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.

Stay a While. Content Warning.
Sue had grown tired of the city—the noise, the constant movement, the feeling of being surrounded yet completely alone. So she left.
By Rachel Foster5 months ago in Horror
The Wendigo: The Hunger That Never Ends. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
There are horrors that stalk the dark. And then there are horrors that were once human. Deep within the frozen forests of North America, among the endless pines and silent snowfall, Indigenous tribes whispered of something far worse than death. Not a beast. Not a demon. But a curse. A sickness of the soul born from starvation, greed, and cannibalism.
By E. hasan5 months ago in Horror
sOmEoNe tO tOy WiTh. Content Warning.
Midnight almost upon thrill-seeking teenagers, as five friends filed from vehicle, on what many consider, the unluckiest day of all, Friday the 13th. The night balmy as they shift restlessly, in anticipation, awaiting each to collect belongings desired for exploration of old cemetery, likely lost to time and decay. Each carry a flashlight, yet a few grab a small tote containing a snack and beverage.
By Kami R. Taylons5 months ago in Horror
Obsession is Now My New Obsession
I have seen the recent trailer to the one of the most anticipated horror movies among horror fans. Obsession has captured my attention sometime this year when I watched the first teaser trailer. We only knew that some random young dude was calling customer service, asking if there was any way to undo a wish. The man on the other line assures him that undoing a wish is impossible, and this random guy appears quite concerned over this realization.
By Emy Quinn5 months ago in Horror
The Manananggal: The Night That Splits Open. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I. Dusk Is a Warning There is a moment—just before night fully takes hold—when the world seems to hesitate. Dogs stop barking. Cicadas fall silent. Even the wind feels like it’s listening. In parts of the Philippines, elders will tell you that this silence is not natural. It is permission. Because somewhere, behind closed doors, beneath a nipa roof, or inside a quiet, dimly lit home… A woman is preparing to come apart. II. The Splitting It begins slowly. A tremor in the spine. A tightening beneath the ribs. A sound—not quite a scream, not quite a sigh—escaping her throat. Then— RIP. Not metaphorical. Not symbolic. Her body tears in half. Skin stretches until it cannot. Bone separates with a wet crack. Organs glisten in the open air. The lower half remains standing, grotesquely still, as though death forgot to finish its work. And the upper half? It doesn’t fall. It rises. Wings burst from her back—thin, veined, and bat-like—beating against the suffocating night. Her entrails dangle beneath her like obscene decorations, swaying as she ascends. There is no transformation into something else. This is what she is. This is what she has always been. III. The Hunt She does not wander. She knows exactly where she is going. Across fields. Over rooftops. Through the thick, breathless dark—she glides with purpose. Below her, homes sit quiet and unaware, their walls thin, their roofs fragile. She listens. Not for movement. Not for voices. For something softer. A heartbeat that isn’t meant to be heard. IV. The Chosen Pregnant women rarely sleep well in the heat. They toss, they turn, they wake to strange discomforts they cannot name. Sometimes, they think they hear something above them. A faint tapping. Tik… tik… tik… So distant it feels harmless. So quiet it feels ignorable. But the sound is a lie. The quieter it is— the closer she is. V. The Feeding She lands without a sound. No creaking wood. No shifting weight. Just presence. Her shadow spreads across the roof like a stain. Then, from her mouth, something extends—long, thin, impossibly precise. A tongue. Not soft. Not human. A hollow, needle-like appendage that slides through cracks in the roof… through bamboo… through thatch… through anything that dares separate her from what she wants. Below, the woman stirs. A cold sensation. A pressure. A dream that suddenly turns wrong. And then— It begins. The Manananggal does not tear. She does not claw. She drinks. Slowly. Carefully. With practiced cruelty. Life is taken before it can become a cry. Before it can become a name. Before it can become anything at all. And the mother? She wakes the next morning weaker. Pale. Confused. Sometimes she never wakes at all. VI. The Witnesses They never see her clearly. No one ever does. But they remember pieces. A shadow passing over the moon. The sound of wings too large to belong to any bird. A heavy weight pressing down on a roof that should not hold it. One man swore he saw something rise into the sky—half a body, trailing something wet and glistening beneath it. He never spoke of it again without shaking. A woman claimed she heard the tik-tik above her every night of her pregnancy—until her neighbors lined her home with garlic and ash. The sound stopped. But she never forgot how close it felt. VII. The Other Half Every predator has a weakness. The Manananggal leaves something behind. Her lower body—empty, hollow, waiting. Hidden in shadows. Tucked beneath floorboards. Concealed in tall grass or abandoned corners of the village. If you find it… if you know what you’re looking at… if you have the courage to get close— There are ways to end her. Salt. Garlic. Fire. Simple things. But nothing about this is simple. Because while you search in the dark for something that looks like half a corpse— The other half may already be on its way back. VIII. Dawn She must return before sunrise. If she doesn’t— She doesn’t survive. The first light of morning does not forgive what she is. It burns. It exposes. It destroys. So she flies faster as the horizon begins to bleed with pale gold. Wings beating harder. Body straining. Hunger still clinging to her like a second skin. And when she finds herself again— She completes the act. Upper half meeting lower. Flesh sealing. Bone reconnecting. Skin knitting together as though nothing ever happened. By the time the sun rises fully— She is whole. She is human. She is walking among everyone else.
By E. hasan5 months ago in Horror
Cyber-Occult Requiem. AI-Generated.
Cyber-Occult Requiem is the kind of film that feels risky from the very beginning and that’s exactly what makes it work. Blending dark fantasy with modern tech culture, it introduces a world where necromancy doesn’t hide in ancient ruins but thrives in code, networks, and mobile apps. It’s an unusual premise, but one the film leans into with confidence, delivering something that feels both eerie and surprisingly relevant.
By helsing Riddick5 months ago in Horror
The Ledger of Seven Shadows
The Ledger of Seven Shadows The package arrived on a Tuesday—unmarked, wrapped in brown paper that smelled of wet earth and old copper. As a collector of "weird" things for my Vocal blog, I thought it was just another fan sending me a prop. I was wrong. Inside was a diary bound in what looked like weathered leather, though it felt uncomfortably like cold skin.
By Talha Maroof5 months ago in Horror
The Error Code That Knew My Name
The Error Code That Knew My Name It was 2:00 AM when my house told its first lie. People say technology is soulless—that it has a brain made of silicon but no heart to feel. But that night, when my Aegis Home System detected motion under my bed and sent a notification reading: "Guest detected in Master Bedroom," I realized that a 'digital soul' is far more terrifying than a human one. I held my breath, paralyzed in the dark, knowing I was supposed to be alone.
By Talha Maroof5 months ago in Horror
The Elevator Only Opens on Floors That Don’t Exist
I didn’t mean to press it. That’s the first thing you should understand. It wasn’t curiosity. Not really. It was one of those absent-minded moments—when your brain drifts just long enough for your hand to make a decision you didn’t consciously approve. I was heading home after a long shift, exhausted, barely thinking. The elevator in my apartment building was old—so old the buttons had faded numbers, some barely visible. I pressed “6.” Or at least… I thought I did. Because as the doors closed, I noticed something strange. There was an extra button. At the bottom. Unlabeled. Faintly glowing. I frowned. I’d used this elevator for two years. That button had never been there. I stared at it for a few seconds. Then—without really deciding to— I pressed it. The elevator jerked. Not upward. Not downward. Just… wrong. Like the cables didn’t know which direction to pull. The lights flickered once. Twice. Then steadied. A soft *ding* echoed. The doors slid open. It was my floor. Or at least, it looked like it. Same dim hallway. Same peeling paint. Same flickering light at the far end. I stepped out, uneasy. Something felt off. The air was colder. Too still. I walked toward my apartment door—number 612—and reached into my pocket for my keys. That’s when I noticed it. The door was already open. Just slightly. A narrow crack. I froze. I always locked my door. Always. “Hello?” I called, pushing it open slowly. No answer. The apartment was dark. But I could hear something. A faint sound. Breathing. From inside. My chest tightened. I took a step back. Then another. “Nope,” I whispered. “Nope, not doing this.” I turned and hurried back to the elevator. The doors were still open. Waiting. Like it knew I’d come back. I stepped inside and immediately pressed the “Lobby” button. The doors closed. The elevator moved again. That same wrong movement. That same unsettling shift. *Ding.* The doors opened. This time, it wasn’t my building. Not exactly. The lobby was there—but everything looked… abandoned. The reception desk was overturned. Mail scattered across the floor. Lights flickered overhead. And the silence— It was suffocating. “Okay…” I said slowly. “This isn’t real.” I stepped out anyway. Because what else could I do? That’s when I saw the footprints. Wet. Leading from the front door… Toward the elevator. Toward me. I didn’t wait to see where they came from. I ran back inside. “Okay,” I said, breathing hard. “Think.” The elevator doors closed automatically this time. The buttons flickered. Some numbers were gone. Others had changed. There were more unlabeled ones now. Three of them. Glowing faintly. Like they were waiting. I hesitated. Then pressed another one. The next floor was worse. It looked normal at first. Too normal. Bright. Clean. Perfect. People walked past me in the hallway, smiling politely. But something was wrong with their eyes. They didn’t blink. Not once. “Excuse me,” I said to a man passing by. He stopped. Turned slowly. Smiled wider. Too wide. “Welcome,” he said. His voice echoed strangely, like it wasn’t coming from his mouth. “Do you live here?” I shook my head, backing away. “I think I pressed the wrong—” “You’re not supposed to leave,” he said gently. Others had stopped walking now. They were all looking at me. Smiling. Not blinking. My heart pounded. “Nope,” I whispered. And I ran. Back to the elevator. Always back to the elevator. It felt like the only safe place. Even though I knew it wasn’t. I don’t know how many floors I’ve visited since then. I stopped counting after the sixth. Or maybe the seventh. Time doesn’t work the same here. Some floors are empty. Some are… not. I’ve seen a version of my apartment completely burned out. I’ve seen a hallway filled with water up to the ceiling, something moving beneath the surface. I’ve seen a floor where every door leads to the same room. And inside that room— There’s always someone sitting in the dark. Waiting. But the worst one… The worst one was the floor where everything was normal. Exactly how it should be. My real apartment. My real hallway. I almost cried when I saw it. I stepped out slowly. Everything felt right. Familiar. Safe. I walked to my door. It was closed. Locked. Just like it should be. My hands trembled as I reached for my keys. Finally. I unlocked the door. Stepped inside. And froze. Because I was already there. Sitting on the couch. Watching TV. Myself. He turned his head slowly. Looked at me. And smiled. Not surprised. Not confused. Just… expecting me. “You took your time,” he said. My stomach dropped. “I—I don’t understand—” “You pressed it, didn’t you?” he said calmly. “The button.” I nodded. He sighed. “Yeah. I did too.” Silence filled the room. “So…” I whispered. “Which one of us is real?” He smiled again. That same calm, unsettling smile. “That’s the problem,” he said. Then he pointed behind me. I turned. The elevator doors were open. Inside— There was another me. Standing there. Watching. Waiting. And the worst part? The buttons inside the elevator… They’re still lighting up. One by one. Like something is still pressing them. From the inside.
By Diana Joseph 5 months ago in Horror
Strangers From Hell is the Most Underrated and Terrifying Nightmare
I feel that Strangers from Hell is hardly ever talked about online. This story was based on a comic that was released through an app called Webtoon, so perhaps that was one of the reasons why this television show feels so unknown among the horror community. I was convinced by a family member to check out the show when it was released on Netflix, and I thought it was one of the best one season horror wonders.
By Emy Quinn5 months ago in Horror
A FOREST SO EVIL, IT IS ILLEGAL TO ENTER
In the early 1900s, Dr William C. Clark and his wife, Harriet, were searching for the perfect place to build a second home. While driving through the rolling hills of northwestern Connecticut’s Litchfield County, they stumbled upon something that felt almost enchanted—a vast, shadow-drenched forest perched high on a mountainside.
By Francis Osei5 months ago in Horror
My Reflection Waves at Me… Before I Move
I didn’t notice it the first time. It was something so small, so easily dismissed, that my brain chose the simplest explanation: I was tired. I had just gotten home after a long day, dropped my keys on the table, and walked past the hallway mirror. Out of habit, I glanced at myself. And for a split second—barely noticeable—my reflection smiled. Before I did. I froze. Then, instinctively, I smiled too. The reflection matched me perfectly after that, as if nothing had happened. I stared at myself longer than usual, searching for anything strange. But it was just me. Same tired eyes. Same messy hair. Same faint crease between my brows. “Get some sleep,” I muttered, shaking it off. I wish I hadn’t. The second time, it was clearer. Morning light filled my bathroom as I brushed my teeth. Foam gathered at the corners of my mouth while I stared blankly into the mirror. Then my reflection… blinked. Not a normal blink. It happened just a fraction of a second too early. I hadn’t blinked yet. A cold sensation crept up my spine. Then I blinked and it synced again. I laughed nervously, toothpaste dripping into the sink. “Ok that’s weird.” But weird didn’t mean dangerous. Not yet. By the third day, it was impossible to ignore. I stood in front of the mirror deliberately this time, testing it. I raised my hand. My reflection raised its hand… first. Just slightly. Just enough to notice. My breath caught. I lowered my hand slowly. It followed perfectly now, as if correcting itself. “Is this lag?” I whispered, though I knew how ridiculous that sounded. Mirrors don’t lag. I stepped closer. “So what are you?” I asked softly. For a moment, nothing happened. Then my reflection tilted its head—before I did. And I felt it. That wasn’t a delay anymore. That was a choice. It didn’t take long before it started helping me. At first, I didn’t even realize it. I’d be reaching for something, hesitating slightly, and my reflection would already be doing it—showing me the motion before I committed to it. When I practiced a presentation in front of the mirror, it spoke a split second ahead of me, guiding my words. When I tried on clothes, it adjusted posture and expression before I could. It was… useful. Efficient. Like watching a version of myself that already knew what to do. I stopped feeling scared. Instead, I started relying on it. The shift happened gradually. So gradually that I didn’t notice the exact moment everything went wrong. One evening, I stood in front of the mirror, deciding whether to answer a message on my phone. It was from someone I hadn’t spoken to in months. I hesitated. My reflection didn’t. It reached for the phone. Typed. Paused. Then looked back at me with a small, knowing smile. I hadn’t moved. My hand was still at my side. But on the screen—my phone screen—a message was already sent. I dropped the phone. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no” My reflection slowly lowered its hand, matching me again, as if nothing had happened. But the message remained Sent. After that, I avoided mirrors. I covered the bathroom one with a towel. Turned the hallway mirror toward the wall. Even avoided looking at my reflection in windows. But reflections are everywhere. In spoons. In screens. In darkened glass. And it was always there. Watching. Waiting. Sometimes moving just before me. Sometimes… not waiting at all. The worst night came a week later. I woke up at exactly 3:07 AM. I don’t know why. Maybe something pulled me awake. The room was silent. Too silent. My throat felt dry, so I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I had forgotten about the mirror. The towel had slipped. It hung loosely, revealing just enough of the glass. Enough to see my face. Or rather— Its face. It was already looking at me. Smiling. Not the tired, nervous smile I’d grown used to. This one was wide. Wrong. And it didn’t fade when I stopped smiling. Because I wasn’t smiling. I stumbled back, heart pounding. “Stop,” I whispered. The reflection didn’t. It stepped closer to the mirror. Pressed its hand against the inside of the glass. And then It knocked. Three slow, deliberate taps. I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t. “Please” My voice cracked. It tilted its head, studying me like I was the reflection. Like I was the delayed one. Then it did something I will never forget. It turned away. Walked out of frame. I stood there, frozen. Because I was still in front of the mirror. But my reflection— Was gone. Seconds passed. Or minutes. I don’t know. My breathing grew louder in the silence. And then From somewhere behind me I heard footsteps. Soft. Slow. Perfectly timed. A fraction of a second before I turned around.
By Diana Joseph 5 months ago in Horror