A Podshape production.
I never imagined a short weekend stay in the Rocks could turn into something I'd never forget. I had booked an airbnb on Argyle Street, just a stone's throw from the historic pubs and tourist shops. The listing described it as a charming sandstone cottage full of character and history, perfect for a quiet escape. I thought it sounded ideal.
That's the email we got from Rachel, who lives in Melbourne and was in Sydney for a friend's wedding. Now, if you've got a story that's like Rachel's and you want to give us the chills, then just email us at the Chills at podshape dot com. Anyway, let's get back to Rachel's spooky story, which she didn't want to read, so we've had someone else read it secret Now. Rachel booked this little cottage in Sydney and the plan was simple.
She was pretty much going to use it as a place to get ready and then I can sleep off a wedding day hangover the next day, with lots of cool coffee shops and cafes close by for a caffeine fix.
When I arrived, the cottage looked exactly as it had in the photos, small, quaint squeezed between modern apartment blocks. The host left the key in a lock box, so I let myself in immediately. Something felt wrong. The air was thick, heavy with a musty smell of damp stone. The floors creaked beneath my feet even though I wasn't moving, and the place felt colder than it should have considering the warm Sydney.
Evening now, if you're not familiar with the Rocks in Sydney, it's a cool spot for dinner and drinks in general fun, but it also is considered ground zero for haunted places and paranormal activity, which is generally not listed on the Airbnb websites. There's lots of pubs in the area that are suspected to be haunted. Like the Hero of Waterloo,
they host their own Redcoats ghost tour. The Glenmore Hotel has an old world charm and a story of a sailor who met his tragic end and haunts the hotel's upper floors and then as Cadman's Cottage, one of Sydney's oldest buildings, it's believed to be haunted by the spirits of former convicts. Back to Rachel and her first night before the wedding in the Sandstone cottage that she booked. It just started with noises.
At first, it sounded like the wind, a faint groaning, as if a breeze was passing through cracks in the walls. I went from room to room, checking the windows, but they were all shut tight. Yet the noise persisted, and it wasn't just a wind. It sounded like something dragging along the ceiling, slow and deliberate. I froze listening the sound was coming from above me.
The this issue hear is that the cottage didn't have and upstairs it was a roof. When Rachel went back to her bedroom to unpack her bag, the temperature suddenly dropped.
It was freezing, so much so that I could see my breath hanging in the air. The windows were sealed shut and there was no draft, yet the cold was palpable, like the room had been sucked dry of all warmth. That's when I saw it.
In the corner of the bedroom is a wardrobe. Now, in a cottage like this, it's not built in. This is a massive old piece of furniture. Rachel said she wasn't sure it was original, but it looked old. And when she first reached the bedroom, she said the door was slightly ajar. But then as she turned and started to unpack her bag on the bed, my.
Stomach churned as I stared into its dark, empty interior. But I told myself it was nothing. Maybe the door was loose or the floor was uneven. Anything to stop the creeping sense of dread climbing up my spine. Later that night, as I brushed my teeth, I glanced at the bathroom mirror, and that's when I saw the shadow. It flickered past the open doorway behind me, just for a second, a vague shape, like someone walking down the hallway. I froze, staring at the mirror, half expecting the shadow
to reappear. The shadow didn't reappear, but what replaced it was even more spooky. It was the sound of dragging, and the dragging was coming from above. It sounded like someone or something was crawling through the narrow space between the walls, pulling themselves closer. I backed away, phone in hand, trying to call the host. No signal typical.
Now, these really big stone cottages aren't really good for getting phone signals they'm all made for scare the shit out of people like Rachel. While she's trying to find a place to call a friend from inside the cottage, the bedroom door suddenly slammed shut with a force that felt like it rattled the whole place. Suddenly everything went silent, no dragging, just what Rachel says was an oppressive, suffocating silence.
I stood there waiting, my mind racing with terror, and then I felt it. A presence behind me. Standing in the corner of the room, barely visible in the dim light, was a man. His clothes were old, torn like they belonged to a different era. His face was hidden beneath the brim of a wide hat, and his hands were pale, almost skeletal. He didn't move, He just stood there, staring at me with hollow eyes. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, just a faint, dragging noise that filled
the room. I tried to scream, but no sound escaped my throat. My body wouldn't move, as if I was frozen in place by his geeze. Then, in a voice that wasn't his, he whispered a single word, stay.
Rachel didn't stay. She made a wise movement left, She got in an uber and headed to the city and booked another more current hotel minus the ghost, on booking dot com. If you've got a spooky story that you want to share, then email us at the Chills at podshape dot com. We'll see you next time.