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.

OBSESSION - A Review.
Hello one and all. So, Curry Barker is in a short line of sketch comedians and writers/YouTubers breaking into horror movies - evidenced by the success of his YouTube movie: Milk & Serial, which earned him raves and a pass to make his first feature movie. Obsession, not to be confused with Brian De Palma's 1976 noir thriller - is a Weapons-style horror film that accentuates the horror more than the humor (even though it still has an abundance of it, opening like some overused rom-com scenes left on the cutting room floor) and leaves us feeling icky long after it's over. But is it the "instant classic" everyone is saying it is?
By CJG Movie Man5 months ago in Horror
'Obsession' Uses a Simple Horror Concept that Will Leave you Completely Terrified
Obsession is hands down one of the best horror films of the year. It's now in my top 3, along with Bone Temple and Hokum. This movie tackled the 'wish going wrong' concept so damn well, and is probably the only horror movie to properly execute this horror concept. I watched this movie with a great audience, and man, everyone was freaking out during so many scenes in the film. The horror presented is done so well, and I could not get over the performance of the two main leads.
By Emy Quinn5 months ago in Horror
The Eviction
The house was two stories and old, and the realtor called it a farmhouse because calling it haunted would have scared them off. It had been on the market five years. Carol Greer saw the listing one night and called Dale over and they looked at the pictures on her laptop, and she said it needs work and he said we can do work. That was before either of them had driven up Route 212 into the Shelton Laurel community and seen what the mountains do to everything people build in them given enough time.
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Horror
Killer Amusement
The autumn leaves crunched under Jeremiah’s boot as he trekked through the dense forest. He was focusing on a rundown map that his grandfather had left behind when he died a few years ago. As he made an abrupt stop, one of his other companions ran straight into his back, making him jolt a bit. Annie huffed as she took a step back, crossing her arms in frustration, “Jeremiah, you can’t just stop like that.”
By Timberly Price5 months ago in Horror
Something Watched Back
Nobody warned them about the silence. That was the first thing. The thing that should have made them turn around before it was too late. A jungle is never silent. Every traveler who has ever set foot in one knows that. Birds. Insects. The constant rustle of leaves and branches and small creatures moving through undergrowth.
By Ethan Blake5 months ago in Horror
The Last Door
It started as a joke. Four friends. One abandoned house on the edge of a small town that nobody talked about anymore. A dare that felt harmless at 9pm and absolutely terrifying by midnight.
By Noah Carter5 months ago in Horror
The Yeongdeok Haunted House: south Korea’s Most Terrifying Coastal Haunting. AI-Generated.
There are places where silence feels natural. And then there are places where silence feels like something is waiting. Along the eastern coastline of South Korea, overlooking the crashing waves of the East Sea, sits a decaying structure locals avoid even in daylight. Broken windows stare toward the ocean like empty eye sockets. Salt-heavy winds scream through unfinished hallways. Rusted staircases groan under invisible weight. This is the infamous Yeongdeok Haunted House — one of Korea’s most feared paranormal locations. Some believe it is cursed. Others believe it is haunted by the forgotten dead. And according to the stories whispered by locals, the house was never empty at all.
By E. hasan5 months ago in Horror
The Blood-Stained Letter — Part Two
Nobody in Shalbon slept peacefully after the night Aziz Master received the envelope. By sunrise, the story had already spread across the village. People gathered outside his house in frightened silence while Aziz Master sat on the floor clutching the blood-stained letter with trembling hands. He had not slept all night. His eyes looked hollow. As if something inside him had broken. “What was written in the letter?” one villager finally asked. Aziz Master slowly looked up. His lips trembled before he whispered, “It knows my name…” A cold wave of fear passed through the crowd. Nobody asked another question. That evening, the village imam advised everyone to stay indoors after dark. Shops closed before sunset. Even the tea stalls near the market became empty long before nightfall. The entire village felt cursed. But fear alone could not stop curiosity. Aziz Master was not a superstitious man. He had spent his whole life teaching children science and logic. Ghost stories were foolish tales meant to scare weak minds. At least that was what he used to believe. Now, every time the wind touched his window, his chest tightened with fear. Still, something about Rahim’s death disturbed him deeply. It did not feel natural. That night, Aziz Master lit a lantern and walked toward the old post office near the edge of the village. The building had remained locked since Rahim’s death. Dust covered the windows. Spider webs hung from the ceiling. Inside, the smell of damp paper and mold filled the air. Aziz Master searched through piles of old records until he found Rahim’s final delivery log. Most of the pages were ruined by rainwater. Except one. One name remained clearly visible. “Receiver: Hasan Ali.” Below it was an address near the eastern bamboo forest. Aziz Master frowned. Hasan Ali had died almost ten years ago. So why was Rahim delivering a letter to a dead man? A sudden sound echoed outside the post office. Ring… Ring… Aziz Master froze instantly. The bicycle bell. Close. Very close. His heartbeat began pounding violently. Then came the sound of slow footsteps outside the building. Wet footsteps. Dragging across mud. Aziz Master blew out the lantern and hid behind a wooden shelf. The footsteps stopped directly outside the door. Silence. Then— Knock… Knock… Knock… The old wooden door shook softly. A familiar whisper floated through the darkness. “Letter delivery…” Aziz Master covered his mouth to stop himself from screaming. Under the narrow gap beneath the door, muddy water slowly began sliding inside. Along with something else. A red envelope. Fresh blood dripped from its corners. Aziz Master stared at it with wide terrified eyes. Then suddenly— The knocking stopped. The footsteps moved away. And once again— Ring… Ring… The sound faded slowly into the night. Aziz Master remained frozen for nearly an hour before finally gathering enough courage to touch the envelope. His fingers shook violently. On the front, written in dark red ink, were three words: “Do not follow him.” Inside the envelope was something even stranger. An old black-and-white photograph. The picture showed Rahim standing beside his bicycle many years ago. But he was not alone. Beside him stood a tall man wearing a long dark coat. The man’s face had been scratched out completely. At the bottom of the photograph, faded handwriting read: “The dead also receive letters.” The next morning, Aziz Master visited the oldest man in the village. Anwar Chacha. People said he knew stories older than the village itself. When Aziz Master showed him the photograph, the old man’s face turned pale instantly. “You should burn this,” Anwar whispered. “Who is that man?” Aziz Master asked. Anwar looked toward the empty road outside before answering quietly. “Many years ago, before Rahim became the village postman, another man carried letters here.” “The villagers called him The Messenger.” Aziz Master felt cold sweat forming on his neck. “They say he delivered letters meant for the dead,” Anwar continued. “Whenever someone received his final letter… death followed soon after.” “But what happened to him?” Aziz Master asked. Anwar’s hands trembled. “No one knows. One night he disappeared near the bamboo forest. But after that… strange things started happening in the village.” Before Aziz Master could ask more questions— A bicycle bell rang outside the house. Ring… Ring… Both men went silent instantly. The sound came from directly outside the window. Slowly… Aziz Master turned his head toward the curtain. At first, he saw only fog. Then a figure emerged. A man standing beside a black bicycle. Rainwater dripped from his clothes. His face hidden beneath darkness. And in his pale dead hand— Another envelope. The figure slowly raised one arm and pointed directly at Aziz Master. Then the whisper came again. “Your final delivery…” The lantern inside the room suddenly went out. Darkness swallowed everything. And outside— The bicycle bell rang one last time. Ring…
By Muhammad 5 months ago in Horror
Sweet and Metallic
We’d been planning this weekend for some time. I’d been looking forward to finally having Tara to myself. Rain drummed against the window as I lay back and let my mind wander, imagining what was in store.
By Paul Stewart5 months ago in Horror
Dispensable. Top Story - May 2026. Content Warning.
The program for the event read: When we exclaim, as a defense for the mindless ways in which we mimic one another, that we are social animals, what we should really admit to ourselves is that we have an innate bias toward ideological collectivism, and that this is not necessarily a good thing. Our strength as a species is self-modification. The self is a diagnostic program, after all. This person that I think I am is really a neurological adaptation which allows me to observe and change myself—but most allow their environment to hijack the program rather than using the program to jack into and benefit from their environment. The creation of an artificial environment for the sake of herding the human animal—this we sometimes refer to as a town or city or state or nation or province, etc. Its laws cannot set the limit of possible action but can only ever influence the program upon whose analysis we decide to act. This creates followers and criminals among the citizenry according to how susceptible individual actors are to the conditioning. In essence, we are a social animal which herds itself on behalf of its masters. But all that will change today!
By C. Rommial Butler5 months ago in Horror
For the Lonely and the Lost
I was almost done with Great-Grandma’s recipe books. I had decided to digitize them as my latest project. There had been a lot of those since Stan had hared off with that 30-year-old plastic named Diana.
By Alicia Anspaugh5 months ago in Horror
Someone Is Watching - Epilogue
Three months had passed since that night in the apartment, yet the memory of the storm, the tension, and the confessions still lingered in Elena’s mind. But now, the storm had softened. The fear had not disappeared entirely — it never would — but it had been replaced by trust, understanding, and a complicated, undeniable love.
By Rosalina Jane5 months ago in Horror