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 Town Where Everyone Has the Same Face
When journalist Darren Cole received an anonymous tip about a town in rural Washington where “everyone has the same face,” he assumed it was a joke. Maybe a performance art village or some cultish cosplay community. But curiosity — and a dry spell in his freelance assignments — nudged him into his rusted Ford and down the foggy Pacific Northwest highway. What he found was far stranger than anything he'd imagined. --- Darren arrived in Marrowick just before sunset. The town, nestled between moss-draped pines and cloud-choked hills, was eerily quiet. Its buildings looked decades behind the times: faded signage, wood-paneled diners, and a gas station that still sold soda in glass bottles. He stopped at the diner first. The waitress behind the counter turned to greet him with a smile—and that’s when the first jolt hit. She looked… off. Too smooth. Too symmetrical. Her eyes a little too wide, her smile stretched just a little too far. She poured his coffee with mechanical grace. Then Darren noticed the cook in the kitchen. Same face. Same impossibly smooth skin, same vacant cheerfulness. His heart stuttered. Two identical people. Not similar—identical. At first, he tried to rationalize. Maybe twins. Maybe a bizarre plastic surgery experiment gone too far. Maybe an elaborate prank. But when he stepped outside again, he saw them everywhere: a woman walking her dog, a group of teens loitering by a store, an old man sweeping his porch. All of them wore the same face. The same too-perfect face. He snapped a few discreet photos with his phone, though he wasn't sure why. Who would believe him? At the Marrowick Inn, the receptionist greeted him with that same, unnerving smile. Darren hesitated before asking: “Hey… do you have any family photos? Of the town, I mean.” The receptionist tilted her head. “Of course,” she said, voice soft and melodic. She reached beneath the desk and handed him a worn photo album. Every single person in every photo — from school events to weddings to picnics — had the same face. “I… I don’t understand,” Darren muttered. The receptionist smiled wider. “You will.” --- That night, in the musty inn room, Darren tried to call his editor. No service. He connected to the inn’s Wi-Fi—only to find every website redirected to a single landing page that read: Welcome Home. The lights flickered. Then went out. A soft knock came at the door. He opened it to find a group of townspeople standing in the hallway, their eyes shining in the dark, all wearing that same, dreadful mask of a face. “You’re special, Darren,” the one in front said. “You still have yours.” Darren slammed the door and bolted it. He didn’t sleep. --- He fled at first light. Or tried to. The road that led in now curled back on itself. Every turn brought him back to the town square. His GPS spun without direction. Even the forest seemed to shift unnaturally, guiding him back. By noon, he was back at the diner. Waiting for him was the waitress. “You’re resisting. That’s normal.” “What are you?” he gasped. She leaned close. “We were human. Long ago. But we transcended the chaos of individuality. No more conflict. No more loneliness. One face. One mind. One peace.” “I don’t want that!” “You will.” --- By the end of the week, Darren Cole’s blog published a strange, cheerful article titled “Marrowick: The Town That Time Forgot, But You Shouldn’t.” Attached was a photo of Darren, beaming with the same smooth, symmetrical face as every other resident. He never left. And those who read the article — the ones who clicked through, curious and unsuspecting — began to receive emails. Invitations. Job offers. Free stays. Some even went. None came back. --- If you ever get an invite to Marrowick, don’t go. No story is worth losing your face.
By Gift Abotsi about a year ago in Horror
Astronauts Watch The End Of Our Earth
Astronauts Watch The End Of Our Earth The hum of the International Space Station resonated like a distant heartbeat, a soft reminder of life amid the vast emptiness of space. Commander Alex Miller, an astronaut from the United States, floated in the cramped control room, his eyes glued to the screens displaying live feeds of Earth. Everywhere he looked, the vibrant greens and blues of his home planet were marred by streaky red flashes that danced across the monitor. The news was devastating, as nations were on the brink of nuclear war.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Horror
The Truth Beneath the Surface
Sophie Miller had it all. She was twenty-eight years old, and everything she had spent years working for was going perfectly. She had a successful marketing career, a devoted boyfriend named James, a set of friends who loved her, and an enviable life. Nothing could be better, and for the first time in years, she felt she could finally breathe. But all of it changed one night when she came home to discover an anonymous letter left for her.
By Bari Mir Rahamatulabout a year ago in Horror
The Vanishing Hour
It was close to midnight when Detective Lara Quinn was standing in the middle of the empty alleyway, her eyes on the grimy door of a rundown warehouse. The chilled, crisp wind made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, not from cold, but from an overwhelming sensation that something did not feel right. Something had changed.
By Bari Mir Rahamatulabout a year ago in Horror
Epping Forest: Where Ancient Shadows Whisper—A Haunted Chronicle of History, Legends, and Lingering Spirits
Epping Forest: A Phantom Brocade of History and Haunted Legend Spanning the London-Essex border, Epping Forest's ancient woodland has witnessed over 2,000 years of human history, from royal hunts to highwaymen and wartime spying, in silence. Its dense canopy and dappled glades are today as famous for their ghostly legends as for their natural beauty, and it is ranked among Britain's most haunted places.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a year ago in Horror
The Bridge of Hearts
In the heart of an old city where ancient stones whispered tales of love and faith, two souls met under the most unlikely circumstances. He was Yusuf, a humble young man who worked from dawn till dusk at the local construction site. With calloused hands and a heart full of dreams, he lived a simple life guided by the teachings of Islam. She was Miriam, a thoughtful and kind-hearted girl who came from a respected Jewish family. Her eyes held the light of curiosity, and her spirit was drawn to the world beyond walls and boundaries. Every afternoon, she would walk past the construction site, her books clutched to her chest, her steps confident but gentle. Their first conversation was born from a shared moment of kindness. One hot day, Yusuf offered her his umbrella during an unexpected rain shower. Miriam smiled and said, “Thank you,” in perfect Arabic. Yusuf was surprised but pleased. From that moment, a bridge began to form—built not with stone or wood, but with smiles, words, and silences that spoke volumes. Days turned into weeks, and what began as a polite greeting soon blossomed into deep conversations. They spoke of poetry, of history, of dreams, and yes—of faith. Yusuf admired Miriam’s respect for her traditions, just as she admired his devotion to his. Though their paths were different, their hearts walked in the same direction. But not everyone saw what they saw. Miriam’s father, a scholar in their community, noticed her joy and questioned her. When he learned of Yusuf, he sighed deeply. “My daughter,” he said gently, “our people have suffered much. We hold our customs close not out of pride, but out of protection. A Muslim and a Jew—it is a hard road.” Yusuf, too, faced his own storm. His mother, a widow who raised him with love and prayers, warned him carefully. “My son,” she said, “our faith does not forbid kindness to others. But marriage is sacred. We are taught to stay within our fold. It is not hate—it is heritage.” Yusuf found himself torn. He loved Miriam—not just her beauty, but her mind, her compassion, the way she saw the world not in black or white, but in the rich colors in between. But he feared bringing pain to his family, to her family, and dishonoring their beliefs. One day, he met her under the old fig tree where they often sat. His eyes were troubled. “Miriam,” he said softly, “my heart is full of love for you, but it is also full of fear.” She looked at him, her face calm yet firm. “Then let love be the braver one.” “But our people…” he began. “Our people,” she interrupted gently, “are human. And humans can learn. We don’t need to fight the world, Yusuf. Just walk through it together, respectfully.” She never asked him to change his faith, nor did she offer to leave hers. They knew love wasn’t about erasing differences—it was about honoring them and still choosing each other. With time, they decided not to run away, but to reach out. They invited both families for a dinner—not as a statement, but as a gesture. It was a quiet evening, filled with polite conversation and shared dishes. Yusuf’s mother brought sweet dates; Miriam’s father brought a traditional Jewish bread. They spoke of food, of weather, and finally, of their children. No promises were made that night. No dramatic declarations. But something important happened: walls became windows. The families began to see not just faiths, but faces. Not just names, but hearts. Years later, Yusuf and Miriam opened a small school in their neighborhood. A place where children of all backgrounds could learn about history, language, and each other. They didn’t marry right away. They waited, they built trust, they allowed their families to grow with them. When they finally did marry, it was under an olive tree planted by both their mothers. There were no loud celebrations, but there was peace. And sometimes, peace is the most beautiful celebration of all. They lived not as a symbol of rebellion, but as a quiet example—that love does not ask us to forget who we are, but to remember who we all are: human, longing for connection, deserving of respect.
By Ten Brothers wri8ersabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Shadows
I was strangely excited when I initially moved into the old Victorian house on Willow Street. Years of vacancy had left something enigmatic about it, even if the windows were cracked and the paint was flaking. Away from the noise of the city and the stifling pressure of my existence, it was the ideal escape.
By A S M Rajib Hassan Choudhuryabout a year ago in Horror
Wealth Is Not Luck, It’s a Lifestyle
The 3:17 AM Email My finger hovered over the delete button when I saw the names. Not just any billionaires—the billionaires. The ones who made fortunes in months, who always knew market crashes before they happened. The kind of people who didn't just play the game—they rewrote the rules.
By Idrees khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Hollow Path: Descent into Black Hollow
The Map That Shouldn't Exist It began with an old map, yellowed and fragile, discovered behind a false panel in the attic of a crumbling Victorian estate. Dust fell like ash as Marcus unfurled it across the dining table, the lines drawn in a reddish-brown ink that looked unsettlingly organic. At the center of the map, in jagged script, was a name that hadn’t appeared on any modern record: *Black Hollow*. The forest it described wasn’t marked on Google Earth, nor in any known survey. To Marcus, it was the adventure he had longed for—a mystery yet unsolved.
By Shah Jehanabout a year ago in Horror
The Clockmaker's Secret
The Forgotten Town Tucked between hills and hidden by dense forests, the town of Erelith had all but disappeared from the maps. Few remembered it, and even fewer ever dared to visit. It had become one of those whispered places—rumored to be haunted, suspended in time. The buildings stood quiet, their wooden bones creaking in the wind. Moss crept over cobblestones, and ivy wrapped around the rusted streetlamps like nature reclaiming a debt long unpaid. But at the center of Erelith stood a workshop, still untouched by time. And within it lived an old man known only as the Clockmaker.
By Shah Jehanabout a year ago in Horror
The Lake House
Emma and Lucas had always wanted to spend a quiet weekend away from the city. It seemed like destiny when Emma's coworker offered them her family's remote lake house. With ivy creeping up the wooden siding and a misty lake just beyond the trees, the cabin stood quietly and beautifully, unaltered by time, deep in the woods.
By The Haunting Hourabout a year ago in Horror
