The Dead Don't Rest: A Collection of Modern Urban Legends

 

“A cinematic, moody image of a dark hospital morgue. On a metal table sits five cans of diet soda arranged in a perfect semicircle. In the background, a blurry, shadowy figure of a man in a suit stands in the corner. Dark, eerie.

The Restless Among Us

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night without knowing what startled you? Have you felt like someone was watching you, even though you were home alone? Have you wondered why you suddenly wake up at 3:00 AM for no reason at all? Have you noticed how the shoes you left in one spot at night are now a few feet away from where you placed them?

Have you felt that cold breeze ruffle your hair when you know there’s no draft in the room? Have you noticed a tightness in your chest as you sleep—a weight that makes it difficult to breathe?

The supernatural is all around us. Restless ghosts are near; those who died seeking justice are among us. Even the dead need peace. Have you ever looked into a mirror for an hour starting at midnight? There is a rumor that a mirror facing the bed reveals the supernatural. If you don’t have a strong heart, you should never sleep facing a mirror. You wake up at night not knowing why? Well, let me spill the beans.

Human beings have a strong spiritual side. Our spirits are sensitive, and we can feel discomfort subconsciously. Have you wondered why you’re sometimes uneasy around a stranger? Have you wondered why, upon meeting someone for the first time, you feel an instinct to distance yourself? You read that right. You can thank Twisted Stories for opening your eyes to the subconscious instincts ingrained in us by our spiritual beings.

At night, while we sleep, uninvited visitors enter our homes. They go straight to our unconscious bodies. This visitor climbs onto the bed and stares right into our faces, hovering over us as we sleep, trying to claw at us or carry out whatever evil intention it has. But then, our subconscious nudges us to wake up. That trigger causes the uninvited visitor to vanish. This is why I say if you look in the mirror when you wake up during those hours, and you don’t have a strong heart, you will see things beyond the extraordinary. You will see things right out of a storybook—things unbelievable but real, things that would make you clutch your heart and start praying.

The Friend on the Road

There is a story of a man who died about two years ago. He had a friend who had no idea he passed away. This friend saw him along the road one day and was happy to see his long-lost pal. He shook hands with him and they had a long chat. Let’s call the friend Joe and the deceased man Randy.

Joe asked Randy, "My real G, where are you based now? I want your number and address."

"I haven't got a phone, and I’ve changed my address," Randy replied.

"Wow, that’s great!" Joe said. "So, where is this new place?"

The irony was that the place where they met was not far from the public cemetery. It was just a short distance away; you could see the tombs and crypts from where they stood. Randy pointed in that direction. He didn’t say a word; he just pointed toward the cemetery. Joe thought he lived perhaps just past the graveyard, so he promised to check in on him, and they parted ways.

One thing Joe was lucky about: they never embraced. Rumor has it that a restless spirit can cause spiritual problems if you hug them.

Later that day, Joe was hanging out with his buddies when he saw Randy’s sister. He hurriedly excused himself and went to her. "Hey, Esther!" he called out. She turned with a frown, not recognizing him for a moment until he grinned. Joe had a very distinctive grin that lit up his face and made his eyes wrinkle at the corners.

"Joe!" she exclaimed, hugging him tight. "Wow, it’s so great to see you! How have you been?"

"I’ve been better, Esther. You look good! It must be a miracle, meeting your brother earlier today and then running into you after such a long time."

Esther’s eyes went wide. "Wait... you met my brother?"

"Yes, I saw Randy earlier today on the road by Cemetery Street," he said with a grin.

"Are you sure it was Randy?" she asked, her face turning pale.

"Of course it was him! How could I not know my own best friend? It was him—he even had a small cut on his forehead now."

She clutched her chest, her breathing becoming shallow and rough. She held his hands to steady herself, her eyes frantic, searching the area as if looking for someone.

"What is it?" Joe asked, feeling like he was missing something.

"Oh, Joe... where have you been for the past two years?"

"You know, I work at sea. We tend to lose communication. You know how that job is—taking people to the end of the world."

She sighed and dragged him to a nearby bar. She ordered a very strong drink and drained it. "Joe, don't take this the wrong way," she said after her second glass. "Randy has been dead for two years."

"What!" Joe jumped out of his seat. "Dead?"

"Yeah. He was in an accident. That cut on his forehead? That was the wound that killed him. In our tradition, a person is buried where they died."

"And the direction he was pointing... was the cemetery," Joe said in a small, shaky voice.

"Yeah," Esther said. "That’s where we buried him."

The Customer from the Morgue

That is just one of many stories about how the dead are restless and want to remain among the living. They continue to exist in the physical world even after they have passed. So, be careful who you interact with. There are dead people walking the streets and even participating in commerce. Yes, you heard me right—they run shops where we buy our daily goods.

There is a story of a woman who sold snacks just opposite the general hospital morgue. One day, she had a customer who ordered snacks and five cans of Diet Coke. He told her he would be back to pay the bill later and that if he took too long, she should ask for him at the morgue.

She assumed he worked there, so she accepted the deal. As business picked up, she forgot about the man. It was only as she was closing up that she remembered him. She decided she would visit the morgue the next day, as it was late and she needed to get home.

The next morning, she went to the morgue and asked the clerk about the man.

"What are you talking about?" the clerk asked with a frown.

"A man came to my stand and bought snacks and soda. He told me I should check for him here."

"Does he have a name?" the clerk asked.

She racked her brain and remembered their interaction. "Yeah, he told me his name is Mr. Cold."

At this, the clerk groaned. "Oh no. Not again."

"What is it?" the woman asked, perplexed.

Without a word, the clerk beckoned for her to follow. He took her to the room where they house the deceased. Before entering, he knocked on the door three times. The woman swore she could hear frantic movement and hushed conversations inside. Everything went silent just before the clerk opened the door.

The Party in the Morgue

As the clerk opened the door, it was clear that a party had just taken place. The woman could see five cans of Diet Coke arranged in a semicircle. The clerk watched her closely, gauging whether she had the stomach for what he was about to reveal. He saw her breathing hard, her body coiled as if preparing to bolt from the room. Her hands shook violently, and he wondered if she already regretted agreeing to enter the morgue.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Are these yours?" the clerk asked, pointing at the soda cans.

"Yes," she mumbled, her eyes wide as she scanned the room.

"Don't be afraid," the clerk said, then raised his voice toward the shadows. "Mr. Cold, I have warned you to stop causing problems. Now, come out and pay your bill!"

To the woman’s utter shock, the man who had taken the snacks and soda stood up and approached them.

She let out a shriek as her heart did a double-take. The clerk placed a steady hand on her shoulder to keep her upright. She was breathing so hard she could barely catch her breath, her eyes locked on the man as if she had been hypnotized. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, her gaze darting frantically as the man offered a grin.

"Sorry about the delay. I was in a meeting," he said, handing her a stack of dollar bills.

She couldn't make her hand move. She just stood there, watching the dead man's hand extend toward her with the wad of cash.

"Take it," the man said. She remained frozen, her eyes wild.

"Take the money," the clerk whispered sharply. "And don't make the dead angry."

That prompted her to grab the cash, and she bolted out of the room without looking back.

A Final Warning

Yes, the dead do walk the world of the living. They are everywhere, and they are watching. They watch us while we sleep; they watch us as we walk along the sidewalk; they watch us as we go about our normal lives. They are angry because they are dead, and they envy us. They envy our lives because we are still enjoying what they can never have again.

Be vigilant. Watch your shadow, watch who stands beside you, and be careful who you interact with. Never offend them—for the dead never forget, and they never forgive.