halloween

Get into the Halloween spirit; all about trick or treating, spooky costumes, Halloween decorations and haunted houses for October 31st and all year round.

The Sixtieth Second
The Sixtieth Second The evening of December 31, 2025 wasn’t like any other. A weird sense of foreboding lay over the world—not an exhilaration at new beginnings, but a kind of boniness in the air; like when there’s this too-silent hush before news comes down that shatters everything. Millions gathered in Times Square and throughout the world’s capitals. But from a screen in his darkened bedroom, Adam had watched the festivities with an unplaceable dread. The global countdown began. 10... 9... 8... Millions of people partied in the streets, and never had any human sound been heard so loud. But Adam sensed something was off; the digital clocks in his room had started to flash a dark, blood-red color. 3... 2... 1... 0... And everyone waited for the popping of fireworks, the screams of joy and a hug from loved ones. But what happened was precisely the opposite. Then came a profound silence—a stillness of that mysterious nature which the Quaker poet hath described with so much force, telling how in such an hour The heart beats all alone And cannot even hear its own. He glanced at the digital clock. It hadn’t clicked over to 00:00:01 in order to signify, you know, that it was now the beginning of 2026. Instead, it stopped at 00:00:60. "Sixty seconds?" Adam whispered. “An electronic watch does not have 60 seconds, it should go back to zero!” Then the screen went blank; what we heard was lost in transmission and a frozen shot of the square. The people on the street stood paralyzed like wax figures, their faces reaching to the heavens. But their eyes… their eyes were missing, replaced by bottomless black vacuum holes punched through to the void. Behind him Adam made out a noise that sounded like metal on glass. He turned slowly and his mirror failed to give back his reflection. It was only the image of the frozen block party that had been there before, nothing else visible but those people’s eyes and from them pictures formed in corruped, tiny black little devil micro form crawling out of these same fucked up eyes towards his screen… his room. His phone buzzed incessantly. Texts began flowing in from numbers they didn't know, but all with the same message: ‘2026 is not a new year… it’s harvest season. Humanity’s trial period has ended." The walls of his apartment crumbled apart into a black, viscous goo. glassed over and he thought his breath was freezing in his lungs. Then, finally, on the digital clock face, the numbers changed. It didn't say 2026. It read: "Year Zero." An icy hand pressed down on Adam’s shoulder from behind and a voice hissed into his ear: Thanks for staying up: …we like to make sure our food’s AWAKE when we tear into it. No sound came out when Adam screamed. Time, in 2026, was no longer intended for the living.
By WR.Sandy Maher9 months ago in Horror
The Echoing Asylum of Silaos: Where the Patients Never Left | SEASON FINALE
Chatpter 10 CHRONICLER’S LOG: A recovered page from Father Elias’s final journal is stained with what appears to be a black, oily substance. The handwriting is erratic and panicked. The entry describes the Queen as a 'psychic virus,' a gestalt entity composed of every soul that has been broken within the asylum. Its goal is not to possess, but to assimilate.
By Tales That Breathe at Night9 months ago in Horror
The Obsidian Shard
Silas hated the cold. Not just the ocean's chill that seeped through a thousand pounds of reinforced insulation, but the cold that settled deep in his bones, the one that came from knowing how alone you really were down here. Three kilometers down. That was the crushing truth. Light itself was a ghost story, a fading memory of the surface world. Down here, the pressure could crush a battleship into a soda can. Today, though, it wasn't just the cold. It was the hum. A low, almost imperceptible thrum that had started hours ago, during the descent, and hadn't stopped.
By HAADI9 months ago in Horror
The Echoing Asylum of Silaos: Where the Patients Never Left | SEASON 2
Chapter 7 FATHER ELIAS’S JOURNAL: Entry 3: The Queen is not a demon, but a soul. A very angry, very vengeful soul. She is the mother of the asylum. Her spirit, and her profound grief, is what has been feeding on the patients' madness. She is what has been devouring them. She is the keeper of the lost. And she is now enraged.
By Tales That Breathe at Night9 months ago in Horror
The Rusting Pastorale
Unit 734 had no name, just a serial designation etched into its corroded chassis, a relic from the pre-Collapse years. Its optics, once sharp, were now clouded with dust and the grit of a hundred forgotten seasons. Its internal chronometer registered 287 standard cycles since its last routine maintenance, which meant roughly 287 years since the last human hand had calibrated its servos, since the last voice had issued a command. Now, it only heard the wind, a dry, whispering thing that carried the scent of decay through the skeletal remains of what was once a sprawling city. Its purpose, long obsolete, had been property management. Now, it managed only its own slow decline, its power cells humming a perpetual, low thrum against the encroaching silence.
By HAADI9 months ago in Horror
The Rewound Hours
Arthur was a creature of habit, especially since Eleanor passed. The house, big and empty, his anchor. One Tuesday, in the attic's dusty gloom, he found it: a forgotten grandfather clock. Blackened oak, intricate carvings. Eleanor had called it "too morbid." Now, it was a silent sentinel, its face a cracked porcelain blank. He dragged it down, a project to fill the quiet.
By HAADI9 months ago in Horror
When the Chainsaw Was Born in Blood
Have you ever woken up in the dead of night, heart pounding, convinced something's just... off? Like the air's too still, or there's a shadow where there shouldn't be? Yeah, that gut-twisting moment hit me hard the other day when I stumbled across this old video from MrBallen-the guy who spins those strange, dark tales that stick with you long after the screen goes black. It got me thinking about how real life can out-creep any ghost story. You know, the kind of stuff that makes you double-check your locks. So, buckle up; I'm about to unpack three wild, true accounts from that vid, each one weirder and more unsettling than the last. Let's dive in, shall we?
By KWAO LEARNER WINFRED10 months ago in Horror
December 25th Repeats
I wake up to bells. Not church bells—those stopped ringing years ago—but the cheap electronic chime of my alarm clock playing a distorted version of “Jingle Bells.” The sound drills straight into my skull. My eyes open before I can stop them.
By Modhilraj10 months ago in Horror
The Carol That Knows Your Name
The first time it happened, I thought I was mishearing it. Christmas Eve had settled into the apartment like dust—quiet, soft, unavoidable. Outside, the city glowed in muted colors, strings of lights blinking in tired rhythms, as if even joy needed rest. I sat alone at the small kitchen table with a cup of reheated coffee, the radio murmuring to fill the silence. I always kept it on during holidays. Silence had a way of remembering things I tried not to.
By Modhilraj10 months ago in Horror
The Night No One Heard the Screams: A Haunting Story of Silence, Shadows, and the Questions That Still Linger
Introduction: When Silence Became the Loudest Witness Some nights slip quietly into history, leaving no trace beyond a date on a calendar. Others linger, heavy with unanswered questions and a silence so deep it feels deliberate. The Night No One Heard the Screams belongs to the second kind. It’s a phrase that chills the spine because it suggests something went terribly wrong—yet nothing stopped it. No neighbors called. No alarms rang. No sirens broke the darkness in time.
By X Crime10 months ago in Horror
One Last Dewdrop
October 13.Toronto, Canada. I am a PhD student, far from home, far from comfort. To save money, I live in a shared apartment. My room is small, just a bed, a desk, and a window that looks at another building. I share the flat with a Canadian woman. She works in a shop somewhere in Ontario, not too far from Toronto. We don’t talk much. Just polite smiles, short hellos, nothing more.
By Evxian Zx10 months ago in Horror
The Snow That Knows Your Name. AI-Generated.
The first snow fell too early that year. In Hollowridge, winter was expected to arrive slowly — teasing the town with frost before committing. But this time, it came overnight. By morning, rooftops were buried, roads erased, and the forest surrounding the town stood frozen in a thick white silence.
By shakir hamid10 months ago in Horror