Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
Birdhouse
The wet gravel crackled like embers under the weight of the slowing car. The driver killed the engine, swapping its thunderous noise for the pitter patter of the rain. Like a mason jar, the car door popped open. A bright yellow rain boot dug into the mud followed by a second boot. The driver stood, examining the cobblestone driveway leading into the pavilion. Brown moving boxes littered the walkway and stairs leading to the front door, it had been left open.
Charlie GreenbergPublished 3 years ago in HorrorJust A Walk In The Park
Amelia had studied too long at the library. Again. Checking her watch, she had missed the last bus which meant she would be walking home. Again. Always sitting in the back stacks where it was quietest and not too many souls ventured, she almost always lost track of time until someone was making an announcement informing whatever students remained that the library would be closing in thirty minutes.
L. M. WilliamsPublished 3 years ago in HorrorAn Owl Pact
The time had come. Tytus could feel in the gut. He could feel it in the way the dead leaves rustled in the night, or in the constant clanking of wood in the barn’s shed, or in the nervous bleating of the stupid goats that lived beneath. Tytus took his favorite place at the peak of the cupola and awaited his friend… if you could call him like that.
Ignacio CasarettoPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThe Night Owl
Thursday, 12:34am. I have never been one to diary my day, but I am willing to try, if for any reason but to examine my experience objectively. Some two months in midtown and my aspirations have quickly rotted into pleas for relief. I go to work to see my colleagues and envy their zeal and their tenacity, all the while shying from my superiors for all the work I have yet to complete. A three-bus link home each night and I am sitting at my computer, working some more, eating some more and doing all the mundane to sustain an existence.
James DurlPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThe Visiting Hours
Chair legs scraped against concrete throughout the makeshift chapel. There were 14 of these chairs placed around the pool of sun that spilt through the skylight. They carefully framed the edge of the light, denying the bodies in them any warmth it might provide.
Sarah KellyPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThe 'Genre' of Supernatural
It has been argued that television programmes do not always ascertain to one specific genre, often because programmes span multiple years and episodes during their run and committing to one genre may result in the stagnation of the audience. As a result “the texts of a given genre are much more broad ranging and diverse than can be summed up by typical claims” (Mittell, 2004, 5). In the case of Supernatural (2005), a programme that concluded at the end of 2020 after a 15-year-run, the showrunners make a point of manipulating genre and a diverse range of genre tropes in the case of multiple episodes. Whereas the overall narrative remains firmly in the roots of paranormal/supernatural drama horror genre, Supernatural frequently and deliberately manipulates other genres, often in the form of homage or specific reference.
Millie Hardy-SimsPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThe Alarm
Twenty-three minutes had passed since the owl was stolen from its barn. The reinforced metal door was ajar. A bloody handprint was smeared across the side, glistening in the fluorescent hallway light.
Eloise RobertsonPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThat Thing
It has been many years since the day I came across the small figure within the small shop of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Chinatown is full of shops with numerous items for tourists to collect and to bring home to wherever they may have hailed from. It was in one such shop that I came across that small figurine. A black stone carving of unknown determined origin whose intricate carving work had not fared well with time. Two inches wide and a few inches tall, three or four at most. At first, I thought it was a curious stamp face for the numerous calligraphy items to be purchased as many stalls boasted one or the other of the chirographical itinerary. Each stamp press was to denote an end to the letters as the author's signature. Or to be used to create a wax seal for the reader to easily note who had sent them the parchment. Along the rows of the shop’s offerings were the standard factory-made fans and numerous stainless-steel offerings for those of a martial taste in eccentric wants.
Paul BrennanPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThe Birdwatcher
The rustle of leaves and morning air greeted Dan while he slept in the tent. He had planned this for so many weeks. "I'm finally getting to enjoy some well deserved solitude" he thought to himself. The new insulated sleeping bag was cozy and he only wanted to continue feeling its warmth.
MICHELLE SHAAYPublished 3 years ago in HorrorThe Shadow of the Black Owl
Shadow Of The Black Owl By: Gabe Lacey Chapter 1 Another bone chilling, snow covered day in the small town of Monowi Nebraska. Another trudge through the blistering cold through squinted eyes and gritted teeth. The wind seemed to blow with a ferocious howl similar to that of a ravenous wolf. As Belle made her way to the mailbox she caught a glimmer of sunlight ever so faintly shining through the dense fog in the snow. With a thick, heavy layer of snow covering the ground as far as the eye could see, walking from the house to the mailbox had become a somewhat cumbersome task. But Belle Livingston was always prepared, as she marched out in a brand new pair of grass boots with confidence. Inside the mailbox was a peculiar looking envelope placed neatly inside. Belle immediately retrieved it and went back inside of her house where a fireplace was already lit and ready for her. Belle sat down in a comfy black recliner chair by the fireplace and proceeded to open the envelope. Inside she saw a letter in Old English font along with an old fashioned silver key with a crown insignia on the top of it. The letter read as follows:
Gable LaceyPublished 3 years ago in HorrorSalem
Did it always feel this way? The lightness in the bones. The twist in the neck. The air that felt too close to the skin, even as it brushed through the hair.
Kayla MallariPublished 3 years ago in HorrorAre you my mommy?
standing in the kitchen, as a 32 year old woman, my eyes focused in on a fly, flying around me as I did the dishes, as it landed on my kids left over noodles from the night before, I stepped back and watched as the plate I was holding slipped out of my hands, slowly falling while hidden memories came rushing in like a flash flood...The year was 1984, I was nine years old and I can remember waking up to the apartment being eerily quiet, not just a noiseless quiet, it felt as though everything had stop around me, everything except for me. I slowly crept down what seemed like an endless hallway, my malnourished hand was placed against the yellow stained wall, shaking an all to familiar shake. I wasn’t afraid of a monster I had seen on t.v like most little girls would be, I was afraid of the monster who lived in my reality. My monster I called dad. This day after seeing him still asleep I turned and ran back to my room, I can still remember seeing the bottom of my pink ruffled ratted pajamas as I ran to play with the only friend my childhood ever knew, my twin sister, I enjoyed those few minutes of childhood. I was dancing around with my sister acting like what I assume most little girls having fun would act like and in the middle of me reaching to grab my sisters hands, the look came over her face. As her eyes look directly above my left shoulder. i dropped to my knees, knowing exactly what that look meant. My dad grabbed me by my hair and shouted "I WILL MAKE SURE I NEVER WAKE UP TO YOUR DISGUSTING VOICE AGAIN" I was shaking, barely able to stand ,from fear. He dragged me down the same hallway I had just been down but this time it seemed like i was in slow motion. I never fought back or tried to talk my way out of a situation. I always just prayed. After we got to the miniature bar where he hid his worn out leather belt, he began to hit me. it was never with the strap part of the belt, and rarely on my bottom. I placed my hands over my mouth so that my screams did not anger him further. I could hear my sister crying, even though i was the one that always got the beatings, i swear she was always in there with me, enduring the same pain.After this beating on this day my dad tended up throwing me on a brown, torn, smelly couch that sat randomly in his room and the old me not to move or speak . I was so afraid as I looked all around me, I didn’t know if I was more afraid of the known or the unknown. I looked all around me, my mind being pulled with different levels of fear in directions that put me in a paralyzed state. I sat there a 9 year old little girl so scared I could barely feel my body hurting as my pajamas pressed against my bruised body, I decided I wouldn’t say anything. I swear what I went through at this moment in my life was torture. Looking up my green eyes glossed over with tears I begged inside my head” please please please help me please help me” I clutched my fingers and toes begging for someone to help me knowing that my cries would go unheard I whispered "daddy", he didn’t hear me so i repeated it a little louder "daddy"! WHAT he replied, “there’s white things all over the couch" i said. He looked at me and said shut the fuck up its rice, just as I was about to respond he said "if you say one more thing...
SheIsCoreanPublished 3 years ago in Horror