🪙 The Gold Coin Chronicles: “The Babysitter & the Board Game"

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1980s Short Horror Story | Haunted Babysitter Tale
A nostalgic nightmare from The Gold Coin Chronicles. When a college babysitter finds a mysterious coin, her night turns into an ’80s horror film come to life.


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🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller’s Introduction

People say the 1980s were simpler times.
No cell phones. No internet. Just Saturday morning cartoons, cassette tapes, and neon dreams.

But I remember them differently.
The nights were darker. The silence heavier. And sometimes, when the wind slipped through a cracked window, you’d swear someone was breathing just on the other side of the glass.

I once knew a girl named Melissa. She was home from college—smart, dependable, the kind of babysitter parents trusted and kids adored. One chilly October evening, she took a job on short notice. Just a few hours, a few bucks, and a gold coin she didn’t remember earning.

Funny thing about the past…
It doesn’t stay buried.
Sometimes it watches from the window.


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📼 The Babysitter & The Board Game

The fall of ’86 smelled like damp leaves, microwave popcorn, and something sour Melissa couldn’t name.

She drove through her old neighborhood, humming along to Take On Me, headlights slicing through rows of skeletal maples. The Video Zone sign buzzed in red and blue neon as she pulled in. Inside, VHS cases lined the walls—ghostly faces frozen mid-scream.

She picked Monster Mansion for the Harrison kids. When the clerk handed her change, one coin stood out—a gleaming gold piece, warm against her skin. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

Melissa blinked. “Is this—?”

The clerk had already turned away.

She pocketed the coin and left.


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Tommy and Sarah met her at the door, wild with energy. Their parents rushed out in a storm of cologne and car keys, thanking her for saving the night.

The house was cozy—pumpkin decorations, the hum of a dishwasher, the scent of cinnamon candles. Melissa made pizza, queued up the movie, and sank into the couch with the kids. Laughter, fake screams, spilled soda—it was perfect.

Until Sarah froze.
“Melissa… someone’s outside.”

Melissa followed her gaze. Through the picture window, under the soft drizzle of rain, a tall figure stood by the hedges—too still to be human. Its face was hidden, but its posture was wrong—like it had never learned how to be human.

The porch light flicked on. The figure didn’t move.

“Probably the neighbor,” Melissa said, forcing a laugh. “Let’s play a game instead.”


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They chose Mystic Mansion, a board game older than Melissa herself. The box smelled like attic dust. The pieces were hand-carved—too detailed, too worn. One looked like a key. Another like a door.

Dice rolled. Cards drawn.
“The intruder enters.”
Melissa frowned. “Weird timing.”

Halfway through the game, the lights flickered. The TV hissed static. Melissa checked the hallway phone—it was dead.

Then came the sound.
A single, deliberate tap on the window.

The kids screamed. Melissa turned—no one there.

She locked every door, heart hammering.
Another tap. Louder.
Then the unmistakable scratch of metal against glass.
Like teeth dragging across porcelain.


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She herded the kids into the upstairs bathroom, locking the door behind them.
“It’s just a prank,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

Below them, a door creaked open.
Footsteps. Slow. Heavy.
Each one deliberate, like someone counting.

Tommy whimpered. Sarah clutched the board game piece shaped like a key.

Then came the whisper from the hallway—soft, hollow, almost mechanical:
“Give it back…”

Melissa’s blood ran cold. She reached into her pocket.
The gold coin was gone.


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The footsteps stopped.
The knob turned once.
Twice.
Then… silence.

When police lights finally painted the windows red and blue, the parents came home to find the front door ajar, glass shattered, and the babysitter huddled in the bathroom, shaking but alive.

No intruder. No sign of forced entry.
Only a single gold coin resting on the bathroom floor—dull, cold, and ancient.

Later that night, as Melissa drove home, she swore she saw something glint under the passenger seat.
She reached for it.
The headlights flickered.
Then nothing.

The coin was gone.

Some say it turned up weeks later—wedged beneath a rotting floorboard in a half-renovated hotel.


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🪙 The Nightly Storyteller’s Closing Words

They say the past never dies—it just rewinds, waiting to play again.
So if you ever stumble across an old coin that hums in your hand…
Or a board game that moves on its own…

Don’t stay up late trying to finish it.
Some nights, the dice roll themselves.


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X (Twitter): @NightlyStoryTel

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Bluesky: nightlystoryteller.bsky.

Email. thenightlystorytellerblog@gmail.com

And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite scary movie, urban legend, or horror memory.
We’re just getting started—and things are about to get dark.

thenightlystoryteller.blogspot.com


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