when Horror Yearbook – Babysitter’s horror story begins when I accepted a simple babysitting job at the Johnson family’s home. The couple was friendly, and their house was cozy. I was looking forward to a quiet evening watching TV and making sure the kids were safe. But as soon as I stepped inside, I felt an eerie presence. Something was off. The children were unusually quiet, but it was more than that. Their eyes, cold and distant, sent a chill down my spine. Little did I know, this night would reveal something far more terrifying than I could have ever imagined.
When I arrived, the parents seemed unusually calm. They gave me a quick rundown of the children’s routine. “They’ll be in bed soon,” Mrs. Johnson had said, smiling warmly. The kids, Emma and Lucas, were no older than eight and six, respectively. Both seemed sweet at first, quietly playing in the living room. Their pale faces and stillness felt odd, but I shrugged it off.
I didn’t know it then, but those children were already dead.
“Read about: Decorating Your Home with a Spooky Horror Theme”
Around 9 p.m., the house fell eerily silent. I checked on the kids, who were supposed to be in bed, but they weren’t there. Instead, I found their toys scattered across the hallway, as if they had been dropped in a hurry. The room was unnervingly still, and I couldn’t hear a sound. At first, I assumed they had gone to the bathroom or were playing in another room. But when I searched the house, they were nowhere to be found.
The unease grew. The air felt thick, heavy, as if something was watching me.
Around midnight, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Johnson. Her voice trembled as she asked if everything was alright. I reassured her, but as soon as I hung up, I saw Emma and Lucas standing at the top of the stairs. They were motionless, their eyes hollow and unblinking. Their faces were pale, much paler than before.
“Come play with us,” Emma whispered. Her voice was eerily soft.
Suddenly, I remembered a strange detail Mrs. Johnson had mentioned earlier: “They’ve always been so quiet, haven’t they?” I had assumed she meant well-behaved children. But now, it felt like something else.
As I approached them, I noticed the faint smell of something decaying. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The children didn’t look alive at all. Their expressions were lifeless, their limbs stiff and unnatural.
Then, I realized the truth. These children were not just quiet—they were dead. Their ghostly forms had somehow remained in the house, trapped in a state between life and death.
I rushed to the living room, but the house felt different now. The lights flickered. The temperature dropped. A chilling whisper echoed from behind me, “We’re still here.”
Panic set in. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. The children were now standing in front of the door, blocking my escape. I was trapped, with nowhere to run.
The clock on the wall stopped ticking, and the shadows around me grew longer. I could feel the oppressive weight of their presence. The children’s eyes followed my every move, their vacant gazes never leaving.
I rushed to the phone to call the police, but it was dead. The silence in the house was deafening. Then, Lucas whispered, “You’re ours now.”
The door slammed shut, and I couldn’t get it open. I was locked in, surrounded by the spirits of two children who should have been long gone.
Suddenly, the lights flickered one last time. The children began to move toward me, their bodies contorting unnaturally. The room felt like it was closing in on me. I could hear their footsteps, growing louder and faster. I was running out of time.
Just as I thought they would reach me, the front door creaked open. The parents were back. I quickly bolted out of the house, gasping for air. The last thing I saw was the children’s hollow eyes staring at me from the window.
To this day, I don’t know what happened that night. I never took another babysitting job again.
