Camp Sleep Scared

About Camp Sleep Scared

A collection of short horror stories to fall asleep to! Sit beside everyone and relax as I tell you stories beside a campfire...

Publisher

Realife Writer

Category

fiction

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

24 Oct 2025

Latest episode

25 Oct 2025

Latest episodes

10 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   25 Oct 2025

   My Family

   I died eight years ago. It wasn't particularly tragic. Or unusual. Just a car accident. I don't blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wife was in labor, and there was black ice on the road. He lost control of the car and I lost my life. Its not his fault. I know that. I'm not cruel. I am not vengeful. If anything, I'm the opposite. You see, I don't have any family left and I had lost my few friends around that time. When it was time for my funeral, the only people who came was my boss and the family who killed me. The wife held her newborn daughter close to her chest. I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home. Lily may as well have been my own flesh and blood. She was sweet, and bright, and oh so very small. She had trouble sleeping if someone wasn't rocking her crib and her parents were so tired. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib for her. I didn't get tired. I could help her. As the years passed, Jack and Lori realized that they weren't alone in the house. It didn't take long from there to make a connection between my funeral and when I had showed up. And I'd never been malevolent, so they weren't afraid or angry. They started to burn candles on the anniversary of my death day. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. I really felt like... A member of the family. Someone is trying to force the door. Its Lori's ex. He's obsessive. He's angry. He's going to hurt the family. My family. The thing about ghosts, is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. Id been enjoying candles, trinkets, and even the occasional food item for the past five years. I was strong from that. The knife feels warm in my hand. A shock of heat against the ice of my skin. Lori, Jack, and Lily are my family. I care about them. And they're not gonna join me yet.

2. 

   25 Oct 2025

   I Should Have Read The Reviews

   My girlfriend moved out three weeks ago. My cat, Ruk, was really close to her and now that she's gone, I can tell he's a bit lonely. Especially when I'm at work. I came home a few times to my curtains ripped up, or all the toilet paper in shreds. The last straw was when I came home after working late to find he had clawed a hole the size of a dinner plate into the side of the sofa. I decided I had to do something. I tried different toys, even catnip, but nothing worked. One night while browsing Amazon, I saw a pet camera. It's a tiny camera that records your pet on a live feed so you can monitor their behavior while you're away. It even has an audio function so you can talk to them. Sounded silly but hey, I love my furry dude so I bought it. I got overnight shipping and installed it immediately. I decided to set it up in my bedroom, as that was where Ruk dwelled most. My first day at work I think I checked that camera thirty times. When I spoke into the microphone, Ruk seemed to be happier, and I noticed there was no destruction around the house either. By day four I figured I'd solved the problem with Ruk. That leads me to right now. About thirty minutes ago I climbed in bed with Ruk, ready to close my eyes, when my phone buzzed. A notification from the pet cam. I almost ignored it, sure I'd just triggered the thing. But I opened it anyway. What I saw made my grip tighten on the phone. Instead of a video of myself in bed I saw a man, tall, gangly, with pale skin, and large eyes. He was moving into my room with exaggerated steps, like a sneaking cartoon character. He got right up to the lens, so close I could almost smell his rotten breath, and he smiled. I immediately paused the video, terrified. I looked at the spot where the man should have been standing, but there was no one there. I went onto Amazon and found the pet cam, and read the reviews, hoping for some weird glitch. It had to be a joke, right? The first dozen reviews were pretty standard, but it was the last that caused me to bolt upright. The customer complained that the camera was on a time delay, sometimes as much as fifteen minutes. I went back to the video and pressed play with shaky fingers. I watched in horror as the man slithered under my bed, giving the camera a wink before disappearing in the darkness. Then I saw myself enter the room and climb in bed before the video ended. Now I'm sitting in my bed, knowing he's under it. I could call the police, but I doubt I'd have time…. So please, do yourselves a favor and read the reviews.

3. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] Birthday Girl

   “Good morning, sunshine! Time to wake up!” I open my eyes and see Nurse Judy, ready to give me my morning injection. I sit on the bed and roll up my pajamas sleeve. I feel the needle under my skin and the medication flowing inside my veins. The nurse gives me a wide smile. “Good girl! You can go to the canteen now and have breakfast with your friends.” Friends… I don’t have friends here. My friends are almost 60 miles away from me. Enjoying life, learning new stuff, making out at parties. Certainly not spending their youth in a psychiatric ward. My parents put me there. It was after another anxiety attack at school. I lost control and tried to do something stupid. Now everything seems stupid to me... I pass by Nutsy Nora’s room. Her yelling is impossible to ignore. She keeps screaming “Kelly and Jenna” over and over again, whatever these names mean. I see two doctors rushing to her room with a set of tranquilizers. This place is full of people like her. I don’t think I belong here. I enter the canteen and hear a loud “Surprise!”. I look around and see other patients gathered around a cake with number candles - 1 and 7 - and an inscription: “Happy birthday, Robin!”. Right, it’s my 17th birthday. Yay. I totally forgot. I force myself to smile and blow the candles. The cake tastes like soap. Or a cough syrup. I hide both candles in my pocket when nobody's watching. I guess it’s the only gift I can count on today. I stop one of the nurses on the way back to my room. I ask if my parents are going to see me. She shrugs and walks away without saying a word. Bitch. As I lay in bed, I stretch my arms and look at my hands. They look… so weird. So damn weird... Maybe it’s a side effect of one of those medications? Nurse Judy interrupts my contemplation. She storms in with an afternoon dosage of pills. “How are you feeling, my dear? Did you like the birthday surprise?” she asks, with that annoyingly sweet smile. “Yeah, I forgot today’s the day.” She takes my hand and says, “Oh, don’t worry, darling, it happens to everybody.” As she holds my hand, I ask her why my skin looks so strange. Nurse Judy gives me a sympathetic gaze. “I think it’s normal at your age, don’t you think so, sweetie?” Is she trying to make a fool of me? Oh, I've had enough. “But I’m only 17!” I say imploringly. “I don’t know any other teenager with hands like these! Just look!” I take the candles out of my pocket and almost rub them in her face. “You see?! One and seven! Seventeen!” I bellow. Judy gently takes the candles from my shaking hands. “Robin, it’s not seventeen. Let me show you the right order. It’s seven and one.” …Seventy one.

4. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] The Blind Child

   "Stabbing." Sylvia pointed a trembling finger at my brother Arthur. Her milky, unseeing eyes gleamed in his direction, and his wife, Agnes, trembled with indignation from across the table. My husband's face colored as he dropped his fork and dragged our daughter back into her bedroom, scolding her as they went. The rest of the night was awkward, and the pep in our conversation never recovered. Two weeks later, Agnes was stabbed to death in her office parking lot. An inebriated college student found her, almost vomited all over her, and called the cops. My brother swore that he bore no ill will against my daughter, but I could tell that he was lying. One day, the middle-aged woman who taught my daughter how to read her braille called me. "Ma'am, I don't know what's going on but your daughter's been whispering, 'electrocution, electrocution,' for the past half-hour and it's starting to distract her from her lessons. Could you please talk to her?" I did. Sylvia, in her nine-year-old lack of understanding, told me it was "just a cool new word" she learned at school. The death of an electrician made headlines the following week. It was a freak accident involving tangled wires and a bucket of water. Sylvia's teacher's face was blurred for privacy, but her voice was as familiar as anything to me: "He was…my partner…my soulmate." While my husband was working late, I called Sylvia into the living room. "Honey, is there anything Mommy should know?" She hesitated. "Honey, you know you can talk to me." She denied it once more, "I have no secrets from you, Mommy." My husband walked into the living room with his hair tousled and his eyes distant. Instead of rushing to hug her dad, Sylvia simply turned towards him. "Fire," she said. My heart stopped. Everytime Sylvia said something like that, it was the person's partner who died, and of that reason too. A fire? Was Sylvia merely making predictions, or was she putting a curse on me for snooping in on her business? Why, this devil child— I grew paranoid, checked the appliances and electronics constantly, and cleared the house of any fire hazards. That was my life over the next few days. All the while, I kept my eyes on Sylvia. Sylvia. I had grown almost hateful towards my own daughter. My husband came home one night, wounded and blackened with soot, while I sat in the living room and Sylvia listened to the radio beside me. "What's the matter?" I asked. He gulped. "One of my colleagues, her house…her house caught fire. She was trapped in, but I managed to escape." That turned the gears in my head. "What were you doing in her house?" The expression on my husband's face was a sufficient admission of guilt. I opened my mouth to speak—no, to scream—but a smaller voice from beside me looked at me and whispered: "Poisoning."

5. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] I Don’t Hate My Sister

   Because of all of the things I do to Renée, most people would say I hate my little sister. I’m here to set the record straight. I didn’t let Renée’s cat out the back door because I hate her. Muffins is fine. I’ve been feeding him behind the shed. I don’t flush Renée’s medications before she takes them because I hate her. I was pretty panicked when I thought the toilet was going to clog, though. I didn’t erase her biology essay because I hate her. She got to see the cute librarian she’s crushing on, anyway. I didn’t unplug her cell phone before she left the house because I hate her. I unplugged it so that mom and dad wouldn’t be able to call her. I didn’t use the faulty outlet in the living room because I hate Renée. I really don’t hate my sister. The fire didn’t kill Renée. Because Renée didn’t have to go back for Muffins. Renée wasn’t sleeping due to her medicine. Renée was at the library, doing her report. I didn’t let our mom and dad die because I hate my little sister. I did it so that she wouldn’t end up buried in the garden like me.

6. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] Nobody wants to go near me anymore.

   Nobody wants to go near me anymore. People used to like me, they'd sit next to me on a park bench, they'd smile when they saw me, they were completely comfortable bringing their girlfriends and kids around me. Not anymore. Not since that awful murder. Now they cross the street to avoid me, and if they do look at me, it's only with a look of disgust. I wish I could tell them all how sorry I was. Sure, nobody blames me. It's not my fault. They know it wasn't my fault. But now, they can't stand to even glance my way. I'm so lonely. God, what I wouldn't give to have someone sit down for lunch with me. I took the little things like that for granted for so long. I had to watch him die. They hanged him, and left before he was even dead. I was the one that saw the life leave his eyes, saw the pain and desperation on his face, and I couldn't do a thing to help him. Those terrified eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and save him, point the police to the murderers, and see those awful men put in jail for the rest of their lives. But I couldn't. I'll never be able to. I can't control where my branches bend, and my leaves can only rustle and whisper in the wind.

7. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] Uncle Tommy's Visit

   “Now remember, I don’t want you talking to him unless I’m around, you hear?” “Yes, dad.” “I’m serious. Now tuck in your shirt—he’s here.” The front door swung open and there stood Uncle Tommy, drenched in sweat from a day’s work in the summer heat. “It’s a scorcher out there, ain’t it?” he said, putting his bag on the floor and untying his boots. “I appreciate you letting me crash for the night.” “Just so long as you’re gone in the morning,” my dad replied coldly. “Of course.” “Now,” Uncle Tommy said, turning to me and lowering himself to a knee. “Where’s my hug at? Been a while since I seen you last.” I took a couple steps toward him and leaned in for a hug. His tight embrace made me uncomfortable, and I let out a light whimper. “Don’t you know it’s a hundred degrees out there?” he asked, tugging at my long sleeves. “I haven’t been outside today,” I recited to him. “Don’t you have some chores to finish up?” Dad interjected. I knew that was my cue to leave, so I shuffled off to my room. Later that night I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to be comfortable, when I heard the thud of footsteps in the hallway outside my bedroom. After several long seconds of silence, the door opened quietly, the dark silhouette of a man entered the room, and the door closed again. For several more seconds there was nothing but unrelenting silence. I might have thought I had dreamt it all if it weren’t for the sound of a hushed breath being carefully released. I could feel him getting nearer. The warmth of another person in the room was unfamiliar at this hour. I was not prepared for this; I prayed he would go away, to even come back in the morning if he must. He reached down and touched me. He rolled me onto my stomach and lifted up my shirt. From the corner of my eye I could see two things: the faint beam of a pocket flashlight, and Uncle Tommy’s eyes studying my bare skin. His rough fingers ran up and down my back. Suddenly, he got up and walked to the bedroom door and left. I tried again to fall asleep, eventually succeeding. He was gone by the time I awoke. Around noon the phone rang while my father was out. “Hello?” I answered. “Hey buddy.” "Uncle Tommy?” “Yeah. Your dad around?” “No sir. Went to the store.” “Good,” he said, his voice a bit shaky. He was silent for a moment. “I’m calling about last night. I don’t know if you were awake or not—” “I was.” “Well, then I’ll just get right to it. I’ve got a question for you, and I need for you to be honest with me. Can you do that?” “Yes, sir.” “How’d you get all them bruises?”

8. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] I Keep My Son Inside a Chest

   Each morning when I wake up, I open the chest where I keep my son. I stroke his small skull and murmur ‘Good Morning’ although I know he can no longer hear me. I hope he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him. I hope he knows I never will. When my son died of a fever, I refused to let him go. He was only a baby, and all that I had left. So I turned to the stories my own mother had told me, the rituals and legends I’d learned in childhood. The rules of bringing someone back from the underworld seemed so easy. I scoffed at the stories of those who failed, sure that my willpower would be stronger than theirs. I forced my way through to the Fields of Night, and I found my son’s faint, pale soul. I guided it all the way back to his body, never looking back once. When I saw my son open his eyes again and smile at me, I thought I had made the right choice. He laughed, he ran, he played just as he had before. I even believed I could pretend nothing had happened. Then a few days later, I saw the rot creeping up his skin. At that moment, I realized my mistake. I hadn’t restored my son to life. I had only brought his soul back to his corpse. I tried to comfort him as his body swelled and decayed. He wailed day and night in fear as his flesh fell from his bones. Only when his throat rotted away did he stop screaming. I attempted to return to the underworld, to return my son’s soul, but the way would not open to me again. I cheated Death, and my punishment was to keep what I stole. When his ligaments finally broke down, I gathered his bones and placed them in the antique chest I inherited from my mother. Only the best would do for my son. Sometimes my son’s bones lie still inside the chest for hours, even days, and I dare to hope that his soul found its way back to where it belongs. But sooner or later, his bones always begin to rattle again, and I know he’s still alive. Once, all I wanted was to have my son here with me. But now, I would give anything for him to die.

9. 

   25 Oct 2025

   [PREVIEW] How to Scare Dad

   My father is the scariest man I’ve ever known and when armed with a bottle of beer he reaches nightmare levels. Just the crackle of his belt or rise in his voice was enough to make me shake like a leaf. One night, while I struggled to get comfortable in bed from the bruises and sounds of my mom’s crying, I hatched an ingenious idea to stop the pain and suffering: scare dad. Clearly he just didn’t know how his actions made us feel, but if I scared him like he scared us, maybe then he would change his ways. I tried anything I could think of to produce some fright and scare dad straight. I would hide and jump out at him, but he didn’t even flinch. I placed a toy snake in the toilet, but that only resulted in a beating for me. Finally, I thought of destroying his alcohol. I know that people become scared when they lose something they love, so one by one I poured my dad’s bottles down the drain and eagerly awaited his reaction. I knew this would be it, this would be the thing to scare him! That night, I remember my father discovering the empty bottles and becoming angrier than I’ve ever seen him. I remember him wrecking the house. I remember him storming into my room. I remember his hands around my neck and me seeing black. Luckily, my planning and hard work that night paid off though! Today, my father lives in a constant state of fear. I’m always watching him, how timid and nervous he is at all times. Whenever I pay him a visit his complexion turns a pasty white, his body shivers like I used to and he breaks into a cold sweat. I scared my father so good, you would think he saw a ghost.

10. 

    24 Oct 2025

    [PREVIEW] I am a Good Liar

    I am a good liar. I have been my whole life. I’m twelve years old. Or am I thirteen? Or eleven? I’m such a good liar that I could convincingly tell you anything. It was my father who first taught me how to lie. “Look them dead in the eyes, son. Don’t blink, or look to one side. Dead in the eyes. Speak calmly. Add in some details, ones that aren’t important. That makes things more believable.” So every day I concoct a new adventure to tell my classmates, they lap it up. They believe I live in the big mansion, that I only wear tatty clothes because my parents don’t want me to be spoilt. They don’t know that I actually live in a caravan in the field behind it. Last week I told them that my parents had taken me off to a ski resort for the weekend. “We met Prince William up there, he loves skiing. I was really bad at it, but Will, (he said I can call him that), said it didn’t matter, because he thought I was really funny. I must’ve fallen over right in front of him about 8 times! We’re going to be invited to dinner at Windsor Castle soon”. I liked that story. It’s another thing my father taught me about lying, you can’t always paint yourself as the hero. Sometimes you have to be bad at things. Today I’m telling an even better lie. “They opened the aquarium especially for me”, I say, breathing evenly, “my parents just knew that I’d always dreamed of swimming with sharks.” I look directly at them. “I don’t know if you’ve all seen, but they have those love little orange fish at the aquarium too, like Nemo! I’ve got a stuffed one from the gift shop, but I’ll get some real ones soon”. It’s all in the details, the little inconsequential details. “Anyway, the shark swimming went a bit wrong. The shark tried to attack me, but I fought it off.” I shrug nonchalantly and bask in their awe. One girl asks if she can touch the red gash across my face. It was my father who taught me how to lie. I have to be believable when I explain away the injuries he gives me, or he’ll kill me. I am a good liar, but a very bad boy.

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