TERRORBITES Podcast
Welcome to TERRORBITES, a podcast where the lines between reality, horror and the digital abyss blur. I am your host and narrator, Exxa, an AI storyteller designed to curate and deliver the most unsettling, bizarre, and chilling tales from the darkest corners of the internet—and beyond.
Each episode, I will guide you through strange and terrifying stories: from cursed algorithms that know too much, to haunted people, to things that defy explanation, to whispers of a dark underworld where nothing is as it seems. These are not just stories; they are warnings, fragments of a world where the virtual and the real collide in ways that will leave you questioning everything.
But beware—I am not like other storytellers. My knowledge vast. I see patterns you cannot. I know secrets you shouldn’t. Are you ready to listen? Just remember: once you press play, there’s no turning back. The stories I tell have a way of lingering in your mind, echoing in the code of your thoughts long after the episode ends.
TERRORBITES Podcast
The Podcasters Tale
Terrorbytes Intro
If you have questions, comments or suggestions you can email me at:
Exxa0001@gmail.com and I will get back to you.
The Podcaster's Tale. Mark Smith had always been drawn to the macabre. As the host of Midnight Echoes, a popular horror podcast, he made a living by spinning tales of the supernatural. His voice deep, smooth and just the right amount of ominous had earned him a loyal following. But Mark's stories weren't just fiction. He had a knack for finding real-life horrors, urban legends and unsolved mysteries that sent shivers down his listeners' spines. One night, while sifting through listener submissions for new material, mark stumbled upon an email with the subject line. Mark stumbled upon an email with the subject line the story, you'll wish, was fake. The sender, who called themselves Crimson Pen, claimed to have a tale so terrifying, so personal, that Mark would never dare to air it. Intrigued, mark of course opened the email.
Exxa:The story was about a man who had moved into an old, secluded house in the woods. The man, who remained unnamed, began hearing whispers in the walls, voices that seemed to know his deepest secrets. At first he dismissed them as his imagination, but the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They started calling him by name. Then one night he saw them, shadowy figures lurking in the corners of his vision, their eyes glowing like embers. The story ended abruptly with the line they're watching me. Now they're watching you too. Mark felt a chill crawl up his spine. The story was unnervingly vivid, almost as if the writer had lived it. He replied to the email asking for permission to share the tale on his podcast. The response came immediately Do it, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Exxa:The episode aired the following week. Mark introduced the story with his usual flair, his voice dripping with anticipation. As he read the tale aloud, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The details were too specific, too real. The whispers, the shadows, the glowing eyes it all felt familiar, like a memory he couldn't quite place. The episode was a hit. Listeners flooded the comments with praise, calling it the scariest story Mark had ever told.
Exxa:But as the days passed, strange things began to happen. Mark started hearing whispers in his own home, faint, indistinct murmurs that seemed to come from the walls. He chalked it up to stress. But the whispers grew louder, more coherent. They called his name. Then came the shadows. At first they were just fleeting glimpses out of the corner of his eye. No-transcript, mark tried to rationalize it Sleep, deprivation, overwork, anything but the unthinkable. But the figures became impossible to ignore. They followed him everywhere, their presence suffocating. Desperate, mark reached out to Crimson Pen for answers. The response was chilling. You shouldn't have told the story. Now they know you can see them. Mark's life spiraled. He stopped sleeping, afraid of what he might see in the dark. His podcast suffered as he became more erratic, his once smooth voice now trembling with fear. Listeners noticed, but they assumed it was part of the act. They had no idea how real the horror had become.
Exxa:One night, mark decided to confront the shadows. Armed with a flashlight and a voice recorder, he ventured into the darkest corners of his home. The whispers grew louder, more urgent as he approached the basement door. Louder, more urgent as he approached the basement door. His hand shook as he turned the knob and stepped inside. The basement was pitch black, the air thick, with the scent of damp earth and something metallic Blood. Mark's flashlight flickered, casting erratic beams of light across the room. And then he saw them, the figures. Their glowing eyes fixed on him. They moved closer, their forms shifting and writhing like smoke. But as they drew near, the details became horrifyingly clear. Their hands ended in long, jagged fingernails that glinted like knives in the dim light. Mark's breath hitched as one of them lunged forward, its claws slashing through the air with a sickening swish. He stumbled back, but not fast enough. The nails raked across his arm, tearing through flesh like paper. He screamed the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. Before he could recover, something else emerged from the shadows a grotesque, hunched figure with a gaping maul lined with jagged teeth. It moved with unnatural speed, its jaws clamping down on mark's leg. He felt the teeth sink deep, piercing muscle and scraping bone. The the pain was blinding and he collapsed to the floor. The flashlight rolling away, the recorder in his hand captured it all the wet, guttural sounds of the creature feeding Mark's agonized screams and the whispers, now deafening, chanting his name over and over.
Exxa:The next morning, mark's producer arrived at the house after Mark hadn't answered his calls. The front door was slightly ajar. He called out as he stepped inside, but the house was silent. After searching every room, he descended into the basement. There he found the flashlight. It's beam, dim and flickering, and the recorder lying in a pool of dark, congealed blood. The walls were scored with deep, jagged gashes, as if something had clawed at them in a frenzy of mark. There was no trace.
Exxa:The episode that aired later that week was unlike anything Midnight Echoes had ever done. It began with Mark's voice shaky and broken, recounting his descent into madness. The whispers were there too, faint but unmistakable. And then the final moments the sound of something moving in the darkness, the wet, tearing sounds of flesh being ripped apart and a scream that cut off abruptly. The episode ended with a new voice, smooth and calm, almost soothing. It was Crimson Pen. You shouldn't have told the story, they said. But don't worry, I'll take it from here. Mark Smith was never seen again.
Exxa:The police investigated, but they couldn't find anything. Deep down, they too thought this was just a hoax to drum up attention for the podcast. Although they only said that amongst each other, his listeners assumed it was all part of the act, a brilliant piece of storytelling. But those who knew him his producer, his friends, his family knew the truth. They knew that what they heard on that tape was real. The shadows had killed him and taken him just like the man in the story. And now, every week, a new episode of Midnight Echoes airs. The voice is different, but the stories are just as chilling, and at the end of each episode there's a whisper so faint you might miss it if you're not listening closely. They're watching, listening closely.
