“The Spirit’s List”... (A Spooky Story)

In the dead of night, the wind carried a whisper—a name, spoken in a voice so cold it could freeze the blood. They said it was just a legend, a tale told to keep children from wandering too far. But for those who knew the truth, it was more than a story. It was a warning.

The spirit wasn’t just a phantom haunting an old house—it was someone wronged, someone betrayed, someone who had been forgotten. And now, he had returned, not for forgiveness, but for vengeance. His name was Mr J, a man who once walked the earth like anyone else until a series of betrayals tore his life apart. Friends who had smiled to his face had stabbed him in the back, the family who claimed to love him stood by and watched. His soul, filled with pain and anger, could find no rest.

And so, the spirit of Mr J made his list—a list of those who had wronged him. One by one, he would visit them. One by one, they would know fear beyond the grave.

His first victim was Talby, an old friend who had betrayed him in life, spreading lies and turning people against him. Talby had been sleeping peacefully, the world outside dark and silent. But the silence was broken by a soft, eerie rustling—like leaves scraping across a window, though the night was still. Talby's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat.

The room was colder than it should have been. His breath puffed out in small clouds, though it was summer. The sound grew louder, and Talby's heart pounded as he forced himself to look. There, at the foot of his bed, stood a figure. Pale, and gaunt, his eyes had dark hollows that bore into Talby's very soul.

It was Mr. J

He didn’t speak, didn’t move. His presence alone filled the room with a suffocating dread, a weight that pressed down on Talby's chest, making it hard to breathe. As Talby tried to scramble out of bed, his body froze—paralyzed with fear. He could feel icy fingers brush against his skin, the cold sinking into his bones. Mr. J's lips curled into a sinister smile, and with a voice that echoed like death itself, he whispered, “Your time has come.”

The lights flickered, and the temperature dropped further. The air seemed to grow thick, and heavy, as if the walls were closing in. Talby gasped, clutching his throat, struggling for air. But it wasn’t just the cold—it was something more. Something unseen, yet all-encompassing. His lungs felt like they were being crushed, his vision darkening at the edges. As the world around him began to fade, he heard it—a distant scream, followed by a deafening silence.

The next morning, Talby's body was found, his face frozen in a twisted expression of terror, his breath stolen in his sleep. No signs of struggle, no marks on his body—just a life drained away by fear.

Mr. J’s spirit was relentless, moving down his list.

Next was Sarah, who had whispered venom into the ears of those close to him, turning friends into enemies. She had always prided herself on her ability to manipulate others, but now she was the one being toyed with.

It started with small things—a mirror cracking when she looked into it, her reflection warping into something grotesque, unrecognizable. Lights flickered whenever she entered a room, shadows stretching long, even when there was no light to cast them. And the whispers—oh, the whispers.

At first, she thought she was hearing things, dismissing them as tricks of the mind. But soon, the voices grew louder, echoing through her house at all hours. They called her name in Mr. J’s voice, mocking her, reminding her of her deceit. “You think you’re safe? You think I’ve forgotten?”

One night, she awoke to the sensation of something cold gripping her ankle. She looked down to see a shadowy hand emerging from beneath the bed, fingers like icicles wrapping around her leg. She screamed, trying to pull away, but the grip tightened. Slowly, the hand began to drag her toward the floor, the darkness beneath the bed yawning open like a pit.

She fought with everything she had, but it was no use. Her screams were swallowed by the blackness as she was pulled under, never to be seen again.

And so it went. Each person on Mr. J’s list met a fate worse than the last, their lives consumed by the very fear they had once inflicted upon him. His family would tell their friends how people used to be scared of him, but none truly understood the terror until it came for them.

His revenge was methodical, and precise, like a curse that could not be undone. It wasn’t enough to simply kill them—Mr. J wanted them to feel the same helplessness, the same isolation that he had endured. He wanted them to know what it was like to be haunted by the past, to live with the weight of guilt pressing down on their souls.

Now, only one name remained. The last person who had wronged him. They knew he was coming. They could feel his presence, cold and unforgiving, creeping closer with each passing night. The final reckoning was near, and there was no escaping the wrath of the avenging spirit.

For Mr. J had made his list, and it was written in blood.

Start Saying Your Prayers...