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Most recently published stories in Horror.

The Last Broadcast from Room 404. AI-Generated.
The Last Broadcast from Room 404 They said the camera feed was corrupted. Static. Blurry. Impossible to decode. But I saw it—clear as day—before they took it down. It began with a livestream: “Join me as I spend the night in Room 404!" That was the caption. Posted by internet ghost-hunter and wannabe influencer, Mason Gray. He was known for exploring supposedly haunted places—graveyards, asylum ruins, and cursed houses. But Room 404? That place was *different*. The Crimson Rose Hotel stood abandoned for nearly twenty years on the outskirts of Portland. Room 404 was sealed off before the rest of the building had even closed. Rumors swirled—deaths, disappearances, a guest who gouged his own eyes out claiming “he saw the real world.”
By Asghar Badshahabout a year ago in Horror
Whispers From The Attic
The attic door was never supposed to open. It was nailed shut when we bought the house—a 19th-century colonial on the edge of Ashfield, a forgotten town with more gravestones than people.
By James World about a year ago in Horror
The Day the Sky Forgot to Shine
A moment of darkness. A lifetime of light. --- It was the kind of morning that felt… wrong. The sun didn’t rise the way it used to. No golden hue filtered through the clouds. No birds sang. No gentle warmth touched the earth. People across the town of Noorabad stood on their balconies and rooftops, staring at the gray sky, confused and unsure.
By Movies Channelabout a year ago in Horror
The King Among the Gentle
The forest had long whispered of balance—of tooth and hoof, chase and flight, life and loss. But on one extraordinary day, balance looked like something no one had ever seen before.
By Masih Ullahabout a year ago in Horror
Behind the Mirror
By: [salman] --- Introduction We all have mirrors in our homes. They're supposed to reflect us—our truth, our reality. But what happens when your reflection doesn’t follow you… and instead watches you?
By Salman about a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Walls”
The Whispering Walls Some houses don’t want to be sold. They want to feed. Maya Singh had dealt with plenty of old properties in her real estate career, but Whittaker Mansion was different. The house had been abandoned for decades. The townspeople never spoke of it directly—just shook their heads and crossed themselves when someone mentioned the name. Most said it was cursed. A few said it was alive. Maya, ever the skeptic, chalked it up to small-town superstition. She needed a big sale, and this house promised a hefty commission. One last deal before promotion. She arrived just before dusk. Whittaker Mansion stood at the edge of the forest like a forgotten tomb—three stories of rotting wood, shattered windows, and a sagging roof. The iron gate creaked open before she even touched it. She paused. The wind had picked up. The trees behind the house swayed as if whispering warnings. Maya ignored the chill in her spine and stepped forward. The front door opened with an unnatural ease, groaning like something waking up. As she crossed the threshold, her phone buzzed and died instantly, even though it had full battery moments earlier. The temperature dropped. A rotten, metallic smell hit her nostrils—like blood and wet wood. Inside, the house was darker than it should’ve been. The windows, though shattered, let in no light. Her flashlight flickered as she walked past long-abandoned furniture and dust-covered portraits. The eyes in the paintings seemed to move. She told herself it was just nerves. In the master bedroom, she began taking photos to upload later. The first few images looked normal. Then something whispered her name. “Maya...” She turned instantly. No one. The room was still. Her phone glitched again. All her photos vanished. One single image replaced them: a distorted photo of her own face—mouth stretched unnaturally wide in a silent scream, eyes black and lifeless. She tried to leave, but the hallway behind her had changed. Longer. Colder. The air thicker. She walked faster, then ran, but every door led to somewhere new. The floorboards groaned like something breathing underneath. Then she saw it—a stairway down to the basement, lit by faint candlelight. She didn't want to go, but her feet moved on their own. The basement reeked of mildew and burnt flesh. Walls were covered in black handprints. Children’s handprints. Then she saw her: a little girl, soaking wet, standing in the shadows. Her head tilted unnaturally to one side, water dripping from her hair onto the floor. “It still hurts,” the girl said. “They burned us here. They fed us to her.” The girl vanished. Then came the noise—screaming, dozens of them, layered over each other, coming from the walls. Maya screamed and sprinted back upstairs. But the house was now shifting in front of her eyes—walls expanding, doors shrinking, the ceiling breathing. She burst into the living room. It wasn’t empty. Figures surrounded her—shadows in human shape, their faces burned or missing. And in the center, a red velvet armchair turned slowly to reveal a woman—ageless, perfect, and horribly wrong. Her eyes glowed like embers. “Welcome,” the woman whispered. “You’ve already signed the contract.” The walls wept blood. Maya tried to scream but her voice vanished. The house didn’t want to be sold. It wanted her. One week later, Whittaker Mansion was listed again online. No agency name. No contact number. Just the caption: “Renovated. Ready to Show.” A photo was attached. A woman stood in the upstairs window, her mouth twisted into an eternal scream, her eyes hollow, staring at nothing. Some say it's a glitch in the image. Others say it’s Maya… Still waiting for the next buyer.
By Salman about a year ago in Horror
The Most Terrifying Night of My Life – True Story. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I never believed in ghosts, spirits, or anything supernatural. I always thought horror stories were just exaggerated tales to scare kids or boost movie sales. But everything changed one stormy night in July 2021.
By Shayan Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Voice Behind the Mirror
There’s an old superstition in my village: never speak to your reflection after midnight. As children, we laughed it off. It sounded like the kind of tale told to keep kids from playing in the dark. But that was before I experienced the voice behind the mirror.
By James wrathsabout a year ago in Horror
The Light in the Well
We all heard the stories. That it was bottomless. That a girl had fallen in and never been found. That, on certain nights, you could hear her crying from the darkness below.
By Afzal Ahmad /Reg no:24MDBCS0593about a year ago in Horror
Season 2 : The Hollowing: How a Village’s Children Became Vessels for Something Older
Chapter 9: The Child Who Could Not Dream April 6th, 1982 – 3:03 AM The orphanage slept. Every window now blacked out, as though reality itself had stopped reflecting. The clocks had ceased ticking, and in every room .... even in the staff quarters .... mouths twitched silently in shared torment.
By Tales That Breathe at Nightabout a year ago in Horror
They left me in the morgue. Content Warning.
Trigger Warnings: Psychological decay, claustrophobia, body horror, grief, and disturbing imagery. ---They Left Me in the Morgue Overnight
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Broadcast from Europa
In 2113, after decades of planning, the Europa Deep Research Initiative launched its most ambitious mission: “Echo-9.” The spacecraft was sent to Jupiter’s icy moon Europa to investigate the liquid ocean beneath its frozen crust. For centuries, scientists had speculated that microbial life might exist there—but what Echo-9’s crew discovered changed everything.
By Razu Islam – Lifestyle & Futuristic Writerabout a year ago in Horror