Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
Curses...
The guests, few of them, though there were, stared in amazement at the scene before them. Beautiful and terrifying, the tropical cliff face was rocky and rough. Even if they had been able to bring chairs up here, they wouldn’t have been able to sit comfortably, but that didn’t matter. Mesmerizing was the view of a thousand miles of dense forest, complemented by the crystal lake several hundred feet below. Who would think to get married here? The edge of a cliff... One step in the wrong direction and you could easily plummet to your death.
By Brett Pokorny6 years ago in Horror
The Wife Beater
The Wife Beater By John Alan Negich It was a steamy Florida night in the panhandle the spring of 1954 and I, John Stanic, was on yet another mission to answer the call to do what I do best, and that is to dole out justice to those who commit unforgivable acts but never receive a sentence for those heinous crimes. My objective tonight was to eliminate The Wife Beater, abuser, and husband of my friend Shelly Aiken. Shelly was my nurse while I convalesced at a rehabilitation facility and was instrumental in restoring me back to health after a terrible life threatening encounter with a couple of rednecks during an attempted robbery. I owed her my life and I was about to give her life back to her. I went over my plan again and again as I waited in the Oldsmobile until well after midnight.
By John Negich6 years ago in Horror
Review of 'Nocturne'
I saw and enjoyed Nocturne last night, the fourth of four horror movies by Blumhouse on Amazon Prime Video, which four themselves are the first installment in a larger series to continue in 2021. Like the first three Blumhouse movies I saw -- The Lie, Black Box, and Evil Eye -- Nocturne is a tightly drawn family drama. But Nocturne has the additional depth of being situated in music.
By Paul Levinson6 years ago in Horror
Fountain Of Youth
"These are the days to remember, because they will not last forever. This is the time to hold on to, because we wont although we will want to" Billy Joel The steady creak which beckoned overhead began at one p.m. The low and steady sound, began as a slight disturbance, But now 11 hours later, it had become a full blown migraine. I wanted so badly to ascend my stairs and give Mr. Marshall a piece of my sleep deprived mind. Sleep has been so rare to come by. Forty hours at Sea bolt’s Irish pub, and Twenty-Two at the Braintree Hess, will sort of take up most of your time. But I Kevin Lobs, worked and wearied, at the tender age of twenty, just revived the best news ever. A full day off. I peeked at my clock that was bed side. It read Eleven Fifty-Eight. In T-minus two minutes, a full Twenty Four hours will be mine to spend however a chose. That's if I could only fall asleep. Mr. Marshall arrived last Monday. I watched him curiously out of my window. The first thing that I noticed was his height, I estimate conservatively at Four- Eight, Four-Nice. He came waddling out of the yellow taxi cab, with crane in hand. Wearing a Dark Green Silk Suit, with the blackest of all Tie’s. He sported a top Hat and White shoes. His face was ravished by wrinkles, while his Black coal colored eyes hid behind Bifocals. He carried only a cane, and Blue Duffel Bag. Which he handed to the plump Taxi driver and waited by the cab as the driver delivered his bag upstairs. “Hey Mr. Marshall, I heard that you may be moving in today. My name is Kevin Lobs your downstairs neighbor." I shouted from out the window. The Gentleman used his hand to shield his eyes, as he struggled to locate an origin of the voice. "I am right here" I waved as the old man's eyes met my gaze. "Do you need any help?" "Oh there you are" His beady eyes pierced my baby blues. He stared at me, Jaw slightly opened, for just a moment Then the worlds most forced smile appeared. "No i will be quite fine thank you. I travel Light, besides the apartment is well furnished. Now Kindly young man Please remove your head from out the window, for it is blocking the sun. Who would wish to look upon you instead of that marvelous yellow fixture? Good day sir" That was my first and only encounter with him. Well that's not necessarily true; I have been dreaming about him lots lately. Okay nightly, maybe it was the suit. But I reckon it had something to do with his beady eyes and forced smile. It was sinister and cold. His mannerisms were so evil, especially when I dreamed. All the dreams began the same exact way. I am alone walking in the dessert's hot sun. The sun is really bright, and really full, yet I feel no heat. My white shirt is always covered in sweat though. While I walk I always see a small jot in the distance. Through the Sun's bright shine I notice a man in the distance walking towards me. The first night I could barely make out the out-line. The second night I Noticed the Black Beady eyes. And by the third I knew it was Mr. Marshall. Although he was still a way's off. But the fourth night yesterday was wicked creepy man. Mr. Marshall was no more than a Half a mile away. I heard the steady click-clack Of his shoes as he walked. The dessert sand had now transformed into ancient cobblestone. The view had changed drastically as he approached. Instead of barren nothingness, Trees ambushed the land scape. The cool and calm sound of a waterfall was in the distance. The sun was out, but it was as black as Mr. Marshall’s beady eyes, outside. The only place that had sunlight was the path of Mr. Marshall. I could barely see my own feet in front of me. But I was almost sure that we were not alone. I kept hearing voices, slow and silent voices, beckoning to me from out of the darkness, whispering secrets about life and death. Mr. Marshall kept getting closer, and closer. The closer he got The darker it became. Yet his path garnished enough sun to sport a tan. Wolf's with the legs of ducks circled Mr. Marshall. Barking, growling, while sporting the sneer of Their master. His eyes were no longer Black, no they had changed. Changed into an hour glass. Sand slowly trickled with each step he took. Only the sand was traveling backwards. It was as if the top Part which was nearly empty, was sucking the sand from the bottom. The Bottom was nearly full. I sat engaged at the sight, when a voice mumbled from out the depths of Darkness. "Kevin, beware, for witching hour is near" "What who said that?", The voice caused my heart to leap, and my insides to freeze. As if an icicle of terror penetrated my insides. Silence answered my question. Mr. Marshall had gained immensely. He was now less then Forty yards away. The top part of the hour glass now looked bloated as the bottom half slowly dwindled. Again the voice appeared "Quick Kevin turn away" I felt a strong tug on my back as the voice urged me to run with him. I turned trusting my assailant and ran in the opposite direction. It was then I realized that My path turned back into the dessert. I turned my head as I ran. Mr. Marshall's eyes were no longer Hour glasses they had returned, only they were no longer black. They were blue. So you can imagine how pissed I am right now, I looked at my clock and it said Twelve-Forty. The damn creaking still continued. Sleep was so utterly needed. I got up and placed my slippers on my feet. I walked towards the bathroom. Inside of the medicine cabinet I found the Jackpot. "Nyquil". I unscrewed the bottle and drank a third of it whole. While I was urinating I noticed that the creaking had stopped. "About damn time the old man fell asleep". I thought. The water was cool on my hands as I splashed it on my face. I reached over and felt for my towel. The towel was a Teal face towel that my loving mother gave to me right before she kicked me out into the big cruel world. I can’t blame her. She was right, as Billy Joel say's in "Captain Jack" , "Well your twenty-one and still your mother makes your bed, and that's too long" It was when I removed the towel from my face that I noticed that my eyes were no longer blue. My Baby face remained as did my sandy brown hair, but my eyes were now black and beady. I dropped the towel, knocking over my mouthwash in the process. I quickly cleaned up the mess and realized that the medicine was already kicking in. My head felt dizzy, i almost fell but braced myself upon the sink. I stared into the mirror and my blue eyes were back. With that I stumbled into my room and lay on my bed. I was at the precipice of sleep when the overhead creaking commenced. But it mattered not, because sweet sleep washed over me like the sound of waves crashing upon the rocks. And in no time at all I was in dream state. Here I was again, at the same old place. The cobble stone had returned as did Mr. Marshall. He was close enough to touch, and he was sitting down on the road. His legs were crossed and he was smiling from ear to ear. "It has been a long and lonely road, so nice of you to join at this late juncture" I turned to run and realized it was futile his wolf's were now behind me "I wouldn't do that if I were you Kevin, now have a seat I only wish to talk". "What do you want from me, you old prick, tomorrow is my day off, let me sleep in peace." "Oh, so young, so lazy" He said while teasing the wrinkles by his cheek. "How old are you Kevin?" "I am twenty, and I am far from lazy sir. I work two jobs mind you". His eyes were hid behind a dark pair of sunglasses. They bobbed up and down by his ears as he spoke. "One must not work so hard either. Oh the ignorance of youth tickles my fancy something awful. Let me tell you a story Kevin." With nowhere else to turn, I sat on the ground as he spoke. "I too, like yourself was once filled with youth. I can still faintly taste the flavor of youthfulness." The man inhaled deeply then licked his lips. "A long, long time ago I was a young and healthy man, but now I am afraid that my course is at it's end" "That's the circle of life man, aint nothing neither you, nor I can do about it. We live, we grow, we age and then we die. Ain't any use crying over spilled milk." I said adding my two cents. Mr. Marshall looked at me indignantly. "Another youthful trait that I find astonishing. How is it that you think you know anything? Believe you me Kevin, you don't know shit. You see Kevin; all these years after all this time I finally figured it all out." "Figured what out?" I ask. "How to live forever of course." The sureness in which he spoke made me feel really uneasy. "Oh, really how is that" I nervously laugh as I ask. Mr. Marshall laughed and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were once again Hour Glasses, and the bottom was nearly empty. "It's really quite simple Kevin, I have been studying the power of sleep, and the influence of dreams, and how they affect the way one lives. Did you know that the average person Dreams Four years of their miserable existence away? Did you know that some people have learned to control their dreams, while others live controlled by them?" "No I guess I did not” "No of course not, you’re so young yet so foolish" He enunciated the s in a snake like manner. "You want to know something else" His hot breath was near my face as he spoke. His eyes were now a full yet upside down hourglass. I looked over to the left and saw a young man, who looked oddly like Mr. Marshall looking at me with a look of terror. He shook his head and said "It's too late" Mr. Marshall laughed and said. "It's time to wake up" A sudden bang from overhead jolted me out of my sleep. I hopped out of bed and fell to the floor. For some reason my leg's felt old, tired and torn. I pushed my self up and ran towards the light. I reached for the switch but couldn't reach it without standing on my tippy toes. When the light finally flooded my room I screamed. My feet had shrunk, and my neatly trimmed toenails were replaced by long yellow nails. "What the fuck" I opened up my door and headed towards the bathroom. When I reached it I bravely faced the mirror. I shrieked "no" and punched the glass. Blood exploded, painting the sink by the corners. I coughed and my chest felt numb, "Why me?, I ask" "Because, you’re so young". I turned and saw myself standing in the hallway. "How did you do it?" He smiled and said "as sand through the hour glass, so are the days of our life" My right shoulder felt stabbed as I blacked out. The Lincoln times June 15 2009 Edward J Marshall, Widower to the late Emilia F Marshall, died peacefully in his home Tuesday morning. His down stars neighbor, A mister Kevin Lobs, originally from Providence discovered the body shortly after Two A.M on Tuesday morning. He was quoted as too saying "Yeah it was such a tragedy. I just met him recently; I helped him with his bags when he moved in. He was a nice old man; he used to say he hated getting old, well I’m just glad he did not suffer". Edward recently moved into the vacant apartment upstairs from Mr. Lobs. The two had been developing quite a bond as of late, Kevin claims they had long discussions nightly, as his work schedule allowed. Kevin also said that he would be quitting his second job per advice of his late friend. The wake will be Saturday at Ten a.m.
By Luis Padilla6 years ago in Horror
Red Phone
“Dan, do you remember?” A soft unfamiliar voice came from the other line. “Who is this?” I asked. My head pounded and my eyes struggled to adjust to the dark. I reached over to my night stand and grabbed the water bottle that sat near my alarm clock. My alarm clock read 3:36. “Dan, Dan do you remember?” “Sure, I remember lots of things. But, none that I can recall at 3:30 in the morning. Now tell me, who is this and what do you want?” My heart jumped out of my chest as the wind picked up. The television was on but muted. I left it on every night. It was my last line of defense against the night and the terror of darkness. Nothing interesting was on the screen, just an old man sitting on a plain oak desk. His wrinkled face was vaguely familiar with a grin from ear to ear. “Dan, Dan do you remember me now?” The voice once again spoke, breaking the iron grip that the television held on my attention. “Look buddy, I don’t know who you are. Or what you want. But if you don’t spit it out and soon, I am going to have to hang up.” I listened intently expecting to hear a response. I received none. So I brought my eyes back to The TV. The Camera had panned revealing the rest of the old man. He looked so familiar. He wore a black cotton sweatshirt that read, ‘Rhode Island’ and in his left hand he held a red phone. I assumed the phone was cordless, as I saw no base in which it connected too. “Dan, do you remember me now?” I gasped and reached beside me struggling to find the remote. I pressed the power button. Nothing happened. “What the hell…what is this?” “Do you remember me now?” “Look, stop. I don’t know you. What do you want with me?” “I only want to show you a movie, a reality based film per say.” My eyes were wide in terror. The old man just stared at me. His gaze maniacal, his grin sinister. Only something was different. He was no longer holding the red phone. It was floating in the air. His hands were now stretched out. Both of his pointer fingers were pointing at the camera. Pointing at me! Suddenly the camera panned out and went black, but only for a second. The TV came back only this time a teen in black was on the screen. Not the old man. “What is this?” I pinched myself, this had to be a dream. Suddenly the screen flashed back. “This is no dream Dan,” the old man’s grin grew as he spoke. “Do you remember me now?” As the teen returned on the screen, I realized the awful truth. Tonight my TV would not be fighting the terror of the dark. No, tonight it would be supplying it. “How about now Dan, do you remember me now?” “Who are you?” “Oh you know me, and if you don’t. You will.” “Sorry you must have the wrong number and the wrong Dan. Now I kindly ask, please stop haunting my TV Mr. Ghost. I am telling you, I don’t know you.” “Oh your comedy won’t get you far, as you will soon see. But I’ll do as you wish, for now. I promise to get off your screen for a little while. Besides I’m not the star of this film, you are.” The blue screen turned black then tiny white letters appeared. “Remember me,” a film by Dan Champlain. There I was in all of my teenage glory. I was alone walking through Glen Bridge Park. It was obvious that I was on my way to school. My back pack slung over my shoulder. I was most likely running late, hell I was always late. I would have shaved Ten minutes from my walk if I chose to walk the main street. But if I had, I would most likely come Into contact with other kids. And that was a huge no-no. Other kids didn’t like me. And who can blame them? What was I wearing? I looked like a cross between Candy Raver and Emo Goth. My blue jeans were way to long. The bottoms were ripped from being dragged on the ground. My white rebook sneakers where littered with Immature Chicken scratch. Everything from “Sick of it all” to “25 Ta life” where scrawled on the body of my sneakers. My black hoody was so drab, musty, and my hair was a mess. My whole aura seemed forced, and contrived. “Okay I get it, I never was suave. But what does this all mean?” I thought, ‘Where is this going?’ I waited for a response, but got none. So, I continued to watch the screen. The scene had changed. I was now sitting in the back of a crowded classroom. My 7th grade math teacher, Mr. Flemings, stood at the head of the class. His black face was filled with a look of impatience as he cleared his throat. “Mr. Champlain what on earth are you doing”? The camera panned back to me in the last row. I could see that I had a pen in hand. I was writing, but not on notebook paper. No, I was scribbling into my math book. I barely noticed his question; in fact, I seemed completely impervious to my surroundings. “Mr. Champlain may I remind you that you are now defacing school property. Now I suggest that you put down that pen, unless you want your mother to get a nice bill from the state.” My teenage self just continued to scribble in the book. Without lifting my head I said, “So what’s it to me, just teach the class. I’m not bothering anybody.” Mr. Flemings took his glasses off, shook his head in disgust and said, “That’s where you’re wrong Mr. Champlain; you may not be bothering us. But, you sure are being disruptive to yourself, and your future. Believe it or not, life doesn’t end in this classroom. The choices that you make here will haunt you for the rest of your life.” I ignored him and kept my head down writing away with out a care in the whole world. The man reappeared on the screen. “Do you remember what you wrote, Dan? I do. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was there.” “Whoa, are you telling me that you’re the ghost of Mr. Flemings? Or perhaps a class mate who suffered from the same disease that ‘Jack’ had?” “I am neither; let’s just say that I am an admirer who watched you from afar.” “Look, I don’t care who you are. It’s four am. Can we hurry up and finish this? I am so dreadfully tired.” The man paused and his smile stretched further. “As you wish Dan, let’s continue.” The screen blinked back on, showing me alone in a dark building. I lay asleep on a heap of old newspaper and dust. I knew where I was, ‘Looped Ally’. ‘Looped Ally’ was not an ally but an old potato factory. My friend’s and I used to go there and smoke weed and drink during the day. Sometimes, I would spend the night alone there. I was on a serious wayward binge during that part of my life. Often running away for weeks on end. I never really had a reason to, but I did anyway. I guess I was just being a rebel for rebel’s sake. I watched as my teenage self just slept, exposed to whatever wacko decided to take refuge in the potato factory that night. Suddenly, I awoke. I stumbled in the darkness for a moment. Then without reason or forethought, I ran into a closet by the entrance of the factory. The camera panned to the entrance. The front door burst open. Oh my, I can remember this day like it was yesterday. I had been sleeping when something woke me up and told me to seek refuge in the closet. Which I did. I can remember the horror that I felt when I heard the front door open and someone walk into the factory. I always felt that maybe the hand of God had been on me that day. I often pondered who or what walked into the factory that lonely night. And now…I knew. I watched in amazement as a cop holding a flashlight walked through the entrance. He sat on the floor in the center of the room. After a moment, he reached into his pant pocket and produced a syringe. I couldn’t believe my eyes; surely this was a cruel joke. I watched in awe as the officer rolled up his left sleeve and stuck the needle into a bulging vein in his arm. The heroin caused him to utter a low groan. His body slumped as the drug spread. The familiar face of the old man resurfaced on the screen. His eyes wide with excitement, he said, “Wow what a rush huh? I bet you always wondered who walked through that door.” “Yes I did, and I wasn’t expecting that.” “Oh really, who were you expecting?” “I don’t know. Sadistic bums, a convicted rapist, hell, maybe even a mutated monster. But never in my wildest dreams would I have expected that.” “He would have killed you, ya know. Would have shot you dead if he had known you were there. But, I persuaded him not to; I was the one who told you to go into the closet.” “Gee thanks, I guess I owe you one.” “Oh yes, you do. But don’t worry about it. I needed you alive. We still had business to attend to.” “Business? What kind of business? What on earth are you talking about buddy?” I asked. “Oh come on Dan, your killing me here…After all this time and you still don’t remember? Well you better start thinking and figure it out soon. I don’t know how much more of this film I can take.” With that, my teenage self-reappeared on the screen. I was covered in vomit, naked, and passed out in a shower. The steam in the bathroom had fogged the mirror by the sink. Someone used their finger to trace “Do you remember me” into the surface of the steam condensed mirror. I could only guess that it was my midnight visitor, this was one of the scariest moments of my life. I remember the shower like it was yesterday. The day started off with me bunking school. I met my friend Darren at his house and together we walked to Andrews’s apartment. We never liked Andrew that much. But, his parents had a hardly used, yet fully stocked bar. I remember taking an empty kool aid jug and filling it the top with every liquor possible. A quarter of the ways filled with Southern comfort, a third of Jack Daniels, a pinch of Gin, and a hell of a lot of scotch. We left Andrews house just as quickly as we came. I finished half of the jug by time we returned to Darren’s house. I was only fifteen. So needless to say, I was in that shower in hardly any time at all. I watched as my teenage self was awakened by a loud knock on the bathroom door. “One minute.” My feeble attempt of a sentence was cut short by a violent vomiting fit. “Are you ok Dan?” The voice was that of Mary, Darren’s cool and lenient mother. “Dan are you alright? I’m concerned. Darren says you’ve been drinking.” She once again knocked on the door. I tried to say that I was alright. But I couldn’t even convince myself that I was. She knocked again only this time more loudly. “Dan I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve called your Mother. She is on the way.” With that, my stomach hurt. A feeling of despair entered into my heart. This day was all too familiar. A day that I had visited many times since. I was beginning to see where this was going. And I did not like it. No, I didn’t like it one bit. The man returned on the screen only this time his hair was disheveled, his grin seemed more forced than usual, and his eyes were showing hints of redness. “How bout we play a little game Dan? This film is utterly boring. The story is so naïve, it’s pathetic. Your rebellion for rebel’s sake is so cliché.” “Game? What kind of game?” “Oh, it’s fun one Dan. It’s also quite simple really. If you don’t remember who I am, and soon, I’m coming through this screen. And believe you me; you don’t want that to happen.” The man stared into the screen for a second. Then he returned to the seat behind the desk. I noticed for the first time that he was barefoot. As he placed his hands behind his head and plopped his feet onto his desk; the red phone floated by his right ear. “Hey watch this. It’s a trip.” The remote suddenly jerked its way out of my grasp. It flew out of my hand then stopped in suspended animation above my bed. The remote took aim at my television. Then with the sped of a bullet, it plunged into the screen where the man with the red phone fielded it without breaking a sweat. “Now let’s see if this can redeem itself, shall we?” With that he smiled and pressed play. I watched as my drunken walked into my room. I punched a hole into the mold stained bedroom wall. Bits of dry wall swan dived onto my green carpet. “Go ahead punch another one into it why don’t ya?” My enraged mother yelled from down the hall. She was right; at least four holes adorned the walls of my cluttered room. I shudder looking at my teenage angst utopia. “This is your fault ma!” I screamed, as my teenage frame crumbled into my bed in a sobbing fit. I listened for my mother’s response. If she had responded, I didn’t hear it over my sobbing. “Your right, this all does seem a bit contrived. What is the point of this all?” His blank eyes returned only this time he was close, really close. “Oh you will see, but I have a feeling that you already know where this is going.” My stomach sank. He was right. I knew all to well where this was going. For years I have been plagued by this very scene, wondering if it was real. “No! Surely this is not happening. It can’t be. I don’t believe it. God dammit, do you hear me? I don’t believe it.” The old man just stared with his creepy smile. Then, out of his right hand came a crumbled piece of paper. It sailed through the screen and hit me square in the eye. “Now shut up already. Besides, the movie is almost over.” I noticed that the paper had a red smear inside of it. But I dare not open it. I laid on my bed listening to Metallica. I looked so tired and hurt. But most of all, I looked young and drunk. My eyes were red and my hair flung to and fro. On my cluttered desk lay a green five subject notebook. “Don’t know!” I screamed from my bed. But my teenage self couldn’t hear me. I stumbled over to the notebook, sitting down awkwardly onto my yellow chair by the desk. “Come on I was just a kid, surely you can see that?” Silence. “My God I was only fourteen, fifteen at the most.” Still no response, no grins from the television screen. On the television screen, the image of my former self was scribbling away on a piece of notebook paper. I turned away from the screen in fright. I glimpsed the crumpled up paper beside me; it was shaking and slowly unfolding itself on my blue comforter. “No!” I screamed into the air. I turned back to the television just in time to watch my former self grab a knife and cut my finger open. Producing a steady stream of blood. “Stop it! Stop it now!” I screamed at the image in vain. I could not hear myself. I watched in horror as my former self traced my name onto the paper. Signing it with blood. “Hey, look at the paper. Read it for me will ya?” The man reappeared, only this time he was in a white room. “No, I won’t. I already know what it says. I refuse to read that godforsaken paper.” “You will or I’m coming in there Dan.” Suddenly, the paper flew onto my face and hovered there. “Read it! Read it now Dan.” I had no choice; I silently began to read the note. “I, Dan Champlain sell my soul to Satan. All I want in return is to be alone.” And on the bottom of the note was my signature, in blood. The paper then burst into flames and disintegrated. “Well, I guess you now know who I am. But, what the hell, I’m coming through anyway.” The End
By Luis Padilla6 years ago in Horror
Jonah's Grin
shit Jonah's ~Preface~ Jonah's bike was a Red Radio Flyer with a pull along basket and training wheels. Odd for a man well into his thirties to still need training wheels. But he did. Some say that the reason he needed them was because he suffered from an extreme case of autism. I really don’t think that’s the case.
By Luis Padilla6 years ago in Horror
Creepy Creatures and Myths #5: What the Hell is an 'Agropelter'?
What the hell is an Agropelter? Well, it's a "fearsome critter." What is one of those? It's apparently a step below the standard cryptid, as people seem less inclined to believe so-called fearsome critters actually exist. Indeed, the Agropelter seems to match that category, as it is apparently a tall tale linked to lumberjack lore. Basically, an Agropelter is an ape-like creature with long, whiplike arms that can throw logs (and presumably sticks and rocks) at any people who piss it off. In other words, if you could somehow meet an Agropelter, you'd better run quick or come equipped with an Agropelter-repellant. They don't call them fearsome critters for nothing!
By Wade Wainio6 years ago in Horror
