We record what the world denies.
We remember what it fears.
Welcome to The Paranormal Archives.
Recovered testimonies, forgotten recordings, and whispered confessions — these are the fragments that survived. Listen carefully… the truth hides between the static.
Bestiary
A compendium of creatures both known and forgotten. Each entry whispers of hunger, fear, and the dark corners of the world.
Artifacts
Relics recovered from the vaults. Each one hums with forgotten power.
CASE FILE #004 — TROUT LAKE, 1896
Something moved in the timber around Trout Lake—too gaunt to be a man, too deliberate to be a beast.
Those who survived the search parties say the voice began soft, familiar, calling them by name from beyond the tree line.
But the warmth behind it faded… and the whisper became hollow—something that wanted them alone.
Locals say it lingered near the old logging camps, where the pines grow so dense the sky disappears.
It did not chase. It waited.
You’d catch it at the corner of your vision—something tall between the trunks, motionless, watching.
When the wind shifted, it smelled like wet iron and smoke. When the forest fell silent, it meant it was close.
Those few who returned said it wasn’t the cold that killed the others—it was the urge to follow.
It coaxed them deeper even as their bodies froze.
It promised food. Fire. Voices they recognized.
And when their hands went numb, it whispered that they could still survive… if they fed.
Old logs from the Trout Lake camps mention figures moving against the wind, long tracks that ended abruptly, and frozen bodies half-buried in snow—faces twisted, jaws broken.
Officials blamed exposure. Locals burned the remains. No one stayed to see what thawed beneath the drifts come spring.
Recovered note found near the Trout Lake treeline, undated:
“It isn’t the storm that takes them. Something hungry lives out here. It wears their voices.”
CASE FILE #017 — THE HOUSE THAT WALKS
Deep in the birch forests east of the Urals, locals speak of a house that walks.
They say its steps shake the frozen ground and that it turns its windows toward those who call its name.
Hunters vanish near old boundary stones carved with crescent shapes.
Sometimes, only their boots return—neatly placed by the trail.
Other times, travelers find circles of ash where the snow refuses to fall, and bones too clean to be left by wolves.
The villagers don’t cut the trees in that part of the forest anymore.
They say she hears the sound of the axe… and sends her servants to collect new lumber—made of men.
Every generation, someone claims to have seen her:
a bent silhouette by the firelight, stirring something inside a pot that never empties.
They say her house walks until it finds what she hungers for—and when it stops moving, the forest holds its breath.
Recovered field note, partially burned:
“The door wasn’t there yesterday. The tracks—three claws deep—lead to the hut, not away.”
CASE FILE #026 — THE THING THAT SITS BY THE BED
It starts with whispers. Not voices — breaths.
People in the township swear they feel something climb onto their chests at night, pressing down until they wake gasping for air.
Doctors call it sleep paralysis. The locals call it something else.
When victims describe it, the stories never match.
Sometimes it’s a small figure crouched at the foot of the bed, watching.
Sometimes it’s invisible — only the weight and the smell of stagnant water give it away.
But every witness agrees on one thing: it laughs when you open your eyes.
Rooms turn cold no matter the weather.
Children cry without reason. Pets refuse to enter the bedroom.
And when the floorboards creak under nothing, people start lifting their beds on bricks — an old habit no one can explain anymore.
Neighbors whisper about charms buried beneath the threshold, milk left by the door, and mirrors turned to face the wall.
But when someone calls it by name, they lower their voices — as if saying it too loud will make it remember where you live.
Incident Report – Gauteng, South Africa:
“Victim found clutching at their throat.
Windows locked. No signs of entry.
Mattress soaked, but no water source found.”
CASE FILE #033 — THE WOMAN IN THE SNOW
The first call came from a stranded mountaineer.
He said there was someone outside his cabin — barefoot, wearing white, standing in the storm.
He thought it was a lost traveler. He opened the door. He didn’t finish the call.
Search teams found his camp three days later.
The firewood was untouched. The door was wide open.
Footprints led away from the cabin — two sets at first… then one.
Locals say it’s bad luck to meet a woman on the mountain when the snow begins to fall.
If she speaks, you must not answer. If she asks for warmth, you must not invite her in.
The storm itself, they say, listens.
Every year, when the first blizzard rolls across the pass, the villagers hang white paper charms on their doors.
They say it’s not to keep her out — but to remind her of what she once was.
Recovered from radio transcript, Mount Yotei region:
“She was smiling. Even when the wind froze my skin — she wasn’t cold at all.”
The Road Never Ends
We’ve buried more friends than we can count, and seen things no one should ever see.
The world moves on like nothing ever happened — but we know better.
There are shadows that never sleep, and whispers that follow you long after the fire’s gone cold.
Maybe we’re not heroes. Maybe we’re just stubborn enough to keep going when everyone else runs.
So if you’re reading this…
pack salt, keep the lights close, and write down what you find.
Because someone out there will need it when you’re gone.
For the ones who still believe the truth is worth chasing.
