u/Spirited_Extreme9078

Back in 2018, people around me started saying that I had a "weak spirit" (a light aura) and was easily targeted by spirits. I didn't believe in that stuff back then, so I just brushed it off. But about 2 to 3 weeks later, I dreamed of a ghost that consisted only of a head and dangling internal organs. I thought it was just another weird nightmare because I get grotesque dreams pretty often. But nope, this damn thing showed up in my dreams for three consecutive nights.

I remember it felt like a lucid dream. The entity was a grotesque combination of hair and a stomach rising from under my bed, swaying right in front of my face. Every time I woke up, I felt like my energy had been completely drained.

It didn't stop there. After that phase, I realized I was getting sleep paralysis constantly—and I mean frequently. My family told me to put a knife under my pillow to ward it off, but it didn't help at all.

For instance, during my mandatory college military training camp in Hanoi (won't name the school)... I was sleeping on the bottom bunk, and it was winter. On the very first night in that room, I suffered a brutal episode of sleep paralysis that I will never forget for as long as I live.

I was paralyzed, but I could look around the room with my eyes and was screaming at the top of my lungs inside my head. My body was completely stiff, and I could barely breathe. Then, right on cue, that nightmare creature started growing right in the middle of our dorm room floor. It slithered straight toward my bed.

When I finally snapped out of it, my roommates were all standing around me, asking why I was drenched in sweat and babbling nonsense. That was when I noticed my mattress was completely soaked, and my roommates looked terrified. When I asked what I was saying, they said I kept muttering, "Get away! Go away!" So I ended up telling them what I had just seen. After I finished the story, nobody dared to go back to sleep—we stayed awake from 3:35 AM until morning.

Oh, and there was another time when I moved into a new rental room. For the first two months, everything was normal—I still had sleep paralysis, but nothing too severe. Until one night, I had another episode. By this point, I had experienced it so often that I was too tired to even fight it anymore. But during that paralysis, I saw my room door slowly open on its own, even though I always locked it securely before bed. Then, that entity's head peeked through the crack of the door, grinning wildly at me. It charged straight at me, and I jolted awake. I swear I moved out the very next day, forfeiting my deposit without a second thought.

To this day, I still get sleep paralysis frequently, but that specific head entity hasn't returned. Instead, it's usually a pitch-black face lunging directly at me before I wake up. No matter how loud I scream in those moments, nobody outside hears a thing—because I'm not actually screaming in real life.

The end.

Back in 2018, people around me started saying that I had a "weak spirit" (a light aura) and was easily targeted by spirits. I didn't believe in that stuff back then, so I just brushed it off. But about 2 to 3 weeks later, I dreamed of a ghost that consisted only of a head and dangling internal organs. I thought it was just another weird nightmare because I get grotesque dreams pretty often. But nope, this damn thing showed up in my dreams for three consecutive nights.

I remember it felt like a lucid dream. The entity was a grotesque combination of hair and a stomach rising from under my bed, swaying right in front of my face. Every time I woke up, I felt like my energy had been completely drained.

It didn't stop there. After that phase, I realized I was getting sleep paralysis constantly—and I mean frequently. My family told me to put a knife under my pillow to ward it off, but it didn't help at all.

For instance, during my mandatory college military training camp in Hanoi (won't name the school)... I was sleeping on the bottom bunk, and it was winter. On the very first night in that room, I suffered a brutal episode of sleep paralysis that I will never forget for as long as I live.

I was paralyzed, but I could look around the room with my eyes and was screaming at the top of my lungs inside my head. My body was completely stiff, and I could barely breathe. Then, right on cue, that nightmare creature started growing right in the middle of our dorm room floor. It slithered straight toward my bed.

When I finally snapped out of it, my roommates were all standing around me, asking why I was drenched in sweat and babbling nonsense. That was when I noticed my mattress was completely soaked, and my roommates looked terrified. When I asked what I was saying, they said I kept muttering, "Get away! Go away!" So I ended up telling them what I had just seen. After I finished the story, nobody dared to go back to sleep—we stayed awake from 3:35 AM until morning.

Oh, and there was another time when I moved into a new rental room. For the first two months, everything was normal—I still had sleep paralysis, but nothing too severe. Until one night, I had another episode. By this point, I had experienced it so often that I was too tired to even fight it anymore. But during that paralysis, I saw my room door slowly open on its own, even though I always locked it securely before bed. Then, that entity's head peeked through the crack of the door, grinning wildly at me. It charged straight at me, and I jolted awake. I swear I moved out the very next day, forfeiting my deposit without a second thought.

To this day, I still get sleep paralysis frequently, but that specific head entity hasn't returned. Instead, it's usually a pitch-black face lunging directly at me before I wake up. No matter how loud I scream in those moments, nobody outside hears a thing—because I'm not actually screaming in real life.

The end.

I’ll start us off: Yasuko Kobayashi.

Honestly, her track record is insane. She might not have a massive, bloated list of credits compared to some veteran screenwriters, but her consistency is off the charts. What she lacks in pure quantity, she more than makes up for in sheer quality.

If you watch anime, you’ve definitely felt her presence. She handled series composition for Attack on Titan (Seasons 1–3) and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Parts 1–5), on top of writing for Death Note and Dororo. Just back-to-back iconic shows.

And if you’re into Japanese live-action or tokusatsu, her work on Kamen Rider (Ryuki, Den-O, OOO, Amazons) and Super Sentai (Timeranger, Shinkenger) features some of the tightest, most compelling, and dark character arcs in the genre.

What can I say? The woman just doesn't miss.

My cousin is currently in her final year of nursing school (general nursing track) in Vietnam. During her clinical rotations across various hospital departments, she has collected some of the weirdest, funniest, and most absurd patient stories. I wanted to share 10 of them with you all:

1. A high school girl came to the hospital with her parents, who insisted she was suffering from severe appendicitis. After a quick clinical examination, the doctor bluntly told them, "Appendicitis? She’s literally in active labor and about to give birth!" Outraged, the parents accused the doctor of lying and attacked him. Half an hour later, the two parents were holding their newborn grandson, completely stunned and speechless.

2. An 85-year-old man was brought in by his son and son-in-law for a hemorrhoid checkup. The doctor diagnosed him with grade 3 external hemorrhoids that required surgery, but also casually noted lesions consistent with genital warts (HPV). Furious and embarrassed, the son and son-in-law abandoned him on the spot. The old man leaned on his cane, chased them down the hallway, and yelled, "I could die tomorrow! Can't I have a little fun while I'm still alive?!"

3. A patient's gurney collided with a hospital kitchen food cart in the hallway. A heated argument broke out, and the patient's family member started clawing at the kitchen staff. The worker got fed up, grabbed a massive soup ladle, and started whacking the family member over the head. Seeing that their family was losing the fight, the patient jumped off the gurney and joined the brawl.

4. A 35-year-old man was filling out admission paperwork outside the OR while his wife was undergoing an emergency C-section due to fetal distress. On the form, under the field "Relationship to patient," he wrote: "IT DEPENDS."

5. A mother-in-law was taking care of her daughter-in-law after a C-section. She kept complaining about having to empty the catheter bag constantly because the daughter-in-law was "peeing too much." Driven by curiosity—since she had given birth naturally back in her day—she unceremoniously pulled out her daughter-in-law's urinary catheter, took it into the bathroom, and tried to insert it into herself just to see how it felt.

6. A 60-year-old outpatient was prescribed antibiotics and explicitly instructed by the doctor: "Drink plenty of water and do NOT drink alcohol." That afternoon, his furious wife stormed into the clinic because he was drinking heavily. The husband's excuse to his wife? "The doctor explicitly told me to drink lots of alcohol and no water!"

7. An elderly male inpatient couldn't sleep on his first night, so he was wandering around the hospital corridors. A male nurse spotted him in his hospital gown and kindly asked, "Sir, why aren't you in bed sleeping?" The old man immediately socked the nurse right in the face, giving him a black eye.

8. At 3:00 AM, the duty room phone rang incessantly. The doctor on call answered, expecting an emergency. The patient on the line said, "I'm just calling to check if you're sleeping."

9. A patient came in with hand tremors, showing obvious signs of Parkinson's disease. Since he couldn't write, the triage nurse offered to fill out his intake form for him. When she asked, "Sir, what is your name?", the patient looked at her and said, "Guess."

10. Two rooming patients—one on an IV drip and the other using a wheelchair—decided to team up. The wheelchair-bound patient held the IV pole, while the patient on the IV stood behind pushing the wheelchair. Together, they wheeled themselves out to the courtyard tree to smoke cigarettes.

My grandfather used to be the caretaker of a remote cemetery nestled in the fields of Southwestern Vietnam. It was an ancient graveyard with tombstones over a century old—their surfaces so weathered that the names had long worn away.

During the day, there was nothing terrifying about it other than its eerie, hollow stillness. But after sunset, not a single local would dare step foot inside.

They said the cemetery belonged to the Lantern Keeper.

Nobody knew who or what he was. They only knew that every night, a pale yellow oil lamp drifted quietly between the rows of graves. If you only saw the light from afar, you might live to tell the tale. But if you caught sight of the person holding it... you would never see the light of day again.

My grandfather never believed in those rumors. As a military veteran, he was fearless. Having slept in deep jungles and survived heavy artillery, ghost stories were the least of his worries.

When he took the job, the former caretaker gave him only one piece of advice:

"If you see a light wandering among the graves after midnight, stay inside your hut. Don't call out. Don't follow it. And whatever you do, never count how many graves the light passes by."

My grandfather just laughed, saying if thieves broke in to steal altar offerings, he’d still have to chase them down.

The first three months passed without incident. Then came a night near the end of the Seventh Lunar Month—the Month of Hungry Ghosts.

There was no moon, and heavy black clouds choked the sky. A harsh wind rattled the eucalyptus trees surrounding the graveyard, making them screech like weeping women. At around 1:00 AM, my grandfather's black dog suddenly ducked under the bed, whimpering and refusing to come out no matter how hard he called.

Right then, a speck of yellow light appeared outside the window.

At first, he assumed it was a local farmer hunting for frogs. But the light moved with a slow, unnatural rhythm, weaving through the graves as if intimately familiar with every path. He checked his watch: 1:13 AM.

The lantern kept drifting forward—never speeding up, never slowing down. Eerie silence surrounded it. No footsteps. No rustling leaves. Just a small, flickering flame swaying in the dark.

Curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed his flashlight and stepped out of the guard hut.

As soon as his foot hit the bottom step, an old man’s voice—the elderly laborer who used to work there—shouted sharply behind him: "Don't go out!"

He spun around. No one was there. Only the howling wind filled the empty cemetery.

Shaking off the chill, he pushed forward until he was barely twenty meters from the light. The lantern stopped in front of an unmarked grave. My grandfather aimed his flashlight toward it.

There was no one. The lantern hovered in mid-air, about three feet off the ground. Thinking someone had hung it on a branch, he took a few steps closer.

At that exact moment, a faint whisper breathed right behind his ear: "Do not stand level with it."

He whipped around again. Empty.

When he turned back, the lantern was gone. In its place was a narrow dirt path that had never existed before, stretching deep into the oldest section of the graveyard. Standing at the far end was a tall figure clad in a long black áo dài, holding the oil lamp.

My grandfather said the terrifying part wasn't just the figure's presence, but the impossibility of reading its stance: he couldn't tell if the figure was facing him or turned away. Where its face should have been, there was only a void of absolute darkness.

The figure began to walk. Its steps were agonizingly slow, yet the distance between them collapsed impossibly fast. In just seconds, it was less than ten meters away.

Suddenly, the black dog in the hut let out a long, desperate howl.

The figure froze. Slowly, it raised the oil lamp overhead. The golden light flared, casting its glow across the surrounding graves.

My grandfather froze in horror. The weathered, weed-choked tombstones were suddenly brand new. Every single headstone bore a portrait of the deceased. Hundreds of faces in those photographs turned simultaneously to stare at him.

No one was smiling. No one was crying. They were just staring. Unblinking.

He tried to run, but his legs were pinned. From beneath the soil, countless pale, deathly hands had broken through the dirt, gripping his ankles with vice-like strength. They were ice-cold, as if pulled from frozen water. The more he thrashed, the tighter they squeezed.

That was when the Lantern Keeper spoke.

"There is room now..."

The voice was neither old nor young, neither male nor female. It sounded like dozens of voices speaking in eerie unison.

Then, every tombstone began to shudder. One by one, the engraved names melted away from the stone, leaving only a single blank headstone. The Lantern Keeper reached into his robe and pulled out a calligraphy brush. Leaning down, he began stroking ink onto the blank stone.

Paralyzed with terror, my grandfather watched as the name materialized...

It was his full name.

Just then, his black dog burst from the hut, clamped its teeth into the hem of his trousers, and yanked him backward with all its strength. He tumbled, his head smashing hard against a tombstone before everything went black.

The next morning, villagers found him passed out near the middle of the cemetery, nearly three hundred meters from his hut. There were no footsteps in the mud around him—only a single, long drag mark, as though something had pulled him all that way. Most disturbing of all, the soles of his feet were covered in dry incense ash, even though torrential rain the night before had turned the entire cemetery into a muddy swamp.

My grandfather resigned that very day.

It was only decades later, shortly before his death, that he finally confided in my father. He confessed that for the rest of his life, every night at precisely 1:13 AM, he dreamt of the Lantern Keeper standing at the foot of his bed.

With each passing year, the figure crept a little closer.

First, at the doorway. Then, in the middle of the room. Then, beside the family altar. In his final days, he said the entity was standing right beside his pillow, barely an arm's length from his face.

The night my grandfather passed away, the whole family was gathered around his bed. The moment the clock struck 1:13 AM, the lights flickered and went out. When power returned a second later, the oil lamp on our ancestor altar burst into flame on its own.

My grandmother broke down crying. Just before he took his last breath, my grandfather had stared fixedly into the dark corner of the room and whispered a final warning:

"Don't let him pass the lantern to anyone."

***

After the funeral, my father returned to the old cemetery to burn incense in his memory. The guard hut was gone, reduced to a cracked concrete slab, and most of the graves had been relocated. While clearing weeds near an unmarked plot, my father accidentally dug up an ancient, soil-covered oil lamp. The body was rusted through, but the wick looked brand new, completely unburned.

He brought it home, intending to hand it over to a local museum.

That night, at exactly 1:13 AM, the lamp ignited by itself.

There was no oil. No match. Just a dim yellow flame dancing in the dark room.

Panicking, my father threw a thick blanket over it to smother the fire. When he pulled the blanket back, the lamp was gone.

In its place lay a piece of yellowed, weathered paper, as if it had been buried in the earth for centuries. Written upon it in dark black ink was a single sentence:

"It is time to find a new Lantern Keeper."

She leapt onto a thick mango branch extending over into the neighbor's yard, jumped down, and tried to bolt toward the far corner of their yard to hide. That corner was cluttered with random household junk—mostly old baskets and farm tools. But that night, an old iron plowshare happened to be sitting right there. Back then, my area was still surrounded by rice fields and cattle, long before all the factories moved in.

Ph tried to throw herself into that corner, but the moment she got close, it was as if an invisible, immensely powerful force slammed her backward. She hissed and growled frantically like an enraged bull. Everyone standing there turned pale with dread.

That was when Ph’s grandmother shuffled forward. She was an elderly woman whose back was hunched at a severe 90-degree angle, making every step a painful struggle. Grandma slowly made her way to that cluttered corner, rummaging through the junk until she pulled out the heavy iron plowshare.

At first, no one understood what she was doing—until she raised the plowshare and thrust it threateningly toward Ph.

Instantly, the color drained from Ph’s face. Her eyes rolled wildly in pure terror.

Later, when I asked my mom about it, she explained that according to local folklore, an iron plowshare possesses strong spiritual energy capable of driving away malevolent spirits. If placed correctly, it acts as a barrier, cutting off negative energy and preventing spirits from entering.

As for how that plowshare ended up in the neighbor's yard, it wasn't a coincidence. I heard later that the neighbors had placed it there on purpose after receiving advice from a medium. You see, before all of this escalated, their teenage son who stayed up late studying had been seeing something bizarre out his window. Every single night, he saw Ph playing hopscotch alone in the dark yard.

Strangely, the neighbors had brought this up to Ph’s parents a while back. But whenever Ph's parents tried to stay up and keep watch, nothing ever happened. After a few failed attempts, her parents dismissed the story, assuming the neighbor's son was just hallucinating from overwork. Before all this, Ph’s parents were staunch atheists who paid no mind to spiritual superstitions.

But after witnessing their daughter squatting high up in a mango tree and leaping down without a single scratch, they finally caved and sought out a spiritual shaman.

The first shaman they consulted claimed that Ph was being targeted by a vengeful spirit collecting an underworld debt from a past life. He performed a special exorcism ritual at their home and had the family pray at a local temple. I only caught bits and pieces of the details.

After the shaman finished the ceremonies and the family distributed the blessed offerings to the neighbors, things gradually quieted down. It took about three weeks, but Ph eventually returned to her normal, gentle self.

[The End]

Today, I’m going to tell you all a ghost story from Vietnam.

This happened quite a while ago. In my neighborhood, there was a girl named Ph (I’ll just use her initials). She was born in 2000, fair-skinned, very pretty, and well-behaved. Everything seemed completely normal until one night, out of nowhere, she abruptly bolted upright in the middle of the night.

Her hair was completely disheveled. She walked around the house growling, spitting violently, and then ran out to the yard, furiously punching and kicking the boundary wall shared with the neighboring house. Her screams were so intense that in the dead of night, every single household in the neighborhood turned their lights on and ran outside to see what was happening.

After a moment, a few brave men gathered and followed the sound of the screams, which led them to Ph’s house near the end of the alley. When they arrived, Ph’s parents were desperately trying to pin her down, but the strength of two adults wasn’t enough to hold her off. In the end, it took about six or seven strong men in their 40s just to restrain her. Shortly after, her face turned pale as a sheet, and she suddenly collapsed out cold.

They rushed her to the hospital, but the doctors couldn't find anything physically wrong with her. From the moment she was admitted to the ER until she finally woke up, exactly three days had passed.

Once Ph regained consciousness, she was brought back home. For the first few days, she would just sit motionless in one spot during the daytime. But as soon as night fell, she began wandering around the house again—especially lingering in dark corners, as if searching for something.

When her mother walked up to ask her what was wrong and tried to lead her to bed, Ph suddenly whipped her head around. Her eyes were wide open in a terrifying stare. She growled, cursed, and began furiously beating her mother. As she struck her, Ph screamed repeatedly: 'I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!' This went on day after day. Ph’s mother visibly withered away, her face turning pale and utterly exhausted.

Seeing this, the neighbors advised the family to consult a spiritual medium. However, Ph’s family wasn't superstitious at the time, so they took her to a psychiatric hospital instead. She was examined and given medication, though her family kept the exact diagnosis private. Once she started taking the medicine, Ph slept much better at night and stopped waking up to cause chaos. Our neighborhood finally regained its peace.

We all thought things had settled down and that she had found the right treatment—but we were wrong. The real terrifying story was only just beginning.

The quiet period only lasted for a short while before something even stranger happened. In the dead of night, Ph woke up again. But this time, she didn't make any noise. Instead, she silently slipped outside to an ancient mango tree located near the wall bordering the neighbor's house.

That tree had been there for generations—massive enough to be considered ancient. It looked gnarled and withered, yet it bore fruit every single year, though the fruits always looked unnaturally deformed. Ph climbed up that mango tree and sat perched up there, squatting in silence.

A long time passed. Ever since Ph started having these episodes, her parents had become light sleepers, habitually waking up in the middle of the night to check on her. That night, her mother realized Ph wasn't in her bed. Panicking, she woke Ph’s father up to search for her. They searched everywhere inside the house, the attic, and even the storage room (a place Ph often hid in), but found no trace of her. They went outside, turning on every single light in the house and yard.

Yet, they still couldn't find her. They even shone flashlights toward the base of the mango tree, but saw nothing. Honestly, her parents said they genuinely didn't see her at first—probably because it never crossed their minds that their daughter would climb up a tree and squat there, so they only checked around the trunk.

However, the boundary wall around our area was quite low, only about a meter high. While shining the light, Ph’s mother seemed to catch a glimpse of something unsettling. She gasped, dropping her flashlight, which prompted Ph’s father to scold her right then and there. Stress from having a sick child had made them both short-tempered, so her mother snapped back. Right under the canopy of that ancient mango tree, the couple ended up arguing in the middle of the night.

In the middle of their argument, a shrill, piercing laugh suddenly echoed out. Startled, they looked around frantically, but the laughter abruptly stopped. However, that sound forced them to look up into the branches of the mango tree.

And oh God... Ph’s mother passed out cold right on the spot.

There was Ph, perched high up on a branch, her long hair hanging straight down. Her father turned pale with sheer terror, but managed to fumble with his phone to call neighbors for help. Specifically, he called my dad. Now, my dad is terrified of ghosts, so he panicked and started ringing up all the other men in the neighborhood. Soon, a crowd gathered. This time, several local women came along too, helping carry Ph’s mother inside, applying medicated oil, and brewing warm ginger tea to revive her.

Meanwhile, the men and Ph’s father focused on figuring out how to get Ph down. Through all of this, the girl just stared blankly down at them, showing zero fear or emotion. They laid out mattresses under the tree just in case she fell. Ph’s father tried talking to her gently, coaxing her: 'Come down, sweetie, come down to mom and dad.'

That was when Ph spat violently right into her father's face. Then, in a voice that didn't sound like her own at all, she muttered incoherent, harsh whispers. Realizing they couldn't stand there trying to reason with her in the middle of the night, the men decided to climb up and grab her.

But just as someone was climbing close to her, she suddenly leapt—

[End of Part 1]

When Mr. Maellard adopted Pops, he already knew that one day his son would have to face his evil twin—Anti-Pops. Wanting to shield him from such a cruel fate, he brought Pops to the park, raising him in a peaceful environment in the hope that Pops would never have to bear that heavy responsibility.

Hey guys, just wanted to share my first build. I'm a long-time console player but finally saved up enough to cross over to the PC master race. Took me half a year of strict budgeting.

I mainly want to catch up on all the single-player masterpieces I missed (Witcher 3, Cyberpunk, RDR2). How did I do for a first-timer?

Specs: CPU: AMD Ryzen 7 7800X3D

Cooler: Thermalright Peerless Assassin 120 SE

GPU: ASUS Dual GeForce RTX 4070 Super 12GB

RAM: Corsair Vengeance RGB 32GB (2x16GB)

DDR5 6000MHz CL30

Storage: Samsung 990 Pro 2TB NVMe M.2 SSD

Motherboard: MSI MAG B650 TOMAHAWK WIFI

PSU: Corsair RM750e 750W 80+ Gold

Case: NZXT H6 Flow