fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
To high a cost chapter 1
There is an unnamed stone at the North Mary’s Graveyard.why no one knows but some say it can answer any question.however the more complicated the question the higher the cost is to answer.I was told the legend by my old school friend Beny.He was the type of kid that didn’t know to mind his own business so he tried to be in everyones.As a result he know about every rumor and legend in town well among other things.No one was upset about it as far as I could tell.It wasn’t his fault they’d forget he was the.Beny learned a long time ago.That if your a quiet kid at the right time.people just keep talking and eventually let things slip.
By Mr.Forgottenabout a year ago in Horror
Season 2 :Whispers of the Forgotten: A Descent into Eldoria Manor
Chapter 1 The van’s engine hummed, a comforting, mundane sound that stood as a stark contrast to the small, ornate music box vibrating gently in Alistair Finch's hands. The melody that had begun to play in the vehicle was no longer a distant threat; it was now a constant, chilling presence, a sinister tune of grinding gears and synthesized strings. It was the music of a madman's heart.
By Tales That Breathe at Nightabout a year ago in Horror
Burn. Content Warning.
Video Games were his release. Kyle could yield to his base impulses, taking out frustrations by unleashing pain and destruction. One day, when he was furious with Dad for telling him to do his homework, he found a new game: “Ultra-Realistic Murder Sim.” He pictured his father as the helpless virtual victim at his mercy. Kyle cooked him with a flamethrower until his skin had bubbled off, and his eyes popped like air bubbles in a frying egg.
By Sebastian Swiftabout a year ago in Horror
Chapter 3: Part 1: Plotbound. Content Warning.
January 6, 2598 | 1:15 a.m. Saturday morning We haven't been here long. I would say about an hour, give or take. There was a slight wait for the owner, which I contributed to the time of arrival. Most stores are in fact closed around this time of the morning. Even though the door was locked I managed to fix that little issue with some knowledge that isn't my ability. I don't want to take unnecessary chances of being exposed if it can be helped. I am not saying I am proud of it, however, I will say that we did wake up Allard Denholm. At first Mr. Denholm was contentious, mostly due to the rude awakening. According to Mors, he managed to convince Mr. Denholm to have a conversation with me, even after waking him up from a preferable dream he was having. The moment I was greeted with the lovely owner, I promptly handed him the letter given to me by Mr. Blackwell. I have no idea what Orion Blackwell had written, however, the look on Mr. Denholm's face changed drastically after he read it. There were no questions, no interrogation tactics, just blind trust. Whatever was said in that letter must have been some powerful words. He quickly tucked the letter away. Not that I am complaining. It is must appreciated for whatever was said. I will admit that I had to inquire about the letter. I was met with the infamous "that is not your business" statement. Granted it does not truly matter what was said, I was simply curious. Anyways, that is no longer an issue. Back to the point of why I am writing this entry in particular. Once Mr. Denholm read the letter, he agreed to allow me into the backroom. There were a couple of rules that I had to agree to before he would allow me to use anything. One, do not take any books from the room. Everything must remain in the back room as it was when I walked in. Two, do not take pictures, recordings, or put any materials on a flash drive. According to Mr. Denholm it is perfectly alright to record a few things in my journal. Three, be respectful of property and of secrecy. Only trusted personnel may know about the backroom. All are rather acceptable rules to follow, which I have no qualms in following. Would not be the first time I had been in such a strict environment. Though I would not call this strict. I would state that this is cautious over all else. The goal of coming here is simple. I wish to find out exactly what transpired over the years. How did this become a reality? Who is Andromeda Morganite? What is her end goal? What is it that Mors apparently had taken? What changed? Who rose up to fight? Where is the resistance presently? Hopefully I can have some of those answered today. One step closer to figuring out a solution.
By Somniare Omniaabout a year ago in Horror
Three Wishes
It pleases me to no end that you've stayed by my campfire for so long, Friend. My travels oft take me to far-off places, with strange tongues and even stranger customs. To that end, it is a comfort having a familiar face around. I believe you'll enjoy this next tale, but forgive me if I get a few details wrong; I collected this story from far in the Orient, and it twists and turns almost as beautifully as the language I first heard it in.
By Natalie Grayabout a year ago in Horror
Ravenswood’s Whisper: Live Ghost Hunt Gone Wrong
Chapter 1: The Abandoned Manor The moon hung low over Ravenswood Manor, its pale light illuminating cracked windows and ivy-choked walls. Legend whispered of a malevolent spirit trapped within its corridors—a story of a vengeful ghost that had driven trespassers mad under the weight of its curse. Horror aficionados and paranormal thrill-seekers flocked to local forums, craving firsthand accounts of ghost sightings and eerie phenomena. But tonight, the manor would claim a new tale to haunt the depths of the internet’s most shadowy corners.
By Martin Williamsabout a year ago in Horror
Dark Forest
The villagers always warned against crossing the old stone bridge at dusk. Beyond it lay the Darkwood—a forest older than memory, shrouded in mist and silence so heavy it pressed against the chest like a weight. They called it cursed, haunted, a place where the lost were never found. But Elara had no choice. The letter she carried, worn soft from folding and unfolding, spoke of answers hidden deep within the forest. Her mother’s name was inked on its yellowed parchment, a name that had been a wound in her heart since childhood. If there was truth inside Darkwood, she would face it. The moment she stepped beneath the canopy, the world shifted. The air turned damp, cool, and thick with the smell of moss and decay. Branches curled overhead, clawing at the sky, blocking the last threads of sunlight. Each step sank into the earth as if the forest itself wished to hold her fast. She pressed on. The deeper Elara walked, the stranger the forest became. The trees whispered when the wind stilled. Hollow eyes seemed carved into bark, following her every movement. Once, she glimpsed a shadow darting between trunks—too tall to be an animal, too swift to be human. Her breath quickened. Courage, she told herself. You came for answers, not fear. Hours passed, or perhaps minutes—time twisted in the forest. She stumbled into a clearing where the ground was littered with broken stones, the remnants of cottages long devoured by roots. An abandoned village. Elara knelt beside a cracked well, tracing its rim. Images flashed in her mind: laughter, children running, a woman’s gentle voice calling her name. The vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving her shaken. The forest remembers, she thought. And it wants me to remember too. A rustle snapped her head up. From the treeline, glowing eyes blinked back at her. A wolf—though its body seemed stitched from shadow, its form rippling as if it barely belonged to the world. Another appeared, then another, until a circle of them closed around her. Her heart pounded. She reached for the dagger at her belt, though it felt laughably small against their numbers. The wolves did not attack. They simply stared, waiting. And then, from behind them, a voice. “You should not be here, child.” An old woman stepped forward, her cloak woven from leaves that seemed alive, shifting with every breath. Her eyes were the color of forest moss, and they pierced Elara with unsettling familiarity. Elara’s throat tightened. “Who are you?” “I am the forest’s keeper,” the woman said. “And so much more to you.” The wolves melted into mist, vanishing, but the weight of their gaze lingered. Elara’s hand trembled as she pulled the letter from her pocket. “This—this speaks of my mother. That she came here. That she lived here.” The woman’s expression softened with sorrow. “She did. And she gave her life to keep the curse at bay.” Elara’s breath caught. “Then… you knew her?” “I am her,” the woman whispered. The ground seemed to tilt beneath Elara’s feet. She shook her head. “That’s impossible. My mother is—” “Dead? Yes. What stands before you is what remains. The forest claimed me, bound me, made me its voice. I linger because you were too young to carry the burden. But now… you have come.” Tears blurred Elara’s vision. She wanted to run, to deny it, yet something deep inside her—the echo of that vision at the well—knew it was true. “Why bring me here?” she demanded. “Why haunt me with secrets?” “Because the forest is dying,” her mother said, stepping closer. “Its heart withers under the curse that began when greed poisoned this land. Only one with my blood can heal it. Only you.” Elara’s chest tightened with fear. She had never thought herself strong. She was no hero, no savior—just a seeker of truths. Yet the weight of her mother’s gaze demanded courage. “How?” Her mother placed a hand over Elara’s chest. “By giving it your strength. By facing what you fear most. The forest feeds on fear—but courage transforms it.” The air around them thickened. Trees groaned. Shadows writhed, forming monstrous shapes—claws, teeth, hollow faces from Elara’s nightmares. They surged forward, ready to devour her. Her instinct screamed to flee, but she forced her feet to stand firm. She thought of every night she had wondered who she was, where she came from. She thought of the ache of abandonment, the hunger for belonging. And she thought of the truth standing before her—her mother’s sacrifice, her own chance to be more than fear. Elara drew in a deep breath and shouted, “I am not afraid!” Light burst from her chest, blinding, searing through the shadows. The monsters shrieked and dissolved, the forest trembling as if exhaling a centuries-long breath. When the brilliance faded, her mother was gone. Only her cloak of leaves remained at Elara’s feet. She picked it up, pressing it to her heart. The forest around her was changed. The air felt lighter, the trees less hostile, the silence no longer suffocating but peaceful. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang—a sound the villagers had not heard in generations. Elara knew she would never be the same. She had come seeking answers and found them, but also something greater: courage, belonging, and a bond that even death could not sever. As she crossed back over the stone bridge at dawn, the villagers stared in shock. Behind her, Darkwood no longer loomed with menace. It stood tall and alive, its curse broken, its secrets safe within her heart. And for the first time in her life, Elara smiled.
By LUNA EDITHabout a year ago in Horror
