🩸 Sunday Screams Presents:“The Goatman Returns”


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🎙️ Monologue of the Nightly Storyteller

> “Some monsters don’t hide in shadows—they become them.  
They stalk the edges of memory, waiting for us to forget… so they can remind us.  
We call them legends. We call them myths.  
But the truth is—they call us dinner.”

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A storm pressed against my windows tonight. The kind that makes the air hum and the lights flicker just to remind you who’s in charge. I found myself staring at a familiar face—or what’s left of one—on my shelf. Burnt, grinning, and ready to slash through dreams.

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🔥 Product Review: Freddy Krueger Motion Statue

There’s something hypnotic about this piece. The Freddy Krueger motion statue stands 18 inches tall, detailed down to the last singed thread of his striped sweater. The sculpt captures the twisted satisfaction on his scarred face perfectly, while the built-in motion feature makes him move just enough to feel… wrong in the best way.

When triggered, his head tilts slightly, glove rising slow and deliberate—like he’s deciding which part of you to carve first. The eyes glint red under dim light, and the audio chip growls a faint “Welcome to my nightmare.” It’s subtle, but the realism hits deep. I caught myself glancing over more than once while writing this.

If you’re a collector, this one’s worth every cent.  
Just don’t leave it on overnight.  
Freddy doesn’t wait for motion—he remembers.

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💀 The Storyteller Chronicles: The Goatman’s Return

The air shifted—an electric pulse crawling down my spine. I turned, slow at first, then faster, every instinct screaming run. But it was too late.

The Goatman had found me.

Its stench hit first—metallic and earthy, like wet fur left to rot under the sun. Steam rose from its nostrils, each breath a guttural growl. Its eyes glowed molten red, reflecting the lightning slashing across the sky outside.

Before I could react, the creature lunged. The impact was a hammer to my chest. I hit the ground hard—air gone, ribs screaming. My vision blurred.

Then I saw it—  
The scarab.

It pulsed violently against my chest, glowing deep violet. The color twisted and spread, crawling under my skin like ink through veins. Pain tore through me—electric and cold all at once. My fingers bent, cracked, elongated. My reflection—what little I could see—was gone.

The scarab—gift or curse, I still don’t know—had awakened something.

The Creature was back.

This time, Nyra and Val didn’t scream.  
They didn’t run.  
They smiled—like they’d seen this before.

The Goatman reared back, muscles rippling beneath coarse black fur, hooves splitting the ground with each step. I could smell its rage—a sharp, sulfuric tang that burned the air.

But the Creature—I—was faster.

A single step backward sent dust flying as the Goatman’s swing crashed into the floor where I had stood. The earth shook. Splinters flew.

I moved—instinct, pure and vicious.  
Claws flashed in a blur.  
A strike to the ribs. A slash to the throat.  
A punch that cracked the air like thunder.

The Goatman stumbled, howled, and swung wildly. But its strength was fading—its surprise written across those hellish eyes.

The tide had turned.  
For once, the hunter was hunted.

And then—  
A light.

Blinding, searing white swallowed everything.  
The sound cut out.  
When I could see again… the Goatman was gone.

The Creature threw its head back and screamed.  
Not in victory.  
Not in rage.  
But in warning.

The kind that chills the blood and calls the storm.

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☠️ Closing Words

Something tells me the Goatman isn’t gone—just waiting for the next turn of the moon.  
The scarab still hums faintly… almost like it’s keeping score.  
And I’m not sure it’s done with me yet.

Until next time—  

Stick around. Subscribe. Share.  

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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