Looking for a short scary story for kids that’s spooky but safe? These are perfect bedtime scares that are fun, not terrifying.
Whether you’re searching for a scary story for kids short, or exploring how to write a scary story for kids, these tales are crafted to thrill young imaginations without keeping them up all night. Let’s begin our creepy collection!
Story 1: The Whistling in the Wind
Tommy was a curious boy who loved to explore. One autumn evening, as the wind howled through the trees behind his grandmother’s house, he heard something strange—a low, slow whistle echoing from the woods. Grandma had always warned him, “Don’t go out when the wind whistles. That’s when the Hollow Man walks.”
Tommy thought it was just a silly old tale to keep kids inside. So, flashlight in hand, he tiptoed out. The leaves crunched under his shoes as he followed the sound. The whistling grew louder, closer.
Then he saw it.
A tall shadow standing still between the trees, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat that fluttered with the wind. No eyes. No face. Just a mouth that whistled without pause.
Tommy froze. The Hollow Man tilted its head.
“Why did you come?” it whispered in the wind.
Tommy stumbled back. His flashlight flickered and went out. He turned and ran as fast as he could, branches slapping his face, heart pounding.
Back in the house, he slammed the door and locked it. Grandma stood in the kitchen, calm but serious. “You heard him, didn’t you?”
Tommy nodded, shivering.
She handed him a small pouch of salt. “Keep this by your bed. And next time… don’t follow the wind.”
That night, the wind whistled louder than ever. But Tommy didn’t look out the window. He held the pouch close, eyes shut, whispering to himself, “I believe now. I believe.”
In the morning, a single leaf lay on his windowsill—burnt at the edges.
Moral: Some stories are warnings, not fairy tales.
Story 2: The Doll in the Attic
Lena had just moved into a big, creaky house with her parents. While exploring, she found a narrow staircase leading to the attic. Inside, among cobwebs and old boxes, sat a single porcelain doll in a rocking chair.
It had glassy blue eyes, a cracked smile, and a dusty pink dress.
Lena picked it up. “Hello there,” she giggled. She didn’t notice the chair rocking slowly on its own behind her.
She brought the doll downstairs and set it on her bookshelf. That night, strange things began to happen. Her closet door opened by itself. The lamp flickered. She heard tiny footsteps pattering across her floor.
The next morning, Lena’s books were all on the floor, pages ripped. Her mom scolded her, but Lena swore it wasn’t her.
That evening, she whispered to the doll, “Are you doing this?” It just stared blankly.
By midnight, Lena awoke to humming. Soft, slow, and haunting. The doll was gone from the shelf.
Heart racing, she followed the sound to the hallway. There, at the top of the stairs, sat the doll, rocking in a chair that wasn’t there before.
The next morning, Lena put the doll back in the attic.
But that night, the humming returned—closer this time.
Lena woke to find the doll back in her room, sitting at the foot of her bed.
Terrified, she ran to her parents. They searched the house but found nothing unusual. They insisted it was her imagination.
The next day, Lena took the doll to the woods behind the house and buried it deep.
Finally, the night was peaceful. No humming. No flickering. Just quiet sleep.
But a week later, as Lena played in her room, a knock came at the window.
She looked up.
The doll sat just outside on the windowsill—clean, smiling, and holding a small shovel.
Moral: Some forgotten things should stay forgotten.
Story 3: The Boy in the Mirror
Every morning, Max brushed his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror. One day, he noticed something odd—the reflection smiled before he did.
He stared. Blinked. But it mirrored him perfectly now.
He laughed it off.
But over the next few days, strange things kept happening. His reflection would move a second too slow. It would frown when he smiled.
Then, one morning, Max reached to turn off the faucet—and his reflection didn’t move at all.
It just stood there, staring.
He waved. It didn’t.
Max backed away from the sink. The reflection lifted its hand and waved mockingly. Then it mouthed something:
“Let me out.”
Max screamed and ran to tell his parents, but when they checked, everything looked normal.
That night, Max had nightmares of hands pulling him into a glass world. Cold. Silent.
He avoided the mirror after that. Covered it with a towel.
But one day, his little sister pulled the towel down.
“Why is this here?” she asked, giggling.
Max turned—and saw that the mirror was cracked.
From the inside.
That night, he heard tapping from the bathroom. Like fingernails against glass. Slow and steady.
Tap. Tap.
He refused to look.
But eventually, curiosity won. He peeked around the corner.
The mirror was fogged up from the inside. A handprint smeared down the glass.
And underneath it, scratched into the surface, were the words:
“I’m almost through.”
Moral: Don’t trust everything that reflects you.
Story 4: The Shadow Under the Bed
Liam wasn’t afraid of the dark—until he moved into a new house where the shadows seemed darker than usual. Every night, just before he fell asleep, he’d hear a soft creaking under his bed. He tried to ignore it, thinking it was just the house settling.
But one night, he dropped his favorite book and it slid under the bed. He reached down to grab it, but something cold brushed against his fingers.
He pulled his hand back quickly, heart pounding. Then came a whisper: “Play with me.”
Liam jumped up and turned on the light. Nothing there. No book. No shadow. Just silence.
The next morning, the book was back on his shelf.
He asked his parents about it, but they just smiled. “Old houses make weird noises,” they said.
That night, he heard the whisper again—closer.
“Play with me… Liam.”
How did it know his name?
Terrified, Liam stuffed blankets under the bed and slept with the light on.
But the next morning, the blankets were neatly folded and stacked in the corner. His lightbulb had shattered.
That night, Liam tried to stay awake. Around midnight, the room grew cold. He peeked under the bed—nothing. But when he looked back up, the shadow was on the wall.
It didn’t move with him. It moved on its own.
The shadow crept toward him, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.
Liam screamed, but no sound came out. The shadow wrapped around him like smoke.
Then—
“LIAM!”
He woke up on the floor, gasping. His dad stood over him. “You fainted. What happened?”
Liam couldn’t speak. But from then on, he never slept in that room again.
The bed was donated the next day.
No one knows where it ended up.
Moral: Sometimes, what’s beneath your bed is more than just dust.
Story 5: The Ghost in the Library
Ella loved books, especially spooky ones. Her school library had a dusty old horror section tucked in the back corner that no one ever visited.
One afternoon, she found a red leather-bound book with no title.
Curious, she opened it. The pages were blank—except for the last one, which read: “Now you’re part of the story.”
Suddenly, the lights flickered. The librarian had left. Ella was alone.
She tried to leave, but the door wouldn’t budge.
The shadows in the room stretched longer than they should have. She heard whispers echoing from the bookshelves.
She dropped the red book and ran to the window, but even that was locked.
Then she saw it.
A ghostly figure floating between the rows—tall, gray, and faceless. It held the red book.
It floated toward her.
Ella backed into a shelf. Books tumbled down, burying her.
When she uncovered herself, the figure was gone—but the red book lay open in her lap.
This time, the page read: “Chapter Two: Ella disappears.”
The room spun. Darkness closed in.
She woke up the next morning in her bed, the red book on her pillow. Her mom said she had been gone for hours.
Ella returned the book the next day, but it was no longer in the library.
Years later, another student found it… and read it.
Moral: Not all stories want to be read.
Story 6: The Face in the Window
Maya lived in a tall apartment building. Her room faced an empty lot with nothing but overgrown weeds and a single lamppost.
One rainy night, she noticed a pale face staring at her through the window—on the 12th floor.
She screamed. Her parents rushed in. But when they looked, there was nothing.
“It’s just a reflection,” they said.
But Maya knew what she saw.
The next night, the face was back—closer.
It didn’t blink. It didn’t move. Just stared.
She closed her curtains. But when she peeked again, the face was gone.
Instead, wet footprints led from the window to her closet.
Her parents blamed it on her imagination. But the next night, she locked the window and hid under the covers.
At 3 AM, she heard a knock.
Not on the window—on the closet door.
Slow. Steady.
She stayed hidden.
In the morning, the closet was empty. But carved into the wood were the words: “Thanks for letting me in.”
That night, she slept in her parents’ room.
But the next morning, the face was in their window.
Smiling.
Moral: Some visitors don’t knock to be let in—they wait until you sleep.
Story 7: The Whispering Tree
In the middle of the school playground stood an old tree. No one ever played near it. The teachers warned, “That tree is cursed.”
But Alex didn’t believe in curses.
One day, when his friends dared him, he walked right up to the tree and placed his hand on the bark.
It was cold—even though the sun was shining.
That night, Alex heard a whisper. It was low and raspy: “Come back to me…”
The next day, he felt drawn to the tree. During recess, he found himself staring at it, unable to move.
Then it happened—he saw a face in the bark. Eyes. Mouth. Watching him.
He blinked. It was gone.
That night, the whispering returned.
“Feed me.”
Terrified, Alex tried to ignore it. But he couldn’t sleep. The next day, he refused to go near the tree.
But the tree came to him.
Its shadow stretched across the playground unnaturally, reaching toward Alex’s feet.
The teachers saw nothing.
Desperate, Alex researched the tree and found an article: “Boy Disappears Near Whispering Tree – 1965.”
He wasn’t the first.
That night, he went back and whispered, “What do you want?”
The bark opened slightly.
“Company,” it groaned.
Alex backed away and ran. He never returned to that playground.
But the tree still whispers.
It waits.
Moral: When something whispers, don’t answer back.
Story 8: The Haunted Locker
Jenna’s new school had one rule: never use locker #313.
Naturally, she was assigned locker #313.
“It’s just a number,” she laughed.
The locker looked ordinary, but when she opened it, a gust of cold air hit her. Inside was a single note:
“Get out while you can.”
Thinking it was a prank, Jenna laughed it off.
But the next day, her books were shredded inside. Another note appeared:
“Last warning.”
She switched lockers—but the next morning, locker #313 was assigned to her again.
She avoided it. But the janitor stopped her one day. “That locker… took someone last year.”
Jenna’s smile faded.
That night, she had nightmares of steel doors slamming shut.
The next day, locker #313 was wide open. Her name was carved inside.
She slammed it shut.
But the janitor disappeared the next week.
And Jenna?
She was last seen walking toward locker #313 after school.
The locker has stayed closed ever since.
Moral: Some doors aren’t meant to be opened.
Story 9: The Ice Cream Truck at Midnight
Leo loved ice cream more than anything. One summer night, he heard the familiar jingle of the ice cream truck—at midnight.
He peeked out the window.
There it was, glowing under the streetlight.
Curious, he tiptoed outside in his pajamas. The driver was a man with no eyes, just dark holes. His voice was sweet and cold:
“Would you like a cone, Leo?”
Leo froze. “How do you know my name?”
The man smiled wider. “I know all my customers.”
He handed Leo a dripping black cone. It smelled like dirt.
Leo dropped it and ran.
The next morning, the truck was gone.
But that night, it returned.
“Take it, Leo. Just one lick.”
Leo never opened the door again.
But his little brother did.
Now the truck comes every night—and waits.
Moral: Not every sweet treat is safe.
Story 10: The Girl with No Eyes
Sophie kept seeing a girl at the edge of the schoolyard. Pale skin, white dress, and no eyes—just empty sockets.
Everyone said she was imagining things.
One day, the girl waved at her.
Sophie ignored it.
But that night, the girl appeared in her dreams, whispering:
“Give me your eyes…”
Sophie woke up screaming.
She asked her grandma, who gasped. “That’s the Hollow Girl. She trades places with children who stare too long.”
Terrified, Sophie avoided windows, mirrors, and reflections.
But during class one day, she looked up—and the girl was staring at her through the glass.
She blinked—and the girl was gone.
But Sophie’s reflection was still staring.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
That night, Sophie disappeared.
Now, the Hollow Girl stands in her place.
Moral: Some stares should never be returned.
🎬 Conclusion
We hope you enjoyed these short scary stories for kids—each crafted to be just spooky enough while staying fun and safe.
Whether you’re exploring how to write a scary story for kids, or just looking for a scary story for kids short to share at night, these tales deliver thrills with meaning. Keep them in mind… especially when the lights go out.
