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 Agreement of the Dead
I was not always dead. No, death came much later—like a belated apology, or a kindly word after the firing squad. My name, though unimportant now, once sat proudly on university plaques and inked letters of recommendation. Now, I am only remembered in whispers. And worse still: in documents signed in bloodless ink by breathless men.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Horror
The Room That Shouldn't Exist
Samantha Winters had just turned 24 when she signed the lease on Apartment 3B in the Ashgrove Complex. It was one of those older buildings—red-bricked, slightly crooked, with creaky staircases and ivy crawling up the sides like green veins.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Horror
Cartoons Are Real? The Shocking Truth I Found Hidden in My Childhood Shows
I always believed cartoons were just fantasy — exaggerated stories to keep kids laughing before bedtime. That changed the day I found a VHS tape in my grandfather's attic. It was unlabelled, dusty, and hidden behind boxes marked "Do Not Touch." Naturally, I touched.
By Sohanur Rahmanabout a year ago in Horror
SEASON 2: THE SKIN PSALM
CHAPTER 1: THE SECOND LANGUAGE April 2023 — Volgograd Medical Institute Archive Room Mira Sokolov had always found comfort in quiet places. While others might feel unsettled among yellowing files and stale air, she found peace in order, in the soft hush of paper, and in the forgotten past hidden between aging documents. The Volgograd Medical Institute’s archive room, buried beneath two levels of reinforced concrete, was the quietest place on campus. She had volunteered....perhaps too eagerly....to assist in digitizing the Soviet-era patient records. No one else wanted to be surrounded by remnants of a medical system steeped in secrecy and rumor.
By Tales That Breathe at Nightabout a year ago in Horror
The House That Screams at Night
Prologue: The Village That Forgot How to Sleep In a remote corner of Bangladesh, far from the noise of the cities, there lies a small village called Shonir Gaon. Serene fields, winding rivers, and chirping crickets make it seem like paradise during the day. But as the sun sinks beyond the horizon, a heavy silence descends.
By FH STORYLINE about a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Hollow
The town of Black Hollow was a place forgotten by time. Tucked deep within the Appalachian Mountains, it was a cluster of rotting houses, rusted fences, and a single winding road that led in but never seemed to lead out. The townsfolk spoke in hushed tones, their eyes darting toward the woods whenever the wind picked up. They knew better than to wander into the forest after dark. But Daniel Carter didn’t believe in superstitions. A freelance journalist chasing his next big story, Daniel had come to Black Hollow after hearing whispers of disappearances—hunters, hikers, even children—vanishing without a trace. The locals refused to speak on record, but their fear was palpable. That only made him more determined. His first night in town, he checked into the only inn, a crumbling structure with sagging floors and flickering lights. The innkeeper, an old man with milky eyes, handed him a rusted key. “Don’t go out after sunset,” the man wheezed. “Especially not near the hollow.” Daniel smirked. “Why not?” The old man leaned in, his breath sour with decay. “Because they don’t like visitors.” That night, Daniel lay awake, listening to the wind howl through the trees. The inn groaned like a dying beast. Just as he was about to drift off, a sound cut through the silence—a whisper, right outside his window. “Daniel…” He bolted upright. The voice was soft, feminine, almost pleading. He crept to the window and peered out. The moon cast an eerie glow over the empty street. Nothing moved. Then, from the edge of the forest, a figure emerged. A woman in a tattered white dress, her skin pale as bone, stood motionless, staring at him. Her lips didn’t move, but the whisper came again. “Come to the hollow…” Before he could react, she turned and vanished into the trees. The next morning, Daniel asked around town. The few people he encountered shut their doors in his face. Finally, an elderly woman, Mrs. Grady, took pity on him. “You saw her, didn’t you?” she muttered, clutching a rosary. “The White Lady.” “Who is she?” Daniel pressed. Mrs. Grady’s hands trembled. “Years ago, a woman named Eliza Mayfield lived here. She fell in love with a traveler, bore his child. When he abandoned her, the town… dealt with her. They called her a witch. Drove her into the hollow. She cursed them with her dying breath.” “And the disappearances?” The old woman’s eyes darkened. “She takes them. One by one. Drawn by her whispers, lured into the hollow… where the trees hunger.” That night, Daniel returned to his room, his mind racing. He didn’t believe in ghosts. There had to be a logical explanation—a serial killer, a cult, something. Then, at midnight, the whispers began again. “Daniel… come to me…” This time, they weren’t just outside. They were inside the room. His breath hitched as the temperature plummeted. Frost crept across the window. The door creaked open on its own. And there she stood—Eliza Mayfield. Her hollow eyes locked onto his, her lips curling into a grotesque smile. “You want the truth… follow me.” Against every instinct screaming at him to run, Daniel found himself stepping forward. The forest swallowed him whole. The trees twisted unnaturally, their branches like skeletal fingers. The air reeked of damp earth and rotting flesh. Eliza glided ahead, just out of reach, her dress fluttering though there was no wind. Then, the ground gave way. Daniel stumbled into a clearing—the hollow. Bones littered the earth. Skulls stared from the roots of gnarled trees. And in the center stood Eliza, her arms outstretched. “Join us,” she whispered. The trees moved. Branches slithered like snakes, wrapping around his legs, his arms. He screamed as they dragged him down, the earth parting like a hungry maw. The last thing he saw was Eliza’s face, inches from his, her hollow eyes filling with blackness. “Now you’ll never leave.” Back in town, the innkeeper sighed as he marked another name in his ledger. Daniel Carter. Missing. Outside, the wind carried whispers through the trees. And deep in the hollow, a new voice joined the chorus of the lost. THE END.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Horror
