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 House That Called My Name
David never planned to return to his childhood home. After his parents died in a fire when he was ten, he had been sent to live with relatives. The house had been abandoned for years, left to rot at the edge of town. But now, as an adult, he had inherited it. And for some reason, he felt compelled to go back. The moment he stepped inside, the memories rushed in. The old wooden floors creaked beneath his feet. The air smelled of dust and something faintly burned. He shouldn’t have come back. That night, it started. A whisper. At first, he thought it was the wind. But then, he heard it again. "David." The voice was soft, almost familiar. He froze. His parents had died in this house. And now, someone was calling his name. Swallowing hard, he followed the voice. It led him to his old bedroom—the only room untouched by the fire. The door creaked open on its own. Inside, everything was as he remembered. The bed. The toy chest. Even the little handprint he had made on the wall as a child. Then he saw it. A figure standing in the corner. Its body was blackened, burned beyond recognition. But its voice— "David, come home." His mother’s voice. David’s blood ran cold. His mother was dead. The figure took a step forward. David backed away, but the house wouldn’t let him leave. The door slammed shut. The floorboards groaned under invisible weight. The whispering grew louder—dozens of voices calling his name. "Come home, David." The walls darkened. Smoke curled from the ceiling. It was happening again. The fire. Flames erupted around him, just like that night so many years ago. David screamed, clawing at the door. Then— Everything went silent. The fire was gone. The house was empty. And David? He was never seen again. Some say the house still calls his name. Waiting for him to come home.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
The Silent Passenger
Ryan was a rideshare driver. He had picked up hundreds of passengers—some friendly, some quiet, some odd. But none of them ever made him feel afraid. Until that night. It was past midnight when he got a new ride request. The pickup location was on the outskirts of town, near an abandoned gas station. Ryan hesitated. It was an unusual spot, but he needed the money. When he arrived, a woman was already standing by the curb. She was wearing a long black coat, her hair falling over her face. She got in without a word. "Where to?" Ryan asked, checking the app. The destination was a cemetery. Ryan swallowed hard. "You visiting someone this late?" Silence. The woman just stared out the window. Something felt off. Her hands were too pale. Too still. She wasn’t even blinking. The longer Ryan drove, the heavier the air became. The car felt cold, like the temperature had dropped suddenly. Then, he noticed the smell. A faint, rotting odor. He glanced at the rearview mirror. The woman was sitting too still. His gut screamed at him to stop, but he was only a few minutes away. Finally, they reached the cemetery. The woman still hadn’t spoken. Ryan cleared his throat. "We’re here." She didn’t move. "Ma’am?" Nothing. Slowly, Ryan turned to look at her. The seat was empty. His breath hitched. He hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t seen her leave. But in the rearview mirror— She was still there. Her head slowly tilted, and in a hollow whisper, she said— "I never left." Ryan’s scream echoed through the empty cemetery. The next morning, his car was found abandoned by the gates. Ryan was never seen again.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
The Shadow That Followed Me
Liam first noticed it on a Thursday evening. He was walking home from work when he saw his shadow stretching ahead of him. But something was wrong. It was too tall. He stopped under a streetlight and moved his arms. His shadow copied him perfectly. But when he took a step forward, there was a delay. Like it was catching up. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He shook off the feeling and kept walking. That night, as he lay in bed, he had the strangest sensation—like someone was standing at the foot of his bed, watching him. But when he turned on the lamp, nothing was there. The next day, it got worse. Liam was washing his hands in the office bathroom when he glanced at the floor. There were two shadows. One was his. The other stood slightly behind, just out of sync. His breath caught in his throat. He lifted his right hand. Both shadows lifted theirs. He lifted his left hand. Only one shadow followed. The second shadow just stood there, watching. Liam ran out of the bathroom. By the time he reached his desk, his palms were sweating. I’m imagining things. But he wasn’t. That night, he sat in his living room, forcing himself to stay awake. The lamp cast a soft glow, his shadow stretching across the floor. Then— The shadow MOVED. Not his real one. The other one. It twitched. Then slowly, deliberately, it turned its head toward him. Liam bolted upright, heart hammering. The shadow twisted, stretching across the walls like something alive. Then it whispered. "Let me in." Liam scrambled for his phone, turning on the flashlight. The second shadow flickered—then vanished. Panting, he backed against the wall, his body trembling. He didn’t sleep. By morning, he had packed his bags. He didn’t care about rent—he was leaving. But as he reached for the door, he made a mistake. He turned around. And there it was. The shadow. No longer on the floor. It stood in the doorway—tall, stretching, twisting. And then— It stepped forward. Out of the shadows. And into the light. The last thing Liam heard before everything went black was a voice. "Now, I have a body."
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
The Room That Wasn’t There
Ethan had lived in his new apartment for a month before he noticed the door. It was strange—he had never seen it before. It was in the hallway, near his bedroom, blending in with the wall so well that he could have sworn it hadn’t been there when he moved in. Curious, he turned the knob. Locked. He frowned. He had been through every inch of the apartment, and there was no mention of an extra room. No key, no explanation. That night, he dreamed of the door. In his dream, it was open. A dark, endless void stretched beyond it, and something watched him from the shadows. He woke up sweating. The next day, he asked his landlord about it. “What door?” the landlord asked, confused. Ethan hesitated. “The one in my hallway, near my bedroom.” “There’s no door there,” the landlord said. “Your apartment only has four rooms.” Ethan didn’t argue. But when he returned home, he found the door slightly open. A thin crack. Enough to see pitch-black darkness inside. His stomach twisted. He approached slowly, heart pounding. As he reached for the knob— The door SLAMMED shut. Ethan stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. That night, he barricaded the door with a chair. He told himself he’d leave in the morning. But at 3 AM, he woke up to a sound. A creaking noise. The sound of a door slowly opening. Ethan turned his head. The door was wide open. The chair was gone. And something stood inside the room. A tall, shadowy figure with glowing white eyes. It didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It just watched him. Ethan couldn’t breathe. He wanted to run, to scream—but he was frozen. Then, the thing took a step forward. And whispered in a voice that wasn’t human— "You opened the door. Now you belong to us." The next morning, Ethan’s apartment was empty. His things were still there. His phone, his wallet, his keys. But Ethan was gone. And the door? It wasn’t there anymore.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
The Thing in the Mirror
Jake had never believed in ghosts. He had always dismissed supernatural stories as tricks of the mind. That was until he moved into his new apartment—a small but affordable place with an old-fashioned feel. The only thing he found odd was the massive antique mirror in the hallway. It was tall, its golden frame covered in strange carvings. The landlord said it was built into the wall and couldn’t be removed. Jake didn’t think much of it—until the first night. As he walked past the mirror to get a glass of water, he noticed something strange. His reflection hesitated. Jake froze. He had only glanced for a second, but something felt... wrong. Shaking his head, he convinced himself he was imagining things. He drank his water and went back to bed. But as he lay there, his thoughts kept returning to the mirror. The next night, he decided to test it. He stood in front of the mirror and waved. His reflection waved back. He turned his head left. It followed. He lifted his right arm. It did the same. Satisfied, he chuckled. See? Just my imagination. Then, as he turned to walk away, his reflection smiled. Jake’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t smiled. His hands clenched into fists. Slowly, he turned back. His reflection looked normal again. Expressionless. But now, Jake noticed something even worse. The carvings on the frame weren’t just random patterns. They were faces. Twisted, screaming faces. A chill ran down his spine. He backed away, refusing to look into the mirror again that night. Over the next few days, he started avoiding the hallway altogether. But no matter what he did, he always felt watched. Then, on the fifth night, it happened again. As he passed by, something in the mirror moved. Jake wasn’t moving. His reflection was. He forced himself to stare. His reflection stood still, mirroring him perfectly. Then, it blinked. Once. Twice. A slow, deliberate smile stretched across its face. Then— It raised its hand and waved. Jake ran. He locked himself in his bedroom, shoving a chair under the doorknob. He barely slept, waiting for the morning. At sunrise, he called a moving company. He didn’t care about losing the security deposit—he just needed to leave. As he grabbed his suitcase and stepped into the hallway one last time, he made the mistake of looking at the mirror. His reflection was gone. But before he could react— A hand slammed against the glass. From the inside. A cracked, hollow voice whispered: "Let me out." Jake didn’t look back. He never returned.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
The Whispering Shadows
Lena had always been afraid of the dark. Even as an adult, she kept a nightlight on, just in case. So, when she moved into her new apartment and found that the bedroom had an old, faulty light that flickered at night, she felt uneasy. But rent was cheap, and she told herself she’d get used to it. The first few nights were quiet. But on the fourth night, as she lay in bed, she heard it. A whisper. Soft, almost like a breath, right next to her ear. "Lena..." Her body stiffened. Her heart pounded. She turned on her phone’s flashlight and scanned the room. Nothing. Maybe I imagined it. She lay back down, forcing herself to sleep. But the next night, the whispers returned. This time, they were coming from the corner of the room. She sat up, eyes locked on the darkness. The whispers grew clearer. "Come closer." Lena’s skin crawled. She grabbed her phone and shined the light toward the corner. The whispers stopped immediately. But she felt it. A presence. Something was watching her. She barely slept that night. By morning, she convinced herself it was just stress. But as the day went on, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. That night, she kept her phone light on beside her. But at 3 AM, it happened again. The light flickered—then went out. A shadow shifted in the corner. Then—footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Moving toward her bed. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Then, the whisper returned. "You left the light on too long." Lena bolted up, gasping. She grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight. The room was empty. But the air felt heavy. The shadows on the walls lingered a second too long before fading. She didn’t sleep again. By sunrise, she decided to leave the apartment. She packed her bags, refusing to stay another night. As she reached the door, she glanced back at the bedroom one last time. The corner was darker than before. And just as she turned away— A whisper, right behind her. "Don’t leave me alone." Lena ran. She never returned.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
Kappa: Japan’s Mysterious Water Demon
History and Origins of the Kappa The Kappa (河童), signifying "river child," is a noteworthy yokai (supernatural creature) in Japanese old stories. Constantly depicted as a land or possibly water capable being lives in streams, lakes, and lakes. The early phases of the Kappa legend can be followed back to the Edo time span (1603-1868), however references to comparable water spirits exist in extra painstakingly pre-arranged Japanese texts. Some recognize the fantasy comes from genuine sightings of creatures like monster reptiles or turtles, while others propose that the Kappa legend was made to alarm kids about the risks of water.
By Kyrol Mojikal2 years ago in Horror
Part 3: "Breaking the Mirror Won’t Set You Free"
She Thought She Was Alone – Part 3 (The End) The darkness swallowed her whole. Mara felt weightless, like she was floating in an abyss where time didn’t exist. The cold seeped into her bones, deeper than anything she had ever felt. Her body refused to move. Her lungs refused to breathe. Then, a sound—soft at first, like wind through dead leaves. It grew, morphing into whispers, hundreds of them, all around her, overlapping. Some wept. Some laughed. Some called her name. “Mara…” Her chest tightened as her body finally jerked awake. She gasped, hands clawing at the floor beneath her. It was solid—wooden. She blinked, disoriented, the world spinning as she tried to focus. She was still in the house. But something was wrong. Everything was covered in dust, thick as if it had been abandoned for years. The air smelled stale, like rot and old memories. The lights were dim, flickering, but not from an electrical problem. It was as if the house itself was barely holding onto reality. She stumbled to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're already mine." The whisper still echoed in her head. No. She wasn’t going to let this thing have her. She turned, her eyes locking onto the mirror in the hallway. The glass was warped, like water rippling. Her reflection was still missing. But it was there. Standing in her place. Grinning. Mara’s pulse thundered in her ears as the figure stepped forward—toward her—but only inside the mirror. Its elongated fingers pressed against the glass from the other side, the surface rippling like a thin sheet of water. And then, its mouth moved. "Let me out." Mara stumbled back, shaking her head violently. “No. No, no, no.” The whispers surged, growing louder, surrounding her, pressing into her skull. The house trembled as if something was waking up inside its walls. The windows rattled. The floorboards groaned beneath her feet. She had to end this. But how? Then she saw it. A single object in the living room untouched by dust, gleaming under the dim light. A hammer. Mara didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, grabbing it with both hands. The whispers turned into screeches, inhuman and furious. The figure in the mirror thrashed, its grotesque smile stretching unnaturally wide. "You can't escape." Mara let out a cry and swung. The hammer connected with the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces. The house screamed. Not a noise—an actual, physical reaction. The walls cracked, the air thickened, and the darkness poured out from the shattered mirror, spilling onto the floor like ink. Mara stumbled back as the figure clawed at the air, its form disintegrating, twisting, shrieking as it was sucked into the void. The shadows swallowed it whole. And then—silence. A deafening, hollow silence. Mara collapsed onto the floor, her chest heaving. The house around her stilled. The flickering lights stabilized. The dust was gone. It was over. Shakily, she pushed herself up, her gaze landing on the broken shards of the mirror. And that’s when she saw it. Among the shattered glass, her reflection stared back at her. But it didn’t move. It wasn’t her. It was smiling. Mara barely had time to scream before the world around her went black. She was never alone. She never would be again.
By Your aurthor2 years ago in Horror
The Man in the Fog
Daniel had driven this route a hundred times before. The old country road stretched for miles, surrounded by thick forests on both sides. It was quiet, peaceful—until the fog rolled in. That night, the fog was unlike anything he had ever seen. It swallowed the trees, thick and suffocating. His headlights barely cut through it, the world outside his car fading into a blur of gray. Then he saw him. A man standing by the roadside. At first, Daniel thought he was a hitchhiker. But as he got closer, unease crept over him. The man was tall, too tall. His clothes were old-fashioned, his face pale and expressionless. He stood perfectly still, his dark eyes locked onto Daniel’s car. Something in Daniel’s gut told him to keep driving. As he passed, the figure didn’t move. But in his rearview mirror, Daniel saw something that made his blood run cold. The man had turned. He was watching. Daniel swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the road. The fog thickened. He gripped the wheel, his breath unsteady. A few miles later, he let out a shaky laugh. Just my imagination, he told himself. Nothing to worry about. Then, up ahead—another figure. It was the same man. Standing in the exact same position. Daniel’s heart pounded. That was impossible. He hadn’t seen any turns, any paths leading off the road. There was no way the man could be here again. This time, as he drove past, the man’s lips curled into a slow, unnatural smile. Daniel pressed his foot on the gas. The fog swirled around him. The road felt endless. His hands trembled as he checked the mirror. The man was standing in the middle of the road behind him. Closer. Daniel’s chest tightened. He forced himself to focus ahead. The sooner he reached town, the better. Then, the radio crackled. Static. And then—a voice. "Why are you running?" Daniel’s blood turned to ice. The voice wasn’t coming from the radio. It was coming from the backseat. He didn’t dare look. The fog closed in. The road twisted. The car shuddered. Daniel gripped the wheel, his breath ragged. "Almost there," he whispered to himself. Then, the headlights flickered. And the car stopped. The silence was deafening. Daniel’s hands trembled as he reached for his phone. No signal. Then he felt it. A cold breath on his neck. Slowly, unwillingly, he turned. The man was sitting in the backseat. Smiling. Daniel screamed. The next morning, a truck driver found his car on the side of the road, empty. The doors were locked. The keys were still in the ignition. But Daniel was gone. And in the fog, just beyond the trees, a figure stood watching. Waiting for the next traveler.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Horror
On a stormy night, I took refuge in a haunted house.😱😨😨
The House on Hollow Hill The storm raged, and the protagonist found a house on Hollow Hill, a silhouette jagged against the storm-lit sky. He ran towards it, revealing a dimly lit hallway filled with old wood and metallic scents. Lightning flashed, illuminating the grand staircase with intricate patterns. The protagonist called out, but only silence answered. Wind howled through the broken windows, making the chandelier above sway ominously. As he stepped forward, faint footprints appeared on the dusty floorboards. A whisper curled through the air, warning him to leave now before it wakes. The candle on the hallway table flickered and died, and a shadow darker than the night spread across the ceiling. The whisper turned into a low growl. The protagonist ran, bursting through the front door into the storm, never daring to look back. The next day, he returned with the local sheriff, but found nothing, just an overgrown patch of land and a weathered sign half-buried in the dirt. The house on Hollow Hill Asylum was closed in 1902.
By Al Mahmud Hasan2 years ago in Horror
