Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time

Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time

The original Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time telling spooky, scary stories since 2016. Here you'll find true scary stories, horror fiction stories, urban legends, true crime, and other tall tales from the darkest corners of the internet. Call in your own true scary story at the number 707-SPOOKYB (707-776-6592) and leave a message of up to 3 minutes, and it might be played on the Splatterday Nightmares YouTube Livestream. You must be 18 years or older to call or have permission from your parents. Send your true scary stories to: spookyboo@scarystorytime.com.  500+ words, true scary stories or your own fiction. For details, visit https://www.scarystorytime.com For a very short time, this podcast had changed to Creepypasta and True Scary Stories or just Creepypasta Scary Stories. If you're looking for that podcast, it's right here. Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time (c) 2016 - present by Boo Rhodes. The copyright of the stories are by their respective owners listed in the descriptions and told with permission or are in the creative commons with the links mentioned or are in the public domain. Some are written by me. The voice in this audio is my real voice. I am not a bot. Although I might be an alien. jk. Take me to your leader!  Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/spooky-boo-s-scary-story-time--3577322/support.

  1. Peter Niers | 16th Century Black Magic Satanists

    2D AGO

    Peter Niers | 16th Century Black Magic Satanists

    IntroThis episode might not be suitable for all members. It is marked explicit for content.Hello there, this is Spooky Boo from Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time where I tell the true and fiction stories of the dark side of the internet.Today, during the true scary story time and true crime time, I have for you a spooky expose on the ancient serial killer Peter Niers. Back in the 16th century, Peter Niers was accused of cannibalism, black magic, and serial murder–a term that was not yet even thought of, yet some even believe he was a myth. Listen to this episode and let me know what you think.Now let’s begin…Peter Niers: The 16th-Century German Bandit, Alleged Serial Killer, Cannibal, and Black MagicianPeter Niers remains one of the most infamous and terrifying figures from the late 16th century in the Holy Roman Empire. Executed on September 16, 1581 in Germany, roughly 40 kilometers from Nuremberg, he was convicted, based on confessions that were extracted under torture, 544 murders. These included the ritualistic killing of 24 pregnant women, from whose wombs he allegedly excised fetuses for use in black magic rituals, cannibalism, and sorcery aimed at granting invisibility and other supernatural powers.His story is a potent blend of verifiable banditry in a lawless era and sensational folklore involving demonic pacts, shapeshifting, invisibility potions derived from fetal remains, and grotesque acts of violence. Early print culture—cheap pamphlets known, ballads, broadsheets, and emerging “true crime” reports—amplified his legend, transforming a dangerous highwayman and gang leader into a medieval boogeyman whose name instilled fear across regions. Whether the astronomical kill count and elaborate supernatural elements were wildly exaggerated by interrogators societal panic remains a subject of historical debate. Yet the core facts of his crimes, repeated escapes, and brutal execution offer a stark window into the brutal realities of justice, superstition, class tensions, and social upheaval in the fragmented Holy Roman Empire of the 1500s.This expose rummages deeply into the available historical record, drawing from contemporary pamphlets such as a 1582 Heidelberg publication, collections by early chroniclers like Johann Wick, official warrants, and modern scholarly analyses. It separates plausible criminal activity from mythic embellishment while exploring the broader context that made figures like Niers both real threats and enduring legends.The Holy Roman Empire in the latter half of the 16th century was far from a unified state. It consisted of hundreds of semi-autonomous principalities, free imperial cities, bishoprics, and knightly territories, each with its own laws, courts, and limited enforcement capabilities. Central authority under emperors like Rudolf II was weak, especially in rural areas. Major trade routes and pilgrimage paths wound through dense forests, mountains, and river valleys—the Black Forest (Schwarzwald), Alsace, the Palatinate, and areas around the Rhine—making them prime territory for roving bands of outlaws.Economic pressures exacerbated the problem. The peasantry suffered under serfdom, heavy taxation, and the lingering effects of the Reformation’s social disruptions. Inflation from New World silver, crop failures, and population growth created widespread hardship. Many young men, displaced by war, enclosure of lands, or simple poverty, turned to banditry. Shepherds and itinerant laborers were particularly suspect; their mobile lifestyle and low social status made them easy scapegoats or actual recruits for criminal enterprises. Historian Joy Wiltenburg, in her work on crime and culture in early modern Germany, notes that such groups often formed loose, opportunistic alliances—banding together for large raids before dispersing into smaller units to evade capture.Peter Niers thrived in this chaotic environment. Active primarily from around 1566 to 1581 (a span of roughly 15 years according to folk songs and pamphlets), he reportedly led or participated in gangs of up to 24 men. Their operations spanned Alsace (then part of the Empire, now in modern France), the Palatinate, the Black Forest, and towns including Strasbourg, Landau, Pfalzburg, Koblenz, and beyond. They ambushed travelers, pillaged isolated farmsteads, raped, robbed, and murdered to silence witnesses. Standard tactics included disguises, nighttime raids, and overwhelming force.Niers’s criminal apprenticeship came under Martin Stier, a notorious figure who exemplified the era’s outlaw networks. From the 1550s until his execution in 1572 in Württemberg, Stier commanded a gang of 49 bandits, many disguised as shepherds. They pillaged from the Netherlands deep into German territories. Pamphlets explicitly link Niers to Stier, claiming the younger man learned not only bandit tactics but also “invisibility arts” and black magic from his mentor. This master-apprentice motif was common in outlaw lore, blending real intergenerational criminal knowledge with supernatural flair for dramatic effect. Stier himself allegedly engaged in similar atrocities, including fetal rituals, highlighting a pattern in these sensational reports.Niers himself was born around 1540 into a peasant family, likely in or near the Rhineland By the time of his final arrest, contemporary descriptions called him “rather old” (in his early 40s by the standards of the day), with distinctive features: crooked fingers and a long scar on his chin. He was a master of disguise—posing as a soldier, a leper, a merchant, or a beggar—while always armed with loaded pistols and a massive two-handed sword. Warrants emphasized that he seemed perpetually flush with stolen money, allowing him to move freely between territories.Niers’s criminal career began in earnest in the mid-1560s amid the fluid borders and weak policing of the Empire. His gang targeted vulnerable victims: lone travelers, merchant caravans, pregnant women on roads, and remote households. Beyond mere theft, accounts describe gratuitous cruelty—prolonged torture of victims, rape, and murder not just for gain but apparent pleasure. The scale, however, ballooned in legend.In 1577, after several gang members were arrested in towns like Landau, Strasbourg, Pfalzburg, and Koblenz, Niers was captured in Gersbach in the Black Forest. Subjected to torture (standard inquisitorial practice where confession was the “queen of proofs”), he admitted to 75 murders. Accomplices, including figures like Claus Strikker and Peter Oblath, provided corroborating details, such as the killing of a specific 20-year-old woman years earlier. One accomplice’s betrayal reportedly helped lead to the initial arrests.Niers escaped custody—details are murky, but pamphlets suggest fear of his supposed powers or aid from remaining gang members. He then allegedly embarked on an even deadlier four-year spree. By his final arrest in 1581, the confessed total reached 544 murders. Among the most horrific claims: he and his men killed 24 pregnant women, cut the fetuses from their wombs, consumed hearts for strength and power, preserved hands and feet in a magical pouch for invisibility spells, and rendered fat and flesh into candles that would allow them to rob houses while victims slept undisturbed.These elements tied directly into widespread 16th-century fears of witchcraft, demonic pacts, and the occult, which were intensifying in the lead-up to larger witch hunts. Stories circulated that Niers and his gang met the Devil himself in the woods near Pfalzburg. Satan supposedly offered monthly payments and supernatural gifts in exchange for souls and loyalty. Niers was said to shapeshift into animals—a goat, dog, cat—or even inanimate objects like logs or stones to evade detection. The magic bag containing fetal remains was portrayed as the source of his power; its loss during the final capture supposedly rendered him mortal and confessable.Cannibalism and infanticide motifs recur in other contemporary cases, such as Peter Stumpp (the “Werewolf of Bedburg,” executed in 1589, who allegedly ate children and made a demonic pact) and another 1581 figure with an even higher alleged toll of nearly 1,000 victims, possibly a composite legend incorporating Niers’s story. Historians argue these accounts often merged real bandit violence with societal anxieties about the Devil’s influence, peasant revolts, and moral decay. Torture frequently produced confessions tailored to what interrogators expected or feared.Yet the core of Niers’s banditry was undeniably real and devastating. Operating across fragmented jurisdictions made pursuit difficult; a gang could commit crimes in one territory and flee to another. Specific victim accounts from accomplices lend credence to dozens of robber-murders. Niers was no mere thief—he embodied the terror of lawless roads where travelers vanished without trace.The 1577 arrests generated immediate publicity. Pamphlets and warrants described Niers’s appearance, crimes, and dangerous nature, circulating via the relatively new printing press. A 1579 warrant for the Schwarzwald region highlighted his disguises, weapons, and wealth. Johann Wick, a Zurich pastor, and avid collector of “wonder” and crime news (often called an early true-crime reporter), compiled multiple pamphlets on Niers between 1577 and 1583. These blended factual reports with horror, moralizing, and supernatural elements. Ballads warned the public: stay off lonely roads, trust no strangers, and fear the invisible killer powered by the blood of the unborn.Niers’s escape turned him into a folk devil. For four years, he reportedly continued operations, adding hundreds more victims according to later confessions. The manhunt involved cooperation between towns and principalities, but jurisdictional rivalries hampered efforts. His recapture in 1581 was almost anticlimactic, yet pamphlets f

    23 min
  2. True Terrifying Northern California Vampires

    2D AGO

    True Terrifying Northern California Vampires

    Narrator: Boo RhodesWriter: SM KingIntro Music Don't Go Around that Corner - Boo RhodesBackground Ambience Abyss - MYUUBeware of the vampires of Northern California. Truly terrifying and frightening! These stories of people who believe they are vampries will chill your blood. Maybe that's a good thing, would you enjoy cold blood as a vampire?Hello, it’s Spooky Boo from Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time. I’m sitting here in the lighthouse in Sandcastle, a little unknown town in Northern California where the fog rolls in from the ocean and settles here quite nicely. It keeps us hidden from tourists and those pesky people who enjoy stopping for a bite to eat down Highway 1. They wouldn’t want to eat here anyway for you never know what the old butcher is cooking up in his food. Speaking of food, California has a few infamous vampire serial killers. Many of them hide out here in Sandcastle because the fog often times protects them from the sun. More on those vampires on an evening show, for the day is for true scary stories here at Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time.Two of my favorites to talk about are from Northern California in San Francisco and Sacramento.Let’s start with Richard Trenton Chase: The Vampire of SacramentoImagine the winter of 1977–1978 in Sacramento, California. Christmas lights still twinkled on suburban homes. Families gathered for holiday meals. But something ancient and hungry moved through those quiet streets — something that looked like a man but thirsted like a creature from nightmare.His name was Richard Trenton Chase. To this day, he is remembered as the Vampire of Sacramento, the Dracula Killer. In just one month he slaughtered six people in their own homes, drank their blood, mutilated their bodies, and left scenes so grotesque that veteran detectives still speak of them in hushed tones.This is not just a story of murder. This is the story of a broken mind convinced that only warm human blood could keep him alive.The Making of a MonsterRichard Trenton Chase was born on May 23, 1950, in Sacramento. From the beginning, his world was unstable. His father was a strict, often violent disciplinarian. His mother suffered mental health struggles and once accused her husband of trying to poison her — a paranoid delusion that would later echo horribly in her son’s own mind.By age ten, young Richard already displayed the full “MacDonald triad” — the three warning signs that criminologists say often predict violent behavior in adulthood: chronic bed-wetting, fire-setting, and extreme cruelty to animals. He tortured cats, dogs, and other small creatures. He set fires. He wet the bed long past the normal age.As a teenager, the problems deepened. He became a heavy drinker and drug user — alcohol, marijuana, LSD, and anything else he could get his hands on. He had multiple short relationships with girls, but suffered from impotence. A psychiatrist told him the cause was “repressed rage.” The rage never left. It only grew.By his early twenties, Chase had become a full-blown hypochondriac. He believed his body was rotting from the inside. He thought his heart was shrinking. He shaved his head so he could watch his skull change shape. He once checked himself into a hospital claiming someone had stolen his pulmonary artery.In 1975, things spiraled. Chase injected rabbit blood into his veins and nearly died of blood poisoning. Hospital staff nicknamed him “Dracula” because of his obsession with blood. He was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and institutionalized. Doctors tried antipsychotic medication. For a short time it seemed to help.In 1976 he was released into his mother’s care. She stopped giving him his medication, saying it “dulled” him. Soon after, she helped him get his own apartment. It was the worst possible decision. Alone, the voices in Richard Chase’s head grew louder.He began capturing neighborhood pets — dogs, cats, rabbits. He would disembowel them while they were still alive, drink their blood warm, or blend their organs with Coca-Cola into grotesque “milkshakes” to stop his heart from shrinking. Neighbors saw him carrying dead animals into his apartment. One woman watched him take three pets inside in a single day. No one called the police. No one understood how close they were to true evil.The Thirst AwakensBy late 1977, Richard Chase was 27 years old, thin, pale, and hollow-eyed. He bought a .22 caliber semiautomatic pistol. He told himself he needed it for protection against the “death rays” that UFOs and the government were firing at him to steal his blood.The killing began on December 29, 1977.Ambrose Griffin, a 51-year-old engineer and father of two, was helping his wife carry groceries from their car into their East Sacramento home. A yellow station wagon cruised slowly past. Richard Chase leaned out the window and fired. One bullet struck Griffin in the chest. He died almost instantly. Chase drove away, satisfied for the moment. The blood had been spilled. The thirst was fed — but only barely.For the next few weeks Chase wandered Sacramento testing door handles, looking for unlocked houses. He was disorganized, frantic, and completely lost in his delusions. He believed that if he didn’t drink blood, his own would turn to powder and he would die.On January 23, 1978, he found an unlocked door on Tioga Way. Inside was 22-year-old Teresa Wallin. She was three months pregnant with a baby boy she and her husband planned to name Dane. Teresa was taking out the garbage when Chase stepped inside.He shot her in the hand as she raised it to protect herself. The bullet traveled up her arm. He fired again into her head. Then he knelt over her body and fired a third shot into her temple. What followed was pure nightmare.Chase raped her corpse. He stabbed her repeatedly. He carved off one of her nipples. He cut open her torso, pulled out organs, drank her blood from a yogurt cup he found in the kitchen, and smeared her intestines on the walls. He stuffed dog feces down her throat. When he left, he took pieces of her with him.Four days later, on January 27, the horror reached its peak.Chase parked near a shopping center and walked to a house on Merrywood Drive. Inside were 38-year-old Evelyn Miroth, her six-year-old son Jason, her 22-month-old nephew David Ferreira, and her 52-year-old friend Dan Meredith.He shot Dan in the head in the hallway. He shot Evelyn multiple times, raped her body, slashed her throat, and disemboweled her. He stabbed her through the anus into her uterus. He removed organs. He drank blood. He shot little Jason twice in the head. Then he turned to the toddler, David. He shot the baby, mutilated him, drank from him, wrapped the tiny body in a blanket, and carried it out of the house like a grotesque trophy.The next morning, a neighbor discovered the slaughterhouse. Blood was everywhere. Organs were missing. The scenes were so horrific that some officers could not finish processing them. A city-wide search began for baby David.Meanwhile, Richard Chase returned to his apartment — covered in blood, drinking from cups, eating the organs he had taken.Capture and the House of HorrorsOn January 28, police knocked on Chase’s door. When he stepped outside, they tackled him. Inside his apartment they found the nightmare made real: blood-stained clothes, organs in the refrigerator, a blender coated with human tissue, and the blanket that still held traces of little David.David’s mutilated body was later found in a cardboard box in a vacant lot between a church and a supermarket.Chase showed almost no emotion during questioning. He calmly described what he had done. He said he needed the blood to survive. He believed Nazis and UFOs were trying to kill him by turning his blood to powder. He thought drinking fresh blood was the only cure.The Trial and the EndAt trial, Chase’s defense pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity. Two psychiatrists examined him and concluded he was legally sane at the time of the murders — psychotic, yes, but he knew right from wrong. The jury agreed. After only five hours of deliberation, they convicted him on all six counts of first-degree murder. Three days later they sentenced him to death.On death row at San Quentin, the delusions never stopped. Richard Chase hoarded his antidepressant pills. On December 26, 1980 — just before Christmas — he overdosed and died at the age of 30.The Legacy of the VampireRichard Trenton Chase did not kill for pleasure in the way some monsters do. He killed because, in the shattered landscape of his mind, he believed he had no choice. His crimes remain some of the most disturbing in American history not just because of their brutality, but because they show how far untreated mental illness can go when combined with violence.Sacramento changed after Chase. People started locking their doors during the day. Parents kept children inside. The city that had felt safe suddenly felt watched.Even today, on quiet winter nights in those same neighborhoods, some residents say you can still feel it — a cold presence, a hunger that was never satisfied. Some claim that if you stand near the old crime scene houses after dark, you can smell copper in the air. Others say they hear a faint dripping sound… like blood slowly filling a cup.Richard Chase is gone. But the thirst he carried — that ancient, bottomless need — still whispers to us from the shadows of the human mind.Some monsters are born. Some are made. And some… are simply broken beyond repair.And in the warm California night, they walk among us still.Stay tuned for a brief break. Keep your scarf on and your turtleneck up! We’ll be right back with the next blood sucker after a word from our sponsor.(wait a few seconds)Miles west of the streets of Sacramento, is the cold and foggy city of San Francisco where Joshua Rudiger became the vampire slasher of san francisco.It is the autumn of 1998. San Franc

    25 min
  3. Beyond Redemption | Devils and Demons

    3D AGO

    Beyond Redemption | Devils and Demons

    Beware when you take the life of someone and make a deal with the Devil for hell might be worse than what you're expecting. Story Credits: Beyond Redemption by Wihuro https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Beyond_Redemption MusicSpooky Boo Rhodes Don't Go Around That Corner Abyss MYUUBEGIN Good evening, it's Spooky Boo from Scary Story Time. Tonight I have an spooky, scary story that will make you hide under the covers for just a little while tonight until duty calls and you turn every light on in the house just to make your way around the darkness of the night. But you like that, right?Grab something warm to cuddle like your giant pillow or you fluffy kitten and listen while you close your eyes and enjoy tonight's story.Now let's begin...Beyond Redemptionby Wihuro“Come on out Lyndon,” Bill Johnson called out as he took position, rifle at hand, outside the old wooden house.His voice carried with it an air of authority to match his physically imposing frame. He wore a long, weathered, leather coat. His Stetson hat tipped forward, his dark brown eyes barely visible below the rim. In the dim light of the fading Texas sun he stood in the shadow of the quaint little house of Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.“You got nowhere to go. The odds are against you this time.”The remote location of the hillside house and picturesque scenery painted a perfect picture of everything a family home should be. It was a perfect place for the Bennett’s and their ten year old daughter, Molly. That was before Lyndon Wesley walked into their lives.“Well let me see, Mr. Johnson,” said Lyndon, his high pitch squawk coming back at Bill from within the house. “Ya got yourself a crazy, murderin’, son-of-a-bitch. And I got me a lock-down in a house with a purdy mother, her dead husband and her very alive and very beautiful daughter. I’d say it’s you who’s facing off against the odds sir.”Bill had been tracking his man for five long weeks and now, finally he had him cornered. Lyndon Wesley: AKA Wild West. The man with a ten thousand dollar bounty over his head dead or alive – twenty one dead including women and children will get you that kind of a price.Inside the house, Rosie Bennett sat on the old wooden floor with her child crying at her side.Her husband lay motionless just ten feet away by the open log fire. The hole in his chest oozed dark red blood onto the oak brown floor. The bright glowing flames from the log fire created cruel shadows of his contorted corpse against the stone walls. His killer stood by the small side window in the kitchen. the barrel of his six shooter pointing out towards the yard.“Please God, help us,” Rosie whispered.“God?” snapped Lyndon, turning round to face the woman. His lips tight and thin over his brown teeth in a grimace.“Do you think God gives a shit about you? Hell no. If he did, then why he put ya with me in the first place, hey? Life’s one big game, and the big man upstairs, he’s the player. We all just pieces in his board game. I bet he looking down on us in here and laughing his almighty ass off. Yea, he gets a real kick out of watching people suffer.”Lyndon began to prowl up and down the old, wooden floor like a rabid animal caught in a trap, hungry for blood. His scrawny body and straw-like hair that hung over his sharp features made him look like a feral beast. Outside, Bill Johnson edged toward the house, rifle at the ready. His heart beating like a drum in his chest. A shot rang out, Bill scrambled to the ground for cover. Panic grabbed him by the throat and squeezed tight in anticipation of the pain of the bullet entry. It never came. The bullet had missed him.“Bill, you hurt?” said Lyndon.His Colt .45 was poking through a side window from the kitchen, “Hope ya ain’t dead old buddy, was only meant to warn ya off that’s all. We’re just beginning to have a little fun you an’ me.”Suddenly, in one swift movement, Bill rolled over on the floor, pointed his gun at the small window from where the voice came from and pulled the trigger. A sound like thunder erupted from the rifle and a scream cut through the air like a lightning bolt. Lyndon screamed out in agony, holding the left side of his face where the bullet had skimmed his cheek, tearing a hole along his jaw line.“You filthy bastard!” said Lyndon, “You filthy, rotten bastard.”Bill scrambled to his feet then darted toward the front door. Inside the house, Rosie Bennett made a snap decision to make a run for it. She grabbed Molly by the wrist and headed for the back door. A shot rang out from within the house and the tiny wrist she held in her hand went limp.“Molly!” Rosie screamed, her heart had only time to feel the terror at the sight of her daughter’s bleeding corpse before it exploded in her chest from the second blast from Lyndon Wesley’s handgun.“Stupid bitch,” Lyndon snarled; one hand covered his cheek, the other held the handle of the smoking gun. “I never said nothin’ ’bout leavin’, young lady.”At that moment, the door burst open and Bill Johnson came charging in. Lyndon had only time to turn around and set eyes on the bounty hunter before he was struck by the but of the rifle, flooring him and scattering his gun across the floor. “You filthy dog,” Lyndon said from behind blooded teeth. “Your mother was a whore, your father was a-”“Shut your hole.” Bill put the barrel of his rifle against the lips of his downed opponent. “You’re gonna hang for what you’ve done.”Lyndon kissed the barrel of the gun at his lips. “We all gotta go Bill. It’s been a fun ride tho, hey?.” He began laughing, a wild, uncontrollable outburst. Outside, the night had taken the sun, darkness prevailed. Somewhere in the distance a wild coyote howled.The abrupt clang of steel on steel awoke Lyndon Wesley from his slumber, as it had for the past seven days since his capture and consequent incarceration at the hands of Bill Johnson.“Wakey, wakey,” the guard said, an overweight gentleman with slicked back hair and a genuine dislike for the latest addition to Huntsville State Penitentiary.“You fat, worthless hog,” Lyndon said, jumping out of bed and grabbing hold of the cell bars with both hands, “I hope your wife gets vaginal disease and dies.” His flesh wound on his face began to weep from underneath the dressing from the sudden movement.“Mind your language, you filthy piece of human waste. The priest is here to see your sorry ass.”The guard stepped away from the cell, and a towering black figure revealed himself. At six foot seven, he dwarfed the guard and then Lyndon as he entered the cell. His long white hair tied back in a neat pony tail; his gray, piercing eyes sunk deep within his skull.He spoke in a soft English accent. “Could you give us a moment alone, please?”The guard looked a little hesitant. “You sure about that, father?” he asked.“I’m going to be fine,” the priest said.He then pointed to the room's lone steel chair.“Please, take a seat, my son,” Lyndon duly obliged. His eyes remained fixed on the stranger before him. “Do you know who I am, Lyndon?” the priest asked.“Yep, you’re a man of God.”“In a figure of speaking yes, I suppose I am. And do you know what I’m here for?”“You’re here to read me my last rights, see if the good old lord can save my balls from the burning flames of hell.”A wild grin stretched across Lyndon’s face, he never passed up on a chance to taunt the lord. The priest matched his wicked smile with one of his own. A cold shiver ran down the spine of Lyndon.“You ain’t no priest,” Lyndon said. “You’re something else.”The smile on the priest's face never broke, Lyndon began to feel a strange sensation like butterflies in his stomach. “You’ve had a troubled life, Lyndon.”“So, what the hell do you know about it?” snapped Lyndon. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he wasn’t a priest. Of that, Lyndon was certain. Presently, the priest spoke again.“I know about your father.”Lyndon raised an eyebrow at the priest. Many had heard the story but few dared to speak about it in his presence.A story about a father who, after his wife had left him to raise a child on his own, hit the bottle hard and took out his anger on his son. Lyndon had learned about the violence from a very early age. Then on one cold winter’s night, just three days after his fifteenth birthday, Lyndon had taken his father’s hunting rifle, walked into his bedroom while he lay, and shot him as he slept.“You think you know some shit about me,” Lyndon said, his fists began to clench by his side. “Yea, I killed my daddy and a whole bunch of other sons of bitches along the way too. So what, you don’t know me.”“I know all about you Lyndon,” the preacher said, his deep gray eyes never trailing for a second away from Lyndon’s gaze.“I know about little Frankie.”A sharp pang shot through the center of Lyndon’s heart. Fear? Panic? Or something else? He wasn’t sure. It felt like a crooked arrow had been fired from point blank range, twisting as it penetrated his chest. Not since childhood had he heard another living soul utter the name of his little brother Frankie, not until now.“You just shut the hell up now, preacher,” said Lyndon, his eyes widening.The priest continued, “I know that your little brother Frankie died when he was just five years old. You were two years his elder at seven. The two of you playing together down the old mine shaft. It was a terrible accident.”“Watch your god-damn mouth.” A deep rage began to boil in the pit of Lyndon’s stomach.“But we know better,” the preacher said. “Sure, you made everyone believe he slipped and fell, but we know different, don’t we, Lyndon? You pushed little Frankie down the shaft. Killed him. And the reason? No real reason. You’re a natural born killer, Lyndon, and that’s all the reason you needed. Soo

    23 min
  4. 5D AGO

    Stubble to Terror - A Horrifying Dinner Date Gone Wrong! by Sarah Marshal King

    Stubble by Sarah Marshal King - A Tale of Obsession and Terror Darla Maples is a perfectionist. Every detail of her appearance must be flawless, from her radiant smile to her perfectly smooth skin. So, when a stubborn black hair appears on her chin, Darla's determination to pluck it out seems harmless—at first. But this isn't just any hair. Each time Darla removes the unwanted thread of hair from her chin it grows back longer and thicker than before. With a horrifying dinner date gone wrong, a bathroom locked in desperation, and a monstrous secret revealed, Stubble delivers a chilling story of beauty, obsession, and the grotesque. Perfect for fans of psychological horror and body horror, this unnerving tale will leave you questioning what lies beneath the surface.Story Stubble by Sarah Marshal King / Boo Rhodes Ambience Purgatory Hell with Chains by Boo Rhodes Video Image by Video by Tomislav Jakupec from Pixabay Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/spooky-boo-s-scary-story-time--3577322/support. Follow Spooky Boo YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@spookybooscarystorytime Twitter: https://x.com/707spookyb Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/spookybooscarystorytime Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/spookybooscarystorytime The original Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time telling spooky, scary stories since 2016. Here you'll find true scary stories, fiction stories, urban legends, and other tall tales from the darkest corners of the internet. Call in your own true scary story at the number 707-SPOOKYB (707-776-6592) and leave a message of up to 3 minutes, and it might be played on the Splatterday Nightmares YouTube Livestream. You must be 18 years or older to call or have permission from your parents. Send your true scary stories. Visit my website at https://www.scarystorytime.com/blog/scary-story-submissions

    13 min
3.8
out of 5
125 Ratings

About

The original Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time telling spooky, scary stories since 2016. Here you'll find true scary stories, horror fiction stories, urban legends, true crime, and other tall tales from the darkest corners of the internet. Call in your own true scary story at the number 707-SPOOKYB (707-776-6592) and leave a message of up to 3 minutes, and it might be played on the Splatterday Nightmares YouTube Livestream. You must be 18 years or older to call or have permission from your parents. Send your true scary stories to: spookyboo@scarystorytime.com.  500+ words, true scary stories or your own fiction. For details, visit https://www.scarystorytime.com For a very short time, this podcast had changed to Creepypasta and True Scary Stories or just Creepypasta Scary Stories. If you're looking for that podcast, it's right here. Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time (c) 2016 - present by Boo Rhodes. The copyright of the stories are by their respective owners listed in the descriptions and told with permission or are in the creative commons with the links mentioned or are in the public domain. Some are written by me. The voice in this audio is my real voice. I am not a bot. Although I might be an alien. jk. Take me to your leader!  Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/spooky-boo-s-scary-story-time--3577322/support.

You Might Also Like