fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
Shards
I looked up into the light and smiled. I smiled even as the tears burned their way down my face. I smiled as the light slowly faded away and disappeared. I smiled as darkness enveloped me, and I welcomed the death I so deserved with open arms, but it never came to greet me.
By Amatsi Writes7 years ago in Horror
7 Creepy Short Stories Perfect for Halloween
1. Mom's Home A father is laying in bed after just waking up from a nap, he grabs the baby monitor next to him on the night stand, and walks into his home office. As he sits down, he hears his wife on the baby monitor singing. The father cracks a smile when he hears his wife sing "Go to sleep... go to sleep." Suddenly the front door opens, and his wife comes in with groceries.
By Steven Walker7 years ago in Horror
Detective Hart
Splinters and chunks of wood painted the concrete slab ground. Flecks and strips of white old dry paint accented the wood, some shining against the moonlight. The remains of a door held onto their golden hinges in a feeble attempt at stability. Detective Hart took a long stride over the wood filled threshold, and made her way inside. As usual she was one of the first on the scene. Unusually she was the only one on the scene at current. Well aware that waiting for backup was her best move, she stood just inside the doorframe, moonlight to her back, and the darkness before her. Beams of light lay heavy on the shapes of the house leaking out from her torch.
By Cronan Parry7 years ago in Horror
Ten of the Best Horror Novels of All Time
Everyone likes a good scare, and over the years there have been many excellent horror books and stories to make even the bravest fear the dark. Modern day masters of horror include Stephen King and James Herbert in a genre that dates back to the likes of Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley.
By Ronnie Deboer7 years ago in Horror
Beware the Man on Cherry Street
At the end of the block, in a crumbling brick house, lives the man with no face. If the sun is out, he is not. He only goes outside when he can hide within the dark blankets of the night. Every night I see his shadow in his backyard. Always pacing—back and forth. Back and forth. It's like clockwork. Many nights I have fallen asleep watching his rhythmic pacing from my bedroom window. It's almost hypnotizing. It has become an obsession. I don't know how to stop.
By Amber Pollock7 years ago in Horror
With My Last Breath
*Chapter 1* Nothing feels the same after you’ve lost the person you loved the most... Nothing on Earth could ever take away the pain or even come close to making you feel slightly better... I guess I’m in between the phases of denial and acceptance after everything. I mean, after hearing your father get murdered while you can only stand there helpless, it’s going to mess with you pretty badly... I wish I could go so far as to say that things eventually got better, but it didn’t. The only thing that changed was my mom getting married to a guy named Axel a month after everything happened.
By Lily Evans7 years ago in Horror
3 Scary Stories
Call My Name At about three AM in the morning, I decide to get up and go fix myself a late-night snack, but as I walk passed the bathroom, I hear a soft voice calling my name, I just ignored it. I thought Maybe I was hearing stuff, so I continue walking towards the kitchen, as I’m making myself a sandwich. I hear the same voice call my name again, so now I’m getting freaked being that I live alone, so I try to watch YouTube on my phone while I eat my sandwich hoping I don’t hear that same noise again. So an hour later I finish my sandwich, and head over to my bedroom, and as I’m walking past the bathroom, I hear the same noise, so I decided to be bold and investigate the noise. I walked in the bathroom but no was in there I checked in the shower, behind the door, and even in the medicine cabinet but still nothing, so I decided to go back to bed so after an hour of sleep I wake up from the same noise calling my name, so I looked up and peeked into the bathroom, and saw my mom staring at me... my mom has been dead for ten years.
By Kycel Cromwell7 years ago in Horror
The Spoken
I stared into the abyss as I watched the incoherent muttering from afar. The moving of mouths. I began to wonder what it would be like if we, as humans, couldn't speak at all. How would we communicate? Express hatred? Express love? Express fear? The muttering rang in my head to the questions. I would come to find that this wasn't just another one of my crazy, delirious epiphany-like fantasies. No. It was much more. Well, much more since the new girl arrived.
By Annie Kapur7 years ago in Horror
The Massacre Tapes
It happened last year, or somewhere in the middle of last year. Our town witnessed the single greatest horror in the history of any town anywhere; I'm sure of it. It was first said to be an unknown phenomenon of some kind, and people were blaming it on a disease we didn't know existed yet. But it was far from it. Let me tell you what happened. Men, in their 20s, would start randomly being found dead doing perfectly normal things. There was one named Christopher—I forget his last name—who died whilst he was on his way to work. He didn't appear to have any cuts and bruises, no marks to the skin. Nothing happened to him that could've been inflicted by someone else. Everyone, at that time, just shrugged it off as a death of natural causes. But then, more things happened.
By Annie Kapur7 years ago in Horror
The Tunnel
I am trapped in a tunnel. I have no idea how the hell I got here, and, at this moment, I have no idea how the hell I'm going to get out. I've been down here for about four, maybe five days. My sense of self, and my sense of time have both seemingly vanished. The ceiling above me is a stone grey arch that's mounted down on both sides of the floor–the arch stretching about five metres in width. There's not much light, but the cracks in the walls let some of the sunlight in every now and again, so at least I can tell when night-time comes. Whether that light is from the sinking sun, or the rising moon, I'll never know. I have to keep moving, maybe five miles per day just to keep away from that rising shadow that keeps following me. I've travelled far enough now that I know there's probably no end to this tunnel in sight–there's still an endless run of that stone grey arch in front of me, it fades out near the end, where my eyes can't make out anymore. Then, behind me is all the length I've travelled, again it fades to black. I normally drop my now-empty water bottle with the nozzle pointing in the direction I am supposed to be walking the next day, just to remember where I'm going. The stone floors don't offer soil to make footprints in, only the beating sound of the steps or movements of whatever's after me, gaining on my trail.
By Annie Kapur7 years ago in Horror
