Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
Get Ready for Halloween with the Perfect Costume and Accessories
Halloween is the perfect time to unleash your creativity and transform into your favorite character or creature. Whether you're going for spooky, funny, or stylish, the right Halloween costumes and accessories can make all the difference. At The Fancy Dress, you’ll discover a wide selection of Halloween fancy dress options for every age and style.
By Fency Dressabout a year ago in Horror
Some people don't believe it, is it true or is it just a mistake in people's minds? Please comment and let me know.
(One Night's Story) The drought has been going on for a long time, the canals have dried up, the trees are drying up all around, people's cows and goats are dying due to lack of grass.... Shiuli's two cows have died, they are suffering from lack of food. Their father used to catch fish in the canal and sell them in the market, but there are no clouds, the canal has dried up. Their house is not near the food at night. The younger brother is crying because of hunger. Shiuli is sitting with her mother in her arms. Sheuli does all the work. The father goes fishing. But because of the lack of clouds for a long time, everything has become chaotic. It is 10 o'clock at night and his father is not coming. The younger brother is crying. A house alone. At the call of Maghrib, Shiuli's father always comes. He never lets them be alone at night. But what happened today? He has not seen his father. Today, suddenly the wind started blowing. Shiuli is sitting near the door. The wind is blowing outside. Shiuli's hair is flying. A beautiful scene has emerged in the light of the hurricane. Suddenly, I saw my father coming from afar, with a market bag in his hand. A smile on his father's face. He brought a big fish. Rice. This is it. Where did my father get the money? I am sitting in the market today feeling sad. I don't know what to do. Then a customer came to me. When the fish was being sold. He used to take fish all the time,,,,, He took a lot of fish, when he saw me he said what's up Mia you can't be seen now,,, I came to the market looking for you but I can't find you anywhere,,,,,,, I asked people who they were but someone said you have given up this business now,,,,,,,, what is the truth you have not given up
By Ratul Shrikhabout a year ago in Horror
The Vines
Vines crept out from underneath his bed, branching out like tentacles reaching for their prey. He was making a point of not looking at them. Burying his head under the covers and pretending they didn’t exist, just like his dad had told him to do. Panic began to set in as he could feel them now, sliding and writhing across the blanket. Searching. Hunting.
By Daniel Millingtonabout a year ago in Horror
Dead Man’s Wish
Dead Man’s Wish The old man’s house stood at the edge of the village, its windows darkened by years of neglect, and its walls cloaked in ivy. Children whispered tales of ghosts and curses, daring each other to approach its creaking porch. But to Mala, it was home—a place filled with memories of love, laughter, and the life she had built with her late husband, Rajan.
By Dr nivara bloomabout a year ago in Horror
No costume, no candy, no mercy.
On Halloween night, the houses in the small town of Bradley Hollow were ablaze with lights. The damp air was filled with the smell of candy and the sound of children laughing. Children were calling from door to door—"Trick or Treat!" Some dressed as vampires, some as wizards, some as ghosts, carrying buckets of candy.
By Nafiz Hossainabout a year ago in Horror
The Plot Twist I Didn’t See Coming: How My Love for Slasher and Mystery Movies Invaded My Nightmares. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I’ve always been a huge fan of thriller and slasher movies—there’s something about the tension, the twists, the chase, and the masked villains lurking in the shadows that pulls me in every time. Movies like Scream and Halloween have shaped my love for mystery and suspense, feeding my imagination and my writing. But after what I’d call my 50th rewatch, I started noticing something strange: these films weren’t just entertainment anymore. They were slipping into my subconscious—and showing up in my nightmares.
By Travis Johnsonabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Mirror
The antique shop had no name. It was folded into a shadow between a boarded-up bakery and a tax office no one remembered visiting. Lin scrolled past it every day on her way to class, earbuds in, eyes on her phone-until one rainy Tuesday when her Spotify glitched, her playlist melted into silence, and a shiver like static ran down her spine.
By Jannat Hashmiabout a year ago in Horror
"Waking Into Darkness"
--- It started on a cold, silent night. My chest tightened, my breath turned shallow, and my voice faded to a whisper. Alone in my apartment, the darkness closed in until everything went black. I thought I had died. But I awoke in a strange forest, beneath a sickly green sky. The trees were barren, their twisted limbs like claws. The silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural. Shadows darted through the trees, whispers slithered through the air. I was being watched. Driven by instinct, I walked. Eventually, I came to a crooked bridge over a river of black water. A pale figure in a tattered cloak waited on the other side. He silently raised his arm and pointed behind me. I turned—and saw a monstrous creature of shadow and flame. Its voice didn’t enter through my ears but pressed into my thoughts: “You have crossed into the realm of the forgotten.” I ran. I sprinted through darkness until I collapsed. The earth beneath me cracked open, and I fell—through layers of time, voices, and screams—before landing hard in a new nightmare. Now I was in a fleshy hallway with pulsing walls and flickering lights. The air reeked of rot. At the end was a door... my apartment door. Inside, everything looked normal. But the TV screen reflected silent figures standing behind me. I turned. Nothing. Then the TV switched on. A news anchor’s voice: “The young man who died last night was buried today. Neighbors report strange occurrences.” My picture flashed on the screen. I touched my face—cold. My breath left no fog. I screamed. Then I woke up. In my bed. Safe. Breathing. Just a dream. Or so I thought—until I saw fingerprints outside my window. My door, which I’d locked, was ajar. A shadow shifted in the corner. I tried to dismiss it as sleep paralysis. I even called a friend. He laughed—until he glanced into the dark corner. His expression changed instantly. “Who lives with you now?” he whispered. “Please tell me you didn’t actually die.” He left in a panic, refusing to explain. That night, I didn’t sleep. The shadow moved along the walls, lights failed, my phone died. My TV showed my funeral—mourners walking past my coffin as I watched from the couch. Again, I screamed. No one heard. Then I woke up. Again. Now I was on a train. The passengers sat frozen, staring forward. I asked where we were going. No one answered. Outside the window: the same dead forest. The same crooked bridge. We were going back. Then it clicked. Each time I “woke up,” I was still dreaming—or sinking deeper into something else. Each layer peeled reality away. Finally, I awoke once more—in a coffin. The lid creaked open to reveal my apartment ceiling. I sat up, gasping. And I realized the truth. I had never really woken up. Maybe I never would. Or maybe… I was still dead. ---
By Nasir Khanabout a year ago in Horror
When I Died in My Dream
The story begins on a cold, gloomy night when I felt my chest tighten and my breath grow shallow. I was alone in my apartment, silence screaming around me. I tried to call for help, but my voice cracked into whispers. Darkness started to blur the edges of my vision until everything went black. I died. Or so I thought. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the middle of an unfamiliar forest. The sky above me was a sickly shade of green, and the air was heavy with an unbearable silence. The trees had no leaves, only crooked, bony branches that reached out like claws. I stood up, confused and terrified, and started walking. I didn’t know where I was, but something deep inside told me that I shouldn’t stay still. As I walked, I noticed strange shadows moving behind the trees, too quick to fully see, but always there. I could hear whispers—soft, unintelligible words that made my skin crawl. I wasn’t alone. I was being watched. Soon, I reached a crooked bridge hanging over a river of black water. On the other side, a figure waited for me. A tall, pale man in a torn cloak with hollow eyes. He raised his arm and pointed behind me. I turned. Behind me stood a massive creature—half shadow, half flame. Its voice entered my mind, not through my ears, but like a memory being inserted without permission. “You have crossed the realm of the forgotten.” I ran. I didn’t know where I was going, but I ran until my legs gave out and I fell. The ground opened beneath me, and I fell through darkness, through centuries of whispers, through layers of screams and laughter and silence, until I hit the cold, hard ground. I woke up in a narrow hallway. The walls pulsed like veins, and the floor was soft like flesh. Lights flickered above me. I stumbled forward, gagging from the rotten stench in the air. At the end of the hallway was a door, and behind it... my apartment. I walked through. Everything looked exactly as it had before I “died.” But I wasn’t alone. In the reflection of my TV screen, I saw them—figures standing silently behind me, staring, waiting. I turned quickly. Nothing. Then the TV flickered on by itself. A news reporter’s voice said, “The young man who died last night was buried today—neighbors report strange sightings in the area since his passing.” My photo was on the screen. Panic filled me. I touched my face. I was cold. My breath didn’t fog the window. I screamed. Then I woke up. In my bed. Safe. Warm. Breathing. Just a dream. I laughed, shaking. Just a horrible nightmare. But when I looked at my window, I saw fingerprints from the outside. My door was slightly open, though I remembered locking it. And in the corner of the room... A shadow moved. Not everything you dream is a dream. Some dreams follow you back. I tried to convince myself it was sleep paralysis, a leftover echo of the nightmare. But every time I blinked, the shadow seemed closer. I called a friend over, needing someone to confirm reality. He laughed when I told him the story, but when he looked into the dark corner... His smile vanished. "Who lives with you now?" he asked, backing toward the door. "Tell me you didn’t actually die." He left in a rush, refusing to explain what he saw. That night, I didn’t sleep. The shadow crept along the walls like ink spilled in water. My lights wouldn’t turn on. My phone stopped working. Every time I looked at the TV, it played my funeral. I was sitting there, watching mourners walk past my coffin. I screamed again. But no one heard me. And then... I woke up. Again. Now I wasn’t in my room, but on a train. Everyone around me was silent, motionless, staring ahead. I asked where we were going. No one responded. I looked out the window and saw the same forest, the same bridge. We were going back. I began to understand. Every time I woke up, I was still dreaming. Each layer brought me closer to something real—or perhaps further away from it. The final time I woke up, I was in the coffin. The lid creaked open slowly, and I saw my apartment ceiling. I gasped, sat up, drenched in sweat. This time... I knew. I had never really woken up. I was still dreaming. Or worse... Still dead.
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Horror
