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 Game
Sweat beads pouring down my face, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, my sweet daughter’s warm-brown eyes pleading with me across the room; I only wanted what was best for her, none of this should ever have happened. Hands trembling, I take the scissors and the black book and run to her. A stampede of combat boots hitting the cold concrete ground -- I hear them coming. The time is now. I need to cut the wire.
By Avery Ross6 years ago in Horror
Zandar's Prize
Zandar’s Prize By Katherine Taylor Zandar, a rather homely seventeen year old boy, was spending his Saturday afternoon clothes shopping. Zandar had grown 3 inches over the summer break from school and Nina, his mother, was very disgruntled that she had to buy him all new pants, again. While at checkout, Zandar noticed a very peculiar little black, leather bound book sitting on the counter. The leather was very weathered, soft, and embossed with strange symbols on it. He was very drawn to the book, like it had a magnetic force pulling him closer to it. Zandar had never stolen anything in his life, but without hesitation, he quickly whisked the book off the counter while the febal store owner had his back turned.
By Katherine Taylor6 years ago in Horror
Fond Memories
Monday 10-19-2020 , 2pm Dear diary…? Is that how this is meant to start off? I’ve never kept a diary before—it has simply not occurred to me that putting my musings down on paper would do anyone any sort of good, least of all me. But oddly enough, from the moment I saw you I felt strangely compelled to write in you. I figured at a minimum it couldn’t do any harm.
By Elliot Clausen6 years ago in Horror
Get It Right
Stele Bravegold found his stare fixed straight on Kay Williams. She was bounded by any number of straps to a sleek steel chair, fitted to perfect, upright posture. Stele could move only his eyes and mouth; the leather belt locking his forehead to the cold metallic throne allowed for only sight and sound. A quick glance to the left and right revealed Maggie McAllen and Brock Clapton, both in similar predicaments, frightfully fidgeting against tight bindings.
By Trey Fussell6 years ago in Horror
Hopelessness
On a cold New Mexico winter afternoon Laila was at home pondering if her never ending depression would cease to exist. Whilst realizing life was not worth living with such constant misery she opened her little black note book and began writing her farewell to the world, it had been a few years since she last wrote in her notebook since it seemed she could only fill it with sorry stories from her life. It was left untouched for a while and managed to escape the recycling bin only because it held sentimental value to her. As she began to write she got chills all over her body as if something was telling her not to write that letter. Once the chills left her body she shrugged off the abnormal feeling and began to write when suddenly the book started writing on its own. Startled she jumped from her chair in fear and began to read what the book was writting from a distance the book wrote “Laila do not do what you are planning to do, I know these financial hardships have pushed you to your limits but fear not I have a solution for you...” shocked she began to stare at the book and wonder who and what was writing to her. Because of those few words she now had little hope to hold on to and put the rope and stool back in the attic and went to bed. The next day she continued her usual routine which consisted of going to work, coming home, eat and watch tv. She took the book to work and left it open the whole shift in hopes new writting would appear. As it was getting close to bed time she was second guessing the book and thought to her self “am I really going to endure this misery because a book told me not to!? Silly me” but that little hint of hope fueled her to wait for the book to communicate with her again. As days went by and still no new writting in her book she grew inpatient she decided to go for a drive to distract her mind from the book. While driving through the mountains she decided to take a different route, the un paved route rather than her usual sight seeing spots. As it began to get dark she decided to turn around when she saw a faint light in the near distance. Curiosity got the best of her and she began driving closer to the light. The light seemed to get further the more she drove towards it. Then it happened, her car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere with no signal on her cell to call for help. “Why me!?” She yelled at the top of her lungs “as if my life wasnt already difficult enough.” She began to walk to the nearest road in hopes to find help. Hours went by and not a soul in sight. While walking through the rocks and rubble she stumbled upon a dirty old mattress that had been dumped by someone. Out of anger she kicked the mattress several times only to end up stuck In it. As she struggled to get her foot out of a tear on the side of the mattress she noticed her foot had pulled out a piece of brown paper, curious she stuck her hand in the crease to discover a paper bag. To her surprise $20,000 cash where wrapped tightly inside that paper bag! She could not believe it she was so happy she began to jump with joy with that money she would now be able to pay her debts catch up on past due bills and be a lot more stress free! It was as if the weigh of the world was lifted from her shoulders. Happily she continued her walk towards the city. By morning she was able to find help to retrieve her car and make it back home. When she went back home she was so eager to finally put a good chapter in her book but her book was nowhere to be found, she looked everywhere but it was gone. It was as if the books purpose was to give her hope in life that life is worth living despite the hardships we face.
By Ruby Sangha 6 years ago in Horror
Blood Money
Exzentrius Mead was a man who intentionally avoided giving to others. His good fortune had never stirred his curiosity for goodwill. To him, poor circumstances simply related weakness, and deserved neither empathy nor vindication. Maggie had discerned all this of her father from their first and only encounter. She was sixteen then, and despite the tremor in her mother’s voice-when she spoke of him-and the cryptic warnings to keep away from the man, Maggie’s fears and lessons on discretion had been eclipsed by desperation, the desperation of an illegitimate, girl trying to save her sick mother. Now, twenty years later, the same man who had berated and threatened her during that encounter, was now begging her not to hang up.
By Sharon Barnes6 years ago in Horror
Ask then Answer
Leaves crunched under her feet as she passed tents and makeshift cabins set among the trees. Visitors wandered the grounds of the forbidden sideshow. She pushed her way through the crowd, her shoulders brushed those she passed. The scents of burning sage fell over her, she was close. She plucked at the hair band around her wrist as she weaved around mingling bodies; her heart pounded and she remembered what Madame Vadoma promised she could provide.
By Alexzandria Rogoza6 years ago in Horror
