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 Man in the Apartment Above Me Was Never Alive
When I moved into my new apartment, I was just trying to escape the chaos of city life. The building was old, almost antique, with creaky wooden floors and faded wallpaper that smelled faintly of dust and history. It had charm. At least, that’s what I told myself.
By huzaifa Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Silent Agony: A Portrait of Resistance and Loss
In a world overrun by noise—of war, of politics, of relentless chatter on digital screens—sometimes, a photograph tells the story louder than a thousand voices. The image before us is one such visual parable. It speaks in muted tones, in earth-stained fabric and blood-drenched wool. The woman depicted does not scream, does not reach out, does not protest. Yet everything about her—the closed eyes, the tension in her brow, the soft lines of her face frozen in fatigue or final rest—screams volumes.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Horror
Names of Honor and the Tragedy in Balochistan
Balochistan’s Names of Honor and a Recent Tragedy Balochistan, a region rich in tradition and steeped in tribal values, has long upheld a cultural system that places honor—ghairat—at the core of personal and social identity. Within this code, the concept of “name” (naal) or honor (izzat) often determines an individual's reputation, familial pride, and community standing. However, the weight of this honor can, and often does, lead to tragic consequences.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Horror
Limited Edition Labubu Doll – Cute, Collectible, and Coveted
In a quiet corner of a bustling city, nestled between antique bookshops and cozy tea cafes, was a tiny store called Whimsy & Wonder. Its wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, painted with pastel stars and a sleepy moon. The shop was a hidden gem, known only to a few, and it held the rarest, most enchanting collectibles you could imagine.
By kamran khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Girl Who Lived in My Mirror
When I was eight, my parents bought a century-old Victorian house. Creaky floors, drafty hallways, and mirrors—lots of mirrors. The house had them in every room. They were antique, beautifully carved, and—according to my mom—“full of character.”
By huzaifa Khanabout a year ago in Horror
"I Spent the Night in the Abandoned Asylum Everyone Warned Me About — I Should've Listened"
Everyone in my hometown has a story about the old Blackridge Asylum. Some say it’s haunted by the patients who were forgotten. Others swear they've seen faces watching from the broken windows. There’s even an old urban legend that a nurse went mad and stitched patients’ eyes open so they’d “never stop watching.” I always chalked it up to small-town gossip and bored teenagers. I never believed any of it.
By Nizam khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Girl At No. 9 Part 3
We left the neighborhood when the circles began appearing in our yard—slowly at first, then faster. They weren’t just in the grass anymore; they showed up on the walls, in the dirt by the driveway, even pressed into the kitchen floorboards like some invisible weight had pushed through. My wife stopped sleeping. She stopped talking. Her eyes looked distant, hollowed out by sleepless nights and whispered prayers. My daughter didn’t complain. She didn’t cry. She just watched. Watched the shadows grow longer, watched the edges of the house shift as if breathing. She’d draw those endless loops—circles and eyes—and hum the same low tune Eira used to sing. The one that sounded like a nightmare made melody. One night, the humming pulled me from sleep. I found her in the hallway, pale and still, hands pressed flat against the wall. Her breath came in shallow, shaky gasps, but her eyes were wide open and unblinking, staring into the darkness beyond. I reached out to her. She didn’t turn. “Do you see it?” she whispered. I didn’t want to see whatever she saw. We packed what we could and left under the cover of darkness. The new town was supposed to be a fresh start. New schools, new friends, new everything. But the silence followed us. On quiet nights, when the house settled, I swear I hear the faint scratching of nails against wood—the slow, deliberate marking of circles into the floorboards beneath our feet. The dog whines at empty corners where nothing is there. My daughter’s eyes sometimes flash that same pale stillness—like she’s looking through me, or past me, into something only she can see. She still draws. Always circles. Always eyes. And sometimes, when she thinks I’m not looking, she hums. That terrible, broken lullaby. Years passed. My daughter slowly became normal again—or as normal as she could be. She laughed, played, even forgot the shapes in her notebooks for a while. The shadows retreated. The humming faded. The house seemed to breathe easier. But I didn’t. I felt the quiet tighten around me like a noose. The scratching in the wood didn’t stop. The dog’s whines turned into growls at empty spaces. I saw shapes in the dark—circles, eyes, impossible outlines just beyond vision. I started waking with bruises on my arms, scratches on my face, marks I couldn’t explain. I hear whispers too, sometimes just at the edge of hearing, telling me I’m losing myself. Maybe I am. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe I deserve it. There’s something I never told my wife. Never told the neighbors. Never told the police. Eira and I… we weren’t strangers. We weren’t just neighbors.
By Muhammad Shoaibabout a year ago in Horror
Whispers in Room 313
The House With No Past It started with a Craigslist ad. Three-bedroom Victorian, dirt cheap, barely an hour outside Portland. No neighbors for a mile. The photos were grainy, but I saw the charm under the grime. I needed quiet. I needed space. I needed to disappear for a while.
By Isabella Woodabout a year ago in Horror
