Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
Tickets, Please
On a quiet and still night a fatigued businessman left his office to return home for some much needed rest. Upon entering the vacant streets, he checked his watch: 12:30a.m. He still had time to catch the last train home. The station was but a quarter mile away, so there was no rush. The sound of his shoes upon the cold, Chicago streets echoed and reverberated amongst the towering cascades of buildings nearly cloaked by the moonless night. In the distance, such a sound arose that it caused him to drop his suitcase and jump with fright. In the process, he tripped over it and fell hard upon the street. A few seconds later he arose and shook his head of its disorientation.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
Andover's Plight
Andover Phee hated cats. But it wasn’t until the summer of 1908 that he openly expressed it. As like most other emotions of notable passion, Andover’s hatred of cats started with small, petty annoyances. His reclusive neighbor had many of them and would let the cats roam around her property, and Andover’s as well. At first he didn’t mind, in fact, he was quite amused by them. But that sentiment didn’t last long. Sometimes at night he would be awoken by the sound of a terrible crash outside his bedroom, as if someone had broken his windows. He would then rush down the stairs with rifle in hand to see what the cause of the noise was, only to come upon refuge that had spilled out of their overturned bins and scattered across his yard. He would then spend the rest of the night cleaning and cursing the first wild beast (or beasts) he thought could have done this, not once considering his neighbor’s cats as a likely possibility. It was not until about a week later when Andover awoke to the most shrill of sounds that the culprit was revealed to him. For when he heard this he shot from his bed and ran to his bedroom window to see three of his neighbor’s cats diving in amongst his refuge bins, yowling all the while. At this he reacted by throwing open the window shutters and screaming back, shaking fists and shouting curses in their direction. This frightened them so that they shot out of the bin and through the gate of the fence that lined Andover’s yard, spilling the bins’ contents in the process.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Funeral Coach
The name was foreign. This town did not reside in the boundaries of France, nor was it under any such influence. Still, as Braxton pressed on, he found that each street and shop sign boasted some cryptic writing not only foreign to him but, perhaps to all of mankind as well. He even considered the fact that it may not even be of this world. And if it was so foreign to man, why was it in use in a town of relatively moderate activity? It was in his search for linguistic clarity that he considered the possibility that he might be the only occupant in an otherwise derelict town.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Funeral Coach
In the town of Alabaster there’s told a legend between the townsfolk that is only whispered in broken voices and somber tones. On moonless nights, under the canopy of an empty sky, where the blanket of night cloaks all but the hands in front of you, are these tales whispered not as lore or myth, but as omens and warnings.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Wicker Chair
The day passed by ordinarily, without the strangest of happenings. The chair did not once more that day groan like it had done before. Maybe the man was crazy in thinking that the noise it produced sounded human, or was even alive. Inevitably, night came and the two slept soundly: a benefit of a southern summer’s night.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Wicker Chair
“W e’ll take it,” the couple proclaimed, looking at the old antique chair that sat before them. “Excellent,” the small old man replied and jumped to his feet. “It’ll have a good home. I can tell jus’ by lookin’ atcha.” He picked up the money the two placed down on the table and counted it.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Strangers on Tier Hill
ELEVEN o’ CLOCK We were alone. Just as quickly as our guests had appeared, they vanished. So lost in those eyes we were that it seemed as though we had been staring at a congregation of stars or a closer mass, such as the moon. Was it that we had interpreted our guests’ eyes glow? Was it all in our heads after all? Indeed, it felt real.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
A Devil in Mayfair
Twenty minutes later she woke up. Darkness now approached Mayfair. She tried to move, but couldn’t. She was still restrained, now more so than before. When her vision cleared she realized that she was still inside the church. The skeptical townspeople that were once her friends, were now a furious mob of self-righteous monsters, fueled by superstition and fear and bent on shedding heathen blood for their Lord.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
On the Shores of Ci
He woke up vomiting salty water on the rocks before him. Long, raspy spasms of breath cleared his lungs of the rest. He was shipwrecked. The man looked back at the rowboat that had brought him to these shores. It was but splinters now, broken and twisted beyond recognition as it now slipped beneath the sea. He lay there alone. The sea, once a raging demon of unfathomable chaos, now appeared as calm and docile as pooled water upon a woodland trail. His crew as well, gone. Himself and a few others had braved the turbulent waters to find aid for their first mate who lay wounded with them. Of the four, he was the only one he could see laying on this shore. Did they drown? Did they swim back to the ship that no doubt was on its way to the bottom of the sea as well? Or perhaps they had sought refuge upon the very rocks that he swore had torn into the boat that had brought him to where he lay. He had to find them. He had to know. But first, he had to get up and find out where he was.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
