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 Rumah Hantu
It was a cool evening in the bustling city of Jakarta, Indonesia. The city was alive with the hum of traffic, the call of street vendors, and the bright lights that pierced through the haze of smog. But amidst the life of this sprawling urban landscape stood a house that time had forgotten, or perhaps, one that no one dared remember.
By Sabiha Sumsabout a year ago in Horror
The House That Whispers
Everyone in Halewick knew not to walk past the Blackridge House after dark. The old Victorian mansion had stood empty for over sixty years, crumbling slowly behind a rusted iron gate and a wall of choking ivy. No one tended the grounds. No realtor listed it. It simply… existed. Like a bad memory the town refused to dig up. Some said the house was cursed. Others said it was waiting.
By Alpha Cortexabout a year ago in Horror
The Hollow God of Semarung
Deep in the forgotten jungles of Semarung, where no satellite signal dares to linger, there is a whispered myth passed down by trembling lips of the village elders: the tale of Raksha Naya, the Hollow God.
By Maulana Dimasiqi Akhnakhauri Akeyla Syahabout a year ago in Horror
Echo of the Stars
Title: "Echo of the Stars" A Daring Space Epic That Redefines Heroism with Fierce Heart and Galactic Depth In a universe gripped by rebellion, oppression, and fading legacies, Echo of the Stars emerges as a bold, visually stunning space opera — one that doesn’t just borrow from sci-fi lore but boldly shapes its own. At the center of this celestial firestorm stands Kaelara Voss, a fierce warrior torn between light and vengeance, portrayed with striking intensity by rising star Aria Solen.
By Sultan Khanabout a year ago in Horror
Heavenly Seas - Chapter Seven
Whatever Heath did, he did in devoted faith. He believed in equality; he strived to fight the injustices in the world. Yet, he found himself unable to shift the horrors that lurked within his family and surroundings. Not many people knew he nearly died from a severe allergic reaction to cow's milk. No matter how much he craved milkshake, one sip would be enough to call the Grim Reaper. His allergies tore him apart from his family for years. The vegan community took him in, but even their antics got on his nerves sometimes.
By Chloe Gilholyabout a year ago in Horror
Hachishakusama: Just a Myth or the Truth?. Content Warning.
Urban legends and supernatural entities have always fascinated people, blending fear, mystery, and cultural storytelling. One such figure from Japanese folklore is "Hachishakusama" (ハチシャクサマ), a towering woman who stalks and abducts children, preferably make children.But is she just a chilling myth, or could there be some truth behind the legend? This article explores the origins, reported encounters, and possible explanations for Hachishakusama, leaving you to decide: is she pure fiction, or something more?
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
the last transmission . Content Warning.
1. The Broadcast The video was uploaded at 3:17 AM. No description, no tags—just the title: "HELP." I found it scrolling through obscure forums, the kind where people trade creepy VHS tapes and police scanner recordings in a thread where users trade snuff films and morgue photos. I like surfing the dark web. The thumbnail was a freeze-frame of a man’ face half-lit by a flickering camera, his eyes wide with something between terror and disbelief. I clicked. The footage stank of digital decay—grainy, glitching, as if the camera itself was rotting. was it a radioactive area? i thought to myself. A man in his late 20s, his flannel shirt stiff with dried sweat and "something darker, filled the frame. His fingernails were torn off, exposing the flesh beneath. "If you’re seeing this… I’m already dead." His voice was raw, like he’d been screaming. Behind him, the motel wall pulsed. Not a trick of the light—the wallpaper "breathed" , bulging between the seams as something pressed against it from the other side. "I thought it was sleep paralysis. The shadow in the corner. The whispers." He wiped his mouth; his sleeve came away smeared with thick, bile-yellow spit. "But then it started following me in the daylight." The camera panned to his motel room door. Deep scratches ran down the wood. "I tried to outrun it. But every time I close my eyes… it gets closer." A thud off-camera. Daniel flinched. The shadows behind him twisted, knitting together into a spindled limb, its surface shimmering like oil on meat. 2. The Rules The man’s name was Daniel Carter. A trucker. He’d been hauling cargo through the Nevada desert when he picked up "something" at a rest stop. which he shouldn't have. Daniel’s hands shook as he lifted his shirt. His stomach was a latticework of cuts, some shallow, some deep enough to glint with peeks of rib. But the worst was his navel—a fist-size hole, the edges puckered and black, as if something had burrowed in and sewn itself shut behind it. "It doesn’t like light," he whispered. A drop of blood swelled from his nostril. "It doesn’t like noise. But most of all… it hates being seen." The camera panned to the motel door. Not just scratches—deep and jagged, flecked with shreds of fingernail and clumps of greasy black hair that wasn’t human. A thud. Daniel whimpered as the lamp flickered. In the strobing light, something unfolded in the corner—a slick, jointed thing, its spine a segmented curve, its mouth a vertical slit splitting its face from chin to forehead. "It’s learning," Daniel sobbed. "Last night, it spoke in my wife’s voice. Don’t listen. Don’t—" The lights died. For a half-second, the camera caught it lurching forward, its jaw peeling open like a gutted fish, revealing rows of needle teeth dripping with saliva the color of motor oil. Then—*static*. --- 3. The Second Tape The next video was uploaded an hour later. Daniel crouched in a bathtub, his left eye gone—just a crater of clotted blood, tendons dangling like frayed wires. His remaining pupil was blown black, the iris swallowed by the void. "I looked at it for too long, I should not have done that." he rasped. A black tear rolled down his cheek. "It’s in my head now. I can feel it… nesting." He gagged, then vomited a knot of hair and splintered bone onto the porcelain bath tub. A wet crunching echoed through the walls, like teeth grinding on concrete. The sink faucet twisted on, spewing a thick, syrupy fluid that stank of spoiled meat and copper. "They’ve been here longer than us," Daniel whispered. "They’re in the wires. The pipes. The dark between your eyes when you blink." The doorknob rattled. Then—scratches, frantic, from every direction. The ceiling, the walls, even under the tub. Daniel pressed a rusted box cutter into his palm, sawing until blood pattered onto the tiles. The droplets twitched, then skittered away like beetles. "Light hurts them. Blood confuses them." He grinned, his teeth cracked and bleeding. "But nothing stops them for—" The door opened inward, slightly ajar . The camera caught one frame: A hand, its fingers too long, knuckles swollen like tumorous growths, claws hooked and glistening with mucus. Then—the light goes out, a sudden darkness. 4. The Final Upload The last video was 12 seconds long. No sign of Daniel. Just the motel room, the walls webbed with pulsating black veins, throbbing like infected arteries. The carpet had dissolved into a festering mat of hair and decayed skin. The camera lay on the floor, tilted up at the ceiling. Something dripped—a tar-thick drop that stretched like melted rubber before snapping onto the lens. A whisper, gurgling, as if spoken through a mouthful of organs: "You’re next." Then—the shadow unspooled from the ceiling, a living oil slick, its surface rippling with half-formed faces screaming in silence. The video ended. The account vanished. watching the clips felt like a curse. 5. The Knock I didn’t sleep, I couldn't. At 3:17 AM, my bedroom door creaked open. From the hallway: a wet clicking, like a tongue probing a fresh tooth socket. Then—a whisper, in my mother’s voice: "Look at me."
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
The Haunted Doll
Chapter One: The Discovery of the Doll Sarah was standing there in the middle of the dusty attic, staring at the old doll she had discovered by accident. The doll was made of intricately carved wood, with a pale face and large glass eyes. It wasn’t just any ordinary doll; Sarah felt something unsettling about it, as if a hidden force was emanating from it.
By mohamed elsayedabout a year ago in Horror
The Shadow Man of the Sundarbans
The thick mangrove forest of the Sundarbans stood still under the pale moonlight. The howling wind rustled the leaves as if whispering secrets of the forest. Deep within its shadows, something—or someone—was watching.
By S.M.Alam Rashid about a year ago in Horror
The Madness
The Madness It began with a whisper. No one in the town of Eldenwood could say exactly when the madness started. At first, it was small—barely noticeable. A man forgot his own name in the middle of a conversation. A woman walked into the market barefoot, clutching a broom like a child. People chuckled, brushed it off. “It’s the heat,” they said. “Too much sun this year.” But the sun had always been bright in Eldenwood. This—this was different. It spread quietly. The schoolteacher, Miss Elara, began writing nonsense on the blackboard—strange symbols that no one could understand. When asked what they meant, she stared blankly, then smiled in a way that made your skin crawl. Soon after, she disappeared. Her house was found locked from the inside, her belongings untouched. But she was gone. Simply vanished. Then came the dreams. Almost everyone in town began reporting the same nightmare: a tall figure cloaked in shadows, standing at the edge of the forest, whispering their names. The figure never moved. It never spoke out loud. Yet the whisper—cold and hollow—lingered in the air long after they awoke. Father Brennan from the old chapel tried to hold a gathering, urging the people to pray and resist fear. The very next day, he was found in the bell tower, his eyes wide open, mouth filled with soil. Panic swept through Eldenwood like wildfire. The mayor imposed a curfew. No one was to leave their homes after sunset. People obeyed—but it didn’t help. The madness crept into their homes like smoke. Some screamed in the night, tearing at the walls. Others sat in silence, humming lullabies from their childhood, rocking back and forth until their minds were lost. At the heart of the town, seventeen-year-old Liora watched it all unfold. Her parents, once strong and warm, now stared at each other like strangers. Her younger brother talked to shadows, laughing with invisible friends. But Liora—Liora could still think clearly. She felt the madness like a fog pressing in, but it hadn’t consumed her. Not yet. She began to keep a journal, noting patterns, strange behaviors, symbols seen in dreams. It all pointed to the woods. The forest that bordered the town, ancient and silent, where the trees were older than memory itself. One night, unable to resist, Liora stepped outside. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and the wind carried the faintest whisper. She walked toward the forest. Each step felt heavy, like the ground didn’t want her to come closer. But something pulled her—an instinct, maybe, or a voice inside her that wasn't hers. The trees stood like sentinels, unmoving and dark. As she stepped beneath the canopy, the whispering grew louder—not outside her ears, but inside her head. And there it was. The figure from the dreams. It stood still, faceless, its form shifting like smoke in the moonlight. Liora didn’t speak, but her thoughts were loud. What are you? Why are you doing this? The answer came, not in words, but in emotion. Hunger. Loneliness. A deep, ancient sorrow. This… thing, whatever it was, had been forgotten by time. Buried in stories, dismissed as myth. And now it was waking, starving for recognition—for minds to dwell in. It had no body, no voice. It existed only in thoughts, memories, dreams. It was madness itself. Liora understood, in that moment, that the only way to stop it was to become the vessel. To contain it. To hold it within her own mind. She stepped forward. A cold breath touched her soul. Darkness filled her vision. But she stood firm. She welcomed it. And then… silence. When she woke up, she was lying at the edge of the forest. Morning birds sang overhead. Eldenwood was quiet—but peaceful. The air felt lighter. The shadows no longer whispered. People returned to their senses. Memories of the madness faded like fog in sunlight. No one could explain it. No one remembered the figure or the dreams. But Liora remembered. She carried it now—the madness, the hunger, the sorrow. Locked deep within her. And sometimes, late at night, when the wind is just right, she hears the whisper again. But she doesn’t let it out. Not yet. Not ever.
By Asif Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Edge of Silence. Top Story - April 2025.
Alexi Petricov watched the Earth bleed light. From the cupola, the world was quiet. That was the first lie. A pale blue and green marble, innocent from up here. But he knew better. You didn’t get to survive Gulags of bureaucracy and Russian cosmodromes without learning how beauty could lie to your face.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Horror
Where the Forest Whispers: The Cursed History and Haunted Legends of Freetown State Forest
The Ghostly Phenomena and Haunted History of Freetown State Forest Based in Massachusetts' infamous Bridgewater Triangle—200 square miles of paranormal ferment—Freetown State Forest has become famous as one of America's hottest haunts. Its 5,441 acres of dense forests, rocky ledges, and bog are infested with centuries of tragedy, crime, and ghostly history, interwoven into an unspeakably grim tapestry of darkness still causing researchers and visitors to pause in fear to this day.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a year ago in Horror