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.

The Whispers in the Walls
It began with the scratching. At first, Daniel thought it was just mice. The old countryside house creaked at night anyway, so a little rustling between the walls didn’t seem unusual. But this was different. The sound didn’t come in short bursts like rodents scurrying—it was slow, deliberate… almost like fingernails dragging along wood. Daniel had inherited the house from his late uncle, who had died alone. The family never talked about him much, except to say that he’d become “strange” toward the end. But Daniel didn’t care; the house was free, and he needed a fresh start. On the third night, the scratching turned into whispers. They were faint, almost lost beneath the hum of the refrigerator. He couldn’t make out the words, but they seemed to be coming from behind his bedroom wall. Whenever he pressed his ear to the plaster, the whispers stopped, as if they knew he was listening. By the end of the week, the voice—if it was a voice—had grown bolder. Sometimes it laughed, a low, rattling chuckle that made the hairs on Daniel’s neck rise. He tried ignoring it. He turned the TV up loud, wore earplugs, even slept on the couch downstairs. But the sound followed him, drifting through vents and doorways, never letting him rest. One night, at exactly 3:17 a.m., the whisper became clear enough to understand. "Daniel… let me out." The voice was wet, as though it came from a throat filled with thick fluid. Daniel froze in bed. “Who are you?” he whispered back before he realized how insane it was to talk to a wall. There was a pause. Then—"You know me." He didn’t. He was sure of it. But the way it spoke, like they shared a secret, made his stomach twist. The next day, he searched the attic. Dust clung to his hair, cobwebs brushed his face. In the far corner, he found something odd—two planks of the attic floor were newer than the rest, nailed down sloppily. Curiosity overpowered caution. He pried them up. Inside the hollow space was a small box. Its wood was blackened, as though scorched, and it reeked of rot. Daniel’s skin prickled. He lifted the lid. Inside were human teeth. Not in neat rows, but loose and rattling, some yellowed, some brown with dried blood. On top of them lay a folded note. It read: "Never open the wall." That night, the whisper was closer. "You found my teeth, Daniel… Now find me." He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. The voice had moved from the wall to directly beside his bed. It breathed in his ear. Sometimes it hummed an unrecognizable lullaby. By morning, Daniel was pale and shaking. He called a handyman, desperate to check inside the wall. The man arrived, took one look at Daniel’s sunken eyes, and hesitated. “What exactly am I looking for?” Daniel lied. “Maybe mold. Just… something in there.” The handyman cut into the plaster. The smell hit them instantly—sweet, foul, unmistakable. Something had died in there. But when the section of wall came down, there was no animal. No body. Just darkness, stretching far deeper than the physical dimensions of the house should allow. The handyman swore and backed away. “I’m not touching this.” He left without even collecting payment. Daniel stood before the opening, his breath shallow. The blackness seemed to pulse, like it was breathing. And then… something moved. A pale hand, too long and too thin, slid from the darkness, resting on the edge of the wall. Its nails were cracked and bleeding. The voice came again, clearer than ever: "Thank you for opening the door." The hand gripped the plaster and another appeared, pulling the thing forward. Its head emerged—bald, skin stretched tight over bone, mouth split wide with missing teeth. Its eyes were pits of oozing black. Daniel stumbled backward. “Stay away!” It crawled out slowly, like it had all the time in the world. “I waited for you,” it rasped. “Your uncle kept me here, but you… you’re kinder.” Daniel turned to run, but the thing was fast. It seized his ankle, cold fingers digging into flesh. He kicked, screaming, but its grip was unbreakable. It pulled him toward the hole in the wall. “No! Please!” His nails scraped the floorboards, leaving desperate grooves. The blackness inside the wall seemed to swallow the light around it. The creature’s mouth split into something like a smile. “Home.” And then Daniel was gone. The house was silent again. For three weeks, nothing happened. The neighbors assumed Daniel had moved. The house sat empty, its windows dark. Until one night, a new sound came from inside. Scratching. Followed by a whisper. "Let me out."
By Muhammad Bilalabout a year ago in Horror
Hunting Party
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By Scott Sterlingabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Step
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By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Horror
Series Finale. Content Warning.
You'd think dying would hurt more. I'm sitting here now, watching my blood pool beneath the microphone stand, and all I can think about is how we were only twelve minutes into episode forty-seven. The red recording light still blinks on my laptop screen. Still capturing everything.
By Scott Sterlingabout a year ago in Horror
The Marbling
This story contains images that may disturb some, but is meant to teach, not glorify harm. A little piece de resistance for Steak and Zuchcchini day.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Linabout a year ago in Horror
Was ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ a Happy or Dark Ending?
Eyes Wide Shut was directed by Stanley Kubrick, who became known for his horror film, The Shining. Eyes Wide Shut is a slow burn horror/mystery film, that focuses on a young couple struggling with their marriage.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror
The Mirror in the Basement Wasn’t Empty…
1. The House Nobody Wanted Emily had just turned sixteen when her parents moved into a dusty old house at the edge of town. It was big—three stories, a huge garden, tall windows—but something about it felt... hollow. Cold.
By Umar Aminabout a year ago in Horror
Don’t Drink the Water
I was ten when I first asked my father why our town wasn’t on any map. He just said, “Some places are better forgotten.” Back then, it felt like one of those mysterious, grown-up things. Something I’d understand when I got older. But now I realize he wasn’t trying to keep a secret. He was trying to protect me.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Horror
5 Minute Horror: Lady in White. Content Warning.
[Please note that this story may be triggering for some readers.] Marie opened the window blinds warily and scanned the fields opposite the house, nervousness etched into the creases on her brow. She looked to the tall dark trees framing the tilled field then towards the back corner, where untouched wilderness spread out. Fog clung to the edges, but Marie could sense that nothing of note was out there. Yet. Her hand came to rest on her swollen belly, and she felt a kick beneath the skin. She sighed.
By Valerie Taylorabout a year ago in Horror
The Lost Floor of St. Damien’s Hospital. Content Warning.
St. Damien’s Hospital had been dying long before the city decided to put it out of its misery. Whole wings were abandoned. Wallpaper peeled like sunburned dead skin. The air reeked of bleach and mold. A hospital that once saved lives now hoarded silence like a secret. The emergency ward had shut down over fifteen years ago. No one came here anymore. No one stayed. Except for Eloise. A fourth-year med student on a public health research grant, she was tasked with combing through decades-old records to trace tuberculosis outbreaks. It was cold, tedious work—hours spent in the forgotten bones of the south wing, surrounded by filing cabinets and shadows. Until she found the elevator. It was tucked behind a rusted metal door marked “Maintenance Access Only.” She'd been searching for a bathroom when she stumbled on it — a hallway with no lights, no sound… except the soft mechanical hum of heavy machineries. The elevator looked old. Brass-framed, dented. And somehow, still powered. Its display glowed faintly: B1 There was no B1 on her hospital blueprint. No basement level. Nothing. She pressed the call button. The elevator groaned awake, gears grinding like bones. When the doors opened, a blast of cold air spilled out — sharp and unnatural, like a morgue had exhaled. Eloise hesitated. Then stepped inside. The panel inside had the usual floors: 1 through 6. And one more. A circular button, unlit, marked only with a single carved letter: B It wasn’t on the diagram. It wasn’t in the system. Curiosity consumed her. she pressed it. The elevator jerked downward, and the light inside flickered. It descended far too long. No music. No announcements. Just the mechanical drone of descent and a growing sense of wrongness. The air got colder, heavier. Her breath fogged, despite the sealed interior. She counted looking at her watch. Thirty seconds. A minute. Then more. Ding. The doors slid open. What she saw didn’t belong in a building abandoned for decades. A hallway—clean, white, brightly lit. Pristine tile floors. Doors on both sides, all closed. A faint hum of electricity. As if this floor had been waiting. Her footsteps echoed too loudly. At the nurses’ station, a single lamp glowed. Files sat stacked neatly on the desk. She opened one. Patient: Lydia Bram. Age: 9. Diagnosis: Persistent Unresponsiveness Following Experimental Procedure #12. Below that: Observation Terminated. RETURN: DENIED. She flipped through another. Then another. All the same ending. RETURN: DENIED. No discharge dates. No signatures. Just blank observation logs that trailed off into nothing. Her hands trembled. This floor… wasn’t archived. It was erased. A sound broke the silence. Soft. Wet. Footsteps. Then, a child's giggle. Sharp and bright, echoing down the corridor. Like glass shattering underwater. Eloise spun around. No one. Empty hallway. A flickering light overhead. She turned back toward the elevator — and stopped. It was gone. The hallway was smooth. Seamless. No seams, no doors, just cold white walls. She stepped forward—hesitated. Turned. The corridor now stretched in both directions. Longer. Narrower. The air pressed against her chest like a weight. Whispers bloomed. Low at first. Then rising. Dozens of voices overlapping, speaking in a language she almost understood. She pressed her back to the wall, breathing hard. The air was sterile, choking. Lights flickered overhead. A door creaked open behind her. Room 13B. She didn’t want to look. But she did. Inside was a single hospital bed. Straps. Machines. A mirror on the far wall. But the mirror didn’t reflect her. It showed her lying in the bed — eyes wide, mouth sewn shut. Twitching. Alive. She took a step back—and the lights dimmed. Behind her, the whispers stopped. Something was listening. She ran. Down the too-long hallway. Past doors slowly opening one by one. Past cold hands brushing her sleeves. The whispering sharpened: "You’ve already returned.” Then, at the far end — the elevator. It was back. Its doors open, waiting. She ran. Slammed the 6 button. The doors shuddered closed just as something tall and pale turned the corner behind her. Its eyes were wrong. Its face was— She didn’t breathe. The doors opened to daylight. Dust in the air. Broken windows. The ruined sixth floor. She was back. She ran to the filing room, grabbing her coat, phone, anything to tether her back to reality. Then she saw it. A manila folder lying open on the desk — one she hadn’t touched. Patient: Eloise M. Vance Date of Admission: 08/05/2025 RETURN: DENIED Her heart stuttered. The window beside her? Gone. Replaced with white wall. The lights above? Fluorescent again. Buzzing softly. No noise outside. No sirens. No wind. No world. She looked down. There was a band around her wrist. ELOISE VANCE. FLOOR B. She had never left that floor~
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
Scare Package is an Original Anthology Horror Film that is Freaking Hilarious
Scare Package is a phenomenal anthology film series that features fantastic gore and hilarious characters that endure a number of insane horror scenarios as they each struggle to survive.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror
House No. 450
After I finished preparing dinner, my eyes fell on the clock on the wall as I left the kitchen. Oh, it's so late. I quickly picked up the sheet lying on the sofa in front of me, put it on, and put the house key in my purse and left the house. On the way, the Maghrib call to prayer had begun. The children will say, "Mama forgot to pick us up from tuition today." I thought and walked towards their tuition center with quick steps.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Horror