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.
horror stories that will keep me up at night
The Observation The mirror was the first thing. The old house on Blackwood Lane, which had been talked about by the locals, was Jamie's new home. Jamie was eager to leave the cramped city apartment behind, even though it was too cheap. Although most of the furniture, including the large, ornate mirror in the bedroom, appeared to be decades old, the house was fully furnished. It was a beautiful piece, the kind that looked expensive—dark wooden frame, curling vine patterns etched into the sides, and a slightly foggy reflection that never quite seemed to clear. They dismissed the mirror's unease as nerves from the moment Jamie entered the room. Jamie had a dream the first night about the mirror. In the dream, they stood in front of it, but their reflection was… wrong. Theirs was not the face looking back. The eyes were a shade darker, the mouth a little too wide. Like a torn film reel, the reflection blinked out of sync and a fraction of a second too slowly. Jamie woke up sweating profusely. It was just a nightmare. But when they glanced at the mirror across the room, a strange unease settled in their stomach. It felt as if something inside was watching.
By Masaddeque al Shishir2 years ago in Horror
Human Hunt
Troy Mickelson was an American photographer, one who specified in capturing wild animals in the forests of southern Georgia. It was an innocent and fairly well paid job. Sure it had its difficulties and the thing about art related business opportunities like this, is that sometimes the need to finish the job over being creative can result in less than satisfactory photos. I've had that experience with my own work as a writer, some books and articles are much, much harder to finish than others when the inspiration or passion behind such projects inevitably fades out. That's what happened to Troy in his own career, his photos lost their artist flare, his signature style faded with more generic photos you could find anywhere online or in every natural wildlife magazine. Troy had to up his game and fast, which led him down a dark path of desperation and fear. He dared cross into private property, in an attempt to capture an exceedingly rare parrot with purple and yellow feathers that only existed in remote areas of the wilderness. However, upon entering this dark forbidden area of the forest, Troy soon found himself in deeper trouble than a mere fine. The owners of this land weren't too fond of strangers. Little did he know that they were cannibalistic killers and that the rumour of the rare yellow and purple parrot, was nothing but a lie created by them in order to lure in daring trespassers like Troy into their despicable murder trap. Troy wouldn't be the first idiot to go beyond the borders of safety, it is believed that many have died in this private property but (as far as I am aware) only Troy has returned to tell his tale and I must warn you that it is truly, ungodly horrific! When he first entered this private woodland, nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the very subtle smell of rotting. Like spoilt meat or sour eggs. It was rising from the swamp that looked like it belonged to an ogre from an out of dark fairytale. This might've scared most trespassers, but Troy was desperate for quality content for his career. In fact, he took a photo of the ghastly swamp, thinking it looked cool and spooky like a scene straight out of a horror movie. Maybe that photo could be the beginning of a new career as a horror movie scout, somebody who goes searching for filming locations and takes photos and videos of said areas for directors. That could be a promising gig. So he continued his adventure into the unknown, feeling brave and confident. His desire to press forwards was foolish, as you are soon to discover. As he pressed forwards, the stench of rot got worse and worse, so strong he could taste it in his throat, like that of mouldy bread, he almost gagged. Then flies began to buzz louder and louder, there were suddenly hundreds of the little buggers! Swarming him and the air, covering the horrifying truth that lay just a few feet ahead of him. Then he saw it, oh how he wished he could forget it; the sight of a single hand, decayed to the bone, poking out of the wet soil before his feet. He dared to step closer and saw more of this dead body, bloated and stripped of flesh, like that of a melted action figure left in the microwave far too long. Then, he did puke, only adding to the foul odour of death that assaulted his nostrils. Obviously Troy didn't take a photo of this rotting corpse, that sight was far too real and horrifying to witness. No horror director on earth would wish to see that, he didn't even need to take a photo, to this very day Troy can't delete that zombie from his haunted mind. Somehow, the story gets even worse! As Troy turned to and ran escape, he alerted one of the nearby lunatics. "We got ourselves another one!" The red neck laughed, Troy looked upon the stranger in utter horror as he was eating a human ear! Chewing on the flesh of the lobe like it was the fat upon bacon, "he looks yummy!" The cannibal added. Troy didn't say a word, how could he? He was on the verge of pissing himself, terrified and speechless like a deer in the headlights. Then he ran, the opposite direction of the mad man, who was now laughing behind him. "We got ourselves another runner!" A second voice called, "I like it when they squeal!" Was Troy squealing? He didn't know, but he just had to get out of there! "I got him Barney!" A third voice laughed, then a loud, long whip sound erupted from within the darkness behind him. It was an arrow, shot from either a crossbow or manually by an archer. It landed into Troy's back and stung like hell. Yet his adrenaline stopped him from falling forwards and crashing into the hideous muddy ground. He just had to keep running, he just had to escape, so no matter how much his back hurt, he just wouldn't stop fleeing. Troy dived in-between trees, as the arrows shot towards him, one after the other. "Damn chicken is hard to hit!" The shooter whined. "Gosh darn it Bobby, last time I ever let you do the shooting!" A fourth voice yelled. "I'm sorry pa!" Bobby cried. "Just gimme it here, boy, I'm craving that man's meat!" The voices faded as Troy fled, he could feel his back bleeding, hot liquid running down his spine from the sharp arrow still hammered into his upper behind. He was growing dizzy from the blood loss, but he couldn't stop now, not when he was so damn close to escape! Eventually he found his car, the red metallic paint was shining like a heavenly beacon, this was his getaway from the murderous rednecks that were approaching him by the second. Their footsteps were booming louder. "Don't let him get away, pa!" Bobby yelled, as Troy agonisingly ripped away the arrow from his back, opened the car door, sat in the seat, ignited the engine and slammed his foot down on the pedal, racing away at full speed for the first time in his life! Pa fired several arrows from the crossbow at the car, fortunately missing as Troy finally escaped those insane lunatics.
By Joseph Roy Wright2 years ago in Horror
The AI Ghostwriter: A Paranormal Experiment Gone Wrong
The AI Ghostwriter: A Paranormal Experiment Gone Wrong - Part 1 Neel was an aspiring horror writer, always looking for ways to improve his storytelling. His dream was to write a horror story so immersive that readers would feel the fear creeping through their bones. One day, he stumbled upon a new AI ghostwriting tool—'Phantom Pen'. Unlike regular AI tools, Phantom Pen claimed to use 'otherworldly inspirations' to generate its content. It advertised itself as an AI that could connect with unseen dimensions to craft truly terrifying tales. Neel was skeptical but intrigued. Was this just a marketing gimmick, or was there something more to it? He opened his laptop, navigated to Phantom Pen’s website, and found a simple interface. There was only a blank screen and a single button—'Generate a horror story'. Without thinking too much, he clicked it. The screen displayed: "Connecting to the unseen… Fetching inspiration… Writing initiated." Then, a chilling sentence appeared: "It is still here. You cannot see it, but it is watching you." A shiver ran down Neel’s spine. He felt an eerie sensation, as if someone was standing behind him. He turned around—nothing. Just his empty room, dimly lit by the glow of his laptop. Dismissing it as his imagination, he continued reading. The story kept unfolding, but something felt… off. It wasn’t just random AI-generated text. It was eerily personal, as if the AI was narrating his own life. "A writer, accustomed to working late nights, watches in horror as his laptop begins typing his thoughts before he even forms them. His fears, his secrets—manifesting on the screen as if something had crawled into his mind…" Neel’s heartbeat quickened. How did the AI know this? He hesitated, then typed: "Where is this story going?" The AI responded instantly: "Not where you want it to. Where it needs to go." Neel’s breath caught in his throat. He reached out and slammed his laptop shut. But as the screen went dark, he saw a reflection— A twisted, horrifying face staring back at him. This is a work of fiction. Some elements may have been assisted by AI, but the overall narrative is original. To Be Continued…
By Abhishek Singh Rajput2 years ago in Horror
The Teacher is a Monster Part 2
Here is Part 1 I didn’t sleep that night. Every time my eyelids grew heavy, I heard it—the faintest scrape of claws against glass, the whisper of my name curling through the air like smoke. My fingers ached from gripping the scissors too tightly, but I couldn’t let go. Not until the first light of dawn bled through my curtains. Only then did the tapping stop.
By Amaze Lane2 years ago in Horror
Meat. Content Warning.
Cardboard boxes sag beneath the overpass, their damp walls folding inward like soft bones, softened by layers of snow and grime. The wind slithers through the cracks, threading icy fingers along the concrete ribs, but deep inside the maze, warmth seeps—slow, steady—from a forgotten thermal vent, its breath curling into the damp air, leaving slick trails on the warped cardboard.
By Iris Obscura2 years ago in Horror
Whispers in the Walls
I. The House on Blackwood Lane It was a house no one dared to claim. For decades, the mansion at 113 Blackwood Lane stood abandoned, its windows like empty eyes staring into the night. Legends spoke of whispers that slithered through the walls, of shadows moving where no light touched. To many, it was just an old, rotting relic. But to Margaret Holloway, it was an opportunity.
By Bounty Hunter 2 years ago in Horror
To reveal remarkable talent 2
That night, I slept soundly. For over ten days, I had been occupied either with my father’s funeral arrangements or with the somber duties of a reaper. It was a rare, peaceful evening, and in my dreams I saw my parents once more—beaming with joy as they reassured me that I need not worry, for they had ascended to heaven and all was well.
By Andy Johnson2 years ago in Horror
The Face in the Walls
The first time I saw it, I was eight years old. My bedroom walls were covered in pale, peeling wallpaper, and at night, in the glow of my bedside lamp, the cracks and stains formed shapes—ghostly figures, shifting landscapes, and, one night, a face. It was subtle at first, just the suggestion of a human form, a trick of the mind. But as I stared, the features became more defined: hollow eyes, a crooked nose, a thin-lipped mouth that seemed frozen in a silent scream.
By sashalouise isted2 years ago in Horror
