Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Horror.

The Creature
That creature – that detestable beast – that barn owl - now haunts me even in my slumber, my last bastion of sanity. No longer content at the peripherals of my vision, a shadow on my days, it invades a once-peaceful time, my little death between the grindings of life. What was once a bookmark, a pause of reality, has become one unceasing extension of horror.
By Steph Rae6 years ago in Horror
Counting Peaches
Being a park ranger means dealing with a lot of monotony, but I don’t mind it one bit. In fact I prefer it. The secluded life in the woods far away from all the noise, hustle, and bustle of the city is worth it. For a lot of people it’s the isolation that keeps them away from the job, but I’ve found that it helps to have a tight schedule, something to focus on. On my first day I didn’t think I’d last a week, but after a few days I settled into a routine. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.
By Gabe Shudak6 years ago in Horror
White Owl
Sitting around telling scary stories, Dan, Lexie, Stan, Susan, and Joseph listen as Lori tells her story! " The Legend states that anyone that sees a white owl fly in the moonlight anytime there is a full moon, will surely die! The last time we had a full moon, there were three people that actually took a picture of it, they posted it and shortly after it was posted, they were all found dead! So I suggest that you do not look at the moon tomorrow night because if you do and and that white owl flies in the moonlightwhile you are watching, your fate will be sealed!"
By More Than Words6 years ago in Horror
Owl & Munchkin
The figurines came alive. In a flash, they snuffed out the light of the man and the woman. Then the mermaids, arrogant in their deed and their bellies full of the newly feasted souls, slithered to their place on the mantle. They returned to their glamorous ceramic state, gleeful in the terror they had caused before snatching the life forces of the feeble humans.
By Kiera M. Burrell6 years ago in Horror
Her Eyes
Her eyes are dark. When I look at them I think of violence. Violent men. The sort with deep, sunken eyes, shrouded in shadows. Little black pearls that when gazed upon reveal nothing of a soul within. A sort of stark, loveless void where good things go to die.
By Dan Egan6 years ago in Horror
Mr. Bradshaw
Mr. Bradshaw is a rather odd man. He is short and has long arms, and his teeth are all either missing or rotting. His slimy yellow eyes are always bloodshot—glossy with some oozing liquid that forms a film across his irises and pupils. His back is hunched, and his body is oddly shaped and disproportionate.
By Austin Parden6 years ago in Horror
Black Barn Owl
We say in Ridgewater that when you hear the black barn owl's call, someone nearby has died. Even worse, if you see it, you will surely be next. Every year, in the first week of November, our usually bright Ridgewater grows dark and quiet. The entirety of the small town is pregnant with superstition, and for good reason. At the start of November, going back as far as the town’s founding, a chilling wind blows through the streets, signaling the start of the cursed week. It used to be just one—the number of people who die during the seven days. Now, we townspeople consider ourselves lucky to make it through with less than a dozen.
By Austin Parden6 years ago in Horror
The Omen
Silence. Normally unwelcome by the average person, pure silence was bliss to her. Not a single sound escaped down the stairs, not even the creaking of a floorboard. She took a moment to listen and be sure there was no stir before taking a deep breath and starting.
By Tannis Bruder6 years ago in Horror
The Wings of Fate
It had to be this way, didn’t it? The only thing that could have changed this is if you had kept your damn mouth shut. Now, look at where we are. All thanks to you. Are you happy now? You’ve never known when to stop talking. That’s been your biggest weakness since the day I met you. That trait sure has gotten you into a lot of sticky situations and I’m not surprised to see that it is the very thing that has led to your downfall. Because of your running mouth, you’ve landed yourself right here, in my arms, covered in blood and dust.
By Seth Maurizzio6 years ago in Horror
A Sunday Stroll
She always preferred to gather flowers early. In the beauty of dawn, there was a chill to the air that clung to her skin and raised the hairs on her arms and legs. Dew on the tall stalks of grass dampened her shoes as she stepped carefully along an overgrown path through the large meadow near her home. You couldn't see the path through the grass, but she knew it was there. In the distance was a wall of trees, maple in the prime of summer, their leaves dancing and stretching for the brightening sky above. The shadows beneath, between thick trunks that she suspected were many hundreds of years older than herself, called to her, inviting her into the coolness. She could smell the moss that made a patchwork quilt on the earth. The meadow hummed with grasshoppers that made death-defying leaps from branch to branch, careless if they reached their destination, and larks dipped toward her in the sky before pealing away with calls to their companions. They danced around her in a wide halo, straying to the trees but always returning. She would have thought it was deliberate, if such a thing were possible. If she let her eyes lose focus, it seemed she was part of the meadow, swaying in the breeze and soaking in the rising sun. She bent to cup a small flower in her hand. How had primrose managed to take over the whole area? Her hand travelled down the stem, with a mind to pluck some flowers and weave them into her hair. She could make a small crown, something to wear as she worked on her garden later.
By Steph Rae6 years ago in Horror
The Shift
Have you ever felt the mood of a room shift, even if it’s only in the slightest, most insignificant way? There’s a change in the air, a different vibration that sinks its way into that hollow space of atmosphere, followed by an eerie rhythm that somehow breaks the silence. That shift could happen at any moment, but it seems to favor those darker, more comforting hours when it has the chance to catch you off guard. You could be sitting in your bedroom, relaxing on your bed with a book, or watching your favorite reality show. Or, perhaps you’re next to a campfire that’s surrounded by good company and frivolous stories to occupy the lack of sound around you. A strong feeling of warmth holds you tight, keeping you blissfully ignorant of any change that might come.
By Seth Maurizzio6 years ago in Horror
From Fur to Feathers and Forever
I pounded my feet on the doormat to shake the remnants of the yard from my boots and returned to the warmth of the indoors. I entered through the mud room and lingered too long in the doorway of the laundry room, Athena’s last little cat nest and the place she spent her final days. I stared trancelike at her abandoned cat bed covered in white fluff and still sunken in the shape of her tiny body. I felt a pang in my heart thinking that her last meal of kibble in the dish had survived her, simply because it hurt too much to discard it.
By Chavala Trigg 6 years ago in Horror