Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
Are 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...
By SheIsCorean6 years ago in Horror
The Owls' Perch
The Owls’ Perch was a high-class bar and lounge. It was situated in the city heights, an affluent district that big businesses and the most popular establishments called home. The Owls’ Perch grandfathered all of these. Having stood through wars, economic depressions, political turmoil, and changing times, it was like a fulcrum that surrounding society pivoted itself with. It was engraved in the city as a symbol of status and prosperity. Reservations were always booked to capacity as people from all over came to reflect the status and glamour that emanate from it.
By Sara Cooney6 years ago in Horror
The trustworthy owl
She found herself sequestered in a barn as if it had always been her home. She was running from her brother, who had once been the most important person in her life. Her brother had since changed, he had become someone she only recognized as his father, a cruel and unintelligent man. She hoped not to see either of them again, hoped to simply move to another town and hide away the rest of her life.
By L.D. Malachite 6 years ago in Horror
The Green-eyed Owl
If you see the green-eyed owl, do not turn back on your path. Do not quicken your step, though your nerves thrum with fear. Do not look behind you for the owl, for you will not hear the great, silent wings. You may catch a glimpse of its feathers in the moonlight, pale as snow, in the corner of your eye. But do not look directly at it. Do not stop. Do not turn back. Do not take a shortcut. Keep your eyes on the ground and walk steady. Those who do otherwise never find their path home.
By Beth Carlberg6 years ago in Horror
The Old Man and the Owl
Drowning the regret of the past week with mead, a ragged young man kept to himself, observing both the cramped building around him and the band of vagabonds he now surrounded himself with. Deserting was only the second most foolish choice he’d made this week. The young man’s face was stained with mud, blonde hair shaggy. Despite this, he was accoutred well with fresh armor, the coat of arms on his breastplate crossed out. Looking at the people around him, he had to face one simple fact--these were not good men. Murderers, thieves, and deserters like him had banded together in this remote area, doing anything they had to to survive. Deserting was one thing, but this? How could he justif--
By Ryan McMath6 years ago in Horror
The Owl and the Sexton
In an old farm town in the New England countryside so long ago that it doesn’t much matter whether the story is true or not, there resided a sexton by the name of Otis McPherson. As many great men have noted, sextons, although constantly surrounded by images of mortality and morseness, are rarely melancholy fellows themselves. Otis was no exception to this general trend and indeed he was as merry a gentleman as they come. One damp evening out behind the old church, Otis took to warming himself in his usual manner, with shanties and scotch. He was a portly man, with a red pockmarked nose and a balding head of wheat brown hair. As he walked his considerable gut bounced over a taught belt that kept up a tight pair of breeches while his red hands swung heavily at his hips.
By Zak Buczinsky6 years ago in Horror
Dark Dreams
“Dormant power, dark dreams, fragments long forgotten... return, return, return to me, child…” “Ugg, huh, hooo,” Black eyes piercing me seemed to be burned into my brain. Awaking in cold sweats and confusion just before my alarm, to the real nightmare I return.
By Theodore Shaw6 years ago in Horror
