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 Haunting of Sunnyvale Manor.
Matron Louisa Blackwell was very fond of her PA system. Every morning at 5am sharp...she adjusted her favorite amplifier for the acoustic, turned the volume level to the highest calibrated frequency...and equalized it to her satisfaction. Thus guaranteeing that she achieved clear, balanced and extremely loud audio across the entire sleeping population and listening area.
By Novel Allen25 days ago in Horror
The Nugget Farm. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
The Nugget Farm By Hattie Man Chapter One The smell came first. Before the light, before the sound, before her eyes opened and she understood where she was, there was the smell — iron and ammonia and something sweetly rotten, the way a butcher's dumpster smells on the third day of a heat wave. It crawled into her sinuses and stayed there, coating the back of her throat with every breath.
By Hattie Mahin26 days ago in Horror
The Quiet Channel
You don’t expect anything strange from the weather radio. That’s the whole point. After the derecho last spring—after the sky turned the color of old bruises and the power lines snapped like bones—I wanted something predictable, steady, and that didn’t lie.
By Christina Pozzie26 days ago in Horror
Coffee hit.
creators note: Regarding AI - I stand with all creatives and eco groups against generative AI. AI is not used in any part of my creative process beginning, middle, or end. All punctuation, vocabulary usage and style was from my very beautifully human brain.
By amaliarose27 days ago in Horror
Love Knows Your Name
Her grandmother told her this when she was six. She had been sitting on the kitchen counter, bare heels knocking softly against the cabinet doors while her grandmother sliced peaches into a chipped white bowl. The counter was cool beneath her legs despite the late-summer heat, and somewhere outside, cicadas worried the afternoon until the air itself seemed to vibrate. Peach juice glazed her grandmother's fingers. She wiped them absently against her apron before reaching for another piece of fruit, leaving a dark crescent in the faded cotton. The kitchen smelled of warm peaches, dish soap, and something savory simmering beneath a lid on the stove.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales27 days ago in Horror
The Apology Log
Olivia deletes Graham's profile at 9:14 on a Tuesday night. Hearth sits on the kitchen counter between the fruit bowl and the air fryer, its black glass face unlit and dormant. It is a small, ordinary device: a speaker, a clock, the day's weather displayed, and the brain behind locks, lights, thermostats, cameras, and the timer that reminds Olivia to take dinner out of the oven or move the laundry.
By Autumn Stewabout a month ago in Horror
no signal. Top Story - September 2026.
I come to, blinking fog from my lead-laden eyes. I don't remember the last thing I was doing. I think- dimly, with a pulsing headache- that I might have been singing to a song on the radio. I look around at my surroundings. The snow is heavy, thick. It insulates the sound around me, making it so all I can hear is the ticking of my car lights, metronome-like and slow. I groan out a noise that ends in a weak whimper. The seatbelt digs into my shoulder where I'm slumped to the side at an awkward angle. Thankfully, nothing feels broken or concussed, though I'm sure I'll have nasty bruises soon. I rest my forehead against the unmarred glass window. I'm lucky I only skidded into a field ditch and not a copse of trees I saw a few miles back. Behind me, I can see the welcome sign for the village. I think I see someone, but there's no one there when I blink and focus in. The fog is starting to lift now that the disorientation is wearing off. I don't think I can get out of this ditch alone, though, and it's far too late in the holiday season to make a call for towing. Maybe I can call the police? I root around for my lost phone, finding it wedged underneath the passenger seat. When I click it open, I see there's no signal and curse my bad luck. I can't help the huff of frustration, feeling it build up in my chest and spill out. I remember the emergency radio my dad insisted I carry, and though I rolled my eyes then, I'm thankful now. My thankfulness putters out to a trickle as I realize the radio also has no signal. The fear builds up so slowly- like caramel drizzling- that, by the time I register it, it's too late to stop it. I'm stranded. I hyperventilate in my cooling car, my gloved palms reaching up to muffle my panicked little shrieks. By the time the animal fear recedes and I can think clearly again, the car is considerably colder. I shiver in just my turtleneck and reach out with shaking fingers to snag my winter coat from the passenger seat. Warmer now, I sniffle once. I take stock of my situation. Now that I can think, I remember not too far back, where the radio had been working before I slid into the ditch. I look in my rear view. It's not a far walk to the welcome sign, but in these conditions it may as well be a marathon. I suck my lower lip into my mouth in contemplation. I really have no choice, do I? It's either huddle like prey in the car and freeze to death, or walk the half mile or so and hope my radio works. My mind is set. I secure the thick radio across my chest with the provided strap, and turn it on. It bellows static, making me flinch. I have to push my body against the jammed door to open it, and almost fall face first into the snow covered ground. I scramble to regain my bearings, and frantically squash down the feeling of something being wrong . More wrong than my signal being dead, more wrong than my car being in a ditch. All around me are corn fields. There is no corn this time of year, but if I think hard enough I can almost imagine the stalks blooming up, up, up, until they suffocate the sun and leave only the fat moon above. The full moon illuminates my way. I'm thankful for the light, even if the shadows that are cast make my skin crawl. They feel wrong . Too long, too dark. I try to side step the shadows of the signal towers, but it feels like each time I do they elongate to meet me. I huff a laugh into my scarf. I'm just seeing things , I reason with myself. The silence is deafening. I barely hear the crunch of my boots, or my breathes puffing out in front of me. There is only silence and the cold for miles and miles around me. Halfway to the town edge, I slow to a stop and tilt my head. I thought I heard movement in the fields, far off in the distance. I try to squint, but all I see is a thick flurry of snowflakes and more inky shadows. I think I maybe see a humanoid shape, but when I blink and turn to face it, it's gone. I nervously laugh at my foolishness. There is nothing there. I continue on, fidgeting with the knob of the radio as I go. I hear a whisper in the wind. Something in my primal brain stem tells me to keep walking and not look back, so I listen. I keep my eyes firmly in front of me, fixed on the sign I can see cresting through the moonlight, pretending I don't see the shadows twirling at my feet playfully. Nipping. Just as I start to sweat, the whispers fade into nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm back to the ear ringing silence. It envelopes me like a familiar friend. I am just a few paces away from the edge of the town, ready to sprint the rest of the way, when the radio crackles to life. I blink down at it in surprise. I had almost forgotten about it, oddly enough. I think I hear a male voice over the static. Or maybe a woman's? It's hard to make out with all the white noise. My legs feel like lead the last few steps to the edge. Just as I step on the invisible border line, the radio shrieks, and I jump in surprise. Had I been holding the radio, I would have dropped it. My blood runs cold at the familiar voice over the speaker. A voice I could never forget, no matter how many years she's been gone. "Darcy, baby, where are you going?" My mother's voice cooes at me.
By Adora Aguirreabout a month ago in Horror
