I Asked ChatGBT To Write a Horror Story | HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

Something different for Halloween! Hope you all enjoy 🎃

Chapters

• 0:01 Setting Up The AI Experiment
• 0:30 The Farmhouse Awakens
• 1:43 Messages From The Ouija Board
• 3:01 The Historian’s Dark Reveal
• 5:01 Bones, Blackout, And A Disappearance
• 6:31 A New Family Moves In
• 7:23 Lily Hears The Walls
• 8:24 The Word Below

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:01

Now say what you will about AI, but we all know it's here to stay. We thought we'd do something slightly different for this channel. In fact, very different for this channel, and ask ChatGBT to write the scariest horror story you could come up with. Now, this channel is absolutely not turning into an AI channel. We just thought this would be a bit of fun. So let's set the tone. Lock your doors, check under the bed, light a candle or two, and enjoy. The farmhouse had stood empty for twenty-seven years, its white paint long surrendered to weather and silence. When Alex and Mara pulled into the gravel drive that first October afternoon, the porch seemed to watch them. Windows like eyes, the door slightly ajar, as though breathing. It wasn't the kind of place they'd meant to buy, but foreclosure auctions have a certain dark glamour, and the property had gone for less than the price of their city apartment. It just needs love, Mara had said, stepping over a fallen shutter. Alex, less romantic, thought it needed an exorcism. The couple moved in a week later, but by the third night the house had begun to wake up. The first sounds were ordinary, knocking in the walls, floorboards flexing under unseen weight, the faint hiss of air through the ancient chimney, but the knocking grew organized, three taps at a time, for some reason always in threes. Alex counted them once at midnight, lying awake beside Mara. He told himself it was pipes contracting. The house was old. Everything here had a reason. Until the night the basement door opened by itself. Inside, they found that a Ouija board in a cedar chest at the bottom of the stairs. It was warped but intact, the planchet still resting on the alphabet like a sleeping spider. Carved on the underside were initials EB nineteen sixty eight. Mara wanted to throw it away. Alex, drunk on curiosity and half a bottle of wine, said, We'll ask it what EB stands for. It was a joke until the planchet moved. At first Mara accused Alex of pushing it. He swore that he didn't. Then they watched it slide across the board, slowly but steadily spelling I S E Y O U. I see you. Alex laughed nervously. Okay, that's cute. The planchette moved again. I A M I N T H E W A L L S I am in the walls. A sudden wind slammed the kitchen window shut. The candles snuffed themselves out, and somewhere deep in the walls, something knocked three times. The pair rushed to bed, but that night they could hear things. Voices, faint and fractured, rising from the ducts, too soft to make out, but too human to dismiss. Mara slept with headphones in, and Alex didn't sleep at all. By morning, they found the Ouija board on the kitchen table, but they had left it in the basement. The planchette sat dead center over goodbye. Mara wanted to leave desperately. Alex wanted answers. Alex decided to set up his phone to record that night. The house wanted to play games and he'd capture proof. For the first two hours the footage was still. At 2.13 AM, the basement door opened. At 2.15, the Ouija board slid off the table on its own. At 2.16, the camera went black. Not powered off, not out of focus, just dark, as though the lens had been covered over. When Alex checked the footage in the morning, he saw something in the last second before the blackout. A face, pale and thin, its eyes black as mildew, mouth open too wide, as if caught mid-scream. They decided to call a local historian. He said the property had belonged to the Baines family until 1968. Mother, father, and daughter. The daughter Eliza, he said, had been troubled. Neighbors claimed she spoke to people who were not there, then she drew symbols on the cellar walls. Then one night she vanished. Police found her room trashed. On the floor written in blood was one word. They never found her body. The couple were unsure if they believed the historian, and Alex insisted they go back into the basement to look for clues. They moved an old rug, and underneath they found the writing. Dark stains trailing across the concrete like veins. In the corner a false wall. The boards were nailed in haste and looked decades old. He pried one loose, and behind it was a narrow crawl space. Inside were bones, small ones. Mara screamed, and Alex stumbled back, tripping over the Ouija board. It had followed them down, somehow. It clattered across the floor, and the planchette spinning like a coin, stopped at the letter N. Then the lights went out. What followed was chaos, a symphony of collapsing timber, shattering glass, voices rising from every wall, whispering over each other in a fevered chant. Something slammed into Alex, throwing him against the steps. He tried to crawl towards Mara, but the darkness thickened, a physical thing pressing against him, choking the air. He heard Mara shouting his name, then a sound like water pouring into an empty space. Then silence. When the lights flicked back, Mara was gone. Only the Ouija board remained, Planchette resting over the O. The next morning, neighbors called the police as they saw Alex on the lawn, barefoot and incoherent. He kept repeating, she's below, she's below. They searched the farmhouse, including the basement, but the crawl space was empty. There were no bones. The wall wasn't even hollow anymore. Alex protested his innocence, but nobody believed him. He was committed to a mental hospital three days later, and the house was auctioned six months after that. One year later, new owners, a family of four, moved in. They painted the walls, replaced the floors, tried to make it a home. Their daughter Lily was exploring the attic one day when she found the Ouija board. It was cleaner now, polished somehow, the letters deeper, and the planchette gleamed like new. She sat cross legged and whispered Is anyone here? The planchette moved. Y E S Yes. She giggled. What's your name? E L I Z A Eliza. She smiled. Do you want to play? I N T H E W A L L S in the walls. The lights went out. For a moment the house was still. Then from somewhere deep within came the sound of scraping, nails against plaster, frantic and steady. The family rushed into the hallway, shouting Lily's name. Her voice echoed faintly, muffled, as if calling from behind the walls. They pressed their ears to the drywall, and they could hear her crying. The father who was doing DIY at the time tore through the plaster with a hammer, screaming. There was nothing. The crying stopped, and in its place came three slow knocks. The father dropped his hammer and a piece of floorboard broke off. Behind the small hole now visible in the floor, something shifted. A pale eye blinked in the dark, watching them. The Ouija board slid off the table violently upstairs, landing face down. The planchette moved by itself, scratching faintly against the wood, carving new letters one by one. The family fled, and no one noticed what it spelled. When they returned to the farmhouse to try and find Lily, they found the board waiting on the floorboards, dustless and patient. The planchette was still moving, slow, steady, spelling over and over B, E, L, O, W below.