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.
Childhood Insanity
The dark shielded her from whatever made the wet squelching sound. Down in the basement of her childhood home, the smell of mildew and rotting wood was potent. Her scraped knees were curled into her torso and she kept a hand pressed against her quivering lips. Her pale green eyes blinked back tears as she attempted to hide herself deeper behind some shelving near the basement stairs.
Juniper WoodstonePublished 2 years ago in HorrorRafflesia
Raff spent majority of his life preying on people by building trust and surety in his victims, isolating them from friends and family as well as fostering dependance (masking it as ‘interdependence’) until all efforts are squeezed out of the victim, Raffael disposes of their existence. There seems to be a trail of nightmarish fracas that follows in his chosen hobby of toying with extermination of human vivacity. A Rafflesia feasting off of its host; No roots, stems or leaves to connect to. Just dining off the scintilla of flesh, to every limb rived to disseverment of pliable tendons clinging to the edge of his excision from his canines. His latest prey seem to be privy to his advances as Gwen came across folks of more of a sociopath nature revealing their true motives within a year.
ended. Another ruined suitor, who periodically appears from Shropshire and breaks out into efforts to
address the Chancellor at the close of the day’s business and who can by no means be made to understand that the Chancellor is legally ignorant of his existence after making it desolate for
Tin Can Sam
I was a child of the late 80s, in a time when kids played on the streets till the street lights came on, and riding your bike through town was as normal as going to the corner store to buy your mom smokes. In fact, the woods seemed to be the only place my dad specifically said was off-limits. The woods seemed to be a boundary for many families, and I never knew anyone who went there willingly.
Joshua CampbellPublished 2 years ago in HorrorThe Cowfield
Timothy Montgomery Born September 2, 2043 Died October 13, 2054 “Muuhhhhhhhhh!” I always screamed so pathetically in my last days. I spent the last few years of my life that way – mooing and shrieking like some sort of domesticated, bovine ape. I knew the cow fields bordering Abry were dangerous – my mother had always made me well aware of that – but I couldn’t help running around out there, in those open spaces. I had to get away from the smog – the muggy, toxic goop of that unnaturally shifting city. The relatively big sky allowed me to breathe; my chest contracted and retracted with pleasure when I was there, as if at least relieved.
Robert PettusPublished 2 years ago in HorrorMR.Violence: Dracula The FINALE
DRACULA GETS UP FROM HIS SEAT AND SAYS IF YOU KNEW THIS WAS A TRAP WHY DID YOU COME ANYWAY. RAPHAEL SAYS I AM VERY CURIOUS ABOUT YOU AND I WANT TO KNOW THE TRUTH ARE YOU A VAMPIRE OR ARE YOU JUST A MAN WHO JUST LOVES KILLING WOMEN AND CHILDREN EITHER WAY BROTHER YOU ARE GOING DOWN. DRACULA SAYS ME AND VIKTOR THE MAN THAT WAS HIRED TO COME HERE TO DO THE SAME THING HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL THAT YOU WORKING FOR THE SAME MAN WHO THE DOES THE SAME AS ME? RAPHAEL SAYS AFTER I DEAL WITH YOU HE IS NEXT! DRACULA SAYS YOU AREN’T LEAVING THIS ROOM. I AM THE FEAR THAT IS ACCUSTOMED TO AND I AM THE REASON THAT YOU LOCK YOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS.
Victor Robinson IIPublished 2 years ago in HorrorA Sunday Stroll
Hatham thought he must be the only man in town to notice the streets grew emptier each day. As he walked along, his grandson’s hand in his, he did not wonder why. He already knew. It was the way of things: kids grew up and left the nest, running off to the city to live in luxury. His own daughter had married local; he’d always regretted that for her. She should have moved off somewhere. Kingsport, or Roanoke. Or even Wytheville would have been enough. This town had no future, and Hatham would know.
Hunter WilsonPublished 2 years ago in HorrorThe Great Dead Womb
We may now enter the "Great Dead Womb" that is the melancholy House of Usher. There's a marvelous cunt-like crack across the surface of the melancholy House of Usher. Our Narrator (who shall always and forevermore remain nameless), approaches it "on the whole of a dark, dull and soulless evening in the autumn of the year." The leaves are falling, birds do not sing. There is a wicked tarn throwing up a miasmal funk, a vaginal odor of a great dead, stone thing.
Resident Evil: Field of Blood - Pt 11
Leon's words and soft tone would have been soothing to Sara, but the sight of his wounds and the terrifying image of CERBERUS were branded into her mind. She opened her eyes wide and found herself looking into Leon's face.
Black Site 7
I'm in the wind, I'm sure I'll be dead by tomorrow, but I need to let people know this thing is loose. I'm an agent with the United States Government, and my station is Black Site 7. I won't tell you my name, it would probably be useless to you, but this was not how I saw my life going. I spent 6 years in Iraq, signed up right after high school. It was nothing like the recruiter told me it would be. I spent eight years in the blistering heat. I hauled my fair share of comrades out of firefights and saw a lot of shit over there that would make ordinary people go crazier than I might be. I've had camel spiders crawl on me while I sleep, watched friends I've known since basic get decapitated through binoculars, burned houses full of insurgents and civilians to rubble, and a lot of other things I don't like to think about. When I was done, they gave me my papers, thanked me for my service, and sent me home.
Joshua CampbellPublished 2 years ago in HorrorRunning With the Shadows of the Night, Chapter 9
How are you this evening, little one? Not feeling too good. I’m so sorry. The nausea? Yeah. I haven’t been able to eat anything without puking it back up.
Joyce SherryPublished 2 years ago in HorrorHell Of A Guy
These fucking amateurs, Eddie thought derisively, have no idea what they're doing. Eddie was in Hell. No, not Michigan. Hell, as in the biblical place of damnation and endless suffering. And sure, Eddie had known he was going to hell from the time he skinned his first linebacker at age 14- he had prepared himself for an eternity spent burning as he progressed from librarians to underpaid and misinformed museum tour guides . . . he had a pain kink, anyway. He was prepared for eternal torture that outstripped anything that he could do. But, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick he was not expecting this.
Delise FantomePublished 2 years ago in Horror