Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
The Whistler in the Pines.
Deep in Asheville, North Carolina, there is a half-mile forest that people avoid at night. There is no warning on the trails or fencing, but the empty people know better. They say that something that passes through those pines does so, something that whistles as it goes.
By Pen to Publishabout a year ago in Horror
ghost rent
Rainy evening journey The name of the village is Nishintpur. A typical village of Bengal, surrounded by greenery, surrounded by rivers and canals. But at one end of this village, the road that leads towards Calcutta, many strange stories are heard about it. Especially at night.
By MD. Tanvir Hossainabout a year ago in Horror
Do Jinns Really Exist? A Mysterious Tale from My Village
Growing up in a quiet village nestled between fields and forests in rural Pakistan, I often heard stories about supernatural beings. My grandmother used to speak of “jinns” with a mix of fear and respect. “They live among us,” she would whisper while lighting an oil lamp, “especially near the old shrine after sunset.” Like most children, I was both curious and skeptical. That changed one summer night. It was the summer of 2007. Electricity was unreliable, and nights were usually lit by lanterns and the soft glow of the moon. My cousin Bilal and I were staying over at our aunt’s home on the far edge of the village. Her house was close to an abandoned well and an old, neglected shrine—both places villagers avoided after dark. That evening, we decided to go for a walk after dinner. It was unusually humid, and the air felt heavy, almost unnatural. As we walked along the dusty path, Bilal dared me to take a shortcut through the field behind the shrine. It was the path the elders always warned us about, claiming strange voices were often heard there. I laughed it off. “We’re grown up now. These are just stories to scare kids,” I said confidently. Bilal grinned, and we took the path. At first, it was quiet—almost too quiet. The sound of crickets had disappeared. The wind had stilled. The trees stood like statues, motionless and observing. As we walked further, I felt a strange chill, even though it was a hot summer night. Then, it happened. We both heard it at the same time—a whisper. Faint, broken, almost like someone calling out from a distance, “Aaao…” We froze. "Did you hear that?" I whispered. "Yes," Bilal replied, his voice trembling. We looked around. No one was there. No footprints, no rustling, nothing. Just the sound again—closer now, more clear—"Aaao… mere paas..." My legs stiffened. I grabbed Bilal’s arm, and we turned around. That’s when we saw it. By the old tree near the shrine, stood a tall, shadowy figure. Its body seemed to flicker like smoke, and it had no face—just two glowing eyes. It wasn’t walking—it was gliding. Slowly. Toward us. I couldn't speak. My body wouldn't move. Bilal finally shouted, "RUN!" and we took off, stumbling, falling, and getting back up. We didn’t look back. We ran until we saw the lights of our aunt’s home and burst inside, panting and terrified. Our aunt looked at us, concerned. “You two went near the shrine, didn’t you?” she asked firmly. We nodded, shaking. She made us sit, gave us water, and whispered a prayer. Then she said something I still remember vividly: “Never doubt what you don’t understand. Some things are not meant to be seen, and some paths are not meant to be walked.” That night, I didn’t sleep. For weeks, Bilal and I avoided that part of the village. The figure we saw—whether real or imagined—haunted us. And we were not the only ones. Later, we discovered that others had seen it too. Some villagers believed it was a guardian jinn of the shrine. Others claimed it was a cursed soul trapped between worlds. Years have passed, and I now live in the city. But every time I visit my village and walk by that old shrine, I feel that same heaviness in the air. The same silence. The same chill. And I wonder… Was it a jinn? Was it fear playing tricks on young minds? Or was it something beyond explanation? I no longer laugh at the old stories. I listen. And I remember. Because in our village, even today, when night falls and the wind stops, the whisper still returns: "Aaao… mere paas..."
By Tahir Mehmoodabout a year ago in Horror
"True Ghost Stories":
Chapter 1: The Unseen Guest It was a warm summer night when Sarah and her friends decided to rent a cabin deep in the Appalachian Mountains. Seeking an escape from their busy lives, they wanted nothing more than a weekend of laughter and relaxation. The cabin, though rustic and charming during the day, took on a far more sinister appearance once night fell.
By Muhammad Azeemullahabout a year ago in Horror
The Graveyard That Eats: A Night in Black Hollow Cemetery
1. The Town of Infinite Knowledge As the sun was setting, the bus stopped at Black Hollow’s edge. When I asked the driver about the cemetery, he avoided my gaze. He whispered, “Nobody goes that way unless they're very desperate,” and crossed himself. I wish I had listened. There was no GPS information for Black Hollow. When I mentioned the graveyard to them, the locals became quiet and their gaze wandered to the gates leaning against the trees. An old man at the general store sold me a flashlight and a smell-evoking flask, saying it was for my protection, but refused to take my money. He reassured her, “Look at it like a present.” That's my last answer for you. Then I observed the scars on his wrists- they were five thin lines, as if something had pulled him toward the ground.
By Kazi mayaz ishfiabout a year ago in Horror
Things You Can't Say five. Content Warning.
After the anime is over, Master takes me upstairs. Instead of having me walk all the way upstairs on all fours, he carried me. Since I was tired from everything that has happened today. Not just the whole learning to walk on all fours thing. And trying to run like the animal that he wants me to be. That wasn’t really all that easy at all. A whole lot less easy than I had ever thought it would be. Not that I ever gave walking on…oh, who cares.
By Raphael Fontenelleabout a year ago in Horror
The Man in the Reflection Isn’t Me
The Man in the Reflection Isn’t Me It began the night I decided to quit my job. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing my teeth. I was exhausted, half-zoned out, staring at myself. But for a second — just a flicker — he didn’t move when I did.
By Muhammad Hakimiabout a year ago in Horror
