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.
Whispers in the Pines. AI-Generated.
1. The Road to Nowhere State Route 173 didn’t just wind through the San Bernardino Mountains—it suffocated them. The asphalt coiled like a black serpent around cliffs that dropped into nothing, guardrails bent and skeletal from years of catching drunk drivers and runaway trucks. Locals called it "The Throat"—a road that swallowed the reckless whole.
By taihan ibn altafabout a year ago in Horror
Devils' hour
It rattled me awake — the loud ding-dong of the archaic grandma clock in the parlour. It was here: the Devil’s Hour. That period when the veil between the living and the other world thins. Now marked the most sinister hour of night. All night stalkers came into consciousness at this time — myself included. You see, all nocturnals — from occultists to birds of prey, and don’t forget the spooky beings — all come out at this hour to play. They all have one thing in common: their love for the dark. Me? I'm an anomaly. Why? Because I’m noctiphobic. I loathe everything affiliated with the night — gloomy areas, dimly lit spaces, murky spots, and everything in between. You might ask, then why aren’t you drowning in sleep? I don’t have an answer. For as long as I can remember, this has been my life. Long before I could reach a door handle or eat by myself, I’ve woken up at 3:00 AM sharp, carefully scrutinizing my surroundings, ensuring everywhere is well-lit and secure. Then, almost immediately, I would crash into unconsciousness — not from sleepiness, but from exhaustion... exhaustion born of fear. As the webs of sleep untangled from my mind, my surroundings slowly zoomed into focus. Everywhere was dark. The neighborhood was as silent as the color black. I gazed on as amorphous shadows danced on the walls, each one a potential threat. The nightlight flickered, making the shadows twist into eerie forms. Uncontrollable shivers swept through me. The door was ajar. It gave me a decisive view of the outside — log-like, drenched... Wait — that door is open?! It was rarely ever opened — the ominous, dust-covered storage room I abhorred. Its very existence fed my fears, even more so because it stood directly adjacent to mine. Most nights, I would hear the chirping and buzzing of bugs thriving inside. Other nights, it was silent — so silent that it felt like Abyss itself had made it its lair. Still, the door was never open. My parents made sure of that to abate my irrational fears. Yet, tonight — of all nights — it was open. I squinted to see into the room. My gaze landed briefly on a shadow near the window — a shapeless figure, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon. The entire room looked like a yawning black void, swallowing the weak moonbeam. The figure moved. I froze. My surroundings seemed to hold their breath too, waiting. It moved again — and a choking whimper escaped me. It felt as though its blackness was trying to suck out my very soul. A cold night wind blew, raising the translucent curtains like flags caught in a storm. A chilling, groaning sound followed. I shut my eyes and gripped the duvet in a nail-splintering clutch. The continuous creaks of the floorboards didn't help — every creak made my heart somersault. Fear seeped deeper into my bones. It was a dread so deep, I wished I could dissolve into the mattress. As the final chimes of the clock faded, the entire house suddenly became radiant with light. Finally — LIGHT, CALM, LIFE! I screamed silently. Slowly, miniature ebbs of courage seeped into my soul. With a newfound bravery, I dared to glance once again at the menacing room. And there it was — reality, coming in buckets of ice-cold calm: The cause of my breakdown... was a pair of trousers. A pair of trousers hanging off the window frame. And there — sprawled on the floor — was my brother Jerome, the likely source of the beastly groan that had almost given me a heart attack. I had completely forgotten that he had opened the storage room earlier that evening in search of an old green flower vase for his class project. Everything seemed settled now. I stared in awe at the warm golden glow of the electric bulb overhead. I had once heard that the electric bulb was a form of hypnosis, lulling even babies to sleep. As I stared into it, I felt its soothing light gently salve me back into the realms of sleep.
By Okezika Igweani about a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Shadow
There lived a young girl named Elina in a quiet village between ancient forests and green hills. She was bright, always laughing, and her laughter echoed down the narrow cobblestone streets. Everyone in the village liked her, especially the elderly, who often observed her helping with work, bringing bread, or just sitting and talking to them.
By Arian Rahman Joyabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Pyre of the Cremation Ground
🕯️ Prologue Overy Youtrogous On the quiet corner of South 2 Parganas, embedded next to thick bamboo, the story drapes a dark beonacharan onto a skewer. Even with sunlight, a strange cold stayed in the air, as if to remember something or someone else in the soil.
By Funny Jokesabout a year ago in Horror
Why Alternative Fashion Fans need Gothic Jewelry
Alternative fashion is a fashion that lets in human beings to specific themselves in unique ways. It isn't like mainstream style and regularly includes bold hues, uncommon styles, and announcement add-ons. One of the most vital factors of alternative fashion is jewelry. Among the various styles of alternative style jewelry, gothic jewelry sticks out as a favorite amongst fashion lovers.
By Gothic Kingabout a year ago in Horror
When Fear Takes Control. Content Warning.
Fear: The word Fear, the first thing for which Bang! If creatures that are moving did not experience the sensation of fear, especially not humans, we don't know what we should do with them. We experience an incredibly diverse array of feelings as vertebrate primates with complex brains. And in certain situations, our brains lose some of the checks and balances over certain emotions. A phobia is what it is when fear becomes overstretched and out of our control.
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Passenger
It was 11:43 p.m. when Raghav boarded the last city bus from Sector 29. The streets were eerily quiet, the fog hugging the road like a living thing. He had missed his train and this was the only way back home. The bus was empty—except for the driver and an old conductor chewing tobacco silently. Raghav picked a seat near the middle and pulled his hoodie tighter. Cold wind seeped through the cracked windows. Ten minutes into the journey, the bus stopped at a deserted junction. No one was there, but the door hissed open anyway. A man stepped in. Tall, thin, wearing a black coat and a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at anyone—just walked silently and sat in the very last row. Raghav turned slightly. He hadn’t seen the man approach. No headlights, no footsteps, no sound. Weird. The bus moved on. Another stop. Empty again. But this time, the door opened and a woman climbed in. Pale face, white sari. She too walked to the back. Raghav glanced behind. Now there were two people sitting there. He looked at the conductor, who was still chewing, staring blankly ahead. “Do you know those people?” Raghav asked casually. The conductor blinked. “What people?” Raghav frowned. “The ones who just got on?” The conductor turned around. His eyes scanned the bus—and then narrowed. “There’s no one there,” he said flatly. Raghav turned back to look. The back seats were empty. He stared, stunned. He was sure he saw them. Had even heard footsteps. The conductor chuckled nervously. “Late night messes with your head, bhai. Sit tight.” The bus moved on. Next stop.
By THOUGHT LIKE A PROabout a year ago in Horror
