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| The Hooded Man Ritual Game |
You step outside anyway, because the ritual demands it. A black car waits at the curb, idling softly in the night. Its windows are dark, its shape unnervingly ordinary—as if it has always been there, waiting.
You open the door and climb inside.
The interior smells faintly of gasoline and old leather. The silence is crushing. The driver never speaks. His face is hidden beneath the hood of a dark coat, hands motionless on the wheel until, without a word, he shifts into gear.
The car begins to move, and the streets you thought you knew start to twist. Streetlamps bend into impossible shapes, houses stretch into long corridors of black, and the road winds endlessly on. Sometimes you swear you see people watching from the sidewalks—silent, expressionless faces that vanish as quickly as they appear.
The longer you ride, the further you slip from reality. And if you don’t follow the rules? You may never make it back.
What Is the Hooded Man Ritual?
The Hooded Man Ritual is one of the eeriest paranormal “games” circulating online, often whispered about in the same breath as the Elevator Game or the Midnight Game.
It’s said to be a ritual of transportation—not through elevators or mirrors, but by car. By following a strict set of steps, you summon a black vehicle to your home. Inside waits the Hooded Man, a silent driver who will take you on a journey through unfamiliar streets, strange dimensions, or perhaps the edges of your own subconscious.
Like all ritual games, it is presented as a test. If you follow the rules exactly, you survive. If you don’t, the consequences are left deliberately vague—and all the more terrifying for it.
How to Play the Hooded Man Ritual
Disclaimer: Like all ritual games, this legend should never be attempted. The rules themselves are frightening enough.
Preparation:
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A telephone (some say landline, others say cell phone will work).
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Salt.
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A black cord or rope.
The Steps:
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Begin at night, when you are alone in your home.
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Close all doors, turn off the lights, and draw the curtains.
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Place salt in front of the door and around the telephone.
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Tie the black cord to the telephone receiver.
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At precisely midnight, pick up the phone, dial your own number, and repeat the phrase: “Hello? Hello?” twice.
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Untie the cord, then set it down.
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Go to your window and look outside. Within moments, a black car should arrive.
The Ride:
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Step outside and enter the car.
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The driver will be waiting, hood pulled low over his face.
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Do not speak to him. Do not touch him.
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As the car begins to move, you may see strange sights: landscapes you don’t recognize, figures watching from the roadside, or shadows in the back seat. Do not panic.
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If you wish to end the ride, lean close to the driver’s ear and whisper: “I have reached my destination.”
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You will be dropped back at your home.
After the Ride:
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Return to your telephone.
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Dial your own number again. This time say, “Thank you for the ride.”
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Cut the black cord into pieces, scatter them, and discard them away from your home.
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Only then is the ritual complete.
Warnings:
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Never speak to the Hooded Man beyond the final phrase.
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Do not let him drive you for more than two hours.
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If you fail to end the ritual correctly, he may return uninvited.
Origins of the Hooded Man Ritual
Unlike the Elevator Game (often tied to Korean urban legends) or the Midnight Game (claimed to have pagan roots), the Hooded Man Ritual has no clear cultural origin. Instead, it seems to have emerged from creepypasta forums and paranormal blogs in the early 2010s, during the height of ritual-game popularity.
Yet the imagery feels older. Scholars of folklore note strong echoes of the psychopomp—a guide who ferries souls to the afterlife. In Greek myth, Charon rows the dead across the River Styx. In Celtic folklore, a black coach pulled by horses carries away the dying. In Mexico, Santa Muerte is sometimes depicted driving a carriage. The Hooded Man’s black car may be the modern equivalent: a vehicle of transition, taking you somewhere you aren’t meant to go.
There are also similarities to the “men in black” of UFO lore—mysterious figures in black cars who appear after unexplained events, their silence and presence just as ominous as the Hooded Man’s. Whether he is a modern urban myth or an unconscious echo of these older symbols, the archetype is hauntingly familiar.
Tales of the Hooded Man
Stories about the ritual are plentiful online, most shared in anonymous threads and creepypasta sites. Whether truth or fiction, they all share a similar tone: eerie, dreamlike, and unsettling.
The Vanishing Ride:
One teenager claimed that when he entered the Hooded Man’s car, he first saw familiar landmarks. But soon, the streetlights thinned out. Buildings warped into featureless shapes, the sky turned red, and he realized he no longer knew where he was. When he whispered the closing phrase, the driver dropped him off—blocks away from home. His watch said two hours had passed, but his phone battery had drained to zero as if days had gone by.
The Passenger in the Back Seat:
Some accounts describe not being alone in the car. A few riders claim to have felt cold air at their necks, or seen pale hands resting on the back of the front seat. One swore he heard breathing behind him, steady and raspy, though the driver never reacted.
The Wrong Return:
A chilling tale warns that sometimes the Hooded Man drops you at a place that looks like your home but isn’t. The house is identical, but the details are wrong—the family photos show strangers, the furniture feels subtly misplaced. Those who realize the mistake are said to wake in their real homes, shaken. But those who don’t… may never know the difference.
The Aftermath:
Players also warn that if the ritual is done incorrectly, the Hooded Man may linger. One person wrote that after their attempt, they woke nightly to the sound of an idling engine. Sometimes, when they looked outside, they saw headlights at the curb. Other times, they smelled exhaust inside their room. The driver never left.
Similar Legends from Around the World
The Hooded Man Ritual belongs to a long tradition of legends about transportation to other realms:
The Elevator Game (Korea):
By pressing a sequence of floors, players believe they can enter another dimension. Like the Hooded Man Ritual, strict rules must be followed, and mistakes are dangerous.
The Midnight Game (Creepypasta):
Summoning the Midnight Man requires staying in motion until 3:33 a.m. If you fail, he claims you. Both rituals create a test of endurance, where survival depends on obeying every instruction.
The Black Volga (Eastern Europe):
In the 1960s–70s, people whispered about a black Volga car that kidnapped those who saw it. Some claimed it was driven by vampires, Satanists, or the KGB. Children were said to vanish forever. The parallels to the Hooded Man’s vehicle are striking.
The Grim Reaper’s Carriage (Europe):
In older European folklore, a black carriage pulled by horses carried the dead to the afterlife, often driven by a hooded figure. Seeing it was a death omen.
Phantom Hitchhiker Tales:
From America to Japan, countless stories tell of spectral figures picked up on lonely highways. They vanish mid-ride, or lead drivers to tragedy.
Phantom Trains (Japan):
Legends speak of trains that arrive at empty stations, taking passengers who never return. Like the Hooded Man’s car, they are vehicles to nowhere.
These connections suggest the Hooded Man isn’t an isolated story, but a new mask on an ancient archetype: the guide who takes us to the other side.
Why Do We Fear Ritual Games?
Part of what makes the Hooded Man Ritual so chilling is its instructional format. The rules are laid out step by step, as if daring the reader to try. Just by imagining yourself doing it, you’re already partway there.
Psychologists note that rituals give structure to fear. We like rules because they suggest control—even when the subject is supernatural. The Hooded Man, like the Midnight Game, offers a bargain: follow the steps, and maybe you’ll survive. Break them, and you’re doomed.
These games also mimic initiation rites found in folklore: tests of courage, endurance, and purity. Whether it’s spending the night alone in a graveyard or facing an ordeal in silence, the idea is the same—you prove yourself by enduring fear.
The Hooded Man Ritual modernizes that concept for the digital age. Instead of a carriage or a river crossing, the test is a car ride with a silent driver. The destination is never clear—but the terror is.
How to Survive the Hooded Man Ritual
If you ever find yourself in the presence of the Hooded Man, the warnings are clear:
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Do not speak to him. Any words beyond the closing phrase may doom you.
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Ignore what you see. The people outside, the figures in the back seat—they are not for you.
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Complete the ritual. Always thank him, always cut the cord, always scatter the pieces.
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Limit the time. Never let the ride exceed two hours. Time bends in his car, and staying too long may trap you permanently.
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Never repeat it. Some say those who play more than once find the Hooded Man waiting even when uninvited.
Final Thoughts
The Hooded Man Ritual may have begun as an internet invention, but like the Elevator Game and the Midnight Game, it resonates because it feels timeless. We’ve always told stories of guides who take us to places we aren’t meant to go—whether by boat, by carriage, or now, by car.
The next time you hear an engine idling outside late at night, resist the urge to look. If you see headlights waiting at the curb, close your curtains.
Because some rides don’t have a return ticket.
📌 If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to check out this one about a creepy game called Hitori Kakurenbo, also known as One-Man Hide and Seek.
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