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 Forgotten Name
The villagers of Eldhollow spoke of the old mansion only in whispers. Perched at the edge of the woods, half-swallowed by ivy and mist, it was said to be cursed. No one had lived there for decades—not since the last of the Greve family vanished without a trace.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassanabout a year ago in Horror
The Petals Came With A Card This Time. Content Warning.
They arrived on the fourth Thursday of March. White roses. Twelve of them. Fresh. Unmarked. Wrapped in brown paper. No note or name in sight.
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
"Trapped in the Jungle with a Leopard"
The sun had barely risen when we entered the jungle—thick, damp, and humming with life. I was part of a small group of wildlife researchers stationed in the Western Ghats of India. Our goal was to track and document elusive animals through hidden camera traps. It was supposed to be routine—data collection, photography, maybe spotting a monkey or two. No one expected what came next.
By Muhammad Saeedabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Summer at the Lake
Title: The Last Summer at the Lake Subtitle: Some Promises Are Never Meant to Be Broken I sighed and pulled my hat brim down to shield my face from the blazing summer sun. Just a few more chapters, I told myself, flipping open my book again, though I’d read the same paragraph four times already. My eyes drifted off the page, pulled by the lake's gentle shimmer, and the book quietly fell into my lap.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Horror
The Call Lasted for Thirteen Seconds. Content Warning.
I wasn’t supposed to answer the phone. It was 2:13 a.m. I was alone in the apartment, lights off, laptop closed, and every part of me convinced the ringing was a dream.
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
Flesh Tunnels and Honey Roads . Content Warning.
They say the roads under the city used to be for mail runners, then smugglers, then something else. Not trains. Not cars. Not even footsteps. Just... something else. The first time I saw one, I thought it was an animal burrow — a hole in the alley wall, just wide enough for a child to crawl through. It glistened in the moonlight, slick and warm-looking, like the inside of a throat. It pulsed. That’s when I knew it wasn’t made of stone. Three nights later, I returned. The mouth of the tunnel had grown teeth — not sharp, but soft and petal-shaped. They trembled as I approached, parting as though the tunnel were sighing me in. I hesitated. Then I heard the hum. Sweet and low. Like bees inside a cello. It filled my chest and whispered beneath my ribs. I knelt down, reached into the tunnel with a trembling hand— And felt honey. Not real honey. Something like it. Warm and golden and wrong. I was sixteen then. My brother was missing. So was our neighbor. And the milkman. No one cared — or worse, they pretended not to notice. My town had a way of swallowing the inconvenient. That’s why I went back every night. That’s why I entered. The tunnel was alive. The walls flexed. Fleshy, veined. I crawled deeper, dragging myself through a throat that did not gag or choke, but welcomed. The humming grew louder — not in volume, but intensity. It coated my skin, sank into my spine. After a while, I stopped crawling. The tunnel began to move me. I don’t know how long I was inside. There were no landmarks. No up or down. Just a strange rhythm in the walls and the honey that coated everything — sweet, cloying, almost addictive. I drank it when I grew thirsty. It tasted like summer afternoons and rot. Then I came to a hault. Two paths. One hummed with voices. The other... with music. I chose the music. The Honey Road was lit from within — soft amber light glowing beneath translucent membranes, revealing silhouettes of things walking above. I recognized none of them. Long-legged things with lanterns for eyes. A headless woman whose hair floated behind her like smoke. A man dragging his own skin in a wheelbarrow. No one looked at me. I walked until my knees gave out. Then I crawled. The honey grew thicker. And the walls began to whisper. “You taste good.” “Will you stay?” “You have your brother’s smile.” That’s when I knew. My brother had come this way. Maybe years ago. Maybe days. Time was thick here — like the honey. Things moved differently, breathed differently. The tunnel remembered him. It wanted me because of him. And yet, I didn’t turn back. Eventually, I reached the chambers. A vast hollow in the belly of the road — a cathedral of flesh. The walls beat like a heart. There were others there, kneeling, their bodies fused to the floor with golden tendrils. Some whispered. Some screamed. And one of them was my brother. He opened his eyes when I touched his face. “You came through the flesh.” I nodded. “Do you understand what this place is?” he asked. I didn’t. He laughed — honey dripped from his mouth. “It’s not a tunnel. It’s not a road. It’s a vein. We are inside something older than cities. Older than stories. It feeds on memory and offers sweetness in return.” “You chose this?” I whispered. “I chose to be remembered.” He pointed at the others. “They begged to be forgotten. You’ll see them in dreams, not in obituaries.” I wanted to scream, but the honey was in my throat. My brother pulled me closer, and for a moment, I saw the world as he did. Endless roads beneath every city. A network of mouths and arteries, pulsing beneath our feet, hungering. And above — people building homes on top of sleeping people, never asking what lay below the stone. “I can take you home,” he said. “But you’ll always feel the pull. Once the honey touches your tongue, it remembers you.” The tunnel behind me had closed. Ahead, another door of flesh opened, revealing moonlight, trees, wind. A way out. I left him there. Half-sunk, half-smiling. Back on the surface, the world was loud. Unkind. Sharp. I vomited honey for weeks. Sometimes, I wake up in strange places — alleys, drains, under bridges — with it on my hands. Sometimes I hum without knowing why. And sometimes, late at night, I see new tunnels forming in places they shouldn’t be — behind mirrors, under beds, between cracks in plaster. They’re always warm. Always sighing. And always remembering me. Thanks for reading. If this story lingered in your mind, drop a like, leave a comment, and follow for more strange paths you were never meant to walk. 🐝
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Horror
The Attic Whispers
Megan had always wanted a quiet place to write. So when she stumbled upon a hundred-year-old Victorian house for rent just outside of Raven Hollow, she jumped at the opportunity. The house was beautiful in a haunting kind of way—tall windows, ornate wooden trims, creaky floorboards. It was the kind of place that seemed to remember everything.
By Muhammad Bilalabout a year ago in Horror
SEASON 3 - EMILY ROAN : The Nomen Child
Chapter 9: “The Child Who Names Angels” Tallowridge County Hospital - Isolating Nursery Ward - November 18th, 1985 - 2:21 AM
By Tales That Breathe at Nightabout a year ago in Horror
"The Hollow Guest"
It began with a knock at 3:17 AM. Evelyn Baxter jolted awake in her creaky farmhouse nestled at the edge of Ashmoor Woods. Her old clock ticked loudly in the silence, and her dog, Murphy, growled low at the foot of the bed. The knock came again. Three deliberate raps. Not hurried. Not hesitant. Measured.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassanabout a year ago in Horror
The Dry Bones Ritual. AI-Generated.
The Dry Bones Ritual is a paranormal game in which you play hide and seek with a demonic entity. The game, if won, is said to grant the participant any wish they desire. However, the risks are high: failure to escape or end the ritual properly can lead to severe consequences, including injury, possession, or worse.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Horror
The Closet Game Ritual. AI-Generated.
The Closet Game is a paranormal ritual that allows you to summon a demon by performing a simple yet dangerous sequence inside a dark closet. If done correctly, you may see the demon or at least feel its presence, but the game is notorious for its risks. Summoning a demon can lead to dangerous consequences, including haunting, possession, or worse.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Horror
The Dark Reflection Ritual. AI-Generated.
The Dark Reflection Ritual is a paranormal game that revolves around mirrors and the idea of bad luck. By performing this ritual, participants invite bad luck into their lives, but if they survive the aftermath, they are said to receive good fortune afterward. However, playing with mirrors is dangerous, as it’s believed mirrors can act as portals to the supernatural, and breaking one can result in summoning malevolent entities.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Horror