Horror

The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 7
“So, this is the famous cottage,” said David, as the car pulled into the driveway. Actually, it wasn’t so much a driveway as a mud track, which wound through a small wood, ending just by the cottage’s front door.
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters
The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 6
“You need to calm down and tell us again, without jabbering like a lunatic, what happened,” said his grandmother, sitting next to David’s bed on a precarious-looking dining chair, dragged from a dusty corner of the attic. His aunts stood behind her. Aunt Stella looked concerned, while Aunt Angela just looked irritated. She was holding a very large glass of red wine in one hand, while the other rested on the side of a Victorian chest of drawers, probably to keep her upright.
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters
The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 5
The grammar was offensively bad in places, but David had to admit that Aunt Stella’s book did manage to convey the technique of astral projection quite clearly. In the hour since they had been banished to the attic, he had read 100 pages, which was more than half the slim volume, and felt ready to put his talent to the test. It was basically a matter of relaxing and meditating into a near trance state, and then sitting or standing, but leaving your physical self behind. He was sure he would find it a simple process – he had the hereditary Blackwood talent after all.
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters
The Quiet Bruise - Chapter 2
The sound of Darrens car coming into the driveway was something Alice heard before he actually got home. Alice was in the kitchen when she heard it. She was standing there with a plate in her hands. She was not really drying it because it was already dry. The sound of the car engine and the crunch of the gravel under the tires made her feel something in her chest. It was like her body knew what it meant.
By Nelo6 months ago in Chapters
The Quiet Bruise - Chapter 1
The house learned to hold its breath before she did. In the hour just before dawn when the sky was between night and morning and the world outside belonged to distant engines and restless dogs Alice lay awake. She didn't need an alarm clock anymore. Her body knew when to wake up. It knew when the day would start pressing against her chest asking her things she didn't have the strength to question.
By Nelo6 months ago in Chapters
I Tried to Forget You, But I Couldn’t
I Tried to Forget You, But I Couldn’t BY: Ubaid The first time I decided to forget you, it was raining. Not the gentle kind of rain that whispers against the window, but the heavy kind—the kind that feels like the sky itself is breaking apart. I remember standing by the glass, watching droplets race each other down, thinking how easy it would be if memories could do the same—just slide away, disappear, and leave nothing behind. But memories don’t work like that. Not yours. You were everywhere. In the quiet pauses between songs. In the way the wind brushed past my face. In the smell of coffee that reminded me of those late evenings we spent talking about everything and nothing at the same time. I tried to erase you, to push you out of my mind like deleting a file, but you weren’t just a memory—you were a feeling. And feelings don’t delete easily. I told myself I was strong enough. I started with the small things. I stopped visiting the places we used to go. I avoided the park bench where we once sat for hours, laughing at things that probably weren’t even funny. I changed my playlist, removed every song that carried even a hint of you. I even forced myself to smile more, as if pretending to be okay would somehow make it true. But every attempt felt like trying to hold water in my hands. No matter how tightly I held on, it slipped through my fingers. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. People said time heals everything. I wanted to believe them. I really did. But time didn’t heal—it only taught me how to hide the pain better. I became good at it, too. I laughed at the right moments, said the right things, played the role everyone expected me to play. No one noticed the emptiness. Except me. Late at night, when the world grew quiet and distractions faded away, that’s when you came back the strongest. Not as a face I could see, but as a presence I could feel. It was in those moments I realized something I had been avoiding all along— I wasn’t trying to forget you. I was trying to forget how you made me feel. And that was the problem. Because it wasn’t just about you. It was about the version of me that existed when you were around. The happier version. The lighter version. The version that believed in things like forever and always. Losing you didn’t just mean losing someone I cared about. It meant losing a part of myself. I remember the day it truly hit me. I was walking down a crowded street, surrounded by people rushing to their destinations, when suddenly, everything felt… distant. Like I didn’t belong there. Like I was watching life happen instead of actually living it. And then, without warning, I heard someone laugh. It wasn’t you. It didn’t even sound like you. But it reminded me of you. And just like that, all the walls I had built came crashing down. I stopped in the middle of the street, overwhelmed by a wave of emotions I thought I had buried. That’s when I realized something I had been too afraid to admit— Forgetting you was never the answer. Because you weren’t just a mistake to erase or a chapter to skip. You were a part of my story. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rewrite that. So I stopped trying. Instead of running from the memories, I started facing them. I allowed myself to remember without guilt, without anger. I let the sadness come, but I didn’t let it consume me. Slowly, something changed. The memories didn’t hurt as much. They became softer, quieter—like echoes instead of storms. I began to understand that holding on didn’t mean I was stuck. It just meant I had loved deeply. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t something to be ashamed of. I still think about you sometimes. Not in the way I used to—not with that heavy ache in my chest, but with a quiet acceptance. You’re a memory now, not a wound. And maybe that’s what healing really looks like. Not forgetting. But remembering without breaking. I tried to forget you, but I couldn’t. And in the end, I realized… I didn’t need to.
By Ubaid 6 months ago in Chapters
Loving You Was My Biggest Mistake
Loving You Was My Biggest Mistake BY: Khan I used to think love was the purest thing in the world. I believed it could fix anything broken, heal any wound, and turn even the darkest days into something beautiful. But I was wrong. Loving you taught me that sometimes, love doesn’t save you; it slowly destroys you. I met you on an ordinary day, the kind of day people usually forget. But for me, it became unforgettable the moment you smiled. There was something in how you talked and listened that made me feel like I mattered in a world where I often felt invisible. You made me feel seen. That was enough for me to fall. At first, everything felt perfect. We talked for hours, shared secrets, and laughed at things no one else would understand. You became my safe place. I trusted you with parts of myself I had never shown anyone. I thought you were different. I thought you were the one person who would never hurt me. But slowly, things began to change. It started with small things. You would ignore my messages sometimes and then come back with excuses that I chose to believe. You stopped asking how I was doing. Conversations became shorter and colder. Still, I stayed. I told myself love requires patience. I told myself you were just going through something. Then came the doubts, the overthinking. I had sleepless nights wondering if I had done something wrong. I began to question myself more than I ever questioned you. That was my first mistake. You started treating me like I was optional. Like I was someone you could return to whenever it was convenient for you. And the worst part? I let you. I was afraid of losing you. I thought holding on to something painful was better than having nothing at all. I remember the day it really broke me. I saw you laughing with someone else the same way you used to laugh with me. The same smile, the same attention. It felt like everything we had was just replaceable. Like I was never special to you, just temporary. When I asked you about it, you didn’t even try to deny it. You just shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. That’s when I realized the truth. I wasn’t losing you. I had already lost you a long time ago. I was just too blind, too hopeful, too in love to see it. Loving you became exhausting. I was always the one trying, fixing, and holding everything together while you let it fall apart. I gave you everything I had—my time, my trust, my energy—and in return, I got confusion, silence, and pain. I kept asking myself why I wasn’t enough. Why you couldn’t love me the way I loved you. But the truth is, it was never about me. Some people don’t know how to love properly. Some people take advantage of those who love too deeply. I was both unlucky and naive. The hardest part wasn’t letting you go. It was letting go of the version of you I had created in my mind. The version who cared, who stayed, who loved me back. That person never really existed. And yet, I held on to that illusion for so long. When I finally walked away, it didn’t feel strong or brave. It felt empty. Like I had lost a part of myself. In loving you, I had forgotten who I was. But slowly, I started to rebuild. I began to understand that love should never make you feel small, insecure, or unwanted. Real love doesn’t confuse you or make you question your worth. It doesn’t hurt more than it heals. Looking back now, I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you completely. Maybe you were just never meant for me. Maybe we were a lesson, not a forever. But if there’s one thing I regret, it’s not loving you. It’s losing myself while doing it. Because loving you wasn’t just a mistake; it was my biggest one. And this time, I’ve learned my lesson.
By Khan 6 months ago in Chapters
Glass Winter | Chapter XVII
“Your food’s gone cold. You plan on finishing it?” Asked Eron. There was a plate of red salmon with yellow and black crustose lichen on an outcrop of snow by the far wall, along with a drinking tusk.
By Andrei Babanin6 months ago in Chapters
The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 4
David waited for his aunt to speak. She had been sitting contemplatively for around a minute, stroking the fabric of her luridly coloured skirt, with those irritating bangles rattling away like chattering teeth. They were in what she called her study – a small room at the back of the house, with just one window, across which she had drawn a curtain so they sat in a fake twilight, on hardback chairs, facing each other.
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters
The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 3
“We need to set the camp bed up in the attic,” said Aunty Stella, returning to the kitchen after talking for at least an hour with someone on the phone in the hallway.
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters
The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 2
A few days earlier... David Blackwood was eleven when his first short story was published. It was the tale of a talking horse that made friends with a boy and then ate him. It was published in a special booklet compiled by the school, with a comment from a visiting writer that read: This is a dark but well-rendered story.
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters
The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 1. Top Story - April 2026.
Jason lined up the plastic plant pots along the front wall. Each one contained a lump of earth dug from one of the flower beds in the back garden, and a sprig of green – a nettle from behind the shed, a leaf from a rose bush, a dandelion (although the pretty yellow head had dropped off during transmission from lawn to pot), and a leaf from a shrub that he didn’t know the name of. Each pot had been marked with a price. He’d used his dad’s fat, black marker pen for that. The rose bush leaf was the most expensive – premium, his dad would say – at 4p. The headless dandelion was the most affordable at just 1p. If he sold all four, he’d have enough for the cool monster mask they were selling in Joy’s, the toyshop in Meadow Lane. It was just a plastic thing, almost paper thin. “Won’t last a week,” his mum had said when he’d begged for it the day before. “If you want it, you’ll have to earn the 10p yourself, I’m not wasting my money on it.”
By Matthew Batham6 months ago in Chapters