, bus
drivers, engineers, and scientists. The wealthiest money hoarders among us released
their riches from banks into global economies and poverty and homeless rates crashed overnight. Great advances were made in science and health. Major diseases were cured and eradicated. We were healthier. Businesses that destroyed the environment
by raiding it for resources shut down and reversed their course. The planet began to heal itself and wildlife
flourished. Warring nations laid down their weapons to
embrace each other. We were a civilization without borders, extremism,
or violence. Peace had been achieved. Passions were pursued. Artists, writers, conductors, and philosophers
emerged from the unlikeliest of places and created amazing works to be enjoyed by all. We were no longer limited by our own fears,
hesitations, or discrimination. We maximized our potential. As I sit alone and blow out the tiny flames
that dance above the three numbered candles on my cake, I think back on my family and
prepare for midnight. Collision time. Wanting a front row seat to our collective
demise, I made the journey to ground zero. It was a peaceful trip because there aren’t
many of us left. The skyscraper shakes and light beams from
all the windows. Then nothing. Darkness and quiet. I wait for the explosion. It never comes. I open the balcony door and with my binoculars
I look out onto the massive, smoking object sitting in the middle of a city overrun with
vegetation. The only thing I can make out from here appears
to be writing on the asteroid. It reads N-A-S-A. Story number Six. Martha’s Garden. Martha likes prunes. ​ ​ Every morning, Martha’s alarm goes off at
7:39 AM. It mustn’t be set for 7:40, or else she would
awake at 7:41. Unacceptable. ​ ​ She snoozes twice, ten minutes each, then
rises at exactly 8:00 AM in her small, quaint home with five windows, five rooms, two floors. The sun perfectly sparkles through each perfect
window against the perfect dust in her perfect house. Everything is perfect in her humble abode
on 1300 Ragland Avenue–except for her husband. Her husband is special. ​ ​ At 8:05 AM, Martha walks to her antique stove–curvy
and polished red, like an old corvette–and heats 3/4 of a cup of water. Once the water boils, she adds seven prunes,
then one cup of oatmeal. She does this each morning, except for Thursdays. Thursdays are special. ​ ​ She eats her breakfast quickly, for she must
be done by 8:40 AM. After eating, she spends her mornings and
afternoons perfecting and tending to her precious garden, the finest part of her home. Until 1:00 PM, of course. Any longer would be unacceptable. ​ ​ As she walks towards her white french door,
she listens to the quiet groans of her husband slowly waking to the ever-rising sun. No matter. Her cursed husband is a miserable old prune,
but everything else is perfect. She strides into her lovely little warm forest
of white hydrangeas, white-rimmed potentilla with red dots in their centers–like small
areolas–and a myriad of other plants, all perfect blends to the backdrop of her house’s
white siding. ​ ​ As she is pruning her plants, a dull knocking
sounds at the front of her house. It must be Tom! Tom Hargrove is a lovely man who comes to
check on her and her husband every now and then. And of course, why wouldn’t he? Martha is a petite little woman with curly
white hair. With her husband’s condition, if something
happened, Martha would surely be helpless. Everything is well, nothing has changed, she
replies. Sheriff Tom disappointedly departs, dismayed. Martha has an affinity for the color white;
she likes white doors, white siding, white flowers, white lies. ​ ​ Officially, her husband has now been missing
for a few weeks. ​ ​ Alas! It is later than she expected. Only ten minutes to 1:00 PM. She scuttles to her backyard and hurriedly
grabs her finest pruning shears for her finest plant. This plant must be trimmed often. Only on Thursdays can Martha relent from perfecting
her creation. On Thursdays, she rests. ​ ​ As she is pruning, her mind wanders. One day, my husband will be finer. Every plant must be pruned and tended with
patience, she reassures herself. The carefully-inserted crisscrossed blood-stained
wooden posts piercing through her husband’s arms and legs hold him up like a scarecrow. She carefully snips off the tips of the stubs
of her husband’s left ring finger and pinky finger, as well as a bit of his right earlobe. ​
Story number 7. Golden Smile. I slashed my knife through the villian in
front of me while wearing a smile on my face. Just like my idol, I would smile and bring
hope to this dark world. I was going to be a hero. Rushing into danger, wearing a smile on my
face and spreading happiness. The hostages were screaming as the villians
ran towards me. “Smile!” I screamed, copying my idol. My knife struck deep in his throat, stupid
villians. One left. I managed to made my smile even wider. I had to bring hope, I had too. The villian charged at me, however I managed
to dodge his strike and duck under his swing. My knife hit him and he fell to the floor. I did it! I smiled brightly at the scared hostages,
put on my best voice and said: “Smile!” they did not smile. My smile dropped. How could I be like my hero if I couldn’t
make people smile. “SMILE!” I yelled. They did not smile! I stepped forward, “You’re safe!” I tried to comfort them but they looked terrified. “I’m a hero!” I tried to explain. “SMILE!” I stepped forward, gripped the knive tighter
in my hand. I knelt down next to one of the hostages,
he was still frozen in fear. Why won’t they smile? I cupped his head in my hand push his mouth
open. As I slid my knife in his mouth I put on my
best smile. “Don’t worry, You can smile now! The Hero has arrived!” ​ Story number 8. One second. It only takes one second for your life to
end. You could get hit by a car while crossing
the road, your heart could stop beating, you could even spontaneously combust at any given
moment. However, these types of death have never scared
me, on the contrary I would embrace these random acts of mercy. What scares me is him. The one always egging me on. His voice whispering to me that I’m not good
enough, that I don’t deserve what I have and that I don’t deserve better. Always telling me to only trust him. Everybody else is lying to me, trying to deceive
me, only looking to use me, but not him. He constantly describes to me all the things
he thinks I deserve. The gruesome slow deaths he’s been fantasizing
about. And he never stops. Over Time his voice got louder, it became
deeper and more commanding. Or maybe it was me who got weaker over the
years. Now I live in constant fear. Fear that he’ll take over. Fear of what he’s been telling me all this
time. Fear that if I lose control for only one second
I will end up dying by my own hand. Story number 9. We hope they don’t come, but here’s what
to do if they do. They started coming years ago, and just never
stopped. Ever since one attacked in our area, just
a few towns over, everyone has been on edge. As I approached the door, I saw a sign with
some guidelines for staying safe if one of them were to come here. Stay calm. Don’t approach them. Don’t even look at them. They’re too far gone. If you’re close enough to see them, run. Hide and be quiet. Be really, really quiet. They know you’re scared of them, so they
know you’ll be hiding. They’ll be listening. Be prepared. Have tools and supplies on you. They can attack anywhere. If you can escape, go. Leave your stuff behind — you can probably
get them back once they leave. Know that you may have to fight. Of course, they have the upper hand, but if
there’s others with you, you may outnumber them. Call for emergency help if you can. The police are not powerless against them. Reaching safety is your primary goal. If they get someone else, escaping and getting
help for them is more helpful than staying back to help and putting yourself in jeopardy. They might be able to blend in. Do not open any doors unless you can be completely
certain it isn’t them. Try not to live in fear. These tips are in place if they come, but
we hope they don’t. Be kind and try to go about your life as normal. And with that, I tightened my grip on my backpack,
and walked into school. Story number ten. ‘Buy My Monsters’. The family had put a bouquet of gardenias
over Janey’s wrists to hide the gashes. Her skin looked waxy in all that mortician’s
makeup and, looking at her, Laura could hardly believe she was attending her old friend’s
funeral, and not yet out of her thirties. Janey’s spidery hair was still the same
blonde colour Laura remembered from their childhood and the strange transparent cast
to her skin, through which weak blue veins were visible, made her look even more like
the little kid she’d known. Standing there by the open casket, an unexpected
memory came back to Laura: the silly game they used to play during tuck breaks at school: “Buy my cold hands,” the young Janey would
say. Laura would buy them and pretend that her
hands were cold. “Buy my dizzy head,” Laura said. And Janey would buy— staggering around on
her little legs, pretending dizziness. One day Janey had looked at Laura strangely. “Buy my monsters,” she said, and suddenly
the game was serious and Laura didn’t want to play anymore. The idea of Janey’s monsters had scared
her. She didn’t buy and—truthfully— Laura
had spoken less and less to Janey after that day: avoiding her in the playground, becoming
estranged from her more and more as their schooling went on and eventually losing touch
entirely in adulthood. Laura touched her old friend’s cold face. “Sorry Janey,” she said. Thank you for stopping by Dreamland Orchard,
like and subscribe and become one of My Babies! Also please send true stories recorded or
typed to [email protected] Thank u so bunchy munchies.

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