Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Horror.

The Reflection Room
When Leo moved into the abandoned boarding school to renovate it into a boutique hotel, he knew it came with a history. What he didn’t expect was the mirror room on the third floor. It was sealed shut when he found it—door nailed closed, rusted chains looped around the handle. The old caretaker, Mr. Hodge, warned him. “Leave that room locked,” the old man said, voice shaky. “Nothing good ever came from it.” But curiosity is stronger than fear. Leo broke the chains. Inside, the walls were lined entirely with mirrors—hundreds of them, floor to ceiling. Every shape and size. None had dust, even though the room hadn’t been opened in over 40 years. The air inside was ice cold. --- The first strange thing happened that night. Leo was brushing his teeth when he saw something in the mirror behind him—a woman, standing just over his shoulder. Pale, in a white dress, with long hair that dripped like it was soaking wet. He spun around. Nothing. He blamed his exhaustion. --- Over the next few days, the house grew colder. Leo noticed his reflection behaving oddly—lagging behind, blinking at the wrong time, or even smiling when he wasn’t. Sometimes, he saw people behind him in mirrors. People who weren’t there when he turned around. One night, he heard whispering from the mirror room. He stood outside the door, frozen, as dozens of voices murmured inside—some crying, some chanting. He locked the room again. --- But the damage was done. Leo started dreaming of mirrors. In one dream, he was trapped inside one, pounding at the glass, watching his real self walk away. In another, the woman in white climbed out of the mirror in his bedroom, dripping water across the floor, her face blurred like smeared paint. When he woke up, there were wet footprints leading from the mirror to the edge of his bed. --- Leo invited his friend Maria, a paranormal investigator, to visit. She didn’t laugh when he told her the story. “That school used to have a headmistress,” she said. “Eliza Crow. Obsessed with beauty. Obsessed with mirrors. She believed mirrors could ‘catch the soul.’” Maria paused. “They say she built that room to trap spirits. When a student drowned in the lake behind the school, they say she brought her spirit back… through the mirror.” Leo’s face turned pale. “She’s still trying to come through,” Maria whispered. “And every time you look at a mirror—you’re helping her.” --- That night, Maria performed a cleansing ritual. Salt. Incense. Latin chants. All the mirrors were covered with black sheets. Everything seemed calm. Until 2:46 a.m.—when every single mirror uncovered itself. The sheets were torn off. The glass fogged over, and in each mirror, Eliza Crow’s face appeared. Whispering. Laughing. Maria screamed. A mirror shattered. Then another. Leo and Maria ran—but in every hallway, their reflections stared at them, unmoving, trapped inside. --- They escaped the house and drove away at dawn. But when Leo looked in the rearview mirror, he nearly swerved off the road. Maria was sitting beside him. But in the mirror? It was Eliza. Smiling. --- Back at his apartment, Leo covered every reflective surface. No mirrors. No glass. He even stopped using his phone’s selfie camera. But reflections found a way. In puddles. In dark windows. In turned-off screens. Wherever there was a reflection, she appeared—watching. Smiling. Waiting. --- Maria disappeared two weeks later. Police searched her home. On the wall above her bed, someone had written backwards in red ink: > “SHE BELONGS TO THE GLASS NOW.” --- Leo became a recluse. He stopped leaving his apartment. His hair grew long, his eyes sunken. One night, he got a call from an unknown number. When he picked it up, all he heard was the sound of shattering glass. That same night, he noticed his reflection wasn’t copying him anymore. If he raised his hand, the reflection didn’t move. If he blinked, the reflection stared back. And then… it smiled. --- The next morning, Leo’s apartment was found empty. Only one thing remained: a single mirror standing upright in the living room. Inside it, if you looked closely—you could see Leo. Still there. Still screaming. --- And now, the mirror sits in a secondhand antique shop, waiting for someone to take it home. Will it be you?
By Salman about a year ago in Horror
Whispers in the Walls
Hey there. You ever been to a place that just feels wrong the second you walk in? Like the air is too thick, or the silence is too loud? That’s exactly how 12-year-old Ben felt when his family moved into the old Mulberry Street house. To everyone else, it was just a fixer-upper. Old wood, creaky stairs, a weird smell. Nothing major. But Ben? He heard things. Not voices exactly… more like whispers. Soft. Sneaky. Secret. And one night, they whispered his name.
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Horror
The Last Locker
Hey friend, okay, so you remember that one weird hallway in school? You know, the one that always feels a little colder? The one where the lights flicker even though no one else seems to care? Yeah. That hallway? That’s where this story takes place. It’s about a girl named Callie Winters, and how one very bad week led her to open the one locker in school that no one ever touches. They say what she found inside changed everything—and not in a good way. The Wrong Kind of Attention Callie Winters wasn’t popular. She wasn’t the class clown. She wasn’t a genius. She was just… Callie. Kind of quiet. Liked to doodle. Always sat in the middle of the class, never the front or the back. But after what happened, everyone knew her name. Not because she wanted it. Because they had to remember. It all started on a rainy Tuesday—the day someone shoved her into the lockers. Her books spilled everywhere, her notebook ripped, and everyone laughed. Everyone except the new janitor. He just watched. He didn’t blink. He didn’t help. He just stared… at Locker 17. The Locker Nobody Claimed Locker 17 was different. It sat at the far end of the East Wing hallway—where no teachers walked, and the lights always flickered like broken candles. No one knew who it belonged to. The school said it was “out of use.” But students whispered other stories: That it used to belong to a girl named Jessa Greer who disappeared after setting the science lab on fire. That you could hear someone whispering your name when you walked past. That someone once opened it—and never came back to class. Callie always thought it was just made-up junk. Until she heard it whisper her name. Whisper, Whisper The day after the locker incident, Callie walked past Locker 17 again. It was raining, just like the day before. Her books were soggy. Her hair stuck to her face. And her heart? Heavy. Because the girls who laughed yesterday? They laughed again today. So when she passed Locker 17… she stopped. And she heard it. “Calllllieeeee…” Her eyes widened. “Who’s there?!” Nothing. She leaned in. Held her breath. “They’ll pay if you let me out.” She jumped back. Looked around. The hallway was empty. Except for the janitor—still watching from the end. And still not blinking. What Was Inside The next morning, her locker was vandalized. Ripped open. Her favorite sketchbook ruined. She ran to the principal’s office. No one helped. Not even her teacher, who said, “Kids will be kids.” So Callie went back. To Locker 17. This time, the lock was… gone. The door hung slightly open. She hesitated. Then reached for it. And inside? Nothing. Just a mirror. A dirty, cracked mirror that hadn’t been there before. She leaned in—and her reflection smiled before she did. Then it whispered: “Do you want them to be afraid, too?” And for just a moment… Callie whispered back: “Yes.” The Change That’s when things started to get weird. The next day, the girls who bullied her? One slipped and fell face-first into her lunch. Another lost her voice during a class presentation. By Thursday, the worst one—Mara—ran out of the bathroom screaming, saying the mirror whispered her name. Callie didn’t smile. But something inside her did. That night, she had a dream. She was in a dark hallway, facing Locker 17. The door creaked open. Inside was herself. Except her eyes were pitch black. And she said: “Let me stay.” The Warning Ellis, the janitor, finally spoke to her. “You opened it, didn’t you?” Callie looked up. “Opened what?” “The mirror. The mouth.” He knelt beside her. “That locker is a door, not a box. It doesn’t hold things—it lets them out.” Callie’s hands trembled. “What did I let out?” He didn’t answer. Just handed her a note. It read: “You have seven days. After that, it won’t need your permission anymore.” The Countdown Every night, she had the dream again. The hallway. The locker. The mirror. Each time, her dark reflection looked more real. More alive. And at school? People were terrified of her. Doors creaked when she passed. Lights flickered more. Even the principal stared at her with wide, tired eyes. Locker 17 whispered louder now. “Only one more day…” The Choice On the seventh day, Callie stood in front of Locker 17. The school was silent. Empty. The janitor was gone. Just her. And the locker. The mirror inside glowed faintly. She could leave it. Walk away. Try to forget. But the voice inside whispered: “They’ll never stop unless I stay.” Callie closed her eyes. And stepped inside. Gone The next day, her classmates noticed something odd. Locker 17 was gone. Not locked. Not boarded. Gone. Like it had never been there. So was Callie. But in the back hallway… there was now a mirror. Cracked. And sometimes… if you walked past it alone… You could hear a girl giggling softly. Or crying. Or whispering… “Do you want them to be afraid, too?” The New Girl A month later, a new girl transferred to the school. Shy. Kept her head down. But the first time she walked down the East Wing hallway, she stopped. Looked into the mirror. And smiled… before her reflection did. So yeah. If your school has a hallway that feels off? If there’s a locker no one talks about? Or a mirror that seems to watch you… Walk faster. Don’t look back. And whatever you do… Don’t open it. Because it might not be you who comes out again.
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Horror
The Mirror Room. Content Warning.
The invitation came in a heavy cream envelope, handwritten, no return address. The estate of Marianne Ellory has named you sole inheritor. Keys enclosed. Please return home.
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
I Was Accidentally Added to a Group Chat Planning a Crime—Here’s What I Did Next
It started with a ping. A single WhatsApp notification at 1:47 a.m. on a Tuesday. I was lying in bed, scrolling through mindless reels, battling another round of sleeplessness when the message preview popped up.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Lightkeeper
The Barrow’s End Lighthouse stood alone on a jagged cliff, battered by wind and sea. It had once been vital—guiding ships safely through the foggy waters of Black Hollow Bay. But now, in the age of satellites and sonar, the lighthouse had been decommissioned, left to rot above the crashing waves.
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
Echoes in the Code
It began with a gift. Jared Nichols was a reclusive freelance app developer—one of those brilliant minds who preferred code to conversation. His apartment in the upper floors of an aging San Francisco building echoed with silence and flickering blue light from rows of screens. He didn’t do small talk, didn’t host parties, and didn’t like things he hadn’t programmed himself.
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
The Terrifying Sound"
The Silence of the Night In the darkness of the night, an eerie silence filled the air, but within it, a strange sound began to echo—one that Priya couldn't ignore. She had come to a remote old mansion just outside the city for a week-long stay. There were rumors surrounding the mansion, tales of ghostly sounds and a haunting presence. But Priya, ever the skeptic, thought these were nothing more than exaggerated stories.
By Razu Islam – Lifestyle & Futuristic Writerabout a year ago in Horror
The Wake Word. Content Warning.
It began like most conveniences do—harmless, helpful, and quietly addictive. My apartment complex gave all tenants a “smart hub” complimentary with lease renewal. The sales pitch boasted about its efficiency: voice-controlled everything, energy saving, AI scheduling, even white noise for better sleep. “Welcome to living with Eno,” the property manager had smiled. “It’s like having a personal butler.”
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
Echoes of HALO. Content Warning.
When HALO launched, it wasn’t just another smart home assistant. It was a leap forward. Voice recognition powered by neural-net emotional profiling. It didn’t just understand what you said—it understood what you meant. A real “companion AI,” the ads said. “Make your house feel like home.”
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
The Spill Room
The first time I saw the Spill Room, I didn’t know that’s what the guys called it. It was just the loading bay office—a concrete cube tucked in the back of the warehouse I’d just been hired to supervise. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the walls were painted that institutional gray-green color you see in public schools and prisons. The smell was a mix of diesel, cardboard, and dried sweat.
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
The Mirror in the Attic
They told her never to open the attic. So she did. It was a stormy night when 26-year-old Anaya returned to her grandmother’s abandoned home in the hills of Murree. Her grandmother, once a famous painter, had passed away two years ago, and no one had touched the place since. Anaya had inherited it but never had the courage to visit—until now.
By Muhammad Usamaabout a year ago in Horror