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.
"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
I Found a Hidden Room in My Grandmother’s House
I Found a Hidden Room in My Grandmother’s House Chapter 1: Visit Ended as a grandma. I was sent to pack her old Victorian home. My parents couldn't stand it to do that. They said it hurts too much. For me, it was a bitter job. I spent a lot of summer there as my kids went through the hallways, lit up the hallways, hiding in cupboards, and played with dusty antiques. However, we did not visit for many years.
By Md Asraf Hosainabout a year ago in Horror
The Case of the Missing Hour
Detective Sam Harper rubbed his temples as the morning light streamed through the blinds, cutting his office into neat, golden stripes. A half-empty cup of cold coffee sat beside a stack of case files, the top one marked in bold letters: MISSING PERSON – DR. EMMA COLLINS. Dr. Emma Collins had vanished without a trace the night before. A renowned neurologist, she had been last seen leaving her private lab at precisely 8:15 p.m., her security swipe card confirming her exit. The problem? The lab's CCTV had a gap—a full hour of missing footage between 8:00 and 9:00 p.m. Harper leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight, and reviewed the notes again. Emma's husband, Michael, had reported her missing after she failed to return home. They were supposed to have celebrated their anniversary over dinner at 9:30 p.m. He had even sent her a text at 8:45, which remained unread. Harper's gut twisted. Something didn’t add up. The first break in the case came when Harper visited Emma's lab. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and metal. Computers lined the walls, screens filled with flashing data streams. Her office was orderly, too orderly. A single notebook sat on her desk, open to a page with hurried scribbles: "Temporal shift... hour lost... memories fractured?" The handwriting grew erratic, the pen pressing hard enough to tear the thin paper in places. Then, Harper noticed it—the security camera. It hung silently in the corner, its tiny red light blinking steadily. He accessed the footage, scrolling back to the missing hour. The screen flickered, and then, there it was. Emma, standing in front of the lab’s glass wall, speaking to... no one. She gestured, stepped back, and then stumbled, pressing her hand to her temple. The feed cut out abruptly, and when it returned, the lab was empty. Harper’s pulse quickened. He rewound the footage, pausing at the exact moment Emma clutched her head. Enhancing the frame, he spotted something chilling—a faint, blurry outline, like a shadow without a body, lingering just behind her. He played the clip again, slower this time. The shadow seemed to pulse, almost like a heartbeat, before vanishing into the dark corner of the room. Back at his desk, Harper dug into Dr. Collins’s research. He discovered she had been working on a radical new theory about the nature of memory and time. Her last published paper proposed that intense emotional trauma could fracture time, creating moments where reality bent, stretching and snapping like a rubber band. Harper’s phone buzzed, yanking him back to the present. It was Michael Collins. His voice was shaky, words tumbling over each other. “Detective, you need to come to the house. Now.” The Collins home was a modern glass fortress perched on the hillside. Harper stepped inside, the air cold and thick with tension. Michael led him into the living room, where an old-fashioned clock sat on the mantle, its pendulum swinging silently. “She’s here,” Michael whispered, pointing. Harper followed his gaze to a spot by the window. The air there seemed... different. Thicker. He felt a sudden chill, like icy fingers brushing his skin. Then he heard it—a whisper, soft but unmistakable. Emma’s voice. “Help me... find the hour.” Harper took a step back, his mind racing. He glanced at the clock. It was frozen at 8:45, the exact moment Michael had sent his last text. The case had just twisted into something beyond missing persons, beyond logic. Harper had to find that missing hour, or risk losing not just Dr. Emma Collins, but perhaps his own grasp on reality. The clock struck midnight when Harper sat down with Michael in the dimly lit living room. Shadows stretched across the walls, twisting and bending as the fire crackled. Michael’s hands trembled as he poured two glasses of whiskey. “This house... it’s not just glass and steel. Emma designed it to trap moments,” Michael said, his eyes hollow. “She said time was like water, and sometimes it pooled in places we least expect.” Harper felt the hair on his arms stand up. “Are you telling me she’s trapped here... in time?” Michael nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the clock. “She found a way to step outside time, but she didn’t know how to come back.” Harper’s mind raced. What if Emma had pushed her experiments too far? What if she had ripped a hole in time itself? Suddenly, the room grew colder. The glass walls around them fogged over, and the shadow appeared again—only this time, it wasn’t just a flicker. It stretched, elongated, and then twisted into a form. A woman’s silhouette, her hand pressed against the glass, her face frozen in a silent scream. “Emma!” Harper shouted, stumbling to his feet. The shadow moved, pressing her palm harder against the glass, her mouth moving silently. Harper stepped closer, his breath fogging the glass. Then, without warning, the clock on the mantle chimed once, twice, three times, before falling silent. When Harper looked back, the shadow was gone. But on the glass, fogged over from his breath, a single message remained, written in a trembling, ghostly hand: “Find the hour. Break the loop.” Harper’s heart raced. He had to find the missing hour. If Emma was alive, if she was trapped somewhere between the ticks of the clock, he needed to unravel this twisted reality before it consumed them all. He turned to Michael, determination hardening his jaw. “I’m not losing her. Not like this.”
By Shabir Ahmadabout a year ago in Horror
The Train Killer
I scrolled past the familiar headline on Google, ignoring the black headline of The Train Killer. People had been terrified of a rumored serial killer that had been trending in the media. People love to spread rumors of the most fucked up things, turning it into a conspiracy theory. I was sitting inside of the train, trying my best to not listen to the two women gossiping about the case. They were sitting across from me, arguing about who could be the killer. They were both looking down at their phones, excitement on their faces. The blonde was whispering, a hand over her mouth. The brunette’s eyes were wide, whispering back. I rolled my eyes, and when I turned to the left to ignore the women, I noticed a handsome guy sitting far away, buried in a book. I struggled to make out the title, but from the way the guy was reading the novel, he was hooked. I smiled. It was lovely to see someone reading a book nowadays. The train I was on was going to take a while to take me home, but at least I was going to be entertained by a movie I downloaded on my phone. I didn’t like using my 4G, cause my phone acted up 24/7. I seriously needed to buy a new phone. I plugged in my headphones, and began to watch my movie. I lost track of time, and at some point, the two women had stood up. I assumed they were going to move to a different spot, and went back to my movie. I jumped when I felt a hand grab my arm. I looked up to see the two women standing in front of me. They were both smiling. The blonde was the one holding my arm, and the brunette held a syringe in her hand. “Hey! What the fuck are you -’’ The blonde grabbed me by the throat with both arms, cutting off my breathe, and the brunette was beginning to lower the syringe to my arm. Then a figure slammed into both of the women. They let out screams. The brunette dropped the syringe, and I it clatter on the train floor. The handsome man was standing in front of me, breathing hard. The women were both trying to get up, but they didn’t dare move, their eyes focused on the man. “Call 911,” he said. I called 911, my fingers shaking. My eyes fell onto the syringe, and I let out a small sob, not caring if the two killers and this handsome stranger were staring at me. The train eventually came to a stop, and the police were waiting. They arrested the two women. They put up a fight, but they were no match for the authorities. “That was a close one. I’m sorry you went through that.” I turned around, and found the stranger right behind me. He had a concerned look on his face. I brushed at my tears, thinking of what could have happened to me if it hadn’t been for the stranger. “Thank you for saving me. I had no idea…that the murders were real.” “I’m shocked that it was two killers.” I let out a laugh with no humor. “Yeah…” The man placed a hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Those bitches were psychos.” I nodded. “Yeah. Thank you…?” “Marcus.” I smiled. “Thank you, Marcus.” He looked down, moving his feet back and forth. “Umm…I know how crazy this is…but do you want me to walk you home? I can’t imagine what you’re going through, and I figured you wouldn’t want to go back home by yourself.” “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” Marcus gave me a smile, and we began to walk together back to my apartment. Even though we couldn’t go on the train anymore, it doesn’t matter. I let Marcus walk ahead of me, and I pulled out a syringe from my purse. I can’t believe those assholes were going to steal my thunder. I should have kept my eye on those two. I didn’t know they were the ones who had stolen my second kill. Whoever thought a copycat killer would arrive so soon? Or killers for that matter. And who the fuck tries to murder someone in front of another witness? Idiots. Well, at least I will get that second kill I have been looking for. I applied pressure to the syringe, my fingers shivering with anticipation. The thrill I got in my body every time I was about to kill was a wonderful feeling. My eyes never left the back of my next victim’s neck, and I raised the syringe, preparing to plunge it into his skin.
By Top stories about a year ago in Horror
