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40 Horror Stories And Facts That Might Give You Goosebumps, As Shared On This IG Account

Many of you are probably big horror fans. There’s something weirdly captivating about everything macabre, bizarre, creepy, and uncomfortable. It entices us, doesn’t want to let us go, and sometimes even haunts us for days or weeks to come.

The ‘Horror Stories & Facts’ (@horrorsfs) account does exactly what it says on the tin. The curator of this Instagram project shares some of the scariest real-life stories and facts that might just give you goosebumps. We’ve collected the creepiest ones for you. They’re perfect for spooky season.

A small note of warning, Pandas: some of these stories might make you uncomfortable. Scroll down at your own peril. Don’t blame us if you have nightmares.

Image credits: horrorsfs

The BBC explains that things like dolls, mannequins, and clowns are things that many people find to be extremely creepy. These are things that are meant to be innocent, however, our brains interpret them as potentially dangerous. They’re meant to be humanlike, but they fall short.

In short, we’re bombarded with mixed messages about what’s actually safe or not. For instance, a clown is meant to symbolize happiness and humor, but in popular media, they’re often portrayed as malevolent beings.

Image credits: horrorsfs

People react to scary, stressful, and threatening situations very differently. The two most widely known responses are fight or flight, i.e. squaring up to fight off a threat or running away from it (like Shaggy and Scooby-Doo often do). However, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Research shows that there are two other main responses to these sorts of situations. Namely, the freeze and fawn responses.

Image credits: horrorsfs

WebMD points out that some of the signs that someone’s fight response has kicked in, in response to stress, include feelings of intense anger, a tight jaw, grinding teeth, and a huge urge to punch or kick someone or something.

Some other signs can even include crying in anger or having a burning or knotted sensation in your stomach.

Image credits: horrorsfs

Meanwhile, a person whose flight response kicks in gets a sudden surge of adrenaline which helps them sprint to safety.

Some signs indicating this response is being activated include feeling restless, fidgeting, moving your arms or legs, and having dilated eyes that dart everywhere.

Image credits: horrorsfs

Not everyone responds this way to threats, though. Some individuals instinctively choose not to fight or run away. Instead, they might completely freeze up or start fawning.

Someone whose freeze response is kicking in tends to have pale skin, feels stiff, heavy, cold, or numb, feels their heart pounding rapidly, and has an overwhelming sense of dread.

Image credits: horrorsfs

In short, all the stress and fear completely paralyzes the person. You might have felt something similar to a freeze response if you were ever spooked in a dark place or felt completely overwhelmed by a school or work presentation you had to give in front of a crowd of people.

In some situations, running away is impossible and there’s nothing concrete to fight off.

Image credits: horrorsfs

Meanwhile, the fawn response is a very social instinctive strategy for dealing with real, potential, or imagined threats. The long and short of it is that the individual uses their verbal skills to align themselves with the source of the threat.

This might include agreeing with everything the threat says or trying to be overly helpful, to avoid possible negative consequences. It means giving up your authenticity and morals and becoming extremely flexible for the sake of survival.

Image credits: horrorsfs

The curator of ‘Horror Stories & Facts’ started the project all the way back in mid-2018. Over the years, the horror-themed account racked up a sizeable following. Currently, 34.4k Instagram users follow it.

However, the curator of the account appears to have stopped sharing new content a while ago. We’ve reached out to them via Instagram to hear more about the idea behind their project.

Image credits: horrorsfs

Which of the horror stories and facts featured here spooked you the most, dear Pandas? Which ones did you find thrilling and which ones do you think might keep you up at night?

Are you a big horror fan or do you get scared easily (or both)?! Why do you personally think weird and scary things appeal to so many people on the internet?

Share your thoughts in the comments. Oh, and if you want to give your friends some goosebumps, share this post with them.

Image credits: horrorsfs

Stories of Sarah: From St. Louis to Port Royal, a young reporter’s lasting imprint on us all

It is easy for a newspaper reader to gloss over a byline and jump to the news.

It’s easier still, though, in an interconnected community like Beaufort County, for readers to start to recognize reporters who can be counted on to share need-to-know information accurately, clearly, expediently.

Sarah Yelena Haselhorst was one of those reporters.

She died last weekend at her apartment in Port Royal. She was 31.

Sarah’s name has been on the top of stories in The Island Packet for more than two years and, before that, in newspapers in Mississippi, Ohio and her native Missouri. In the Lowcountry, she focused on weather, nature and climate issues, but she also covered health and medical news, breaking news and general assignments.

She was a skilled journalist who always had a question, and then another and another – and, if given a chance, yes, another. But the void her death leaves in the newsroom at The Island Packet is tiny compared to the void she leaves in the lives of those who knew her personally.

She was a loyal friend who delighted in baking croissants and feeding her people good food.

She was an encourager and a leader with a sharp sense of humor.

She was fastidious about AP Style, proper punctuation and correct spelling.

Her favorite place was anywhere she could be with a book, but she loved the boardwalk at The Sands in Port Royal.

She loved her cats most of all.

Here are some of the memories shared by those who had the fortune of getting to know Sarah beyond her byline:

Brian Tolley,

President/Editor of The Island Packet

It didn’t take long for me to know I wanted to be on the same team as Sarah. By the end of our first interview, she had sold me on who she was both as a person and a journalist.

Smart, mature, inquisitive. And I loved that she had a strong sense of right and wrong. She lived with conviction.

Though we talked often about stories and reporting, the conversations I remember most were the ones we had about our cats. Both were ill and dying, and I know I took some comfort in, and I hope she did too, going through that shared experience together.

Sarah had a big heart, and she felt things in supersized ways, and I miss her already.

Karl Puckett

Reporter, The Island Packet

Physically, Sarah was a small person. That was hard not to notice. But she had a big personality and was a leader in the newsroom. Hard-nosed. Not shy about sharing her opinions on why we should be covering a certain story. But quick to laugh, too.

She loved the Town of Port Royal, where she lived, and walked it daily. When she captured a great photo of a sunset or full moon from The Sands Beach boardwalk or viewing tower, she would share it with everyone.

Sarah went the extra mile at work, often volunteering first for holiday or weekend duty, or offering to pick up a story another reporter didn’t have time for. She did the same in her personal life. When I was recovering from being struck by a car while walking across Ribaut Road in May, Sarah quickly offered to help and delivered food and supplies to my apartment and also became my taxi driver for a while. She cared a lot about people.

Evan McKenna

Reporter, The Island Packet

She might’ve been little, but Sarah was a force of nature. Even on her bad days, she carried a certain electricity everywhere she went. She was an incredible conversationalist who kept you on your toes. You never quite knew what she was going to say next. Her quick wit and unsparing sense of humor had me smiling like an idiot every time I talked to her.

Sarah was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. She ripped through books and always had reading recommendations at the ready. She didn’t own a real bookshelf, though — one wall of her apartment was lined with stacks and stacks of well-worn novels. She loaned them out often.

But like any good reporter, Sarah was never afraid to admit she was wrong or that she didn’t have all the answers. She asked all the right questions. She turned convoluted topics into simple, beautiful prose. With her self-taught environmental knowledge, she ran our newsroom like the Navy every time a hurricane drew near. She was strong in her convictions and fought hard for what she believed in. She was fearless but thoughtful in her journalism, with a keen eye for injustice and a deep hatred of typos.

As a newcomer to the industry, I looked up to Sarah from the first day I met her. I’ll recall her resilience, her candor and her brilliant mind every time I sit down to write. I’ll remember Sarah every day, but particularly at Hunting Island State Park and the Sands Beach in Port Royal, both of which she visited often. She never turned down a nature walk, and I’m forever grateful for the strolls I shared with her. It was an honor to be her friend.

Isabella Douglas

Reporter, The Island Packet

The first time I hung out with Sarah, she took me on a tour of Port Royal. She explained the city’s history, the beach’s erosion and led me to a gothic bookstore and a dimly lit library. It rained that day, and no shop was selling an umbrella — only $70 rain jackets. So, we dashed to the nearest newspaper stand, grabbed some copies and held them over our heads as we ran to her favorite coffee shop to talk about books.

We didn’t share the same taste in books. Her preferences leaned towards more refined, contemporary authors, while mine veers toward sci-fi and fantasy. I don’t know if she preferred first- or third-person perspectives, but the books she loaned me were always in first person, and I, an avid third-person reader, couldn’t help but notice.

We did, however, agree on one thing: As a newcomer to the area, I had to read “The Water is Wide” by Pat Conroy. Her copy, worn and loved, seemed like a cherished heirloom passed down from one new reporter to the next.

At her place, she hunted for the book, all the while quizzing me about my favorite authors and genres. Did I like romance or thrillers? Comfort reads or critical ones? As I answered, I couldn’t help but marvel at the hundreds of books stacked on the floor, arranged like monuments. They weren’t just books — they were art.

She handed me Conroy’s book along with Donna Tartt’s “The Secret History.” I read Conroy’s book first, eager to learn more about my new home. Tartt’s book, however, sat untouched for months. Then, Monday night, after a long drive from Florida and unable to sleep, I finally picked it up. I didn’t put it down the entire night, eager to talk the next day about my thoughts and even more eager to be loaned another book.

Sarah was an avid reader, an incredible writer and a generous soul who shared her love of stories with everyone around her. She will be deeply missed.

Sofia Sanchez

Former Reporter, The Island Packet

I think we can all agree, when we first heard the news, the only person we thought to call was her. She was the person that we flocked to when things were bad, when they were good, and, sometimes, when they were just alright.

She was our voice of reason, our moral compass, and a soft place to land whenever we needed it. She brought me such immense happiness in the short time that I knew her. It seems impossible that I only met her two years ago. We talked for hours, whether we were a 20-minute drive away or eight hours apart. Of course, this was always after deadline.

When tasked with pinpointing what made her magical – a word she would scoff at if I ever described her that way – I think it was everything. Sarah was warm croissants, a crisp Diet Coke covered in condensation on a patio table in the Lowcountry sun. She was bad British accents, a great Southern drawl acquired from tireless hours interviewing locals in Mississippi. She was quippy remarks, strawberry jam, and belly-shaking laughter – the kind that brings involuntary tears.

She is my most-treasured reader and somehow knew everything about everything, though she would spend a great deal of time trying to convince you she didn’t. In my short time knowing her, she became such an integral part of my everyday life. She has left an imprint that will never be filled.

Chloe Appleby

Reporter, The Island Packet

One of the first things I learned about Sarah was that she was entirely unforgettable. There were just things about her that you couldn’t let slip. For example, the way she entered the newsroom: with a tiny bun in her hair, a Parker’s cup filled to the brim with Diet Coke – no ice – and a stature that, besides her less than five-foot frame, was strong and unwavering.

She would pull out her notebook filled with her big, loopy handwriting, and she would write. I admired the way Sarah wrote stories — how she cared for the people she wrote about, how she was fearless in her pursuit.

I also admired her ability to tell stories. One afternoon, I met Sarah for coffee at a little shop in Port Royal so we could work together. For a few hours, we typed a little here and a little there, but mostly we talked about her time spent reporting in Mississippi during the pandemic and in the wake of the Dobbs decision. Despite her humility about her writing, the stories she wrote captured humanity and history in its purest form. It was no small feat.

And then there was the person she just was. I loved the way she texted like an old lady (in her own words!), shared her books and never held back. I loved her strong will, her black and white cat sweater and her completely unique eating habits in the office.

If people were either classified as golden retrievers or black cats, Sarah would definitely be the black cat kind: independent, curious and genuine. She had two black cats of her own, Henri and Georgia, named after Henri Matisse and Georgia O’Keefe. If you know much about cats, you might know that black cats have the lowest adoption rate of any cat and often spend the most amount of time in shelters. It was no accident that she had two of them. She even inspired me to get my own.

If you got to know Sarah, even for just a small moment in time like I did, it was a guarantee she was someone you would admire and care for deeply just for who she was. I had the pleasure of knowing her for three months, but I will never forget the way she made me feel and the lessons she unknowingly taught me along the way. She reminded each of us to be brave, to know ourselves and to laugh at ourselves, too.

Mary Dimitrov

Former Reporter, The Island Packet

Sarah loved short books that said so much, simply. This is also how I remember Sarah.

Her simple actions showed me, and so many others, kindness and love. She always took the time to give advice, likely via a voice memo or phone call (often answered in a British accent, despite her being a proud midwesterner). Over the phone, you could hear cars in the background because she was walking along the street to get her Parker’s Diet Coke. If you saw a woman wearing a green gingham dress crossing Ribaut Road with reckless abandon it was probably her.

She made people feel known. It was apparent in both her personal and professional life. She would text clothing, book titles, articles and pictures when they reminded her of you. When you mentioned something, she would remember and bring it up days later to check in. She once called a source back to ask what color their grandfather’s eyes were for a story.

Sarah was complicated. She was always kind, not always nice. She would be blunt when you made a mistake but help you fix it. She would tell you your outfit wasn’t cohesive but let you borrow her purse to make it mesh.

She loved to gab. If a journalist wrote a good lede, and she thought you would like it too, she’d send you a screenshot. When “The Bachelor” contestants were predictably horrible, she would spend hours dissecting their actions with you.

She was also quiet. She could spend hours reading with her cats. She wasn’t afraid to stay mute and let a source or editor sit with their words.

She wasn’t intimidated by people in power. She wrote with authority, holding those responsible for healthcare, the environment and government accountable for their actions. She uncovered truths and inspired change (Sarah did save a South Carolina island, you know).

She wrote beautifully, using words like “saccharine” to describe the smell of a Fraser fir at Christmastime. She knew that, technically, “data” is a plural noun and would tell you, but she didn’t make you feel dumb for not knowing that.

I and so many other people were so lucky to have had Sarah in our lives.

Sammy Fretwell

Reporter, The State

I’m crushed that we’ve lost Sarah Haselhorst.

We met weekly on Zoom calls for more than a year, collaborating and talking about our work as environment writers in Columbia and in Hilton Head. We helped each other figure things out. During that time, and in personal meetings I had with Sarah, she always impressed me with her dedication to the job and her humble, inquisitive nature. She was a rising young star who understood that environmental stories are nuanced, and it takes extra effort to properly frame them.

She also was a digger. A great example is the fine work she did exposing the challenges at Pritchard’s Island. The story started as a profile of erosion that was engulfing the island, but soon developed into a bigger issue about how the University of South Carolina could possibly lose Pritchard’s because research there had dwindled. Her reporting in multiple stories led the governor and the legislature to support funding to help restore research opportunities at Pritchard’s.

More than anything, Sarah was a genuine and nice person. She was kind and respectful, always quick with a compliment. She wanted to help other people.

Her death is not only a loss for her friends and family, but also for the world. This kind soul was a gift to us all.

Tammy Ramsdell

Former Desk Editor, The Clarion-Ledger, Jackson, Miss.

Sarah was a great young talent – smart and fearless, skeptical yet empathetic. She had a gift for storytelling, and no story was too big or too small.

She cared deeply about truth, justice, fairness. She could harbor a healthy dose of outrage, but wit and humor never left her side.

Both that outrage and that humor were present when police showed up at her apartment in Jackson, Mississippi, one night, responding to a call about disturbing the peace.

A neighbor kept complaining that her two cats were making too much noise. Sarah couldn’t believe the police, short-staffed in a city known for its crime rate, would even show up.

“It’s not like I have them in tap shoes when they run across the counter,” she told me.

Drew Martin

Visuals Editor, The Island Packet

Journalists are known to have crappy cars, and Sarah Haselhorst was no exception.

She had a small, bright yellow Ford. She called it “Bumble Bee.”

The shield that protects the engine drug on the ground. The rear bumper dangled. The car’s tags were expired the entire time she lived in Port Royal.

She likely never got stopped by the cops because the car never moved from her apartment. I’m glad for that. It’s how I got to know her. I drove, my camera gear in the back.

When I arrived at her building, I’d text her, “Here.”

Moments later she’d appear through the breezeway, jump in and say, “Let’s go.”

Her story ideas generated beautiful art; I basically just had to push the shutter.

We would talk about our lives while driving or over lunch at Agave.

She had a lot of unanswered questions, and that’s what made her a great reporter. She wouldn’t write until she got them answered. We made each other better journalists.

It’s hard to comprehend that she’s gone, and her death is frustrating and, honestly, makes me want to throw a temper tantrum.

I will hold dear the time we had together. Love you, Sarah.

Robert York

Senior Editor, The Island Packet

Sarah shared the rarefied air with some of the best reporters and writers of recent decades. It started with her inexhaustible curiosity, her ability to connect with the people she met and her seemingly effortlessness (although it took great effort and talent) style of writing.

But beyond the discovery and digging she did on behalf of her audience, she was a tireless mentor to all those around her who came to the craft after she had begun. She gave freely of her time and energy to help good reporters become better journalists and, more importantly, better people each day, including myself. And for that, I will miss her.

Gabriela Szymanowska

Reporter, Sarasota Herald-Tribune

“Meow.”

“Meow meow.”

I’m not sure which of us started texting the other “meow” first (although it probably was Sarah), but that was our way of checking in or simply saying hello if we hadn’t spoken for a while. It was one of the many quirks of our friendship.

As an adult, it can be difficult to make friends. It’s harder when you’ve moved to a different state in the midst of a global pandemic and are forced to isolate.

Sarah joined The Clarion-Ledger four months after I did, and our friendship started thanks to her yellow car that broke down pretty soon after she moved to Jackson. And while Sarah was an avid walker – she could walk for miles around the city – and it wasn’t that long of a walk to the newsroom from her apartment, I offered to give her a ride one morning on my way in.

That’s all it took.

From that moment, we became close friends bonding over our shared love of cats, books, coffee, tapas at Babalu’s, trips we’d taken, astrology, food, as well as the experience of working in an almost empty newsroom. Our shenanigans featured way too much laughter, caffeine and sugar, leading to memorable moments like Sarah tucking and rolling across the office between our desks because we were the only ones there.

Some of my favorite memories were our trips down to the Mississippi coast to Pass Christian. We’d found a pier jutting out into the water, and we’d sit on the edge with our feet dangling as the sun blasted us. Sarah once brought with her “The Voyeur’s Motel” by Gay Talese and the two of us took turns reading. We never did finish reading it together.

If there is one thing everyone knows, it’s Sarah’s love for her cats — Pablo and Henri and Georgia. She adored them beyond the moon and was the best cat-mom out there. They were the light in her world, and she spoiled them accordingly.

Sarah was a brilliant reporter and storyteller. She really did have a way of reeling people into her stories with her vivid descriptions and ability to portray emotion through her words. She was kind, compassionate, hilarious and warm to those close to her.

A firecracker — that’s the only way to really describe her. She had this spark in her, this energy that drew people in. Strangers opened up to her. Friends felt seen. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and let you know what she thought. She had a laugh that could be both carefree and mischievous.

She was one of my dearest friends, one that, even after we both left Mississippi, would be the first person I called to talk about life. We’d talk for hours, and it would feel like no time at all. She was the friend I didn’t expect to make, but she was the one I needed. And I’m thankful that I got to be in her life.

Rogelio Solis

Photographer, The Associated Press

Jackson, Mississippi

Sarah was a talented and tough reporter who pursued environmental and health stories. She suffered fools lightly. She also was friendly, outgoing and cared for the sources and subjects she encountered.

I had the pleasure of meeting her shortly after she started work at The Clarion Ledger in Jackson, Mississippi. She, like me, was a Missouri Journalism graduate. As an Associated Press staff photographer and longtime Mississippi resident, I helped her adjust to our culture and its politics. In a short time, Sarah was collecting bylines on hard-hitting stories.

I will miss her bright smile, buoyant personality, friendship and our long conversations about any number of topics.

Sebastian Lee

Former reporter, The Island Packet

Sarah may have been the easiest person to talk to you’d ever meet. She listened so whole-heartedly and her quick-witted commiseration could make anyone chuckle. Sitting next to her at dinner or trivia was a treat, especially if you knew your star chart. She was a storm of knowledge and experience that made any table much more interesting.

She loved to pretend she was stupid or incompetent. But the truth is, if someone had a question, odds are Sarah had the answer. She was often the only one with any idea of what to do. She was the first reporter I met at The Packet, but you’d never know she joined just a few months before me. It felt like Sarah knew everything, despite her insistence she didn’t know anything.

That attitude made her a special kind of reporter. She could tackle any topic with tenacity and deep curiosity. Everything that made her so easy to talk to culminated in rich, impassioned storytelling. Sources loved calling Sarah because she made real connections with them. Her stories connected with readers because Sarah connected with her sources.

Sarah was never afraid to speak her mind and always ready to fight for what’s right. She’ll continue to be an inspiration of personal integrity and grit. Whether you needed a mentor or a friend, you wanted Sarah on your side.

If I need a trial to get into Heaven, and God offers a public defender, I’ll ask for Sarah and a big Diet Coke.

Justin Vicory

Former reporter, The Clarion-Ledger, Jackson, Mississippi

I was extremely blessed to have worked with Sarah at The Clarion-Ledger. Like several young reporters, she had traveled to Jackson, Mississippi, to begin her career. Mississippi isn’t necessarily the place a reporter lists as their dream job, but it is certainly where talented and fearless journalists are sorely needed. Sarah decided to seize the opportunity and work hard – guided by her conscience – to make the world a better place from where she stood.

I made an effort to get to know Sarah early on, realizing the courage it takes to make such a big change and disruption to her life. Almost immediately, she stood out – even as we all had to adapt to the pandemic restrictions of the time. She had a brilliant, undeniable spark of light to her, which exuded to others in the newsroom – me in particular. I guess you could call it an aura. Looking back, the simplest explanation is the most accurate: She had a beautiful soul.

As a reporter, Sarah had an unshakeable conviction in holding true to the spirit of the story, many times pressing her case to seasoned editors, often winning the day. She had immense talent. But what made her great was her unwavering passion for the impact that quality journalism can have on the world. Looking back, I suppose in Sarah’s case the passion was born in direct relation to her unlimited potential.

Her rapid rise as an arbiter of the written word was deeply connected to this, her passion, and it was not in conflict with her exceptional work ethic. She was able to fluidly blend together the often-segregated worlds of news and feature reporting, giving the reader a compelling, rich human experience of issues that affect their lives. It is deeply heartbreaking to wonder what her future would have held.

The world is a much less bright place today. I continue to mourn with those who were fortunate enough to have known Sarah at The Clarion-Ledger. I extend my heartfelt condolences to her family, friends and colleagues in this difficult time. There will never be another Sarah Haselhorst. We were blessed to have known her.

AP Top Stories for October 13 P

40 Horror Stories And Facts That Might Give You Goosebumps, As Shared On This IG Account

Stories of Sarah: From St. Louis to Port Royal, a young reporter’s lasting imprint on us all