Thai Ghost Stories 2

Thai Ghost Stories 2: I was not aware of any of it at the time. While my body rested, the night slowly revealed itself to those still awake. And as darkness settled fully around the room, the silence became unmistakable.

Thai Ghost Stories 2

The Night We Were Not Alone

That night, the room was silent.

Too silent.

No sound of insects.
No wind.
Even the standing fan seemed to hum more softly than it should.

At some point during the night, my mother drifted in and out of sleep.
She later told me she felt as if the room was slowly becoming smaller —
as if the air itself was pressing inward.

Then she heard something.

Not footsteps.
Not a voice.

More like… someone murmuring.

A low, indistinct sound, circling the room,
never coming from one clear direction.

She tried to listen carefully,
but every time she focused, the sound moved —
as if it didn’t want to be understood.

My father, lying beside her, was wide awake.

He could hear my mother chanting prayers.

Softly.
Steadily.
Again and again.

But the strange thing was —my mother never opened her mouth.

Sometime before dawn, I began to move in my sleep. My breathing changed. My body shifted restlessly.

Then I spoke.

“There’s someone lying too close.”

My mother froze. She wanted to wake me up, but something told her not to.

I continued mumbling, half-asleep, complaining that there was no space — that I was being pressed from the side.

But there were only three of us in that room. And no one had moved.

Morning came quietly.

I woke up alone. No father. No mother.

The room felt different in daylight — not safer, but exposed.

Every stain on the wall looked intentional. Every crack seemed to have a story.

The covered mirror felt heavy, as if something behind the towel was waiting.

I ran outside and found my parents sitting on a bamboo raft by the river.

I was angry.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? The room feels scary in the morning!”

They laughed at first.

But when I told them what I noticed the stains, the cracks, and the sounds I heard they stopped smiling.

They exchanged a look. Because they had heard those sounds too.

At breakfast, I casually told the staff,
“This morning, there were many people talking loudly in front of our room.”

Every staff member shook their head.

At the same time.

The resort owner overheard the conversation
and asked which room we stayed in.

When my father answered —
the room near the parking lot —

the owner’s face changed.

He turned to the staff, clearly upset.
No one dared to speak.

Breakfast arrived quickly.
More fish porridge than we could finish.

“Please eat as much as you like,” they said.
“No charge.”

No one mentioned the room again.

As we were leaving, the owner smiled politely.

“Please come again.”

In the car, my mother whispered,

“We can come back here…
just not that room.”

This was not the last strange night I would experience.
Some encounters do not make a sound — they simply wait to be seen.

And the next story begins
with a figure standing quietly in the dark.