Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
The Monkey’s Paw
On a cold, wet night in a small, modest home on the edge of a rural village, the White family gathered around the fire. The room glowed with the warm flicker of flames, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Mr. White, a man of middle age with a sharp sense of humor, played a game of chess with his grown son, Herbert. Mrs. White, knitting by the fire, occasionally glanced up, smiling at their playful banter.
By Hewad Mohammadiabout a year ago in Horror
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
There are places in the world where shadows linger longer than they should, where whispers cling to the trees, and where the past feels alive, pressing close to the present. One such place is Sleepy Hollow, a quiet valley near Tarrytown in New York. To the casual traveler, it might seem peaceful: tall woods, Rolling Meadows, and a river winding its way through the landscape. Yet, those who lived there swore that the air was heavy with enchantment, that spirits roamed freely after dusk, and that no story was whispered with more dread than that of the Headless Horseman.
By Hewad Mohammadiabout a year ago in Horror
The Child Who Remembered the End of the World
Ethan was only seven years old when he began to speak of the end. Not in the vague, fantastical way most children did—no monsters under the bed, no dreams of meteors striking the playground. His words were precise. Too precise. He spoke of skies turning red, of oceans swallowing the coasts, of cities cracking apart like dry earth. At first, his parents laughed nervously. Children said strange things all the time, and Ethan had always had a vivid imagination. But the details unsettled them. He described people they had never met but somehow existed. He spoke of a countdown, of clocks stopping, of fire raining down from above. When his mother asked where he had learned such things, Ethan answered simply: “I already lived it. I was there when the world ended. But I came back.” They told themselves it was a phase. Children outgrow strange stories. But then the signs began. On the news, coastal towns were flooding with tides higher than recorded in decades. Ethan had spoken of “the water eating the land.” Earthquakes rattled distant cities, just as Ethan had described: “The ground split open like it was yawning.” And one night, when the sky burned orange from a chemical explosion in another part of the world, Ethan only said, in a quiet voice: “It begins.” Word spread quickly in their small community. Parents whispered about the boy who spoke of the end. Some thought he was cursed. Others believed he was gifted, a prophet. Teachers watched him warily, unsure whether to encourage or silence his strange foresight. Ethan himself seemed burdened by it. He drew pictures of broken cities, of blackened forests, of shadows rising against the horizon. Yet sometimes, after describing destruction, he would fall silent and curl into himself, whispering, “It hurts to remember.” One evening, his father sat beside him in his room. The floor was littered with sketches of fire and ruins. “Ethan,” he asked gently, “why are you telling us these things? Why remember them if they hurt you?” Ethan’s eyes, far too old for his face, lifted to meet his father’s. “Because it’s happening again. Last time, nobody listened. Maybe this time someone will.” His parents exchanged fearful glances. The boy believed it—every word. And the frightening part was that the world seemed to be proving him right. Months passed. Storms grew stronger, breaking records year after year. Crops failed unexpectedly. Reports of strange illnesses surfaced in distant countries. And each time, Ethan would quietly nod, as though ticking boxes off a list. People started coming to the family’s doorstep. Some begged him to tell their future. Others accused them of faking it for attention. The pressure weighed heavily, but Ethan never wavered. “I don’t see the future,” he corrected them. “I remember it.” Then, one night, Ethan woke screaming. His parents rushed to his side, finding him trembling, his hands clutching his chest as if the air itself was burning him. “They’re coming,” he gasped. “The sky people. The ones made of light and fire. They came before. They will come again. And this time—” His voice cracked, and tears filled his eyes. “This time I don’t know if I come back.” Days later, the world news erupted with reports of strange lights in the sky, dancing above multiple continents. Scientists called them rare auroras. Ethan only shook his head. “Not lights. Warnings.” His parents tried to shield him, tried to believe the scientists, but the boy’s certainty gnawed at them. And then came the night the sky turned crimson. The lights shifted from shimmering green to violent red, stretching across the horizon like blood spilled into the heavens. Sirens wailed across cities. The power grid flickered and failed. Panic erupted in the streets. Ethan stood at his window, watching. His small figure looked impossibly fragile against the burning sky. “It’s the same,” he whispered. “Just like before. I told you.” His mother clutched him, sobbing. “If you’ve lived this before, if you came back, tell us—how does it end?” Ethan’s face tightened with grief no child should bear. He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t end. It repeats.” The ground shuddered beneath them. In the distance, the glow of collapsing buildings lit the horizon. Fires climbed upward like hungry beasts. Screams filled the night. And through it all, Ethan stood silent, eyes fixed on the sky, as though searching for something only he could see. Perhaps he was cursed to remember. Perhaps he truly had lived through it once before. Or perhaps he was the only soul who carried within him the memory of humanity’s endless cycle of destruction—born again and again, forced to watch the same mistakes unfold. As the world tore itself apart, Ethan whispered one last time: “Maybe… next time… you’ll listen.”
By LUNA EDITHabout a year ago in Horror
Frankenstein
On a stormy night in the late 18th century, a young scientist named Victor Frankenstein sat hunched over a table, his face illuminated by flickering candlelight and the glow of strange instruments. Around him were pieces of human bodies—limbs, organs, bones—stitched and wired together into the shape of a man. His hands shook, not from fear, but from anticipation. He had spent years chasing the impossible: the secret of life itself.
By Hewad Mohammadiabout a year ago in Horror
Dreams Beyond the Horizon
Dreams Beyond the Horizon A Journey of Hope and Courage --- Part 1 – The Village of Ashen Fields The village of Ashen Fields was small, nestled between rolling hills and a river that carried more stones than fish. Life there was simple, quiet, and often difficult. Children learned early that survival came before dreams. But seventeen-year-old Aria was different. She loved the river’s song, the distant glimmer of mountains, and the way the sky seemed endless beyond the fields. While others bowed their heads to plow or gather wood, she looked up, searching the horizon. Her father often sighed at her. “Dreams don’t fill bellies, Aria. Best keep your feet on the soil you were born to.” Yet Aria’s heart whispered another truth: there must be more. One evening, after another day of toil, she climbed the old watchtower on the hill. The horizon stretched wide, glowing with the colors of dusk. Her chest swelled with longing. Somewhere beyond that line of light, she believed, was the life she was meant for. --- Part 2 – The Traveler Change arrived on a rain-soaked morning. A stranger came through the village—scarred, weary, but with eyes that burned with stories untold. He called himself Kael, a traveler returning from the distant Kingdom of Miranor. The children crowded him, begging for tales. The elders scowled, fearing he would stir restless hearts. That night, in the tavern, Kael spoke of shining cities, markets filled with spices and silk, mountains kissed by snow, and seas that stretched forever. Aria listened, wide-eyed, her heart pounding. Later, when most had gone, she approached him. “Are your stories true? Do such places really exist?” Kael studied her. “They do. But they’re not for the faint of heart. Beyond the horizon lies wonder… and danger. You lose as much as you gain.” “I want to see them,” Aria whispered. The traveler smiled sadly. “Then you must decide. Dreams demand sacrifice.” --- Part 3 – The Choice Days passed, but Aria could not forget his words. At night she dreamt of oceans and mountains, of stars mirrored in unknown waters. By day, she felt trapped, as though the fields that fed her also caged her. When her father fell ill, she wrestled with guilt. How could she leave when her family needed her? Yet he saw the fire in her eyes, the same he once had before life’s burdens dimmed it. One night, as he lay coughing, he took her hand. “Aria… don’t be chained by my mistakes. If your heart seeks the horizon, go. Live the life I could not.” Tears blurred her vision. At dawn, with a small satchel and her father’s blessing, Aria set out. --- Part 4 – Trials of the Road The world beyond Ashen Fields was harsher than she imagined. Forests whispered with unseen dangers, roads twisted endlessly, and storms battered her spirit. More than once, she nearly turned back. She met others along the way—merchants chasing gold, pilgrims seeking gods, soldiers fleeing war. Each had their reasons, their scars. Some mocked her youth; others envied her courage. Yet whenever doubt clawed at her, she looked to the horizon. That line of promise pulled her onward. One evening, starving and exhausted, she found Kael again, camped by the roadside. He welcomed her with a knowing smile. “So you chose,” he said. “Yes,” she replied, though her voice trembled. “Good. Now the real journey begins.” --- Part 5 – The City of Miranor Weeks later, Aria stood on a hill and saw it: Miranor, the city of light. Towers gleamed in the sun, banners fluttered, and streets thrummed with life. For a moment, her hardships melted into awe. Inside the city, she was overwhelmed—languages she’d never heard, food she couldn’t name, music that stirred her soul. But she also saw beggars in shadows, guards who turned cruel eyes on the poor, and merchants who preyed on the desperate. Her dream was beautiful, but it was not perfect. Aria realized then: beyond every horizon lay not only wonder, but struggle. And yet… she did not regret leaving. For even in hardship, she felt alive, free, awake. --- Part 6 – Dreams Beyond Years passed. Aria became a storyteller, like Kael. She worked, struggled, failed, triumphed—but always moved forward. She sent letters and coins back to Ashen Fields, helping her family while carving her path. One evening, as she stood on Miranor’s sea cliffs, she watched the sun sink into endless waters. The horizon shimmered, calling to her still. A child nearby asked, “Lady, do you think there’s more beyond the sea?” Aria smiled, eyes bright with the same fire that had once pulled her from her village. “Yes,” she said softly. “There is always more beyond the horizon. And if your heart dares, you’ll find it.” --- Moral of the Story Dreams demand courage and sacrifice. The horizon is not the end—it is a beginning. True freedom comes not from comfort, but from daring to chase what lies beyond what we know.
By Noman Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Summer We Pretended to Be Ghosts
It was the summer after eighth grade, the summer when the air itself felt heavy with things unsaid. Our town was quiet, not in the charming postcard way, but in the “no one really knows what to do with themselves” kind of way. The pool was closed for repairs, the fair was canceled after a fire in the concession stands, and half the parents seemed too busy working double shifts to drive us anywhere.
By Abdulahad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
