I visited an abandoned Turkish ghost village, and now I…
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I visited an abandoned Turkish ghost village, and now I can't escape.
I’m writing this because I don’t know where else to post, and I need to get it down before it’s too late.
I’m a guy from Berlin. My dad is German, and my mom is half-Turkish, half-German, which means I hold a Turkish passport. I grew up pretty comfortable—no money issues, stable family, ultimate freedom. But when you can have basically whatever you want, normal life gets boring fast. Standard European tourist spots never did it for me. I’d honestly rather wander through the contrasting rich-and-poor caste neighborhoods of India than take photos at the Eiffel Tower.
Turkey had always been at the top of my list, though. When I finally brought it up to my mom, she was all for it. She wanted to come along, but she couldn't leave her bakery unattended, so I went solo.
When I landed in Istanbul, it felt like stepping into a classic movie set. Great atmosphere, incredible street life. I spent a few days exploring, but the high wore off quick. Day-drinking in random bars was leaving me numb.
I needed a real adrenaline rush. I’ve always been obsessed with horror games, movies, and creepypastas, so I started looking into local Turkish folklore. Djinn, Gulyabani, Karabasan, Al Karısı... legit terrifying stuff. That’s when I stumbled upon a place called Lübbey Village.
It’s an abandoned ghost village tucked away on the steep slopes of the Bozdağlar mountains in İzmir’s Ödemiş district. It was completely deserted in the 1980s due to a lack of electricity and infrastructure. Rumor had it that the village was cursed by a Djinn tribe—that the locals fled in such a panic they didn't even pack their belongings, leaving the place to whatever sinister entities took over.
My heart was hammering in my chest. I had to go.
The next morning, I took a long-distance bus to İzmir. I originally planned to catch a local minibus to the village to see more of the countryside, but turns out no public transit goes anywhere near it. The nearest living settlement was 10 to 15 kilometers out. I ended up hailing a cab and bargaining with the driver. I paid him extra to drop me off and promised to meet him back at the entrance at 8:00 PM sharp.
Lübbey was dead silent. Just crumbling stone ruins and empty alleys surrounded by thick wilderness. Camera in hand, I started snapping shots as I walked up a flight of steep, uneven stone stairs. Just as I went to take the last step, the ground beneath me lurched violently.
An earthquake? The surrounding ruins didn't fall, but it felt like the entire world had just... shivered. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, caught my breath, and kept going.
By 7:00 PM, the air dropped to a freezing chill. I was only wearing a thin t-shirt, but I figured, Whatever, the cab is coming at 8:00, I can tough it out.
I stopped in front of a historic, two-story stone house that belonged in a museum. The structure looked like a collapse hazard, but that danger only drew me in deeper. I pushed the door open, and the hinges shrieked with a century’s worth of rust.
I stuck my flashlight inside first. Floor mattresses, rotting curtains, broken chairs. The darkness in there was so heavy it practically swallowed the beam of my light. Old newspapers littered the floor. I picked a few up—they were only a couple of years old, and every single headline was specifically about this village. Other tourists had definitely been here.
I panned my light toward a wooden table in the corner.
My throat froze. My vocal cords felt like they snapped and dropped into my stomach.
Sitting right on top of the table was a severed human head.
I collapsed onto my knees. My vision burst into red static and noise, like a broken CRT television. My head spun so hard I thought I was going to pass out. I forced myself to look back up at the table—and the head was gone.
Am I losing my mind? I thought, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I grabbed my flashlight off the floor.
I wanted to run, but an overwhelming compulsion told me to go upstairs. In horror movies, you always yell at the screen, "You idiot, get out of there!" But this wasn't curiosity. It felt like I was being summoned.
I forced my legs up the creaky, decaying staircase. On the second floor, old Turkish carpets covered the floor, along with a few locked wooden chests. But what caught my eye was a thick, dark red substance on the floorboards. Blood. I raised my flashlight—the entire ceiling was dripping in deep red.
Desperate for answers, I picked up a heavy rock and smashed the lock off one of the trunks. Inside were a few scraps of paper covered in Arabic script—some kind of prayers or hexes—and a small camera SD card.
I pulled out my digital camera and slid the SD card into the slot. A video file popped up, and I hit play.
The recording showed someone stepping into this exact house. Their footsteps matched mine perfectly. The screen glitched with red static. The camera panned to the table—showing the severed head. The person holding the camera collapsed, just like I had. Then, the camera tilted down to show beneath the table.
My eyes welled up with tears of pure terror.
Hiding under the table was a pale, horrific entity—resembling Slendrina—with a massive, impossible mouth stretched wide open. Waiting like a predator in a trap.
The camera dropped and cracked, but kept recording. The person snatched it up and frantically scrambled up the stairs. When they reached the top room, the camera captured something that almost made me pass out: a ghostly family sitting in absolute silence. Two entities perched on the chairs, and two smaller ones sitting on the blood-soaked floor.
Panic took complete control. I threw my camera to the ground and sprinted out of that nightmare house into the pitch-black night.
It was 7:50 PM. I ran all the way down to the empty road. No cars. Nothing.
At 8:00 PM on the dot, a set of headlights appeared down the road. The taxi! I started crying out of sheer relief. Thank God, I was saved.
Except... the taxi didn't slow down. It sped right past me.
And as it blew by, the interior light flickered on. Sitting in the back seat... was me.
"No! NO! Am I fucking crazy?!" I screamed into the void.
I turned and sprinted blindly down the pitch-black road toward where the nearest town was supposed to be. I ran for an entire hour, my lungs burning, powered purely by absolute terror. Finally, I saw buildings in the distance and a roadside sign.
"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I screamed, collapsing in front of the sign, sobbing hysterically.
I forced my head up to read the town name on the metal board.
Lübbey Village.
I had run in a straight line for an hour, only to end up right back at the entrance.
The sheer terror finally knocked me out cold. I woke up to a couple of locals splashing water on my face. They were driving down the mountain to the city and found me passed out on the dirt. They tried asking what happened, but I couldn't speak. My mouth wouldn't move; I couldn't even make a sound. They offered to take me to a hospital, but I managed a violent shake of my head.
They dropped me off at a hotel in İzmir. I walked past the front desk without paying, grabbed a random room key hanging on the wall while nobody was looking, went up, and threw myself onto the bed. Am I schizophrenic? Every time I asked myself that, my brain felt like it was physically bleeding.
It’s been six years since that night. I’ve been living back in Berlin with my family ever since. I tried telling them what happened, but they just thought I had a massive psychotic break. Psychologists, therapists, heavy meds—none of it did anything.
That SD card is still sitting in the back of my closet. Just looking at the closet door feels like injecting poison directly into my veins.
This post is my final goodbye to the internet, and to everyone I’ve ever known. I know I can't run from it anymore.
A yellow taxi just pulled up on the street directly outside my bedroom window here in Berlin.
Its engine isn't running. Its headlights are off. But a horn is blaring right inside the center of my brain.
The driver in the front seat has a completely smooth, featureless face... and he's staring right at me through the rearview mirror.
Our agreed pick-up time passed six years ago. I'm late... and he's finally here to pick me up.
Farewell.
#entertainment
source
I’m writing this because I don’t know where else to post, and I need to get it down before it’s too late.
I’m a guy from Berlin. My dad is German, and my mom is half-Turkish, half-German, which means I hold a Turkish passport. I grew up pretty comfortable—no money issues, stable family, ultimate freedom. But when you can have basically whatever you want, normal life gets boring fast. Standard European tourist spots never did it for me. I’d honestly rather wander through the contrasting rich-and-poor caste neighborhoods of India than take photos at the Eiffel Tower.
Turkey had always been at the top of my list, though. When I finally brought it up to my mom, she was all for it. She wanted to come along, but she couldn't leave her bakery unattended, so I went solo.
When I landed in Istanbul, it felt like stepping into a classic movie set. Great atmosphere, incredible street life. I spent a few days exploring, but the high wore off quick. Day-drinking in random bars was leaving me numb.
I needed a real adrenaline rush. I’ve always been obsessed with horror games, movies, and creepypastas, so I started looking into local Turkish folklore. Djinn, Gulyabani, Karabasan, Al Karısı... legit terrifying stuff. That’s when I stumbled upon a place called Lübbey Village.
It’s an abandoned ghost village tucked away on the steep slopes of the Bozdağlar mountains in İzmir’s Ödemiş district. It was completely deserted in the 1980s due to a lack of electricity and infrastructure. Rumor had it that the village was cursed by a Djinn tribe—that the locals fled in such a panic they didn't even pack their belongings, leaving the place to whatever sinister entities took over.
My heart was hammering in my chest. I had to go.
The next morning, I took a long-distance bus to İzmir. I originally planned to catch a local minibus to the village to see more of the countryside, but turns out no public transit goes anywhere near it. The nearest living settlement was 10 to 15 kilometers out. I ended up hailing a cab and bargaining with the driver. I paid him extra to drop me off and promised to meet him back at the entrance at 8:00 PM sharp.
Lübbey was dead silent. Just crumbling stone ruins and empty alleys surrounded by thick wilderness. Camera in hand, I started snapping shots as I walked up a flight of steep, uneven stone stairs. Just as I went to take the last step, the ground beneath me lurched violently.
An earthquake? The surrounding ruins didn't fall, but it felt like the entire world had just... shivered. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, caught my breath, and kept going.
By 7:00 PM, the air dropped to a freezing chill. I was only wearing a thin t-shirt, but I figured, Whatever, the cab is coming at 8:00, I can tough it out.
I stopped in front of a historic, two-story stone house that belonged in a museum. The structure looked like a collapse hazard, but that danger only drew me in deeper. I pushed the door open, and the hinges shrieked with a century’s worth of rust.
I stuck my flashlight inside first. Floor mattresses, rotting curtains, broken chairs. The darkness in there was so heavy it practically swallowed the beam of my light. Old newspapers littered the floor. I picked a few up—they were only a couple of years old, and every single headline was specifically about this village. Other tourists had definitely been here.
I panned my light toward a wooden table in the corner.
My throat froze. My vocal cords felt like they snapped and dropped into my stomach.
Sitting right on top of the table was a severed human head.
I collapsed onto my knees. My vision burst into red static and noise, like a broken CRT television. My head spun so hard I thought I was going to pass out. I forced myself to look back up at the table—and the head was gone.
Am I losing my mind? I thought, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I grabbed my flashlight off the floor.
I wanted to run, but an overwhelming compulsion told me to go upstairs. In horror movies, you always yell at the screen, "You idiot, get out of there!" But this wasn't curiosity. It felt like I was being summoned.
I forced my legs up the creaky, decaying staircase. On the second floor, old Turkish carpets covered the floor, along with a few locked wooden chests. But what caught my eye was a thick, dark red substance on the floorboards. Blood. I raised my flashlight—the entire ceiling was dripping in deep red.
Desperate for answers, I picked up a heavy rock and smashed the lock off one of the trunks. Inside were a few scraps of paper covered in Arabic script—some kind of prayers or hexes—and a small camera SD card.
I pulled out my digital camera and slid the SD card into the slot. A video file popped up, and I hit play.
The recording showed someone stepping into this exact house. Their footsteps matched mine perfectly. The screen glitched with red static. The camera panned to the table—showing the severed head. The person holding the camera collapsed, just like I had. Then, the camera tilted down to show beneath the table.
My eyes welled up with tears of pure terror.
Hiding under the table was a pale, horrific entity—resembling Slendrina—with a massive, impossible mouth stretched wide open. Waiting like a predator in a trap.
The camera dropped and cracked, but kept recording. The person snatched it up and frantically scrambled up the stairs. When they reached the top room, the camera captured something that almost made me pass out: a ghostly family sitting in absolute silence. Two entities perched on the chairs, and two smaller ones sitting on the blood-soaked floor.
Panic took complete control. I threw my camera to the ground and sprinted out of that nightmare house into the pitch-black night.
It was 7:50 PM. I ran all the way down to the empty road. No cars. Nothing.
At 8:00 PM on the dot, a set of headlights appeared down the road. The taxi! I started crying out of sheer relief. Thank God, I was saved.
Except... the taxi didn't slow down. It sped right past me.
And as it blew by, the interior light flickered on. Sitting in the back seat... was me.
"No! NO! Am I fucking crazy?!" I screamed into the void.
I turned and sprinted blindly down the pitch-black road toward where the nearest town was supposed to be. I ran for an entire hour, my lungs burning, powered purely by absolute terror. Finally, I saw buildings in the distance and a roadside sign.
"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I screamed, collapsing in front of the sign, sobbing hysterically.
I forced my head up to read the town name on the metal board.
Lübbey Village.
I had run in a straight line for an hour, only to end up right back at the entrance.
The sheer terror finally knocked me out cold. I woke up to a couple of locals splashing water on my face. They were driving down the mountain to the city and found me passed out on the dirt. They tried asking what happened, but I couldn't speak. My mouth wouldn't move; I couldn't even make a sound. They offered to take me to a hospital, but I managed a violent shake of my head.
They dropped me off at a hotel in İzmir. I walked past the front desk without paying, grabbed a random room key hanging on the wall while nobody was looking, went up, and threw myself onto the bed. Am I schizophrenic? Every time I asked myself that, my brain felt like it was physically bleeding.
It’s been six years since that night. I’ve been living back in Berlin with my family ever since. I tried telling them what happened, but they just thought I had a massive psychotic break. Psychologists, therapists, heavy meds—none of it did anything.
That SD card is still sitting in the back of my closet. Just looking at the closet door feels like injecting poison directly into my veins.
This post is my final goodbye to the internet, and to everyone I’ve ever known. I know I can't run from it anymore.
A yellow taxi just pulled up on the street directly outside my bedroom window here in Berlin.
Its engine isn't running. Its headlights are off. But a horn is blaring right inside the center of my brain.
The driver in the front seat has a completely smooth, featureless face... and he's staring right at me through the rearview mirror.
Our agreed pick-up time passed six years ago. I'm late... and he's finally here to pick me up.
Farewell.
#entertainment
source
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