book reviews
Book reviews for horror fans; weather a sleepless night with literary accounts of hauntings, possessions, zombies, vampires and beyond.
I Found a Diary Under My Floorboards… And I Wish I Hadn’t Read It
When I bought the house, I was looking for quiet. A single-story cottage, built in 1912, just outside a forgotten Pennsylvania town. The real estate agent called it “charming with potential,” which, of course, meant it needed work.
By MALIK Saadabout a year ago in Horror
"The Tiler's Pattern"
"The Tiler's Pattern" For thirty years, Luca had been tiling floors. He had tiled foyers, baths, and kitchens. He used to make a joke about having laid down more ceramic in his lifetime than most people walk on. The air in his van was constantly heavy with the smell of dried labour, with a subtle hint of dust and grout.
By MD. MOKAROM IMAMabout a year ago in Horror
The Scorpion in the Jar – A Sting from the Past
I never believed in bad omens—until the day I opened that old jar. It was a dusty afternoon in my grandfather’s abandoned farmhouse, a place where silence echoed louder than sound. After his passing, no one had visited it for years. My curiosity led me back to that crumbling house, hoping to find pieces of his forgotten past. I never expected to find something that would change my life. As I entered the creaky wooden door, a thick smell of age and secrets greeted me. The sunlight filtered through the cracked windows, illuminating particles of dust dancing in the air. I walked toward his study room, untouched for decades, filled with old books, faded photographs, and antique items that whispered forgotten stories. But something strange sat on the shelf—a large glass jar, sealed tightly, covered with a thick cloth and tied with a red thread. Unlike the rest of the room, the jar was spotless, as if someone had cleaned it regularly. A strange chill ran down my spine as I reached out and removed the cloth. Inside the jar, suspended in a pale liquid, was a scorpion—its tail curled upward, stinger sharp, black body preserved like a sleeping nightmare. Why would my grandfather keep such a thing? Curiosity overtook fear. I placed the jar on the table and noticed a note beneath it. In his handwriting, it read: "Do not open. This jar holds more than death—it holds memory." A part of me laughed. A scorpion in a jar couldn’t hurt me. The lid was old, rusty. I twisted it slightly… and it snapped open. The smell was sharp, bitter, like rotting herbs. But what happened next defied every law of nature. The liquid inside began to bubble, the scorpion trembled—and before I could react, it leapt out. I screamed and stumbled back. The scorpion landed on the floor, alive—impossibly alive. It hissed. Not the sound of an insect, but something deeper, darker. Its eyes glowed faintly red. I backed away, heart racing. The door behind me slammed shut on its own. My phone had no signal. The air grew colder. Suddenly, the scorpion scurried toward the bookshelf and vanished behind it. I ran to the door, tried to open it—but it wouldn’t budge. Then, whispers filled the room. I turned—no one. The mirror on the wall began to fog from within, and then letters appeared: “You opened the past. Now it will sting.” I was trapped. Hours passed, or maybe minutes—I couldn’t tell. The whispers continued. They weren’t just sounds; they were voices. Familiar. My grandfather’s voice among them: “I warned you, child. Some things are buried for a reason.” The scorpion returned—only now, it wasn’t small. It had grown, swelling like a shadow. Its tail flicked dangerously, tapping the floor with eerie rhythm. I grabbed a chair, swung it, missed. The scorpion climbed the wall like liquid darkness and perched on the ceiling, staring. And then… it spoke. Not in words, but in feelings. A rush of memories not mine filled my head: my grandfather, younger, terrified, holding the same jar. A deal gone wrong. A curse. The scorpion was a guardian of something ancient, something trapped—but when I opened the jar, I freed it. I sank to my knees. Tears fell. “Please… let me go…” Suddenly, silence. The door creaked open on its own. I looked around—the scorpion was gone. I rushed out, drove home, and never returned. But the nightmares didn’t stop. To this day, I don’t know whether I faced a spirit, a demon, or my own guilt. But every now and then, I find scorpion-shaped marks on my windows. And I remember that note: “This jar holds more than death—it holds memory.” Now, I believe it held a warning. Now, I believe it held a warning
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Horror
The Educated Ghost
I was in my second year of intermediate. It was the night of the new moon. It was pitch dark all around. I couldn't see anything in front of me. It was almost 11 pm. But 11 pm is very late in my country house. Everyone had turned off the lights and was preparing to sleep. I was walking along the road. By walking, I mean I was returning home. It was a friend's birthday. I was returning home after chatting and eating at that friend's house. All the shops were closed. Only a few dogs were roaming around the road. I crossed the main road and entered the alley. Now, to go to my house, I had to cross this alley. I could hear the chirping of insects. It was a creepy feeling. Of course, I was never afraid of ghosts. Many times, I had come through this alley at around 2/3 am and bought cigarettes from the cigarette shop at the intersection. That day, no such fear crossed my mind. I was walking down the alley. I had a lit cigarette in my hand. I was looking at the road from time to time in the light of my mobile phone and humming the song "Dekha toh tujhe yaar, dil me baje guitar" Just then, in the middle of the alley, I suddenly heard someone say, "Excuse me, brother." I turned the light of my mobile phone around. I looked around but there was no one there. I thought that someone might have said it in one of the houses on either side of the alley. I started walking again. After taking two steps, I heard that call again, "Excuse me, brother," and a small crack in my throat. This time, I stopped. I felt a slight fear, but it was not from a ghost or a kidnapper. I thought again that if I run from here now and it was someone I knew, they would tell everyone about the run and puncture my prestige. My throat was not working. Still, I summoned up artificial courage and said in a serious voice, "Who?" The answer came, "Brother, I am your younger brother's friend. I am in great danger. I need your help." I asked with a little annoyance in my voice this time, "Are you talking like a ghost in this tone?" The answer was, "Brother, I am a ghost. Why should I talk like a ghost when I am a ghost? I didn't know what to say. "Who are you, where are you?" I was just thinking of shouting, "Save me," when he said again, "Brother, put out the cigarette in your hand and throw it away, then I will be able to come to you. You know that ghosts get scared when they see a snake." You can't see me. When you look at me, you can see that the hairs on my body stand on end in fear. Does hair stand on end in fear? I have heard for a long time that hair stands on end in fear. He said that the hairs of your people stand on end in fear. The hairs of our ghosts stand on end in fear and start to stand on end in fear. I didn't throw away the cigarette but gave it a strong pull. The ghost said in a somewhat pleading tone, "Brother, please don't show me fear like this, I have a heart problem." I said, "Who are you, tell me the truth?" I know you are someone I know. You are trying to mistreat me. I don't believe in ghosts. He said, "Don't talk like that, brother. If we call ourselves ghosts, why don't you respect us? Who can deny our existence if you think like this? Did I ever say that humans don't have anything to say, humans don't breathe?" I understood, a ghost with a lot of self-respect. I asked him what do you need from me? How can I help you? He replied, "Brother, I will tell you to please put out the cigarette in your hand and throw it away." The camel has become a camel. If you hold it like this, you will get a little bit of it on your finger. I looked at the cigarette. It is really finished. After a while, I really started to smoke. I threw it away and put it out with my foot. Then I said, now tell me what is your problem? The ghost started telling his story. My name is camel. While I was alive, my name was camel, but when I died, my name became camel. I asked how long ago you died? He replied, "I think you are a few lakhs of years old." Then he said, "My name is camel, I am talking while eating chana." I was surprised and asked if ghosts drink tea again? Utghat said why not? Ghosts drink tea and make people laugh. Ghosts have to stay up all night to scare people. Why do they stay up all night to scare people? I just swallowed a little. I didn't know what to say. I don't want to have tea with any ghost at this time of night. I said, look Utghat, you have to stay up all night to scare people, but I don't have any duty to stay up all night to scare any ghost. I'm going home to sleep, so I won't drink tea now. Tell me about your problem quickly.He started talking again, "Brother, I am a very educated person. I have studied up to class two. I got a scholarship in class five and eight in the talent pool." I stopped him and asked him, "How did you get a scholarship in class five and eight in the talent pool if you studied up to class two?" He replied, "Brother, just like you, you get admitted in class one and study up to masters, but our society is the opposite of yours. You get admitted in masters and then you get admitted in class one and then you get left behind." I said with annoyance in my voice, "What a bunch of stupid rules." Utghat said, "No, brother, these are just rules. Your rules are useless. You studied very well in primary and secondary schools. You studied hard, you studied hard, you studied hard. It is more logical to study hard and go to a lower class than to study hard and go to a higher class. This makes my heart strong. I could not say anything to his logic. Then I asked, "Why did you stop studying till class two?" If you had passed class one, you would have been completely complete. She then said, "That's the story I'll tell you, Bhai." When I entered the class, my class was filled with the name of Cheneha. I lost my love for her while I was still alive. Cheneha became the name of the girl who was about to be married. After that, Bhai, I fell in love with Cheneha. Having said this, she kept quiet again. I asked, "What happened then?" After a few seconds, she said, "I was a little embarrassed to tell the story of my love, so Bhai, I kept quiet for a while." I said to myself, "Even ghosts are embarrassed again." I just said it out loud, then what's the story? Utghat started talking again and I told my friend about my dream house. She did not respond to my proposal at all. I started eating, studying and going to school. One day I wrote a story on a piece of paper, "Look, I am playing the guitar with you" and gave it to her. She liked the story very much. She asked me where I got this story? I am a very educated person. I don't tell lies. I told him that this is a Hindi song from Manav Samaj. This story made me stop listening to it. Then he said that if I can collect this song from Manav Samaj, he will remember me. After that, I started collecting this song by studying and listening. But no one helped me, brother. My ghost, upon hearing my voice, runs in the opposite direction or just stops there and starts to cry. I said, "Why do you introduce yourself as a ghost to everyone? If you wanted, you could have taken the form of a human and taken the song from someone." Utthag replied, "I could have done it, my brother." I could have done many other things, like stealing the mobile phone of someone who has this song on their phone and taking it away. But my brother, I am an educated ghost. I do not lie to anyone or steal or deceive anyone. When I was walking in the alley with my friends because of my sorrow, I could hear them singing this song. Now, my brother, my sister is crying. Saying this, Utgat started laughing. I asked why are you laughing? He said, "I am laughing because of my sorrow, brother." You are crying because of my sorrow, and we are laughing. I told him to stop laughing. He stopped laughing. I asked, "How can I give you the song?" He said, "Brother, I am turning on the Bluetooth on my mobile. Please send it." I searched for "new devices" on Bluetooth. After a while, I saw some hieroglyphics. Utghat said that was the name of his device. It was written in ghost language. I sent the song to that device and said that you could have bought the CD of the song and taken it with you. Utghat said that when you went to buy a ladder, you would have bought it from me by giving me a human identity. You would not sell ladders to anyone in the ghost's corner. I am a ghost who is educated. You cannot buy ladders from anyone by giving false human identities. When you went to buy my ladder, you would have read my money. Where will I get my money, brother. You have nothing to say about money in our ghost society. Our currency is a thorn. With that, you would not have been able to buy a ladder in our society. I am an educated ghost. I would not have been able to steal even a person's money. I was impressed by the honesty of the educated ghost. After a while, the song was completely sent. Utghat started laughing again. I asked, did you get the song. Why are you laughing again? Utghat said, "Brother, this is a laugh of pain, not a laugh of joy." I cannot understand what you are saying to me, brother. As I was saying, "Brother, many great brothers," he started laughing again. I understood that he had become very emotional. I told Utghat that if you ever need any song after this, then come to me. He said, "What's wrong with you, brother?" When will I ever be able to sing a song of the same name in front of my acquaintance? I said, "Well, don't worry about it now. I'm in love with my acquaintance. Now go and complete your studies and get married."Utgat said, "Yes, brother, of course." I will definitely invite you to our wedding, brother. I am an educated person, brother. I never do anything wrong, I will definitely invite you. Then, brother. You will be fine." Saying this, Utgat left laughing (meaning crying). I stood there for a while longer. Then I started walking towards home.
By M Kamrul Islam about a year ago in Horror
The Room no. 310
In 2013, a university student named Arif moved into a boys’ hostel in Chittagong, Bangladesh. It was an old British-era building, used during colonial times and later converted into student housing. Arif, a first-year engineering student, didn’t mind the cracked walls or flickering lights. Rent was cheap, and the campus was nearby.
By Golam Ratulabout a year ago in Horror
The Silent Room. AI-Generated.
It all began on a rainy evening in November. The kind of evening where the sky was a blanket of gray, and the wind howled through the trees like a warning from something ancient. Ryan had just moved into the countryside, looking for peace away from the chaos of the city. His new home, a small two-story cottage, was nestled between fields and forest, a good hour from the nearest town.
By M Kamrul Islam about a year ago in Horror
The Candle in the Window
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was the kind of place kids dared each other to approach, the kind of place that made the wind sound like whispers. Locals called it Hollow Pine, though no one remembered why. The forest had long since swallowed the path to its door, and the trees grew too close, as if trying to keep something in.
By Ashikur Rahman Bipulabout a year ago in Horror
The Day the Internet Went Silent
It started at 6:43 AM on a Wednesday. I remember the exact time because I was staring at my phone, trying to refresh my Instagram feed for the 17th time while brushing my teeth. Instead of memes and sleepy selfies, I got a gray screen and a spinning circle of doom.
By Haroon Bahramzaiabout a year ago in Horror
