People Whose Misfortunes Could Fill a Best-Selling Horror

Story 1

It was 2 a.m. when I got the call that turned my world upside down—my father had suffered a heart attack. I rushed to the hospital, heart pounding, thoughts spinning, desperate to see him. When I arrived, the ICU was locked down. Protocols. Rules. Red tape. I begged the staff, pleaded for a moment, just a glimpse, but was told I had to wait. Hours passed like days.

Then, a woman appeared. She wore scrubs, a badge, a warm smile. She said she understood what I was going through and that she could let me in for just a minute. It felt like a lifeline. She led me quietly through the maze of hospital corridors, her presence oddly calming, and brought me to my father’s bedside. He was unconscious, but I was grateful just to hold his hand and whisper that I was there. That I loved him. I never saw that nurse again after that night.

Months later, my phone rang. It was my father, now recovered, his voice urgent. “Turn on the news,” he said. I did—and what I saw made my blood run cold. The woman I thought was a kind-hearted nurse was plastered on the screen, handcuffed, flanked by officers. She wasn’t a nurse at all.

She had been arrested for impersonating medical personnel. Not just once—but for months. The news report was surreal. She had managed to work in the hospital for an extended period, performing minor tasks, even communicating with patients’ families. Her presence went unquestioned. She had the uniform. She used medical jargon. She seemed completely legitimate. But she had never earned her degree. She had attended nursing school but dropped out before completing it. She suffered from an undiagnosed, severe mental condition that made her believe—or convincingly act as if—she belonged in that role.

Some patients reportedly worsened under her care, though thankfully, no fatalities were linked to her. Investigators believe she never performed any major procedures, but the risk she posed was terrifying.

I sat in stunned silence, trying to piece together how this woman—this stranger—had walked me through a hospital and into the ICU like she belonged there. The thought that she could have touched my father, administered medication, or interfered with his care chilled me. But the records confirmed: she never treated him. She only guided me into the room. A kind gesture, yes—but from someone who never should’ve been there in the first place.

I’m grateful she was caught. Grateful my father survived. But I’ll never forget that surreal night, and how a moment of kindness—no matter how genuine it felt—came from someone living a dangerous lie.

Story 2

It was late—maybe after midnight—and I was alone in my room, completely immersed in the horror game FEAR. The lights were off, the headphones were loud, and the atmosphere was thick with digital dread. I was deep into the game, nerves on edge, every creak of the virtual world making my skin crawl. Then I felt something behind me. A shift in the air. That unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I turned around—and nearly screamed.

There, standing in the shadows of my room, was a pale figure. Long hair, dark eyes, silent and motionless. My brain registered one thing: it was her—the ghostly girl from the game. For a heartbeat, I truly believed I was losing my mind, that the game had bled into reality.

Then the figure moved.

It wasn’t a ghost. It was a real person. A woman, maybe in her twenties, staring at me with an unreadable expression. My voice caught in my throat. “Who—who are you?”

She blinked, almost surprised I was surprised. “Oh. Sorry. I’m here with your roommates. They told me I could come in.”

Apparently, she was a friend of someone who lived in the apartment. They were having people over, and while I was holed up gaming, someone thought it would be perfectly normal to let her into my room. Unannounced. In the dark. While I was playing a horror game that features a ghost girl who looks exactly like her.

I didn’t know what was more disturbing—how long she’d been standing there, silently watching me play, or how she seemed completely unfazed by it. She left soon after, casually, like nothing odd had happened at all. Meanwhile, I sat frozen at my desk, heart racing, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or just unplug the console and go to sleep.

To this day, every time I fire up a horror game, I double-check the room first. Because sometimes, the real scares don’t come from the screen—they come from someone standing silently behind you.