SCARIEST Paranormal Encounters That PROVE The Supernatural!

The surveillance room was a tomb of cold light and humming electronics, a bunker buried beneath the sprawling architecture of the Blackwood Estate. Elias had taken the job because he preferred the silence of the night shift, but he was beginning to realize that silence is rarely empty. The estate was a patchwork of repurposed structures—an old hotel, a defunct brickworks facility, and a residential wing for staff—all connected by a labyrinth of corridors and tunnels. His job was simple: watch the screens. But tonight, the screens seemed to be watching him back.

The air in the booth felt thick, heavy with dust and tension, the kind of atmosphere that presses against your eardrums. Elias leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the grid of monitors.

His gaze settled on Monitor 4, which displayed the interior of Room 302 in the hotel wing. It was the room everyone avoided, the one the staff whispered about in the breakroom. It was filled to the brim with porcelain dolls, their glassy eyes reflecting the infrared light of the camera. Elias watched, bored, until something caught his eye. In the center of the room, seated on a tiny vehicle that looked like a worn-out toy car, one of the dolls shifted.

It wasn’t a trick of the pixelation. The doll, with a face almost too detailed to be a mere toy, turned its head. The motion was subtle but unmistakable. Its glassy eyes rotated slowly until they were facing directly toward the camera lens, piercing through the digital feed and locking onto Elias. He felt a chill crawl up his spine. The doll’s expression looked disturbingly aware, as if it knew exactly what it was doing. Elias reached for his coffee, his hand trembling slightly. He told himself it was just a vibration from the old pipes, but deep down, he knew that inanimate objects do not move with such deliberate intent.

Trying to shake the unease, he switched his focus to Monitor 7, which covered the abandoned Pluckly Brick Works section of the estate. A paranormal team, Ghoststeek, had been down there earlier in the week, leaving some of their equipment running. The feed showed a long, dusty passageway. Out of nowhere, a shadow detached itself from the darkness at the far end. It was shaped like a person, but it moved in a way no human body could replicate. Its limbs seemed to glide, jagged yet smooth, defying gravity. It drifted from right to left, paused, and then moved back again. Elias watched in horror as the figure slipped behind a wall, its movement fluid and unnatural. The silence in the surveillance room suddenly felt deafening, a vacuum waiting to be filled by a scream.

Elias rubbed his eyes, hoping exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He toggled the audio for the residential wing on Monitor 9. This was where Tasha, one of the day-shift managers, lived with her family. The timestamp indicated it was late, deep into the dead of night. Through the speakers, Elias heard it: a faint banging sound. It echoed from the hallway outside Tasha’s room, like someone pacing back and forth, knocking on the walls as they moved. Then, the sound changed. The banging migrated. It was no longer outside; it was coming from inside the room, loud, sharp, and close enough to rattle the furniture.

On the screen, Tasha sat up in bed, terrified. Her husband and kids slept soundly beside her, oblivious. Elias watched as Tasha’s dog, a golden retriever that usually slept like a log, suddenly stood stiff at the edge of the bed. The dog began barking furiously at an empty corner of the room. The animal would glance back at Tasha every few seconds, as if warning her not to move closer to whatever invisible intruder was standing there. The air in the room seemed heavier, charged with static. Elias checked the other cameras in the hallway; the doors were locked tight. There was no explanation.

The activity was escalating across the entire grid. On Monitor 12, a feed from the kitchen, a cat wandered in, followed by a mist. It wasn’t smoke; it was a translucent, human-shaped shadow trailing the animal. The cat crouched and slipped under the table, clearly sensing the presence. The misty figure drifted across the room, absorbing the faint light from the microwave clock. It was distinct, deliberate, and undeniably there.

Elias felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He tried to rationalize what he was seeing. Maybe it was a system glitch, a hacked feed playing loops of horror movies. But then he saw the footage from the music room on Monitor 5. A man was recording a vlog, speaking about the history of the room. Behind him, a guitar mounted on the wall began to sway. Then, a loud thud echoed as something flew off the desk next to him. The man on the screen bolted, but Elias couldn’t look away. The room was empty, yet the violence of the movement suggested a rage that was very much alive.

He switched to the view of the main staircase in the old manor house. A light fixture was swinging wildly, tracing a wide arc in the air. Below it, cupboard doors were slamming open and shut in a chaotic rhythm. A man’s voice, Donnie, came through the audio feed, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, his voice trembling. “You have to go,” Donnie shouted at the empty air. “You are not welcome here.” But the house responded with increased aggression. A shadow figure, pitch black and absorbing all light, seemed to absorb the prayer itself, growing denser, darker.

Elias’s hand hovered over the phone to call the police, but what would he tell them? That the dolls were moving? That shadows were walking through walls? He looked at Monitor 2, the “Death Room” in the medical wing. A nurse had told him about this room—patients who went in never came out. The feed showed a therapy dog standing outside the open door, whimpering uncontrollably, refusing to cross the threshold. Inside the room, the green call light flickered in short, sharp bursts—Morse code from the other side. Then, slowly, the heavy wooden door swung shut, sealing the empty room with a finality that made Elias flinch.

Suddenly, a notification popped up on the main screen—a motion alert from the basement sector. This was the oldest part of the estate, a place filled with rusted pipes and concrete corridors that stretched into darkness. Elias clicked the feed open.

The camera looked down a long, narrow hallway. At the far end, a shadow dashed across the corner. It was fast, feral. Elias leaned in, squinting. He rewound the footage. There it was again—a figure, hunched and swift, darting out of sight. But then, the audio picked up something else. Footsteps. Slow, heavy footsteps coming up the basement stairs.

Elias froze. The surveillance room was located just above the basement access.

He pulled up the camera for the stairwell. A blue balloon, left over from some long-forgotten party, was sitting on the middle step. As he watched, the balloon began to bounce. It didn’t roll; it bounced up and down, struck by an unseen hand. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The rhythm was mocking.

Then came the knocking.

It wasn’t on the monitors this time. It was real. It was physical. Three loud, deliberate raps on the heavy steel door of the surveillance room.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Elias spun around in his chair, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice cracking.

Silence.

Then, a whisper, soft and rapid, seemingly coming from the vents, or perhaps from inside his own head. It sounded like a child’s voice, distorted and layered. “Open the door. Open the door.”

He turned back to the screens, desperate for a view of the corridor outside his room. Monitor 1 showed the hallway. It was empty. But the knocking came again, louder this time, shaking the frame of the door. BANG. BANG. BANG.

On Monitor 6, the feed from the living room of the staff quarters, a wardrobe door was opening and closing by itself. In broad daylight on the screen, but here in the dark, the echo felt immediate. Elias watched as a man on the screen, Noah, stood on a staircase, yelling at a spirit named Mary to stop. “I know you died 106 years ago, Mary, but give it up!” Noah screamed. The response was a violent pounding on the walls that seemed to vibrate through the very foundation of the estate, shaking the floor beneath Elias’s feet.

The separation between the digital horrors and his physical reality was dissolving.

Elias looked at Monitor 8. A woman, Arya, was sprinting down a hotel corridor, looking over her shoulder, screaming for help. “Help me! Somebody help me!” she shrieked. But the corridor behind her was empty. Or was it? Elias squinted. A shadow streaked along the wall, keeping pace with her, a darkness that flowed like liquid. In the hotel room she had fled from, a rock launched itself from a decorative bowl and hit the floor. A hook, the kind used to break into locked rooms, lay on the bed.

The knocking on Elias’s door stopped.

The silence that followed was worse. It was the silence of a predator holding its breath.

Elias watched the monitor for his own hallway. The lights in the corridor outside flickered. One by one, they died, plunging the hallway into darkness. Then, the emergency light flared green, casting long, sick shadows.

In the green glow of the monitor, he saw it.

Standing right outside his door was a figure. It was tall, towering, its outline eerily similar to a grim reaper. It was pitch black, a void in the shape of a man. It didn’t have a face, but Elias could feel it staring at the camera, staring at him.

The figure raised a hand.

Simultaneously, the lock on Elias’s door clicked.

The handle slowly turned.

Elias scrambled backward, his chair toppling over. He grabbed a flashlight, a useless weapon against what was coming. The door creaked open, just a crack.

“You are not invited here!” Elias shouted, mimicking the exorcisms he had watched on the screens. “You have to go!”

The door swung wide open. The hallway was empty.

Elias let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stepped forward, cautious, peering into the gloom. “Hello?”

He turned back to the monitors to check the feed again.

On Monitor 1, the camera showing the hallway he was currently looking at, the tall shadow figure was standing directly behind him.

Elias spun around, but the room appeared empty. He looked back at the screen. The figure on the monitor was closer now, its hand reaching out toward Elias’s digital back.

He realized then that the cameras captured things the human eye refused to see. He was not alone. He had never been alone.

A sound grabbed his attention—a small, plastic clatter. He looked down. A toy ball, a small red basketball, rolled across the floor of the secure surveillance room, coming to a stop at his feet. He hadn’t brought it in.

From the corner of the room, behind the server racks, came a giggle. High-pitched. Childlike.

“Hi, Angel,” a voice whispered.

Elias backed away, hitting the console. The screens behind him began to glitch. Every single monitor switched to the same image: the dashboard camera of a car driving down a dark highway. A translucent, glowing figure was running alongside the car, keeping pace at sixty miles per hour. The figure turned its head and looked into the camera.

It was Elias.

The face on the screen was his own, screaming in silent terror, trapped in a loop of endless running.

The power in the surveillance room cut. Total darkness swallowed him.

In the dark, the sound of heavy breathing was right beside his ear.

“Is it better where you are now?” a voice rasped, the smell of ancient dust and decay filling Elias’s nose.

He fumbled for his flashlight, clicking it on. The beam cut through the blackness, illuminating the space in front of him.

Standing inches from his face was the doll from Room 302. It was no longer on the screen. It was here. Its porcelain face was cracked, and its glassy eyes were wide, staring up at him.

“This doll just moved,” Elias whispered to no one, his mind snapping.

The doll’s mouth hinged open, far wider than the porcelain should allow, revealing a darkness that went on forever.

And then, the flashlight flickered and died.

The last thing Elias heard was the sound of a cupboard door slamming shut, and the heavy, dragging footsteps of something tall moving out of the corner, claiming the space where he stood. The archives would later show a corrupted video file, a final clip where the camera shakes violently before capturing a shadow that absorbs the lens, leaving nothing but static and the sound of a man pleading for mercy from something just out of view.