Alcatraz Haunted Stories Novels & Stories

The man’s voice was a choked, horrified whisper, the sound of a man who knew he was already dead. "Sterling… one more thing… you have to know…" he stammered, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. "There’s only one way into Alcatraz. You have to be 'invited.' But no one ever leaves. Because the Warden… he’s not a man. He's a monster. A 'Collector' of rare things… a creature that even the highest members of the Fenrir Council are afraid of." The line went dead, replaced by the final, chilling hiss of static. The name hung in the air, a promise of a horror far worse than any mere prison could ever hold.

“It was all my fault. There’s an old woman I work for, so Grace stayed back to help her yesterday and couldn't meet up with time. She had to spend the night there.” I let out a breath of relief. Good Lord, have mercy on my soul for the multiple lies told this morning. Regan let us be then and we both hurried out to the back of the school, trying to utilize the fifteen minutes break we had. It was a lonely spot behind the garden. The students hardly walked by that area because they believed it was haunted. Stories say a sickly girl and her twin died there, a few years back, and sometimes their spirits were said to linger around. Of course, only people like me and Suzella who didn't believe in

“I can’t just keep forgetting huge parts of my life.” After a moment of hesitation, I told her everything I knew. “We have met twice. Once in the underground garage, when you were very unwell. Mr. Reed sent me to help. Another time at your apartment, when he claimed someone broke in and asked me to stay with you overnight.” Clara’s face drained of color. “So I really am losing my memory…” I nodded. “And every time you lose time, Mr. Reed is involved.” Clara clenched her fists, eyes filled with anger and fear.

“The ghost they whisper about.” My blood ran cold. “No, you didn’t see anything, Do you understand?” But he nodded too quickly, too eager, clutching my sleeve like I was salvation itself. I led him through a back path, slipped him into the care of a woman I trusted, one of Rita’s cafe girls, human, kind. She promised to keep him hidden until the hunters swept another district. By the time I returned home, the alley was crawling with whispers. People had seen the shimmer. They were already weaving it into story: a witch-wolf ghost haunting the streets, protecting strays.

"I would hate to be talking to a dead person.” I giggled softly. That story was the lightest. There was a time when I was deceived by people I thought were my friends, and I ended up entering a very dangerous favela in that region. I was held hostage for twenty days, being tortured in every non-mortal and possible way. To this day my nails were sore because they were torn off one by one with dry pliers. After that day, I became suspicious of everything and everyone, although that had not prevented me from getting into the worst holes.

I said throwing a sarcastic jab his way " Its a good place not haunted or anything " assured Jacob " the only reason its like this because some twenty or nineteen years ago there was a hit and run case and you know how people love creating rumours out of nothing , after the accident the residents staryedthe claiming that they see the a female spirit floating around the street and this park , I would have taken their rumours seriously if they sold off their houses and moved far away from here . Surprisingly they didn't , despite their heavy claims of spotting a ghost "