Very Very Very scary stories to not read in the dark

book one: the cursed sneakers: Chapter One: Neon Nights

The year was 1985, and the vibrant pulse of the 80s reverberated through the city of Arcadia. Neon lights adorned the bustling streets, and the air hummed with the eclectic beats of synthesizers. In the midst of this electric atmosphere, Benjamin Thompson, a promising basketball star, stood on the precipice of fame, unaware of the shadows that would soon cast a pall over his glittering world.

Benjamin, known to his friends as Ben, was a towering presence on the basketball court. His skill, agility, and uncanny ability to sink shots from any angle had earned him a reputation as a rising star. The streets buzzed with talk of his potential, and the allure of a scholarship to a prestigious college hung in the air like a golden opportunity.

One fateful evening, as the city lights flickered to life and the streets embraced the vibrant hues of neon, Ben found himself in a dimly lit antique store tucked away in a corner of Arcadia. Intrigued by the mystical allure of the place, he wandered through aisles of forgotten relics until his eyes fell upon a pair of vintage basketball shoes.

The shoes, seemingly untouched by the passage of time, emanated an otherworldly aura. The leather was as black as the night sky, and the laces shimmered with an iridescent glow. As Ben examined them, a mysterious shopkeeper, clad in a tattered velvet cloak, appeared from the shadows.

"Ah, young athlete, those shoes are not just footwear—they're a ticket to greatness," the shopkeeper rasped, his eyes glinting with an eerie intensity.

Intrigued by the enigmatic promise, Ben inquired about the origins of the shoes. The shopkeeper, a keeper of ancient secrets, spoke of a curse woven into the very fabric of the sneakers. Legend had it that they once belonged to a basketball prodigy whose meteoric rise to fame ended in tragedy. The curse, a malevolent force seeking retribution, now lingered within the shoes, awaiting a new vessel.

Unfazed by the ominous tale, Ben dismissed the shopkeeper's warnings as the stuff of urban legend. The allure of sporting these mystical sneakers on the court was too potent to resist, and, with a wry smile, he handed over the crisp bills in exchange for the cursed footwear.

The night, now cloaked in the neon glow of Arcadia, saw Ben lacing up the ominous sneakers for the first time. Unbeknownst to him, the city held its breath, as if aware of the impending descent into darkness that awaited the unsuspecting basketball prodigy.