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 Violet Hour
The clock within the derelict Langford Estate hit seven as the first sound of a music box drifted down the decaying corridors. No human dwelled there for more than eighty years—at least, not anyone who still breathed.
By Muhammad Sohailabout a year ago in Horror
The Missing Friend
Milly had been missing for one whole day. While the others thought that this was normal, I knew Milly. She was responsible. A hard worker. She wasn't like the others who loved to party constantly. She was in college, and she was determined to graduate this year.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror
The Elevator
Lídia was working late. Normally, she was the first to leave work. Even if it was chaos or if someone needed help, she simply didn’t care. But today, fate changed her plans. Everyone had already left, except for her. No one asked if she needed help. The boss had sent a project at the last minute, and it had to be delivered today without fail. Lídia was usually a fast worker, faster than her colleagues. She often boasted about it and thought she had the right to mistreat them.
By Hollisabout a year ago in Horror
The Cat That Watched the Walls
Chapter 1: The New Home The Patel family moved into the old countryside house with excitement and hope. After years of cramped city living, the open spaces and silence seemed like a dream. The rent was suspiciously cheap, but they brushed it off.
By Kevin Hudsonabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Corridor: The Haunting of Psychiatric Hospital
I never believed in horror stories. To me, they were always just exaggerated tales spun from human fear. That was, until the night I entered the abandoned Harapan Sehat Psychiatric Hospital, a place notorious for its dark history of unexplained deaths. I had heard about the hospital’s closure in 1995, after a string of mysterious incidents involving both patients and staff, and as a freelance journalist, I saw an opportunity to investigate.
By Dino Jauhariabout a year ago in Horror
A Light in the Attic at Midnight
Title: A Light in the Attic at Midnight Every small town has its legends. In Evermere, the Wilkins House stood at the heart of every whispered tale. Deserted for over three decades, the rotting Victorian mansion on the hill loomed like a corpse among the living. Kids dared each other to get close, teens carved initials into its flaking porch, and the older folks warned everyone to stay away. But the most chilling thing? Every midnight, a light flickered to life in the attic.
By Sarwar Zebabout a year ago in Horror
"The Night of the Hollow Moon"
The Night of the Hollow Moon Halloween was supposed to be a time of fun — a time for costumes, parties, and candy. But in the town of Ravenswood, Halloween carried a darker weight, a sinister history that most residents had long forgotten… or pretended to forget.
By Mir Ahmad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
"Echoes of Black Hollow"
Echoes of Black Hollow In November 2022, a team of documentary filmmakers set out to uncover the truth behind the eerie myths surrounding Black Hollow, an abandoned village deep in the heart of northern Maine. What was meant to be a straightforward investigation into local legends soon became an inexplicable mystery. The crew vanished without a trace, leaving behind only fragments of their footage, raising unsettling questions that still remain unanswered.
By Mir Ahmad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
Thailand’s Most Haunted Island: The Chilling Secrets of Koh Kham Noi
The Haunted History and Paranormal Evidence of Koh Kham Noi (Ghost Island), Thailand Situated in the Gulf of Thailand, Koh Kham Noi or Ghost Island is one of the country's most infamous haunted places. Its spooky past comes from a dark history, tragic legends, and scores of eyewitness testimony of paranormal activity. Local people and travelers alike have had frightful encounters, making it a blacklisted destination among thrill-seekers and ghost hunters.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Clock
Priya never expected to inherit anything. So when the lawyer handed her a single envelope after her grandmother’s passing, she was surprised. Inside it was a small brass key and a note: “It only whispers at midnight. Always listen.” She didn't know what it meant—until she visited her nani's house one last time. In the dark, dust-filled living room, stood an enormous grandfather clock. Mahogany wood, golden pendulum, a cracked glass face. It ticked slowly, like it carried the weight of time itself. She brought it home to her Delhi apartment. She didn’t believe in superstitions. But something about the clock... felt alive. That first night, out of curiosity—and a little unease—she stayed awake till midnight. At exactly 12:00 a.m., the ticking stopped. Then, a whisper. “Your mother never wanted you.” Priya’s breath caught. It wasn’t the voice of her grandmother. It was older, deeper, like it came from the wood itself. The next night: “Your father was paid to stay.” Each night, a new truth. Whispers only she could hear. “You were born to replace someone who died.” “Your dreams are not your own—they were planted.” The truths grew darker. She confronted her mother, but only received silence and a trembling lip. Her questions were answered with locked doors. Priya began to dig into old papers. Newspaper archives. Medical records. Secret files hidden in drawers she never dared open as a child. She discovered a fire in their ancestral home—one that occurred in 2004, the year she turned six. Her memory of that year? Gone. But the whispers brought it back. Flashes of a woman screaming. Fire licking the walls. Her grandmother, holding her, whispering something in Sanskrit. Then the clock. Standing still while the world burned. --- One night, the whisper said: “You were supposed to die. Time was reversed for you.” Priya dropped the teacup in her hand. The glass shattered, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t know who she was anymore. The next night: “Your grandmother wasn’t protecting you. She was preparing you.” Then came a whisper that chilled her spine: “Tonight, the clock chooses.” --- Midnight came. She sat in front of the clock, heart pounding. The ticking stopped. The pendulum halted. Silence. Then—the chime. Not a soft ring, but a deep, echoing cry. Like time itself exhaled. And then... she remembered everything. She remembered standing before the fire, her mother screaming at her grandmother. A hidden room. Candles. A ritual to bind memory and time. Her grandmother had stopped the flow of time—just for five seconds—to save Priya. And she paid for it with her soul. The clock was no ordinary object. It was a keeper of broken timelines. A vault of truths too heavy for the world. And it demanded a guardian. One who could hear it. One who had died, but lived again. --- Suddenly, the room was flooded with soft, golden light. Shadows circled her. A wind blew from nowhere. The hands of the clock spun wildly. Then… stillness. On the wall behind her, words had burned themselves into the plaster: “Time remembers. Do you?” She walked toward the clock. Placed her palm on the cold glass. “I remember everything,” she whispered. The clock chimed once more. Her apartment melted away. She awoke in her grandmother’s house, but it wasn’t crumbling anymore. It was pristine, untouched by time. She was back in 2004. But she wasn’t six anymore. She was the keeper now.
By TrueVocalabout a year ago in Horror
One Truth Per Day
The diary had no title, no lock, no name. Just a plain black leather cover with pages that smelled faintly of old ink and rain. Rayaan found it wedged between the floorboards of his newly rented apartment. He had only moved in two days ago—fresh start, new city, no emotional baggage. At least, that was the plan. The first night, he opened it absentmindedly before bed. "Truth #1: Your boss, Mr. Karan Malhotra, embezzled 4.2 million rupees last year. He buried the evidence in a USB drive labeled wedding photos." Rayaan laughed nervously. He closed the book. Just a joke. Some prank. The previous tenant messing around, maybe. But curiosity is a stubborn itch. The next morning, unable to resist, he asked his boss about wedding photos—casually. Mr. Malhotra froze, dropped his coffee, and asked who told him. Rayaan didn’t answer. He just smiled and walked away, heart pounding. That night, the diary’s second page was filled. "Truth #2: Your neighbor Rekha listens to her dead husband’s voicemails every night. She believes they change depending on her mood." This time, he waited. At 11:58 p.m., the next page was blank. At exactly 12:00 a.m., fresh black ink bled into the cream paper—like it was being written by an invisible hand. By the fifth night, Rayaan had learned: His best friend once left a hit-and-run victim to die. His landlord has been watching tenants through hidden cameras. His ex is pregnant—and it’s not her current boyfriend’s child. Every night at midnight: One page. One truth. One person he knows. Each one was verifiable. Every page turned into a dark mirror reflecting the filth behind friendly smiles. But on the tenth night, everything changed. "Truth #10: Someone close to you is planning to kill you." Rayaan’s breath hitched. His eyes darted across the apartment. Every creak of the building sounded like footsteps. Every shadow deepened. He didn’t sleep that night. By morning, he had installed a lock on his bedroom door and texted vague warnings to all his acquaintances. He even carried a pocket knife. The diary gave no names. Just truths. Cold, sharp, and cruel. He wanted to burn it—but couldn’t. It felt alive now, like destroying it would invite worse things. Day 12: "Truth #12: Your mother lied about your father’s death. He’s alive and in a mental institution two cities away." He visited. The truth checked out. His father wept at the sight of him. "They told me you were dead," he whispered. Rayaan couldn’t speak. He had no room left for grief or rage. --- By the 17th night, the diary took a darker turn. "Truth #17: You killed someone when you were six. Your parents erased the memory to protect you." He laughed. “Ridiculous.” Until he found the newspaper clipping: "Local Child Accidentally Causes Death of Babysitter With Firearm." It was dated the same week he had that recurring childhood nightmare—the one with blood and sirens. The next night: "Truth #18: The diary feeds on your disbelief. The more you doubt, the stronger it becomes." He stopped laughing. The diary had more than just ink. It had power. It wasn’t recording truths—it was revealing what the world wanted hidden. --- On the 30th night, the diary gave him the final blow. "Truth #30: Tomorrow, you will write the next truth. With blood. Or the truths will start writing themselves in the bodies of those you love." Rayaan stared at the words. His fingers trembled. There was a small silver blade beside the diary that hadn’t been there before. Was it always going to end like this? The next night, he picked up the blade. He pricked his finger. Red drops stained the page. Then he wrote: "Truth #31: I am not the first. I won’t be the last." The ink shimmered. Then sank into the page like it had always belonged there. The diary closed itself. And Rayaan understood. The truths never end. Only the writers do.
By TrueVocalabout a year ago in Horror
The Devil Within Me
Heres the text to analyze: Note: this story was crafted for the Horror Story Prompt Challenge. Wishing you all the best Content warnings for graphic portrayals of mental illness that serve only to enhance the narrative. These portrayals do not represent the views of Vocal or the author and are purely fictional.
By Nikita Angelabout a year ago in Horror