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 Inconspicuous Inhabitant: A Frequenting on the Banks of the Buriganga
The Buriganga Waterway, cutting through the heart of Ancient Dhaka, holds more than fair history in its profundities. Along its banks, stories linger—dark, whispered stories that unsettle indeed the elderly who have lived there all their lives. They do not talk of these stories straightforwardly, but in the event that you inquire them to sit by the stream at nightfall, they'll unobtrusively decay.
By Rakibul Hasan Hridoyabout a year ago in Horror
The Unseen Truth
Emily Thompson lived in a world built on routines. Every morning at 7:15, she brewed the same brand of coffee, wore the same shade of lipstick, and walked the same three blocks to her office job. Her life was safe—ordinary, forgettable. And that’s exactly how she liked it. Until the message arrived. “I know what you’re hiding.” It flashed across her phone screen like a quiet explosion. She stared at it, her heart skipping a beat. No sender. No number. Just those words. She tried to laugh it off, dismiss it as a wrong number or a scam. But deep down, something shifted. Something she couldn’t name. The messages kept coming. “You think the past is buried, but it never sleeps.” “You were never alone that night.” Each message pulled her deeper into a panic she couldn’t explain. She hadn’t done anything wrong… had she? She found herself unable to sleep, constantly checking her blinds, jumping at every buzz from her phone. The weight of the unknown pressed against her chest like a growing shadow. Her friends noticed the change, but Emily waved it off with fake smiles and excuses about stress. Then, one evening, a message came with a photo. A blurry image of her, taken from across the street, walking home… just minutes earlier. Her blood ran cold. Terrified, she reached out to the police, but with no sender, no threats, and no crime, there was nothing they could do. “Probably just a sick prank,” the officer had said. But Emily could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe her. Or worse, he thought she was losing it. Desperate for answers, Emily started digging through her past. The messages hinted at a night she tried to forget—a party two years ago. A night she had gone home with someone she barely remembered. She’d never told anyone, brushed it off as a mistake she’d buried under layers of denial. But what if she hadn’t buried it well enough? Driven by fear, she tracked down old acquaintances, revisited that part of town, trying to piece together something—anything—that made sense. But the more she searched, the less real everything felt. The messages weren’t just reminders. They were warnings. Then came the breakthrough. She discovered an encrypted folder hidden on her laptop—something she didn’t remember creating. Inside were voice recordings. Her voice. But they weren’t old. They were dated months into the future. Her future self was sending her the messages. She listened, shaking, as her own voice described a life unraveling. Choices she hadn’t made yet. A descent into regret. A plea to herself: “You have to change now. Before it’s too late.” The twist was as devastating as it was surreal. She wasn’t being watched by someone from her past—she was being warned by the only person who truly knew what was coming: herself. The final message came at 3:03 a.m., just one line: “This is your last chance.”
By THOUGHT LIKE A PROabout a year ago in Horror
Discover the Secrets of Darkness, Ghosts, and Spirits
Discover the Secrets of Darkness, Ghosts, and Spirits The mysterious world of darkness, ghosts, and spirits has long fascinated humanity, sparking a mix of fear, curiosity, and intrigue. People around the globe have shared supernatural experiences that defy explanation, fueling a collective quest for understanding.
By ziad alsedabout a year ago in Horror
Channel 103.3 FM. At 2:15 AM
The Final Transmission Prologue No one remembers when the signal began. It was just static at first, faint whispers embedded in white noise on channel 103.3 FM. At 2:15 a.m. every night, the signal emerged, untraceable, unstoppable. The station didn’t exist in the records of the FCC. No call letters No tower No origin. However, those who listened... evolved. Grindle Hollow, a small town in the Appalachians, was where it all started. First Part: The Findings In the fall of 1997, 17-year-old Mason Carter was one of the few teenagers left in Grindle Hollow. Most had either vanished or moved. Mason stayed to care for his ailing grandmother, who often spoke of “voices in the trees” and warned Mason never to “listen to the night air.”
By VFX Sifatabout a year ago in Horror
"The Haunted House of Silence: A True Tale or Terrifying Myth?"
Throughout human history, the unknown has always stirred our deepest fears and curiosities. Ghosts, spirits, and the afterlife—these concepts both terrify and intrigue us. Today, I’ll take you into the story of a house shrouded in whispers and mystery, known by locals as “the haunted house.” But the question remains: is it just folklore, or does something truly supernatural dwell within its walls?
By bd writerabout a year ago in Horror
Buried in Earth that never forgets
The night was also wrapped in darkness and was silent amidst the whisper of the forest by covering all the silence. Zurian was dead in his hut built in the middle of the forest, he did not do any other work other than digging his grave for the last few days. He had only a companion in the forest, a white wolf, who always lived with him. After Zurian's death, the wolf dragged him to the grave. He laid Zurian in the grave and paid him a final tribute. As dark clouds gathered in the sky, heavy rain began to fall. The wolf got down in the grave, and shortly after, the grave was covered by water with his deep silence. The white wolf buried death, thinking that earth would forget this.
By Karan w. about a year ago in Horror
My Night, Me and the Devil on the Banks of This River
In the long nights of life, where the heart groans burdened with worries and smiles hide behind a veil of pain, my story begins. A world that has exhausted my soul for lean years,
By Ahmed Fahimabout a year ago in Horror
A scary ghost story p [2]
He started to say again that the scandal was shocked. I have been up to class two. In the clutches gap, I got a burden on the talentepool. I stopped him and asked him to class two and how did the class five and how did the scholarship in Talentpool? He replied that he was screaming in the wreckage of the monsters, and the monsters were swept away in the wreckage. In the menstruation, Ulto Din dipped the cloak and wandered into it. I brought annoyance in the voice and said all the non -profit rules. The source said, "Don't bother, that's it." The drawers are cracked. Kanaran Pranimari, Hysensus Tum Idhaj. The twilight is on the lid, the monsters. In the wake of the lamp, the jerk is compulsory in the jerk. The vintage of it is shaking. I couldn't say anything to his argument anymore. If I asked, why did you quit falling up to class two? If you passed Class One, you would have been completely complete. He then said that he was a bolt. Tammiti, the climber, I was hungry, and then I was worried about the cheeks of the cheeks. Survive snakes to survive. The panty hunger is the nanam of the hobby. After that, I wandered down to Tami Chinhara. So far he says he is silent again. What happened to I asked? Then? After a few seconds, he said that I had wandered into the throat of the ninjar, and I wandered into the shame. I said to myself the ghost again. I just said in the face what the story? The festival started to say again, I started to know Chelanha. He did not swim in the festival. Tima Nawa Khana, Parashuna Sanab Ghanala, who is lagging. In the meantime, I wrote the knot "Dhika toe, and wrote the knot" Kanta "and gave it to Chenha. Chinhaha khana khota khota karuta. Where did I get the jigsao? Tumi is a hurry. The mint is the only one. It was a shaft that the bone stood up. Chhennaha shouted that if the tummy tired of the mango samaj, he would swallow him and then he would swallow him. After that, I took the fold of the shit, and I walked down the janagar. But Kon Kon Manusha Duma did not wander. Sanbai ran towards the ulto, with a ghost, and a hurry to the nipples. I said why do you introduce your ghost to all? If you wish, you could introduce people to the form of people by taking the song from someone. The festival answered him. I could also get a lot of things to do with those who were drawing on the mood. But the scandal is a shit. Tomi Kauke is covered with a bolt. I squeezed the mourning of the misery of the mango, and I squeezed it to the pod. It is now the frying of the tip. That is why the festival began to laugh.
By Arfan Raihenabout a year ago in Horror
Into the Shadows
What if the people you trust the most are the ones hiding the darkest secrets? What if your memories start to turn against you and the truth you seek becomes your worst nightmare?
By Muhammad Hayatabout a year ago in Horror
This is a lovely time of year for spring.
Day One: “War to be confirmed; major urban centers cleared; leaders declare martial law; chaos ensues.” We got the message at the exact same time. I was the first to realize what was going on, despite the fact that that was the final official message on our shared feed. As it bounced off of our sensors, he had to have his translated. I was up early that day, and had somehow managed to remain optimistic as I looked for coffee. Dimitri would join me in our rounds after he saw the message (I could hear the electronics in his room). And then I looked out the main window.
By Top Secretabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Map
The world didn’t end with fire or flood. It ended with silence. One by one, cities dimmed like dying stars. Signals vanished. Satellites fell from the sky. No explosions, no broadcasted warnings—just a slow, creeping disappearance, like the Earth was holding its breath before drowning.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Horror
Every Night at 10 PM, the Footsteps Above Me Get Closer…
Every night at ten o'clock, Jonathan would turn off the TV on time, turn off all the lights, and lie quietly in bed. He lived on the top floor of an old apartment, the sixth floor, with no elevator. The house was left by his grandmother, old but quiet, and he always cherished this loneliness that belonged to him.
By Lucianabout a year ago in Horror