Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
The Second Coming
Helen's greatest fear is that she is not believable. She knows this is a reasonable fear to possess because she has heard herself talk about it; she has seen how people's faces look when they hear her. Helen sometimes doesn't know if she believes herself, and that's the hardest part.
By Mary Cogginsabout a year ago in Horror
**"The Black-Eyed Child at My Door"**
The rain hammered against my windows like a thousand tiny fists, relentless and angry. I sat curled up on my couch, a book in one hand and a lukewarm cup of tea in the other, trying to ignore the storm outside. My house—a small, creaky thing at the edge of the woods—had always felt safe. Until that night.
By Shehzad Ahmadabout a year ago in Horror
What They Found on the Dark Web Will Haunt You Forever
Introduction: Welcome to the Internet’s Darkest Corner The internet, despite its many benefits, has a darker aspect. Beneath the shiny surfaces of Google, Instagram, and YouTube exists a concealed network of encrypted sites known as the Dark Web. This area is deliberately hidden from regular search engines. While some parts may be innocent forums or spaces for whistleblowing, others expose the terrifying depths of human nature.
By Shahjahan Kabir Khanabout a year ago in Horror
Episode Title: The Beast of Gévaudan – Werewolf, Weapon, or Something Worse?
In the still silence of moonlit hills... a shadow moves. A low growl rises from the underbrush. Hooves thunder. Screams follow. France, 1764. A region gripped in terror. A predator that shouldn’t exist. This… is the story of the Beast of Gévaudan. And it may be the most chilling manhunt history has ever known.
By Veil of Shadowsabout a year ago in Horror
The Flies of Elizabeth. Content Warning.
This story takes place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. A town called Crowsville. Rarely sunny, quiet, usually cold, and almost always covered in a cloud of mist. The buildings are solid brick and Victorian, with the downtown area akin to one large townhome, that is, most of the buildings are so close together they might as well be one large structure. Perhaps the most important, defining quality of this small town is that the citizens are perpetually in Halloween spirit. Costume parties happen every weekend. Pumpkins are commonly grown, and most people have jack-o-lanterns on their porch or doorstep. “Skello’s Pumpkins for the Living and Dead” is the local pumpkin patch and provides all the pumpkins at a commercial level. They also host the semi-annual Scare Fest, a large festival dedicated to scaring off evil spirits in October (Halloween) and celebrating the art of communication with the dead in summer (Summerween). You’ll also find pumpkins in the backyards of those who have gardens, their vines wrapped and tangled along the fences.
By E. C. Gabrielabout a year ago in Horror
Beyond the Pain
Pain changes people. It either shatters them or shapes them. For me, it did both. Three years ago, I experienced a loss that felt like the sky had fallen — my younger brother, Zayan, passed away in a road accident. He was only nineteen. Bright, warm-hearted, always laughing. One moment he was here, and the next, he was a memory. His absence left a deafening silence in our home and an emptiness in my heart I couldn't explain. In the weeks following his death, I went numb. I functioned, but I wasn’t living. I smiled at people and answered politely, but inside, I was breaking. Nights were the hardest — they were too quiet, too honest. I’d cry into my pillow, hoping the pain would fade, but it never did. Instead, it carved a permanent place in my chest. I distanced myself from friends. I quit my painting classes. I avoided conversations that might trigger his memory. I was afraid of my grief — afraid that once I let it out, I would drown in it. But the truth is, suppressing pain only gives it more power.One evening, about six months later, I found myself in Zayan’s room. His guitar lay untouched in a corner. I picked it up, not knowing what to expect. I strummed a few strings, and something inside me cracked. I cried, for the first time in weeks — loudly, openly, freely. That moment changed something. It was the beginning of my healing. I started writing letters to Zayan — pages filled with love, memories, anger, and apologies. Some days I forgave him for leaving, other days I blamed him. But each letter helped me release a part of the weight I was carrying. I began therapy. I rejoined my art classes. Slowly, I started choosing life again. Healing, I learned, isn’t a straight road. Some days you feel like you’re moving forward, and others drag you back into the dark. But every step counts. Every little victory matters. Through pain, I discovered parts of myself I didn’t know existed. I found strength I never thought I had. I learned empathy — real, deep empathy — for others who suffer quietly. I learned to sit with discomfort instead of running from it. I also learned that healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about remembering with less pain and more love.Now, I paint again. Not just for myself, but for others too. My art reflects emotions — sadness, joy, healing, loss — all the colors of the human experience. I even held a small exhibition last year in memory of Zayan. His picture was at the entrance. People stopped and stared, and I knew — he was there, smiling, proud. Looking back, I don’t think I would’ve ever chosen this path. But I’ve come to accept that life doesn’t always give us choices — sometimes, it gives us challenges, and it's up to us to rise. To anyone reading this who is battling pain — emotional or physical — know this: You are not alone. It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to fall apart. Just don’t stop trying. Healing is not about being the same again; it’s about becoming whole in a new way. Pain didn’t break me. It revealed me. And for that, strangely, I am grateful. This is a my favorite story of Beyond the Pain in this I learned that healing isn't about forgetting.it is about remembering with less pain and more love I paint again not just myself but for other people too and my art reflect emotions joy healing loss all the colors of the human experience I even held a small exhibition last year in memory of zayan
By Current affairs about a year ago in Horror
Return of the Living Dead adds a videogame and two horror movies
The iconic 80's horror comedy Return of the Living Dead is turning 40 and the entertainment industry has decided to celebrate in a big way. First, a horror video game called More Brains - Assault on Uneeda will be released. Then fans of the saga will have the joy of seeing the next film in the saga The Return of the Living Dead Universe: Trash's Revenge, which will focus on Trash, a young punk woman who was in the 1985 film Return of the Living Dead.
By Ninfa Galeanoabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Turn at Hollow Creek
The Shortcut It was the last weekend before school started, and 12-year-old Eli, Mira, Jayden, and Sophia wanted to do something fun—one last adventure before summer ended. Mira had the idea. “My cousin said there’s an old trail behind Hollow Creek Road. It’s supposed to lead to an abandoned campground,” she said. “No one’s been there in years. Wanna go?” “Abandoned?” Eli raised an eyebrow. “That usually means don’t go.” “Or it means we’ll be the first to explore it,” said Jayden, already stuffing snacks into his backpack. Sophia didn’t say much. She was the quiet one. But when she nodded, that was it. They were going. They grabbed flashlights, trail mix, their phones, and set off on their bikes by 3 p.m. That was their first mistake. Hollow Creek Road Hollow Creek Road looked like something from an old horror movie. Trees leaned over the gravel road like they were whispering to each other. The sunlight barely reached through the branches, and the wind made weird whistling noises in the leaves. Halfway down the road, they saw the sign. It was nailed to a tree, crooked and scratched up: "LAST TURN AHEAD. DON’T ENTER AFTER DARK." “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mira laughed nervously. Jayden kicked at the sign. “Probably just to keep people out. Classic ‘haunted trail’ trick.” They turned anyway. That was their second mistake. The Forest That Didn’t Want Them The trail started off fine. Quiet. Peaceful. But about 10 minutes in, things got weird. The forest got too quiet. No squirrels. No birds. Even the air felt wrong. Like it had stopped moving. Sophia stopped walking and said, “Do you guys hear that?” “Hear what?” Eli asked. And then they all realized—it was their footsteps. But not just theirs. There was one more set. Behind them. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. They spun around. No one there. They laughed it off. "Just echoes," Jayden said. But no one believed that. Especially not Sophia. The Campground By 4:15, they found the old campground. It was exactly how Mira described it: empty cabins, a rusty firepit, and a creepy old bell tower with a broken rope. But the weirdest part? Everything looked clean. No dust. No leaves. No bugs. Like someone had just been there. Or was still there. “I don’t like this,” Eli whispered. Jayden shrugged. “Let’s check out the cabins.” That was the third mistake. Something in the Cabin They entered the first cabin. It smelled like mold and rotting wood. On the wall was a chalkboard. Still had writing on it: Camp Schedule Wake-up — 7:00 a.m. Breakfast — 8:00 a.m. Lights Out — 9:00 p.m. No Leaving After Dark Then, below it, in big letters: “THE FOREST TAKES WHO STAYS.” The air suddenly felt heavy. Like something had closed the door… even though none of them touched it. Jayden tried to open it. Locked. “What the—?” Then the window slammed shut by itself. Mira screamed. Something was moving in the ceiling. Like claws. Scraping. Run They didn’t wait. Jayden kicked the door until it burst open, and they ran into the woods, not even caring which way they came from. But the path was gone. Where the trail had been before, there were now just trees. Thick and twisted and way too close together. “It was right here! I swear!” Eli said. Sophia was crying quietly. “It doesn’t want us to leave.” “What?” Mira asked. Sophia looked up, eyes wide. “The woods. They brought us here. They don’t want us to go.” Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. That sound again. Right behind them. The Shadows They ran until the sky started turning orange. And then… they saw it. A figure. Tall. Thin. Almost stick-like. Standing in the distance between the trees. They froze. It didn’t move. Until Jayden whispered, “Is that a person?” The figure twitched—its neck bent sideways. Then it vanished. And suddenly… there were more. Dozens. Standing still. All around them. Watching. Then Mira said the words that made everyone panic: “They look like scarecrows.” But these scarecrows didn’t have poles. They moved. The Bell Eli remembered something from the chalkboard: “No leaving after dark.” “But it didn’t say anything about ringing the bell,” he said. “The tower!” Mira pointed. They made a run for it, ducking branches, dodging roots, ignoring the whispering wind that now seemed to say their names. Sophia tripped. A scarecrow grabbed her foot. Its fingers were like branches—snapping, dry, and cold. Jayden tackled it, pulling her free. They made it to the tower. Eli grabbed the rope—rotted and thin—and yanked with all his strength. BONGGGGGG. The sound echoed through the woods. And all the shadows screamed. The Escape The forest shifted. Literally—trees moved, creaking and groaning like they were alive. And then, there it was. The trail. Back where it had been before. They didn’t think, didn’t talk—they just ran. Jayden tripped once, but Sophia helped him up. Mira twisted her ankle but kept going. They didn’t stop until they reached their bikes. And even then, they didn’t stop pedaling until Hollow Creek Road was far behind them. The sun was down. But they made it. Don’t Go Back Back home, their phones said it was 2 a.m. They had been gone for nearly 10 hours. But to them… it felt like 2. None of them could sleep that night. The next day, they all made a promise. Never go back to Hollow Creek. Never talk about what they saw. And never, ever take shortcuts through the woods again. But Eli still hears the bell sometimes. Especially at night. When the wind dies down. And the forest holds its breath.
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Horror
The Smile in the Mirror Wasn’t Mine
I was eleven when I first noticed something wrong with the mirror in my room. It was an old, ornate piece that my grandmother had left behind after she passed away. My parents hung it on my wall, thinking it gave the room character. But from the moment it arrived, things started to change.
By junaid aliabout a year ago in Horror
The Sight.
The day they removed the bandages, my first-ever sight was of Anna’s face, wet with tears, her eyes the color of a summer sky—a color I was only just learning the name for. The world exploded into my consciousness in a brilliant, overwhelming flood of light, shape, and hue. For weeks, I was like a child, rediscovering the universe. I’d spend hours just staring at the vibrant green of a single leaf, the deep, impossible blue of the ocean, or the unfamiliar face that looked back at me from the mirror. I was euphoric, drunk on the beauty of a world I was finally, truly a part of. The first “glitches,” as I called them, were easy to dismiss. I’d see a flicker in the corner of my eye, a momentary distortion in an empty doorway, or a tall, thin shadow on a distant rooftop that seemed to have no source. My doctor assured me it was normal. “Your brain is building a visual library from scratch, Ethan,” he’d said. “It’s bound to have some rendering errors while it adjusts.” I accepted his explanation. My brain was simply learning to see. But the errors didn’t stop. They became clearer, more defined. They weren’t shadows; they were shapes. Tall, impossibly thin figures, like silhouettes cut from television static. They were utterly motionless, usually perched in liminal spaces—on street corners, in the empty spaces between buildings, on top of telephone poles. They were humanoid, but their stillness was absolute, unnatural. They were like statues of pure dread. The true horror began on a walk in the park with Anna. I saw one of them, standing perfectly still under the shade of a large oak tree. It was a shimmering, man-shaped column of heat-haze in the cool air. “Anna, do you see that tall man over there?” I asked, my voice casual, testing the waters. She followed my gaze, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What man? There’s no one there, honey. Just the tree.” I looked back. The figure was still there, a silent, static sentinel in a world that was completely oblivious to it. My blood ran cold. This wasn't my brain adjusting. This wasn't a glitch. I was seeing something that wasn’t meant to be seen. I became obsessed. I started to notice them everywhere, hiding in plain sight. They were like a hidden layer of reality that had been unlocked for me. I saw that they were drawn to places of strong emotion or potential chaos. One stood in the corner of a hospital emergency room. Another loomed over a busy intersection where cars sped through yellow lights. They were always just… watching. Passive observers of our world. Or so I thought. The day I learned their true nature, I was sitting at a café, watching the world go by. I saw one of the static figures standing across the street, near a construction site where a crane was lifting a heavy load of steel beams. A man in a business suit walked below, talking on his phone, completely unaware of the silent observer or the danger above. As he passed directly under the crane, I saw the static figure *flicker*. It was a nearly imperceptible movement, a slight twitch in its form. At that exact instant, a cable on the crane snapped. The crash was deafening. People screamed. The steel beams fell, missing the man by inches, crushing the spot where he had been a second before. He stumbled away in shock, saved by a miracle. But I knew it wasn't a miracle. I had seen the flicker. The being hadn't been watching the chaos. It had been waiting for it. Or perhaps, it had given it a nudge. From that day on, my new world of sight became a prison of constant terror. Every beautiful sunset was tainted by the static figures silhouetted against it. Every crowd of laughing people had a silent, shimmering predator hovering at its edge. The joy was gone, replaced by the terrible burden of knowledge. The final, soul-crushing blow came last night. I was standing at my living room window, looking out at the rain-slicked street. I saw one of them across the road, standing under a streetlamp, the light seeming to bend around its formless shape. I stared at it, filled with a mixture of fear and helpless frustration. And then, for the first time, it moved. It didn't flicker. It didn't twitch. Slowly, deliberately, its featureless head—a swirling vortex of static—turned. It turned until it was facing my window. Until it was facing *me*. It knew. After all this time, it finally knew I could see it. I stumbled back from the window, my heart a block of ice in my chest. The joy of sight, the miracle I had prayed for, was now a curse. The world was no longer beautiful; it was infested. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my palms against them, trying to find the safe, comfortable darkness I had known my entire life. But I knew it was useless. With a deep, shuddering breath, I opened my eyes again and looked out the window. The thing was no longer across the street. It was standing on my front lawn now, closer. Just standing there. Watching. Waiting. For thirty years, I had prayed for sight. Now, I pray for a new kind of blindness.
By MUHAMMAD FARHANabout a year ago in Horror
