Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
Trapped
Steph opens her eyes. She has no idea where she is. She flinches as she regains consciousness. How long was I out for? She looks around as her eyes adjust to the nearly pitch dark room. She lies against a wall, in the corner. The room seems to be small and empty, though she can’t be sure because of the dark. A tiny window near the opposite corner from her lets in just the tiniest bit of moonlight. The floor beneath her is definitely hardwood. She can tell by the way it feels. There is a dankness present that sends a chill up her spine.
By Kelsey Harris6 years ago in Horror
Haunted
When thinking of a haunted location, we know, or at least we assume, that it is being haunted by a ghost. And in retrospect, that is usually true, but what is the actual reason that that spirit is haunting that place? Does there have to be some magical formula put together with all the right circumstances and specific characteristics coming together in just the proper manner to make it ideal for a haunting? Though some various reasons and events can make a place haunted, please keep one thing in mind; not all of them entail a creepy old abandoned building.
By Tara Gerhart6 years ago in Horror
The Devil's Master
“Help me! Dear God, help me!” The words broke free from Alexander’s tight lips to co-mingle with his hot, stinging tears before falling into the empty whiskey glass set before him on the bar. His years of abject failure was caving in upon him, and his fear of it was palpable. His defeat was almost complete, just as the final blasphemy in which he was about to perform.
By B.W. Van Alstyne6 years ago in Horror
The Black Book
”Watch it lady!” I heard a voice shout behind me. I jumped out of the way just in time as someone flew past me on a bicycle. It was eleven at night, and I had just gotten off my evening shift at the diner. I stopped to catch my breath after being nearly run over by the jerk on the bike. That would be the icing on the cake for sure after this whopper of a year. A horn blared in the night fog and I looked up. I had instinctively jumped into the road. I dived out of the way of the incoming car and found myself in a heap of trash. This is just great. My usual luck. Almost get run over by a bike and a car all in one night. I looked at the trash around me in disgust, at least I was planning on taking a shower tonight. A small black leather bound book stuck out amongst all the garbage strewn around me. Looking closer, I realized it wasn’t garbage, but maybe the contents of someone’s purse or bag. Lipstick, make up compacts, money, among other things littered the gutter. I sat there for a moment, unsure what to do with all of it. Do I turn it into the police? I picked up the black book and flipped through it. It was filled halfway with handwriting, the beginning neat and tidy, towards the end it was more frantic and scratchy. All of it wishes.
By Katherine Lang6 years ago in Horror
Susan Dithers
It was getting late when the almost full moon rose above the black, black hills of Dakota that lined the ridge separating Dakota from Pennsylvania. So, they might actually be the black, black hills of Pennsylvania, Susan mused and wondered why this had never bothered her before. After all, it had never bothered Doris Day who had blithely sung about the Black, Black Hills of Dakota in the film Calamity Jane, which probably held the prize for most unconvincing and historically inaccurate film of all time, but nevertheless, was a firm favourite of Susan’s, which explains why she was often to be found blithely humming the tune, but never daring to sing it out loud out of respect to Doris who had nailed it and Susan didn’t dare challenge perfection, even in the privacy of her own kitchen.
By Suzsi Mandeville6 years ago in Horror
The Mysterious Notebook
Thomas sat in bed thumbing the mysterious notebook, it was small in comparison to his typical college ones, and it was exceptionally aged, as if it would crumble to dust in his hands. The first thing he noticed about it was it seemed to be very well used, the pages were dog-eared in specific places throughout and most of the pages had at least one tear to their name. The notebook was made of blackened leather, and on the front was a single name: Winston Mathins. Thomas recognized this name as one of his great-uncles, his name came up occasionally during dinner with his family, and it seemed the consensus was that Winston was a shut-in, who kept to his house in his later years. His wife was concerned with his mental health, as Winston repeatedly told of nightmarish creatures visiting him in the long night and giving him promises of great wealth and long life. After Winston and his wife divorced, the great wealth part of his disillusion seemed to come true, as Winston happened upon hoards of money, though he never revealed to anyone how he accrued his fortune. Winston passed a week from yesterday, at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, and he surprisingly left Thomas the notebook, and twenty thousand dollars, which Thomas remarked was “but a drop in the bucket of Winston’s actual fortune.” but Thomas held his tongue, as many in his family believed the money to be dirty, most thought Winston was involved in organized crime. Thomas’ curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the notebook to the first page.
By Jonathan Heiser6 years ago in Horror
Fated
Harrison raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Can you run that by me one more time?” Zane Parsons, Harrison’s late mother’s attorney, grunted in acquiescence. He was a man of few words, it seemed. “Certainly, Mr. Jackman. Your late mother left you two things upon her passing. The first was the amount of twenty-thousand dol—”
By Taylor Roberts6 years ago in Horror
Just the start
With my hands shaking I drop the item in my left hand, the right hand still bruised and broken from her snapping my wrist back. I see her look down at the wound as her eyes change from a deathly black to the hazel brown they once were, my eyes start to tear up as I see the blood pump out like a never-ending river. She buckles, I try and catch her before she falls, but I’m caught off guard when someone grabs my hair and throws me to the back wall, my head bounces off and my eyes feel heavy as I fall to the ground in a sitting position. Before my eyes close, I see her there, whispering something at me before her eyes flutter and her soul drifts away. I can feel my heart break into a million pieces, I know she is gone, I can see her standing above me as my eyes close and the pain drifts away.
By Mel Wright6 years ago in Horror
Camp Fire
Camp Fire I don’t hate. That’s silly. Not hate, not-hate-not-hate-hate-hate. No. I understand. And I’m sympathetic. Yes. Don’t you realise that I really do sympathise? Different can be good. It can be bad. It’s all perspective. Yes. That’s what my father taught me. And he should know.
By Suzsi Mandeville6 years ago in Horror
