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.

10 Horror Remakes That Have Been Announced
There has been quite a bit of remakes in the horror genre that have been announced. There has also been a lot of opinions over some of these remake announcements, and even I have expressed my own doubts over some of these remakes.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror
The Store at Crescent Villa
At twenty-four, Arman had grown used to silence. The kind of silence that lived not in forests or fields but in neat, carefully drawn streets—rows of houses with trimmed hedges, painted fences, and gates that rarely opened. His was the last house on the crescent, larger than most, with a view of the park that remained unused.
By Shehzad Anjumabout a year ago in Horror
The Skull’s Revenge
The Skull’s Revenge Ghulam Murtaza Alvi BY:Khan Fifteen years ago, when Asif and Rizwan were medical students, their lives were ordinary until an alarming announcement changed everything. Their anatomy teacher told the class, “After the two holiday days, I will test you on the entire human skeleton.” Panic spread through the room. Asif and Rizwan were far from confident; the names and structure of the skull’s bones blurred when they tried to study from textbooks. One evening, while poring over their notes, Asif suddenly suggested, “If we could get hold of a real human skull, we could learn everything much faster. Holding it in our hands would make the bones unforgettable.” Rizwan was skeptical. “We can just pull images from the internet,” he said. Asif shook his head. “Screens only show so much. A real skull in your hands — that’s different. We’ll pass that test if we study it properly.” They decided to find a graveyard caretaker who might help. Asif knew a man named Qamr Din who worked at a cemetery outside the city. After convincing him the skull was only for study and offering him money, Qamr Din agreed — for an additional fee — to open a neglected grave and bring out the skull that night. At ten o’clock under a stormy sky, the three of them entered the graveyard. Lightning flashed, and the graves cast long, unnatural shadows. Rizwan felt fear as if the cold wind pushed at his spine, but he swallowed his dread and kept walking. Qamr Din led them to a neglected grave and, as instructed, they kept the single flashlight trained on that plot. The grave was opened. Qamr Din’s spade bit into the damp earth and, after a short while, he pulled free a human skull and wrapped it in a dark cloth. The skull looked, to Rizwan, like a melon — pale, hollow-eyed. When Asif picked up the wrapped object, a strange warmth seemed to press against the back of his head, as if something living had settled onto his shoulders. The feeling passed, but it left both students unnerved. They paid Qamr Din and rode home with the skull tied to the side of their motorcycle. Asif insisted Rizwan lock it in his cupboard — his own wardrobe lock was broken — and Rizwan obeyed. He ate, washed, and went to bed uneasy, but convinced the skull’s presence was only a scientific tool. Later that night, a horrible scream split the silence. Rizwan rushed out to find his nephew, who had been playing in the courtyard, bleeding from a wound on his head created by a falling chunk of cement from the eaves. The child survived after hurried treatment by a local doctor, and Rizwan, sleepless and shaken, began to wonder whether they had brought some curse home with them. He told Asif about his fear: “Maybe the dead are taking revenge for what we did.” Asif laughed it off, scoffing at ghosts and curses. He said a modern student shouldn’t be frightened by old superstitions. “If anything’s going to be harmed, let it be me,” he joked. The two arranged to study with the skull the next morning and Asif promised to come to Rizwan’s house at ten. But fate had other plans. That night, sometime before dawn, a ceiling fan fell in Asif’s room and crushed him while he slept. He was found dead beneath the broken fan, his skull fractured. When Rizwan learned that the funeral would be held at the very cemetery from which they had taken the skull, shock drove him nearly to collapse. He insisted on seeing his friend’s body, though the face was too mangled to recognize. Asif was buried in the same row of graves where they had, only days before, dug up a skull. Grief and guilt warped Rizwan’s world. He could not eat or sleep. After a few days, when his nerves steadied enough, he retrieved the skull from his cupboard. To his horror, a dim light seemed to leak from its empty eye sockets — as if something watched him through the hollow spaces. Panic seized him. He rode to the cemetery, planning to return the skull and beg Qamr Din to place it back. Qamr Din listened and accepted the money with a knowing expression. He agreed to replace the skull in the original grave that very night and promised to send a photograph as proof. Rizwan felt a fragile relief as he handed the bundle over, as if sheathing some guilt into the ground again. When he turned to leave, Rizwan saw a fresh tombstone nearby. On it, in black letters, was Asif’s name and the chilling date: the very night Asif had died. It was the most brutal confirmation Rizwan could imagine — that their reckless act had been met with swift and terrible consequence. In the days that followed, rumors spread. People said the fan had fallen by coincidence; others said a curse had followed the boys home. For Rizwan, coincidence no longer offered solace. He would sit on Asif’s grave at night, reciting prayers until the first birds announced morning, trying to undo something he had never fully understood. He had learned his lesson the hardest way possible: some boundaries are not meant to be crossed, and respect for the dead is not merely tradition — it is, perhaps, a safeguard against forces that patience and money cannot tame. Years later, the memory of that hot, stormy night in the cemetery remained as sharp as a bone. Rizwan became a careful man, his medical studies shadowed by a lifelong wariness: knowledge, he learned, has consequences when it strips the living of reverence for the dead.
By Khan about a year ago in Horror
The Creeping Horror of Vietnam: When Soldiers Faced More Than Just the Enemy
When we think of war, images of soldiers, weapons, and battles usually come to mind. But in Vietnam, the battlefield was far more complex. American troops weren’t just fighting the Viet Cong they were also fighting the land itself.
By Izhar Ullahabout a year ago in Horror
The Mirror House
The Mirror House The house on Marrow Lane was never sold. It simply... waited. Locals called it "The Mirror House" — a decaying Victorian mansion built in 1873 by the eccentric architect Silas Vant. Every wall, every room, and every hallway was adorned with mirrors of all shapes and sizes. Some said it was vanity. Others claimed it was obsession.
By Alexander Mindabout a year ago in Horror
The Door That Never Closed
The office building was nearly empty, save for the dim hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of the old elevator shafts. Sarah stood on the top floor, clutching her tote bag like it was a lifeline. Her heart thudded in her chest, each beat a warning she tried to ignore. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn back, to leave the building and retreat to the safety of her car. But the email from her manager had been clear: “Retrieve the file from the 13th-floor archive. No excuses.”
By Shehzad Anjumabout a year ago in Horror
The Red Room
Sarah had always been drawn to the old Victorian house on Elm Street, with its peeling paint and overgrown garden. When the "For Rent" sign appeared in the front yard, she didn't hesitate. The rent was suspiciously low, but Sarah was a graduate student surviving on ramen and hope—she couldn't afford to be picky.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Horror
Season 4: Whispers of the Forgotten: A Descent into Eldoria Manor
Chapter 1 The grinding outside grew louder, a deep, earth-shaking rumble that vibrated through the cabin's very foundations. The windows began to rattle in their frames, and dust rained down from the ceiling. Alistair, his heart pounding in his chest, looked at the silent music box in his hands, then at his terrified companions.
By Tales That Breathe at Nightabout a year ago in Horror
The Lost Couple of the Chihuahua Desert: A Mystery That Refuses to Die
The Chihuahua Desert, one of the largest deserts in North America, stretches across northern Mexico and parts of the southwestern United States. With its blazing sun, endless stretches of sand, and towering cacti, it is both breathtaking and unforgiving. For centuries, this landscape has hidden stories of survival, loss, and mystery. But few are as unsettling as the disappearance of Ethan Morrison and Alice Peterson in March 1994 a case that still raises questions more than three decades later
By Izhar Ullahabout a year ago in Horror
10 Haunted Places in the UK You Can Visit This Halloween
Introduction As the nights stretch longer and the air sharpens with autumn chill, Britain’s ghost stories come to life. Castles, prisons, and pubs across the country are brimming with centuries of history—and with it, tales of restless spirits.
By No One’s Daughterabout a year ago in Horror
The House at Raven’s Hollow
M Mehran No one in our town went near the house at Raven’s Hollow after sunset. They said it was cursed, that shadows moved inside its walls even on the brightest days. I had always laughed at such tales—until the night I dared to enter. --- The Dare It began as a dare. My friends, eager to prove their bravery, challenged me to spend an hour inside the abandoned house. I shrugged, pretending I wasn’t nervous. “It’s just an old house,” I said. But as I stood in front of the rusted gates, something in the air felt wrong. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a faint, almost human sigh. I swallowed hard, convincing myself it was just the breeze. --- First Steps The front door groaned as I pushed it open, the sound echoing like a scream down the empty hallway. Dust hung in the air, thick as fog. Broken furniture lay scattered, and cobwebs draped the corners like ghostly curtains. I flicked on my flashlight, its beam trembling in my hands. Every creak of the floorboards made me jump. I told myself I’d stay only an hour—but as soon as I stepped further in, a strange chill ran down my spine. --- The Shadows It started subtly. I saw a shadow move at the edge of my vision, though I was alone—or so I thought. Each time I turned, nothing was there. But the sense of being watched grew stronger. I reached the living room, where an old portrait hung crooked on the wall. The eyes seemed to follow me, their painted gaze unnervingly alive. Then, in the corner, I thought I saw someone—or something—sitting in the shadows. My heart pounded, but I convinced myself it was imagination. --- Whispers in the Dark As I climbed the staircase, whispers began. Faint, almost inaudible, but unmistakable. “Leave… now… leave…” They came from the walls, the floors, everywhere at once. I froze, gripping the railing. My flashlight flickered, and in that brief darkness, I could feel breath against my neck. I spun around, but no one was there. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the whispers, yet they persisted. --- The Room at the End I remembered the last dare: to enter the room at the end of the hall. The door was partially open, its hinges squealing in protest as I pushed it further. Inside, the air was colder. My breath turned to mist. The room was empty—except for a mirror, framed in blackened oak. I stepped closer, and my reflection stared back. At first, it was normal. Then, slowly, it smiled. A smile I hadn’t given it. I stumbled back, tripping over the carpet. The reflection moved, independent of me, its grin widening, eyes gleaming with malice. I tried to look away, but the mirror seemed to pull me in, whispering promises of darkness I could not resist. --- The Escape I ran. Down the stairs, through the living room, past the portrait whose eyes now seemed furious. The whispers became screams, echoing from every corner. The shadows stretched, reaching for me with cold, skeletal hands. The front door was in sight, but it slammed shut before I could touch it. Panic surged. I slammed my shoulder against it, once, twice, three times. Finally, it gave way. I burst into the night, gasping for air. The wind had stopped. The house stood silent, still as if nothing had happened. --- The Mark I told my friends what I saw. They laughed, but I could see the doubt in their eyes. That night, I realized that some stories are not made up. Some houses remember the people who enter. Some mirrors remember faces—and hunger for more. The worst part came the next morning. On my arm, I found a small, dark mark shaped like a claw. I didn’t remember being scratched, but the pain was sharp, real. And when I looked in the mirror, my reflection was slightly… different. Smiling back at me. --- The Lesson I never returned to Raven’s Hollow. I avoid daredevils, abandoned places, and mirrors at night. But the memory follows me. Every time I see a shadow flicker, every time a whisper brushes my ear, I wonder if the house is still calling me. Some nights, I wake to find the mark glowing faintly, reminding me that the boundary between us and the darkness is thinner than I ever imagined. Raven’s Hollow is waiting. And it remembers.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Horror
I Solved My Halloween Costume Dilemma
I know that I stated in a past article that I was losing my mind with trying to look for a costume during this year. Then I finally found out why it was hard for me to find a costume.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror