3 True Horror Stories – Abandoned Location Story

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Story 1: Trapped Inside the Morgue Room

A while back I was out exploring an old abandoned hospital with a few friends. It used to be a tuberculosis hospital and later became a hospital for mentally ill kids. The whole place sat on a hill surrounded by woods and far away from the nearby roads. It wasn’t easy to get in. We had to slip under a fence just to reach the property. The air felt strange from the moment we got there but none of us said anything. We just laughed it off like it was part of the adventure.

We went in through a side door that was already broken open. Inside it was dusty and dark. The walls were peeling. The floor creaked with every step. But for the most part it felt quiet. Almost too quiet. There were leftover signs of what the building used to be. We found rooms with old children’s toys sitting alone in the corners.

I remember this one room with a single rocking horse right in the center and no other furniture. There was a tiny stage like a theater space. And we even came across one of those metal tables that looked like it was used for either washing patients down or preparing bodies. It made your skin crawl just thinking about what had happened in there. But we kept going.

The deeper we explored the more uneasy I felt. The building seemed to go on forever. We went floor by floor. Sticking together. Making jokes. Trying not to let the atmosphere get to us. On the third or fourth floor we found a hallway that had spray paint on the wall. Someone had written the word morgue in huge red letters with an arrow pointing to a nearby room. Me and one of my friends decided we had to check it out. Even though we knew it was probably just some vandal messing around we couldn’t resist. It was too tempting.

We walked in. But instead of a morgue it looked more like some kind of old electrical room. There were these big panels lined up along the wall with huge glass fuses. Some were cracked. Others were half hanging out of their sockets. The whole room felt like it hadn’t been touched in decades. We stepped in further with our flashlights. Looking around. Not really expecting anything to happen. Just taking it all in.

That’s when the heavy metal door slammed shut behind us. Hard. The sound echoed through the room and made us both freeze. We turned around immediately and saw that the door had no knob or handle on our side. Just flat metal. I remember that second so clearly. My stomach dropped. I felt this wave of panic rising in my chest. We tried pushing it open. No luck. We started pounding on it. Yelling. Hoping the others would hear us. We weren’t really scared yet. Just concerned.

Then the real creepy part happened. As we were standing there I started hearing this clicking noise. One of the big glass fuses popped right out of the wall and hit the floor. Then another. You could hear them roll a little across the old tile. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing was moving around us. No vibrations. No breeze. But these things were coming loose on their own. One by one.

We kept banging on the door. Yelling louder. My friend had his ear against the wall trying to hear if someone was coming. And all the while the fuse panel behind us kept making those clicking sounds. It was like the room was alive. I don’t know how long we were stuck in there. Probably less than a minute. But it felt like forever.

Finally we heard someone outside. Then we saw light coming in from the crack under the door. Our other friends had heard us and managed to force it open from their side. As soon as it opened we rushed out. No one said much. We just looked at each other. Took a deep breath. Then all agreed it was probably time to head out.

We left the building not long after that. The walk back through the woods was quiet. We didn’t joke around like before. No one really said it but we all felt like we had pushed our luck too far. That room was too much. The slamming door. The fuses. The noises. It was like the place didn’t want us there.

Looking back I try to explain it logically. Maybe the door was old and the hinges warped just enough for it to swing shut on its own. Maybe the sound of us hitting the door made the fuses come loose. Maybe it was just bad timing and nothing more. I tell myself those things because they make the memory easier to carry. But when I think about the way that room felt I still get chills. Something about it was off. It felt like we were being watched. Like the building remembered.

I’ve been to a few other abandoned places since then but nothing else gave me that same feeling. That moment when the door closed and the lights seemed to dim just a little. That silence right before the fuse popped out. The sound it made hitting the floor. I’ll never forget it. It was a reminder that sometimes the stories people tell about places like that come from something real. Even if no one can explain it.

Story 2: The Mansion of Cages

A few years ago I went to visit some college friends for Halloween. We spent the evening trick or treating. We went to a party. Everything was fun and light. It was late when one of my friends brought up a place he had heard about. An abandoned mansion just a few miles away. There was a rumor that some rich people who used to live there were breeding large wild cats under the house. One day they just disappeared. Cars left in the driveway. Lights still on. Food on the table. But no one ever saw them again.

We all just said forget it let’s go. We had nothing else to do. So we drove out and found the place. Hopped over the gate. Walked through a broken back door. The smell hit us immediately. It was like compost that had been sitting for years. Wet and rotting. Still, the house itself looked untouched. Everything was still there. Silverware was on the table. Expensive electronics were in the living room. Even the bedrooms looked like someone had just made the beds. It didn’t look abandoned. It looked frozen in time.

One of my friends grabbed a couple fancy bottles of wine and liquor. He said it would be proof we had actually been inside. It felt like we had walked into someone’s life and they were just about to come back. Then we remembered the smell. We followed it to the basement. That’s where everything changed.

There were cages everywhere. Big metal ones. Maybe a dozen of them. Each one was eight feet long and about five feet tall. Some had thick bars. Some had wire mesh. All of them had something inside. Rotting animals. Deer. Raccoons. Opossums. Bones. The smell down there was like raw sewage. And worse. A few cages had the skeletons of big cats still locked inside. You could tell they had been there for a long time. But the weirdest part was that some of the meat looked fresh. And there were flies everywhere.

My buddy stepped in something. A giant pile of poop. And I mean huge. Like whatever left that wasn’t a dog or anything you’d want to meet in the dark. It looked recent. That’s when we really started to panic. We stood still. Listening. Trying to figure out if something was still down there. Then we heard it. A growl. Low and deep. Then another sound. Something moving. We aimed our phone flashlights into the dark. We could see dust moving in the air like something had just walked past.

We didn’t wait to see more. We ran back upstairs. As fast as we could. My heart was racing and my legs felt like they couldn’t move fast enough. As we reached the door we came in through I noticed something above it. A red blinking light. It looked like a camera. But I didn’t stop. None of us did.

Then we were blinded. A flashlight right in our faces. And we heard it. A shotgun being racked. That sharp unmistakable click. There was a man standing in front of us. He looked like a fisherman. Old. Angry. Rugged. He said he was the caretaker. He said he didn’t call the cops when people came around. He said he handled things himself.

He made a call. He talked to someone. Said we had broken in. He told us we had two choices. He could beat the crap out of us and take what he wanted. Or we could pay ten thousand dollars and the owners would forget it ever happened. At first we thought he was bluffing. But then we looked at each other. One of us was a cop. One was an attorney. I was a military officer. If this got out it would ruin us. So we agreed.

He gave us ten days. Said leave the money in cash in the mailbox by the gate. And that was it. He let us go. Ten days later we came back. Left the money. Watched from a distance as he took it and walked back into the trees. We never heard from him again.

Some people say the caretaker still walks around at night. You can sometimes see his flashlight moving through the woods. Others say there’s still a panther or some other big cat living out there. Something that escaped. People see it on the road sometimes. We believe it. Because that poop was fresh. And the growls were real. We weren’t alone down there.

We think the owners were doing something illegal. Breeding exotic animals. Maybe selling them. When they thought they were about to get caught they vanished. Maybe they went back to Israel. We heard they were from there. Maybe they pay the caretaker to keep watch. Maybe he’s still feeding whatever is left down there.

All I know is that house still sits out there. Still untouched. Still lit up. Still watching. And whatever we heard in that basement is probably still living there. We were lucky to walk out that night. And I’m never going back.

Story 3: The Bone-Filled Cabin

I’ve never been the kind of person who says let’s go check out that creepy shack for fun. I don’t like bugs, I don’t like dirty places, and I definitely don’t go anywhere that looks like it might have something dead inside. But when I was little, my cousin was the total opposite. She loved horror stories.

She read creepypastas all the time and loved anything spooky or haunted. One summer, she got sent to stay at our house in the country. We didn’t have internet at home, and the only way to get Wi-Fi was to walk about a mile and a half to the nearest gas station that had a McDonald’s inside. There was no TV either, so we were just stuck with whatever we could find to do around the house.

Down the road from our place, there was this old building that looked like it used to be a cabin. It was small and beat-up, sitting alone in a big open field. The wood was falling apart. The windows were either broken or missing. Me and a friend used to dare each other to run up and touch it. But we never actually tried to open the door. We were both too scared. I had a serious fear of bugs crawling into my ears, so I never wanted to get too close. But once I told my cousin about it, her face lit up. She looked so excited that I instantly knew I had made a mistake.

She begged me to take her there. I kept telling her how awful the place was, but she didn’t care. I said it was dangerous and gross. She said that made it better. Eventually, I gave in. We walked down the road until we were standing in front of it. I told her again that it was a bad idea. But she didn’t even listen. She ran right up to the door and started pulling at it. It was nailed shut, but the wood was so weak and rotten that she kicked it open without much effort.

I didn’t want to go inside. But I didn’t want her going alone either. I was a chubby twelve-year-old girl. She was thirteen. Neither of us knew what we were doing, but I didn’t want her getting hurt or stuck. So I followed her in, holding my hands tightly over my ears the whole time. The first room we walked into was big and open. There were plants growing up through the floor. Mold everywhere. It smelled horrible, like wet trash and rotting wood. There were no chairs or anything. Just one little table in the corner. Spiders covered the walls. I begged her again to leave, but she wanted to see what was in the next room.

There was a doorway on the far side of the cabin that led to a second room. That’s when the smell got worse. Like mold mixed with something rotting. We reached the doorway and looked inside, and I swear it was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen in my life. The room was filled with skeletons. Giant skeletons. At first we didn’t even understand what we were looking at. There were bones stacked everywhere. Rib cages. Legs. Skulls. So many bones they almost reached the ceiling.

I froze. Then I jumped back. I didn’t scream. I just turned around and ran. My cousin followed me, and neither of us stopped running until we were halfway home. When we finally did stop, she bent over and threw up right there on the road. We were shaking. I don’t know if it was fear or the running or both. We told my mom and aunt what we saw. They were angry. Not because they didn’t believe us. But because we were dumb enough to go inside in the first place.

Later, we figured out the skeletons were probably horse skeletons. But at the time, we had no idea. We had never been around horses. All we knew was that the bones were massive and there were so many of them. Some still had flies crawling on them. Which meant they weren’t that old. Some of the bones probably still had pieces of meat or skin on them. We didn’t go back after that. We didn’t even walk near that cabin again. For the rest of the summer, we stayed inside and cleaned the house and made weird face masks from things we found in the kitchen.

I still don’t know why there were that many horse skeletons inside a tiny abandoned cabin in the middle of a field. I still think about how bad the smell was. And I still wonder why the flies were still active. Like someone had been there more recently than we thought. Maybe someone was dumping animals there. Maybe something worse. I’ll never know for sure. We moved a few years later, and I don’t even know if the cabin is still there.

But that day stuck with me. Not because something jumped out. Not because I saw a ghost. Just because it felt wrong. Something about that room full of bones in a place no one was supposed to go. Something about the way it smelled. The way the spiders covered everything. The way my cousin looked when she was done throwing up and couldn’t even talk for a few minutes. It all just stayed with me.

I don’t tell many people about it. Because it sounds like something you’d make up. Like a story you’d read online. But I was there. I smelled it. I saw the bones. I remember how heavy the air felt. Like the whole building had soaked in years of death and rot. And I remember how fast I ran. That’s the one thing I know for sure. I’ve never run that fast before or since. Not even close.

Maybe it was just an old farm building where someone dumped horse carcasses. Maybe it was some weird animal graveyard that no one bothered to clean out. But the fact that the skeletons were inside the cabin, not buried or hidden, still bothers me. Someone had to carry them in. Or something dragged them. And that means it wasn’t just an accident. It wasn’t just nature. Someone had to know. Someone had to do it.

I try not to think about it too much anymore. But sometimes, late at night, when I see something crawl across the floor or hear a weird creak in the wall, it all comes back. That smell. That silence. Those bones stacked almost to the ceiling. And I remember how close I came to not going in. How I almost stayed safe. But curiosity or worry or just not wanting to be left behind pulled me in.

And now that image is stuck in my head. Forever.