Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
A Guide to Successful Deterioration
A Guide to Successful Deterioration By: C.F. Costa It was just another average day thought Malachi laying back in his bed as the clock struck 2 and the world was beautiful, dark and peaceful around him. Now please do not start thinking this is the start of some revised ancient fairy tale where the main characters life will suddenly change for the better after some impossible set of actions go off well impossibly perfectly... it isn't.
By Chris Costa6 years ago in Horror
The Long Night
I’m running down a dark hall. It’s so hard to breathe. I’m suffocating on air that reeks of death and decay. My lungs fill with the stench, and I collapse to the ground. I extend my hands out reaching for something, anything. What is that that I feel? A corpse! No, Corpses, a mountain of them! I beg for God to save me, but there is no answer. Just a light in the distance that I will never reach…
By Justice Wakefield 6 years ago in Horror
The Black Book
There are things in this world, hidden from mass consciousness, secrets withheld, completely unknown to most all, possibilities that shatter common perception of reality, fact being portrayed as a work of fiction. I always knew better than to be satisfied with the world as it was presented to me, and my belief in so much more was stamped in reality, after I came to find the little black book.
By Eloisa Margarita Soto6 years ago in Horror
The Prison Hostel
My flight has landed in Ottawa. I have a hastily organized business meeting here tomorrow afternoon. While I am still in the airport I use Google on my cell phone to find a place to stay for tonight. Discovering a business listing that interests me, I excitedly exclaim out loud, “Oh this place looks cool!” I see that I can sleep in an authentic jail cell at a hostel that has been converted from a prison! It was built over one hundred and fifty years ago. Very intrigued I call to reserve my accommodation for this evening. I state my name, “Michael Adams,” to the male voice taking my reservation.
By Nancy McLay 6 years ago in Horror
The family business
The endless uneasiness began several years ago in the past. It was in 1963 when I was old enough to be considered fit -in the eyes of my parents- to take a look at the family business. Before the aforementioned, my first reaction was characterized by having a most horrendous nature, being the same caused by the disgusting screams that resounded in the small space where the poor soul resided bathed in natural dyes that caused me little curiosity, but the worst It was not the vision that was shared with me or the place where they brought me at a very young age, but rather the actions that I had to commit to prove my worth while holding the subscription to keep an eye on the family business. Rooms surrounded by stones and metals arranged in precise ways that denoted moss that probably dated from several centuries in the past, which spoke of a continuation of this trade through the years. In my explorations in those infinite underground catacombs, I was able to perceive various screams that enjoyed different accents... Horrifying exclamations based on the claims of beings who shouted for help, some, shouted their origin, as well as their connection with the earthly world, that, froze my blood... However, the gloomiest thing waited patiently at the end of the long corridor through which I walked, after all, that "being" expressed a demanding mental authority as I approached the radius of the reach of his spirit. I was confused. Raised by loving parents who constantly gave me gifts of adorable proportions, the same ones who used to play by my side when I was still young and preserved the innocence of the child, those who stayed by my side when an illness lodged in my body and did not want to leave, therefore, what I observed froze my soul... Drawing it towards the vastness of the darkness that surrounded the truth that I believed my life supposed to be, wrapping it between the grotesque that was two floors below the house where I grew up and lost my first teeth, or create the odd memory. Plus, the undeniable truth that was shown to me at the young age of eight allowed me to possess a certain knowledge beyond what is achievable by humanity, after all, the limits of what my eyes witnessed, of the disgusting screams that invaded my first home, of the repulsive tissues that I got to reach; it, all, snatched the few tears that came from my eyes to give my vision new colors that I would use to judge humanity. Such knowledge cannot be learned, much less narrated... It must be observed, witnessed, smelled and touched to complete the complexity of its understanding, thus, those ancient runes, those words spoken in untouchable or never heard languages can be understood by the human brain...
By Richard Wilcox6 years ago in Horror
You Won't.
Flickering lights sputtered alive in an interrogation room. A middle-aged detective circles around the table, finding his seat across from a hawkish old man. His clothes were shabby, and his back hunched, but despite his age the man did not look infirmed or unfit. A black notebook sat on the table between them.
By K.J. Quint6 years ago in Horror
The Little Black Book
I had a dream last night that all of my teeth were gone, but someone was installing them back into my gums. So I could chew. So I could bite. It was fairly painful from what I remember in the dream. Tears ran down my soft pillow cheeks as this small man on a small ladder faced my mouth with all of my missing pieces, making me whole once again.
By Madelynne Buckelew6 years ago in Horror
The Book and Abyss
Motionless, I wearily opened my eyes to be greeted by expansive nothingness, devoid of all light that I had been accustomed to in a life bygone, my memories fading into the dark recesses of time. The pain, suffering, and agony that I had grown accustomed to throughout my life had vanished, remarkably, along with any ounce of happiness or joy that had remained. Surveying the landscape, I determined that the nothingness panned farther than any man dare venture. Resigning myself to an eternity of nothingness, I continued to motionlessly drift further into the void.
By Zackery Toler6 years ago in Horror
Fingerprints
Amber knew something was off, and it had everything to do with how quiet it was. She was in a forest wilderness, but no birds or squirrels were chirping, insects buzzing, or gusts of wind. The high-pitched scream of a mountain lion would be welcome. It was late, and it had taken longer than anticipated to get to this point. Amber wanted to be sure of the coordinates. She checked her GPS, then pulled out a small black notebook from her pocket. The notebook was quality-built but old, at least seventy years.
By Mat Pinckard6 years ago in Horror
The 'Soulskine' Journal
A black 'Moleskine' book. That’s all it was. Every household has one and is usually filled with doodles or sketches, poems or paragraphs, to-do lists or minutes of meetings. When James Ackerman found this one on a pile of freshly fallen leaves it didn't look any different to the one he keeps tucked away neatly in his nightstand, forgotten along with his stash of self-help books, half read and gathering dust. What a coincidence he told himself that his eyes should fall on this little treasure as he wandered under the thick veil of horse chestnut trees that bordered the local park. It was that time of year as Autumn was in full swing, the once lush green leaves started to show weary signs of speckled brown. Conkers littered the ground and the sight of them pulled James into a not too distant past when he would scour this very same park for the fattest ammunition to destroy the competition in the traditional conker at school. His eyes were drawn to the ground through this instinct ingrained in him from childhood. He picked up the small book, dusted it and gave it a quick once over. The leather was pristine, the elastic that kept it closed was still springy, but most surprisingly the pages were still dry despite laying on the slightly sodden earth so typical of the late British Autumn. The book must not have been there long, maybe the owner wasn’t far gone? James scoured the pathways that snaked through the trees. No movement. He decided to keep walking, there was a bench up ahead through the clearing just off the large cast iron gates of the south entrance to the park, his favourite spot. The perfect place to dissect this rare find. He plodded on fixated on the ground beneath his feet.
By Cameron waddelow6 years ago in Horror
