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 Whispering Lake
They say some lakes are born from tears — of sorrow, of longing, of despair. But the lake that rested quietly between the cursed mountains of Qalith was not born of anything human. It was a prison. A prison for something ancient. And something wicked.
By NIAZ Muhammadabout a year ago in Horror
The Basement Door That Wasn't There Yesterday
Hey, wanna hear a scary story? One of those that sounds made-up, but feels just real enough to make you check the corners of your room tonight? This story is about a kid named Jamie, who found a door in his basement that wasn’t there before. Not a tiny crack, not a hidden panel—an actual wooden door with black hinges and a knob that looked like an old eyeball. No one in his family knew how it got there. But Jamie? He opened it anyway. And that’s when everything started to go wrong. Chapter 1: The New House Jamie had just moved with his parents and his older sister, Tessa, to a small town called Red Hollow. It was the kind of place where nothing exciting ever happened. The biggest event of the year was the Pumpkin Parade, and even that ended by 7 p.m. The house they moved into was old—like, creaky-floorboards-and-random-cold-spots old. But it was big, and it had a giant backyard, so Jamie didn’t complain. Except for the basement. From the very first day, Jamie hated it. It smelled like wet dirt and old socks, and sometimes it made weird tapping noises—like fingers drumming against wood. “Probably mice,” his dad said. But mice don’t whisper. Chapter 2: The Door Appears One morning, Jamie went downstairs to grab a soda from the basement fridge. And there it was. A door. In the back corner. Where yesterday there had just been brick wall. He blinked. It was tall, almost to the ceiling. Painted black. Its doorknob looked like it was made of yellowed glass—or maybe… an eyeball? He ran upstairs. “Mom! There’s a weird door in the basement!” His mom looked confused. “You mean the furnace room?” “No! It’s new! I swear!” But when she came down… the door was gone. Just bricks. Chapter 3: Night Whispers That night, Jamie had trouble sleeping. He kept hearing the tapping again. Except this time, it was above his room. In the attic. And then it moved to the wall behind his bed. Tap. Tap. Tap. He sat up, holding his breath. A whisper followed. “You saw me.” Jamie jumped up, turned on the light. Nothing. But the tapping continued. All. Night. Long. Chapter 4: Tessa Gets Curious Tessa didn’t believe Jamie at first. Until two days later—she saw the door too. She went downstairs to get laundry and ran back up two minutes later, pale and shaking. “You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s there.” Their parents still didn’t believe them. “You two are spending too much time on horror movies,” their dad said. So that night, Jamie and Tessa decided to record the door on Jamie’s phone. They crept downstairs, careful not to wake anyone. And yes—the door was there. This time, it was slightly open. Just a crack. Enough to feel cold air leaking through. And a low sound. Like… breathing. Chapter 5: The Video Back in Jamie’s room, they watched the recording. But when they played the video… The door wasn’t there. Just an empty wall. Jamie tapped the screen. “What the heck?!” Tessa leaned closer. “Wait—what’s that?” In the lower corner of the video, barely visible, a pair of white eyes glowed in the dark. Watching them. Chapter 6: The Note Under the Pillow The next morning, Jamie woke up to find a folded paper under his pillow. His name was written in dark red ink. Inside, it said: “YOU OPENED IT. NOW IT WANTS OUT.” He dropped the note like it was on fire. Tessa ran into the room holding her own. Same handwriting. Hers said: “DON’T SLEEP TONIGHT.” Chapter 7: The Night They Stayed Awake Jamie and Tessa decided to stay awake together, with flashlights and snacks. At exactly 2:17 a.m., the power went out. The house went dead silent. And then the tapping started again. But this time, it was louder. Angrier. Like something trying to claw its way through. They held hands and listened. Scritch. Scritch. Tap. THUD. Then a voice whispered right outside Jamie’s bedroom door: “Let me in.” Tessa grabbed the doorknob and held it tight. The knob twisted. Click. Click. But it never opened. They didn’t sleep that night. Chapter 8: The Hidden History The next day, they snuck into the town library and asked the oldest librarian about their address. Her face went pale when she heard the street name. “Oh… that house,” she whispered. “I thought it was demolished.” “Why?” Jamie asked. She pulled out an old newspaper. The headline read: “Family Vanishes. Only Door Left Behind.” The article was from 1963. It said a family disappeared overnight. No sign of struggle. Just a strange black door in the basement that had never been there before. The house was sealed off. Until someone rebuilt it. Their house. Chapter 9: Facing the Door That night, they knew what they had to do. No more running. They crept down into the basement together. The door was wide open now. And beyond it was… a hallway. Dark. Wet. Breathing. They stepped inside. The walls closed behind them. Inside the hallway, they heard whispers: “We were hungry.” “You opened it.” “Now you stay.” They ran. Through twisting halls, mirrors, hands reaching from the dark. But then—Tessa slipped. She screamed, and Jamie turned back. But she was already being dragged away. Into the shadows. Gone. Chapter 10: The Locked Room Jamie woke up in his bed. His parents were acting normal. Like Tessa had never existed. Her room? Empty. Her name? Gone from family photos. At school? No one remembered her. But Jamie did. He always would. And the door? Still there. Waiting. Epilogue: Your Turn They say some doors shouldn’t be opened. They’re not locked to keep you out—they’re locked to keep something else in. And if you ever find one? Don’t listen when it whispers. Don’t look when it breathes. And never open it… …unless you’re ready to be forgotten too.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Horror
The Mirror That Remembers
Hey, wanna hear a scary story? I’m serious, this one’s not like those cheesy ghost stories where you can guess what happens. This one? It actually happened to someone I know. Well, a friend of a friend’s cousin. But still—people talk about it like it’s real. I’ll tell it to you like a friend, the way you tell someone a secret that still gives you chills. It all started with a mirror. Not a magic mirror, not a mirror in a castle or anything. Just a regular, dusty old mirror in a school hallway. But there was something wrong with it. And the first kid who noticed? Her name was Riley. Chapter 1: The Mirror No One Cleaned Riley was 12. Smart. Kinda quiet. She liked sketching monsters in her notebook and reading books about space and ghosts. She wasn’t the type to go looking for trouble. But she noticed things. Like how everyone at Pinebrook Middle School walked past the mirror in Hall B but never looked into it. You’d think a big mirror—almost seven feet tall, shaped like an old grandfather clock—would attract attention, right? But no one ever stopped. Teachers rushed past it. Students acted like it wasn’t there. Even the janitor never wiped it down. Riley thought that was weird. So one day… she looked. Chapter 2: Not Her Reflection It was late. Riley stayed after school to help the art teacher. She walked down Hall B alone, the floors quiet and the lights buzzing overhead. She stopped in front of the mirror. It was dusty. Cracked in one corner. But she could still see her reflection. Except… it wasn’t quite right. Her reflection smiled first. She didn’t. It raised its hand slowly. She didn’t move. Then it winked. Riley stumbled back, heart racing. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, looked again. Now the mirror showed her as normal. Like nothing had happened. But it had. Chapter 3: The Library Clue The next day, Riley searched the school library for any stories about the mirror. The school was old—over 100 years. There had to be something. And sure enough, buried in a dusty yearbook from 1974, she found a photo. The mirror was in it. Right behind a group of kids. But one kid—right in front of the mirror—had no face. Just… blank skin. She showed it to her friend Eli. “It’s probably just a messed-up photo,” he said. But his voice shook a little. That night, Riley had a dream. She was standing in front of the mirror. And her reflection whispered: “I see you now.” Chapter 4: The Vanishing The next week, a kid named Jonah went missing. No one talked about it much. Teachers got weird. The principal said he had transferred. But Riley saw his locker. His books were still there. And then she remembered—Jonah had been staring at the mirror during lunch the day before he vanished. She went back and checked the mirror again. There was a handprint on the inside. Like someone had slapped the other side of the glass. Like someone was trapped inside. Chapter 5: The Dare Riley told Eli everything. He thought she was joking… until he looked into the mirror himself. And saw his own face smiling… with way too many teeth. They made a plan. That Friday night, during the school’s fall festival, they would sneak back in and record what the mirror showed after dark. They brought a flashlight. A camera. Salt (because of something Riley read online about spirits). And a hammer—just in case. When they got to Hall B, the mirror was already glowing. Not brightly. Just faint. Like a TV on mute. The reflection of the hallway looked… off. Like it was made of shadows. They turned on the camera. Eli stepped forward. And the mirror reached out. Chapter 6: Pulled In It happened fast. A hand—thin, bony, and gray—burst through the glass and grabbed Eli’s arm. He screamed. Riley tried to pull him back, but the mirror was like a vacuum. It sucked the air around them. The hallway lights flickered. Riley had one second to decide. And she jumped in after him. Chapter 7: The Backside Inside the mirror, everything looked twisted. Hall B was there… but the lockers were bleeding rust. The floors were sticky. The ceiling had no lights—just blinking, black eyes watching them. Eli was frozen. Pale. Riley pulled him up, and they started running. Behind them, their own reflections chased them—smiling, giggling, crawling like spiders on the walls. “This isn’t the school!” Eli shouted. “No,” Riley said. “It’s the mirror’s version of the school.” “Why does it exist?” Riley swallowed hard. “Because it remembers everyone who looks at it.” Chapter 8: The Room of Echoes They hid inside what used to be the library. Books whispered. Pages turned by themselves. Then, from the dark shelves, a voice said: “You shouldn’t have looked.” It was Jonah. Pale, empty-eyed, and smiling. “You can’t leave,” he said. “Not unless it lets you.” “What is it?!” Riley shouted. He pointed at the mirror. “A collector. It takes your reflection. Then your face. Then your voice. Until you're just… gone.” Riley reached into her pocket. She still had the salt. Chapter 9: One Shot She poured a circle of salt around herself and Eli. The reflections screamed and hissed, but they couldn’t enter. Riley smashed the mirror fragment she had carried in her pocket. There was a sound like thunder and shattering glass. The world twisted. And they were back. In Hall B. On the floor. The mirror? Still there. Untouched. But now, it was covered… with hundreds of handprints on the inside. Chapter 10: Never Look Again No one believed them. Jonah was still “transferred.” The mirror was still there. But Riley and Eli never walked past it again. They told their friends to avoid Hall B. They warned new students. And every year, the mirror gained a new handprint. One more face it remembered. One more soul it was waiting for. So, if you ever walk past a big old mirror—especially in a school—don’t stop. Don’t look. And whatever you do… Don’t let it see you first. Because some mirrors? They don’t show reflections. They collect them.
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Horror
The Man Who Borrowed My Face
A few months ago, I downloaded this face-filter app called TrueFace AI. It wasn’t like TikTok filters. This one was supposed to be “hyper-real” — for people who want to look slightly better in Zoom calls, or on stream. I thought I’d try it once, maybe for a laugh.
By huzaifa Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Locker
Hey friend, okay, so you remember that one weird hallway in school? You know, the one that always feels a little colder? The one where the lights flicker even though no one else seems to care? Yeah. That hallway? That’s where this story takes place. It’s about a girl named Callie Winters, and how one very bad week led her to open the one locker in school that no one ever touches. They say what she found inside changed everything—and not in a good way. The Wrong Kind of Attention Callie Winters wasn’t popular. She wasn’t the class clown. She wasn’t a genius. She was just… Callie. Kind of quiet. Liked to doodle. Always sat in the middle of the class, never the front or the back. But after what happened, everyone knew her name. Not because she wanted it. Because they had to remember. It all started on a rainy Tuesday—the day someone shoved her into the lockers. Her books spilled everywhere, her notebook ripped, and everyone laughed. Everyone except the new janitor. He just watched. He didn’t blink. He didn’t help. He just stared… at Locker 17. The Locker Nobody Claimed Locker 17 was different. It sat at the far end of the East Wing hallway—where no teachers walked, and the lights always flickered like broken candles. No one knew who it belonged to. The school said it was “out of use.” But students whispered other stories: That it used to belong to a girl named Jessa Greer who disappeared after setting the science lab on fire. That you could hear someone whispering your name when you walked past. That someone once opened it—and never came back to class. Callie always thought it was just made-up junk. Until she heard it whisper her name. Whisper, Whisper The day after the locker incident, Callie walked past Locker 17 again. It was raining, just like the day before. Her books were soggy. Her hair stuck to her face. And her heart? Heavy. Because the girls who laughed yesterday? They laughed again today. So when she passed Locker 17… she stopped. And she heard it. “Calllllieeeee…” Her eyes widened. “Who’s there?!” Nothing. She leaned in. Held her breath. “They’ll pay if you let me out.” She jumped back. Looked around. The hallway was empty. Except for the janitor—still watching from the end. And still not blinking. What Was Inside The next morning, her locker was vandalized. Ripped open. Her favorite sketchbook ruined. She ran to the principal’s office. No one helped. Not even her teacher, who said, “Kids will be kids.” So Callie went back. To Locker 17. This time, the lock was… gone. The door hung slightly open. She hesitated. Then reached for it. And inside? Nothing. Just a mirror. A dirty, cracked mirror that hadn’t been there before. She leaned in—and her reflection smiled before she did. Then it whispered: “Do you want them to be afraid, too?” And for just a moment… Callie whispered back: “Yes.” The Change That’s when things started to get weird. The next day, the girls who bullied her? One slipped and fell face-first into her lunch. Another lost her voice during a class presentation. By Thursday, the worst one—Mara—ran out of the bathroom screaming, saying the mirror whispered her name. Callie didn’t smile. But something inside her did. That night, she had a dream. She was in a dark hallway, facing Locker 17. The door creaked open. Inside was herself. Except her eyes were pitch black. And she said: “Let me stay.” The Warning Ellis, the janitor, finally spoke to her. “You opened it, didn’t you?” Callie looked up. “Opened what?” “The mirror. The mouth.” He knelt beside her. “That locker is a door, not a box. It doesn’t hold things—it lets them out.” Callie’s hands trembled. “What did I let out?” He didn’t answer. Just handed her a note. It read: “You have seven days. After that, it won’t need your permission anymore.” The Countdown Every night, she had the dream again. The hallway. The locker. The mirror. Each time, her dark reflection looked more real. More alive. And at school? People were terrified of her. Doors creaked when she passed. Lights flickered more. Even the principal stared at her with wide, tired eyes. Locker 17 whispered louder now. “Only one more day…” The Choice On the seventh day, Callie stood in front of Locker 17. The school was silent. Empty. The janitor was gone. Just her. And the locker. The mirror inside glowed faintly. She could leave it. Walk away. Try to forget. But the voice inside whispered: “They’ll never stop unless I stay.” Callie closed her eyes. And stepped inside. Gone The next day, her classmates noticed something odd. Locker 17 was gone. Not locked. Not boarded. Gone. Like it had never been there. So was Callie. But in the back hallway… there was now a mirror. Cracked. And sometimes… if you walked past it alone… You could hear a girl giggling softly. Or crying. Or whispering… “Do you want them to be afraid, too?” The New Girl A month later, a new girl transferred to the school. Shy. Kept her head down. But the first time she walked down the East Wing hallway, she stopped. Looked into the mirror. And smiled… before her reflection did. So yeah. If your school has a hallway that feels off? If there’s a locker no one talks about? Or a mirror that seems to watch you… Walk faster. Don’t look back. And whatever you do… Don’t open it. Because it might not be you who comes out again.
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Horror
The Girl in the Wallpaper
Okay, so imagine this: you're spending the weekend at your cousin’s old house, the kind with squeaky stairs, dusty windows, and those weird old wallpapers that look like someone painted them a hundred years ago. That’s where it all started for Liam. He thought it would just be another boring visit. But instead, he met the girl in the wallpaper. This story? It’s creepy. It’s real weird. And it’ll definitely make you think twice before sleeping in a room with old wallpaper. Chapter 1: A Weekend at Aunt May’s Liam was 11, and he hated going to Aunt May’s. Not because she was mean—she was actually super nice. But her house? Total creep zone. It was built in the 1800s, had a cellar that groaned, and the halls always smelled like dusty books and cinnamon. His cousin Ellie lived there too, and she loved it. She said things like, “This house has character,” and, “The walls tell stories if you listen.” Liam thought she was being dramatic. But she wasn’t wrong. Not even a little. Chapter 2: The Room With the Red Wallpaper When Liam got there that Friday, Aunt May said, “You’ll sleep in the Red Room.” That sounded kind of cool… until he saw it. The wallpaper was deep red, almost like dried ketchup (or, as he later thought… blood). It was full of swirling vines and little flowers, but if you looked really close, the pattern also showed tiny faces. Not smiley emoji faces. Weird, stretched-out ones. Some looked surprised. Others scared. “I hate this,” Liam whispered as he dropped his backpack. But that night, the room had other plans. Chapter 3: She Was Already Watching At first, Liam thought it was just his imagination. The wallpaper looked… different in the dark. Like the vines were moving. Like one of the tiny faces was closer than before. Then, around midnight, he heard a soft sound. Like scratching. He sat up, heart racing. “Ellie?” he whispered. No answer. Just scratching. Soft, but steady. Coming from inside the wall. He tiptoed to the spot behind the bed where the scratching was loudest. He touched the wall. It was cold. And then… A pair of eyes opened. Not like a hole. Not like a drawing. Real eyes. In the wall. Liam gasped and fell backward. And the face in the wall smiled. Chapter 4: The Girl with the Black Eyes The next morning, Liam ran to Ellie and told her everything. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked worried. “You saw her?” she whispered. “The girl?” “What girl?” “She’s been in this house since before I was born. I think she used to be real. But something happened. She… melted into the wall.” “That’s not possible,” Liam said, even though his stomach felt heavy. “I call her Vera,” Ellie said. “I think she’s lonely. But sometimes… she gets mad.” Liam didn’t want to hear more. But of course, he did. Chapter 5: Don’t Make Her Angry Ellie took him to the attic. Dusty boxes. Spiderwebs. Old trunks. She opened a small wooden chest with her initials carved into the side. Inside were drawings. Dozens of them. They were all pictures of Vera. Black eyes. Tangled hair. Stitched mouth. And vines—twisting around her body like they were growing out of her. “I see her in my dreams sometimes,” Ellie said. “She whispers secrets. She knows things no one should.” “Like what?” “She told me Grandma didn’t die from falling down the stairs. She says Grandma tried to leave the house. Vera didn’t like that.” Liam’s skin turned cold. “This house needs people,” Ellie added quietly. “So it keeps them.” Chapter 6: The Hidden Room That night, Liam couldn’t sleep. He tried not to look at the wall. Tried not to hear the whispers. But the girl… she kept calling his name. “Liiiaaam…” He sat up. “What do you want?!” “Find me,” she whispered. “Where?” The vines on the wallpaper shifted. One moved toward the corner of the room… and stopped. Liam grabbed a flashlight, tiptoed over, and knocked on the wall. Thud. Thud. Hollow. He pressed both hands on it—and part of the wallpaper crumbled like ash. Behind it? A tiny wooden door. No knob. Just a small latch. Chapter 7: Inside the Walls Liam waited until everyone was asleep. Then, flashlight in hand, he opened the door. Behind it was a crawlspace. Barely big enough for a kid. He climbed inside. The walls were lined with old paper dolls. Hundreds of them, pinned up like trophies. Some had names written under them: Molly, George, Rachel, Danny… At the end of the crawlspace was a mirror. Cracked. Covered in dust. He wiped it clean. And in the reflection… he saw her. Not behind him. Not beside him. Inside the mirror. “Help me,” she whispered. “Pull me out.” He almost did. But then—he saw something move behind her. A shadow with too many arms. And suddenly her voice changed. From “help me” to “STAY WITH ME.” Chapter 8: The Final Escape Liam crawled backward, heart racing, flashlight shaking. The crawlspace started closing. The wallpaper vines crept in behind him like fingers. “Liam!” It was Ellie. She had followed him. She reached in, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him out just before the door slammed shut on its own. The wall sealed up again. Like it had never opened. They didn’t sleep that night. Chapter 9: The Truth Comes Out The next morning, they told Aunt May everything. She listened quietly. Then she said, “That girl was real. Vera was my sister.” Liam and Ellie stared. “She disappeared when I was your age. No one believed me when I said she got trapped in the walls. But I saw it happen.” “Why didn’t you leave?” Ellie asked. Aunt May smiled sadly. “Because if I did… she’d come with me.” They moved out a week later. The Red Room was sealed shut. And the house was sold to a new family. Chapter 10: She’s Still Watching Liam never saw Vera again. But sometimes, when he closes his eyes at night, he sees wallpaper. Red. Twisting vines. Tiny faces. And in the center… A pair of black eyes. Still watching. Still waiting.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Horror
The Mirror Doesn’t Blink. Content Warning.
It was nearing 1:30 a.m. when Eli Mercer’s phone buzzed with a new delivery request. He debated ignoring it—he was already five hours into his shift and one energy drink past tired—but the payout was unusually high: $120 to deliver a package less than six miles away.
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Horror
The Voice at the Door
The rain was a steady, mournful rhythm against the windows, a soundtrack to the oppressive silence inside our small cottage. Three days. It had been three days since we’d buried my mother, Clara. Three days since her vibrant laughter, her comforting presence, had been reduced to a cold, sterile memory. The grief was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making every breath an effort. My wife, Sarah, sat across from me, her face pale and drawn. She hadn't cried much, not openly, but I could see the sorrow etched in the lines around her eyes, the way she clutched the steaming mug of tea, as if seeking warmth against an internal chill. She had loved my mother, truly loved her, and her quiet suffering was almost harder to bear than my own. A sudden, sharp rap echoed through the house, cutting through the rain and our unspoken grief. We both stiffened, our eyes meeting across the dimly lit room. It was late, past midnight. Who could it be? Another rap, louder this time, more insistent. I pushed myself up from the armchair. “I’ll get it,” I murmured, my voice raspy. “No!” Sarah’s voice was sharp, a sudden tremor in her tone. She stood up, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “Don’t, Daniel. Don’t open it.” I paused, surprised by her vehemence. “Sarah, it’s probably just a neighbor, or someone lost. It’s pouring outside.” “No,” she repeated, stepping towards me, her hand reaching out to grasp my arm. Her fingers were cold. “Please, just… don’t.” Before I could question her, a sound, faint but unmistakable, drifted from the front door. A voice. A voice that sent a jolt of ice through my veins, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Daniel? Are you there, my son? It’s your mother. Let me in, it’s so cold out here.” My blood ran cold. It was Mother’s voice. Her gentle, slightly reedy tone, the familiar way she elongated the ‘so’ in ‘so cold.’ Impossible. My mind screamed in protest. This had to be a cruel, sadistic prank. But who would do such a thing? I turned to Sarah, my face a mask of disbelief and dawning horror. “Sarah… did you hear that? It’s Mother! But… how?” Sarah’s grip on my arm tightened, her nails digging into my skin. Her eyes, usually so warm, were filled with a profound, terrifying dread. “Don’t open the door, Daniel!” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper, yet filled with an urgency that terrified me. “Please, for God’s sake, don’t!” Another series of knocks, more frantic now, accompanied by that voice, pleading, cajoling. “Daniel, darling, please. My old bones are freezing. Just a moment, let me come in. I need my son.” My heart was a war drum in my chest. Every fiber of my being yearned to rush to the door, to throw it open, to embrace the mother I had just buried. My grief-stricken mind wrestled with the horrifying reality. She was dead. We had stood by her grave just three days ago, watched the coffin lowered into the earth. “It’s not her, Daniel,” Sarah choked out, tears finally streaming down her face. “It can’t be. It’s… it’s something else. Something trying to get in.” Her words made a chilling kind of sense, even as my emotions fought against them. The raw, desperate need in that voice, the way it played on my deepest sorrow, felt predatory. But the resemblance was uncanny. Every inflection, every nuance, was exactly like Mother. The knocking escalated into a frantic pounding, rattling the doorframe. And the voice changed, subtly. The soft pleading took on a sharper edge, a hint of impatience, even anger. “Daniel! Are you going to leave your mother out in the storm? After all I’ve done for you? After all these years?” A shiver of genuine fear ran down my spine. Mother, for all her love, had never resorted to emotional manipulation, not like this. This was a twisted mimicry, a violation of her memory. “Who are you?” I yelled back, my voice trembling, cracking. “Leave us alone!” A silence fell, thick and unnerving, broken only by the relentless rain. My heart pounded so loudly I thought Sarah must hear it. Then, a low, guttural chuckle emanated from the other side of the door. It wasn't Mother’s laughter. It was something else. Something ancient and malevolent, devoid of humor, filled with contempt. And then the voice returned, but this time, it was a chilling, distorted parody of my mother’s voice, stretched and deepened, laced with a faint, gurgling sound, like water bubbling through mud. “You buried me, Daniel. You put me in the cold, dark ground. But I’m still here. And I need to come home.” The pounding on the door intensified, becoming violent, as if something heavy was slamming against it. The entire frame shuddered. Sarah let out a strangled cry, burying her face in my shoulder. I could feel her shaking uncontrollably. “It knows,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the trembling wood of the door. “It knows we buried her.” “It’s not her, Daniel,” Sarah sobbed into my shirt. “It's using her… to get to us.” Suddenly, the pounding stopped. Another silence, even more terrifying than the last. Then, a scratching sound began, slow and deliberate, like long, sharp nails dragging across the wood, moving from the doorknob, upwards. And then, I heard it. A faint, wet sniffing sound from directly outside the keyhole, followed by a soft, almost inaudible sigh. Then, the voice again, a whisper now, right at the keyhole, raw and intimate, filled with a horrific intimacy that turned my stomach. “I can smell your fear, Daniel. And I can smell your grief. Such a heavy grief. It’s almost as heavy as the earth on my coffin.” I stumbled back, pulling Sarah with me, away from the door. My mind reeled. This wasn't some trick of sound or light. This was real. Something was out there. Something that had taken on my mother’s voice, her memories, to gain entry. Something that was preying on my sorrow. The scratching continued, now higher up the door, then lower, as if whatever was outside was circling, testing, searching for a weakness. A faint, earthy scent, like damp grave soil, began to seep through the cracks around the doorframe, mixing with the clean smell of rain. Sarah clung to me, her face buried against my chest. “What does it want?” she whimpered. The voice answered, a low, satisfied murmur from the other side of the door. “I want to be warm again, my son. And you are so warm. You held my hand when I was cold. Now, let me hold yours. Forever.” A chilling sound, like a wet, sucking noise, came from the keyhole, followed by a faint, clicking sound, as if something was attempting to turn the lock from the outside. Panic surged through me, cold and absolute. It wasn't just a voice. It was trying to get in. It was trying to claim me, just as it had claimed Mother’s voice. I dragged Sarah back, away from the door, towards the deepest part of the house, the small, enclosed pantry where we kept emergency supplies. We huddled there, in the oppressive darkness, listening to the rain, and to the faint, persistent scratching that continued at the front door. It went on and on, punctuated by the chilling whispers of a voice that was both familiar and utterly alien. I knew then, with a sickening certainty, that the grave had not held her. And now, the thing that had followed her back was patiently waiting, clawing at the door, to finally claim what it believed was its due. My mother's voice, transformed into a siren's call from the abyss. And the night was long. So very long.
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Horror
