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.
Smell of Decay
The ranch house sat at the side of a hill surrounded by a forest for miles in each direction. It was small, humble, with only a room for both living and sleep, one for storing his books and valuables, and another split for food, laundry, and bathing. The creature that lived inside of the ranch house had no need of fire so there was never a smoke trail in the sky. On a slightly chilly night late in February, Vernon sat comfortably in his favorite chair and flipped the page of his book.
By William Hillson7 years ago in Horror
The Good Boy
Gerald Thompson was a large, burly, grizzled man with patches of red hair all atop his head. He was imposing, dangerous and no-nonsense. His work had often kept him busy. As a construction foreman, his ability to intimidate was the stuff of legend. He could scare the pants out of his subordinates with a glare. His long, twelve-hour shift led to at least, seven firings, a long phone battle with an order for sheetrock gave the company who was supposed to deliver the order more reason to delay the order. The day was so brutal that he jumped into his car and drove home without doing one very important thing. Pick up his seven-year-old son from his school.
By Carlos Gonzalez7 years ago in Horror
The Broken Window
Growing up on a council, the council estate had some very interesting aspects. One was the social bubble. As a child, I played within the confines of the local area, and so I didn't really see much else of different social class other than on the TV. The other was the steady stream of temporary friends from the two children's homes on the corners of Chelwood Close and Cuckmere Way.
By Colin J Davies7 years ago in Horror
The Nocturne Chamber Part 3
My head was pounding before I even opened my eyes that morning. After an informative, but ultimately fruitless, night at the bar, I had turned up nothing concrete with which to aid my investigation. I rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, blinking the sleep out of my eyes as I brushed my teeth. I thought back to the day I first heard about the Weeping Door.
By Samuel Canerday7 years ago in Horror
Let Us Be Friends
Olivia... Olivia Jones, a name I'd never forget. I am your average college girl. I guess you'd say I have quite the good amount of friends, but what does that matter... right? You would think that having an enormous group of friends, or your "circle" as we put it nowadays, would be somewhat important only in your entire high school career, but does it carry on? I guess I never did pay much attention to popularity or even the mere fact that I even had friends because I spent most of my time with my family either way.
By Yajaira Villanueva7 years ago in Horror
The Nocturne Chamber Part 2
A wispy frame emerged from the shadows of a dimly lit alley onto the main thoroughfare, occasional lights from passing cars illuminating the bustle of foot traffic on the sidewalk. The young man slipped between the crowds, walking in a manner that bespoke purpose. Every other step he pulled out his phone, glancing at it for a few moments before slipping it back into his jacket pocket. Throngs of people laughed and bellowed past, but his eyes remained fixed ahead, as if they were unable to see anything but what was relevant to their goal. He slipped down another side alley, unnoticed by so much as a single person.
By Samuel Canerday7 years ago in Horror
Item 1197: Overlook Diary
Foreward: These are the excerpts recorded in the 'Overlook Diary,' evidence #1197, which was excavated from the grounds of Mount Claypell Sanatorium, otherwise known as the Overlook. The following entries were discovered as they are read, neither tampered with nor redacted in any such way. Within these pages are various diary entries, historical citations, newspaper clippings, written-out interviews, and inpatient files later identified as prior Overlook patients. The contents of the diary were amassed, collated, documented, then organized throughout the year of 2004, during which time the string of multi-murders were taking place. These, and the other more classified evidenced documents surrounding the trial, will remain in Mount Claypell’s Everett Library, wherein they shall be kept hidden under lock and key. This diary, in addition to its author, serve as a reminder to the fragility of our minds and the many dark pathways through which this mental strain can drag us.
By galaxus imprum7 years ago in Horror
A Stranger's Lie
I could feel the anger in his stare. His cold, emotionless expression. The wind sweeping through the windows. The curtain swaying slightly. I sit dead still, trying not to make even a slight movement that could provoke him. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’m an object. A possession.
By Keeley Bewick7 years ago in Horror
The Nocturne Chamber
I entered the bar late, late enough that the crowds had thinned out and only the stragglers remained. The speakers were droning some barely intelligible music, which was just loud enough to drown out the murmurs of the patrons there. Taking a seat at the bar next to a grizzled old man nursing a drink, I ordered a shot of whiskey and gulped it down, surveying the bar as my eyes watered from the sting. There were two other groups of people, two men at a table in the corner, and a man and woman in a booth on the side. Then there was the man next to me. He was the man I had come for, though he did not know it. I ordered another drink, and ordered another round for the man as well. He looked at me with surprise, and I raised my shot in a toast.
By Samuel Canerday7 years ago in Horror
The Ducks of Sharun
There was something weird about the ducks by Sharun pond. They were quiet and stared a lot. But, the area was beautiful and secluded, so I grabbed a loaf of bread and my notebook and headed down there. The sky was clear and the sun shining when I pulled up, and there wasn’t a single other person in sight. I preferred it that way. No awkward eye contact, or worse, people trying to talk to me. Just me and the birds and the clear water of the pond.
By A. Renée Bowling7 years ago in Horror
Timber Witch
It was a quarter after one, and I was still stuck in the library. A ten page paper on the fall of the Roman Empire due tomorrow morning constantly loomed over my thoughts like a storm cloud. I was beyond tired, and the back to back Dunkin Donuts lattes were barely keeping me awake. I decided to walk around to try and get my blood moving. I aimlessly walked through the endless aisles of books until I made it to the religion section. That’s when I began to hear the voice, the quiet but welcoming voice. “Come see me” said the voice, wispy and soft. I followed the voice to the end of the aisle, until I found the source. Stuffed between the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads was a book called Timber Witch and Other Stories. The book was very old, with brown pages and a cracked spine. The author didn’t give their name, only calling themselves The Salted Muse. I opened the book and began to read the first story, The Tale of the Timber Witch.
By Julian Hayden7 years ago in Horror