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💀 “Some stories don’t end… they wait.”
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00:00If you ever wake up and see your grandma staring at you in the middle of the night,
00:04you're in serious trouble. My name's Rachel. I'm from Whitby, North Yorkshire. My grandma passed
00:10away three years ago. I loved her more than anything. She practically raised me. But what
00:16happened last month still haunts me. It was around 2.40 a.m. I had just moved back into her old
00:24cottage near the edge of the moors, trying to feel close to her again. That night, I woke up
00:31because I felt watched. And there she was, standing at the edge of my bed. My grandma wearing her
00:40favorite nightgown. But something was off. Her smile was too wide. Her eyes were wrong. I sat up
00:48slowly and whispered, Grandma. She tilted her head sharply. Too sharply. Like her neck wasn't
00:56made of bone. And then she said, You're in my bed, Rachel. I froze. She took another step.
01:03You're wearing my skin. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. I slammed my eyes shut. Pulled the blanket
01:11over my head and prayed. When I finally peeked, she was gone. But in the morning, muddy footprints
01:19led from the hallway straight to my bed. Later, I found out. In old Yorkshire folklore, if the dead
01:27come back and speak in a voice that isn't theirs, they're not here to talk. They're here to take your
01:34place. Guys, let me know if you want part two. But be careful what you ask for.
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