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 Last Message in the Bottle – A Sailor’s Final Words Reveal a Deadly Truth
Introduction: The Ocean’s Darkest Secret The ocean keeps its secrets well—but sometimes, it lets one slip to shore. "The Last Message in the Bottle" is a gripping nautical mystery about Captain Elias Voss, a mariner who vanished without a trace in 1987, only for his final words to wash up decades later—carrying a warning that should have stayed lost at sea.
By 47 jokerabout a year ago in Horror
The Whisper Door
The house was old, much older than anyone in the town remembered. It stood at the edge of Gray Hollow, half-swallowed by overgrown vines and shadows. No one dared approach it—not since the Henderson girl vanished one autumn night, last seen walking toward its porch. But I was curious. Curious and stupid. They dared me, of course. My friends, half-drunk and restless on Halloween night. “Go knock on the Whisper Door,” they laughed. “Bet you won’t make it five minutes.” Whisper Door. That’s what they called it. Because sometimes, at night, you could hear it—soft whispers from behind that peeling black door. They said the house was alive. That it fed on secrets. That once you opened it, it never let you forget. I didn’t believe in stories. Not really. So I took the flashlight, crossed the empty field, and stepped onto the crooked porch. --- The door didn’t creak. It sighed. A low breath, like something exhaling in relief after years of silence. My skin crawled. The doorknob was ice cold. The wood damp under my palm. And as I leaned close—I swear to God—I heard it. “Come in, Emily…” No one had said my name. --- Inside, the air was thick, like breathing through wet cotton. Dust floated like ash, and the floorboards groaned beneath each step. The living room was frozen in time—cobwebbed furniture, a broken clock ticking without rhythm, a portrait of a family whose faces had been scratched out. Then I heard it again. A whisper, not from the door this time, but deeper inside. “Upstairs…” It wasn’t a command. It was a plea. Against every sane instinct, I climbed. The staircase bent like it might collapse, and halfway up, something brushed against my leg. I spun around—nothing. Just the house watching. --- The hallway at the top was pitch black. My flashlight flickered like a dying heartbeat. Doors lined the hall, some closed, some cracked open just enough to suggest something might be watching back. Then I saw it. The last door on the right. It was red. Not painted. Stained. Something darker oozed from its frame, and the handle pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own. And still, I reached for it. Because the whisper had changed. “Help me…” --- Inside was a girl. At least, what used to be one. She sat in a rocking chair, long dark hair hanging in clumps over her face. Her skin was gray-blue. Her hands clutched a doll missing an eye. The walls were covered in writing—words etched in fingernail scrapes. LET ME OUT HE COMES THROUGH THE WHISPERS DON’T LISTEN TOO LONG I stepped back. The girl’s head snapped up. Her eyes were gone. Just two gaping sockets leaking black tears. “Emily…” she croaked. I turned to run. The door slammed behind me. --- The room twisted. I wasn’t in the house anymore. Not really. The walls stretched, warped. Voices pressed in from every side—whispers of people I knew. Dead relatives. Old friends. Even myself. Screaming. Begging. Laughing. The girl stood, her feet dragging, twitching like a puppet on tangled strings. “You heard too much,” she said. “I—I didn’t mean to—” “You listened. That’s all it needs.” Suddenly her face twisted into a scream, and the whispers exploded into howls. The walls cracked. Shadows bled down from the ceiling like tar. Something massive moved behind the wall, thudding closer. “It’s coming,” she whispered. --- I bolted. The door was gone. The room stretched on and on, endless like a maze. But I ran. I didn’t look back. I didn’t breathe. I found a window. I threw myself through it. --- When I hit the ground, the house was gone. Just gone. Behind me was only field. I stumbled back to the others, covered in cuts and mud, shaking. They laughed at first, until they saw my face. I never told them what happened. Not all of it. Just that the house was empty. That I’d been scared by rats. That I tripped. But some nights, I wake up to the sound of a soft knock. And a whisper just outside my window: “Come back, Emily…” --- Would you open the door a second time?
By Herbert about a year ago in Horror
Coraline – Neil Gaiman
When Coraline Bennett’s family moved into the old Carver House on the edge of town, she wasn’t scared—just bored. Eleven years old, smart beyond her age, and curious to a fault, Coraline had a habit of exploring places she wasn’t supposed to. Her parents were too busy renovating their “dream home” to keep much of an eye on her. And so, left to her own devices, Coraline explored.
By Jawad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Whistler in the Pines.
Deep in Asheville, North Carolina, there is a half-mile forest that people avoid at night. There is no warning on the trails or fencing, but the empty people know better. They say that something that passes through those pines does so, something that whistles as it goes.
By Pen to Publishabout a year ago in Horror
Do Jinns Really Exist? A Mysterious Tale from My Village
Growing up in a quiet village nestled between fields and forests in rural Pakistan, I often heard stories about supernatural beings. My grandmother used to speak of “jinns” with a mix of fear and respect. “They live among us,” she would whisper while lighting an oil lamp, “especially near the old shrine after sunset.” Like most children, I was both curious and skeptical. That changed one summer night. It was the summer of 2007. Electricity was unreliable, and nights were usually lit by lanterns and the soft glow of the moon. My cousin Bilal and I were staying over at our aunt’s home on the far edge of the village. Her house was close to an abandoned well and an old, neglected shrine—both places villagers avoided after dark. That evening, we decided to go for a walk after dinner. It was unusually humid, and the air felt heavy, almost unnatural. As we walked along the dusty path, Bilal dared me to take a shortcut through the field behind the shrine. It was the path the elders always warned us about, claiming strange voices were often heard there. I laughed it off. “We’re grown up now. These are just stories to scare kids,” I said confidently. Bilal grinned, and we took the path. At first, it was quiet—almost too quiet. The sound of crickets had disappeared. The wind had stilled. The trees stood like statues, motionless and observing. As we walked further, I felt a strange chill, even though it was a hot summer night. Then, it happened. We both heard it at the same time—a whisper. Faint, broken, almost like someone calling out from a distance, “Aaao…” We froze. "Did you hear that?" I whispered. "Yes," Bilal replied, his voice trembling. We looked around. No one was there. No footprints, no rustling, nothing. Just the sound again—closer now, more clear—"Aaao… mere paas..." My legs stiffened. I grabbed Bilal’s arm, and we turned around. That’s when we saw it. By the old tree near the shrine, stood a tall, shadowy figure. Its body seemed to flicker like smoke, and it had no face—just two glowing eyes. It wasn’t walking—it was gliding. Slowly. Toward us. I couldn't speak. My body wouldn't move. Bilal finally shouted, "RUN!" and we took off, stumbling, falling, and getting back up. We didn’t look back. We ran until we saw the lights of our aunt’s home and burst inside, panting and terrified. Our aunt looked at us, concerned. “You two went near the shrine, didn’t you?” she asked firmly. We nodded, shaking. She made us sit, gave us water, and whispered a prayer. Then she said something I still remember vividly: “Never doubt what you don’t understand. Some things are not meant to be seen, and some paths are not meant to be walked.” That night, I didn’t sleep. For weeks, Bilal and I avoided that part of the village. The figure we saw—whether real or imagined—haunted us. And we were not the only ones. Later, we discovered that others had seen it too. Some villagers believed it was a guardian jinn of the shrine. Others claimed it was a cursed soul trapped between worlds. Years have passed, and I now live in the city. But every time I visit my village and walk by that old shrine, I feel that same heaviness in the air. The same silence. The same chill. And I wonder… Was it a jinn? Was it fear playing tricks on young minds? Or was it something beyond explanation? I no longer laugh at the old stories. I listen. And I remember. Because in our village, even today, when night falls and the wind stops, the whisper still returns: "Aaao… mere paas..."
By Tahir Mehmoodabout a year ago in Horror
Don’t Look at the Wall at 3:00 AM
Don’t Look at the Wall at 3:00 AM When my roommate, Lisa, asked me to housesit for the weekend, I didn’t think twice. Free food, access to her enormous TV, and a place away from my cramped apartment? Easy yes.
By Muhammad Hakimiabout a year ago in Horror
The Man in the Reflection Isn’t Me
The Man in the Reflection Isn’t Me It began the night I decided to quit my job. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing my teeth. I was exhausted, half-zoned out, staring at myself. But for a second — just a flicker — he didn’t move when I did.
By Muhammad Hakimiabout a year ago in Horror
I Found a Hidden Room in My Grandmother’s House
I Found a Hidden Room in My Grandmother’s House Chapter 1: Visit Ended as a grandma. I was sent to pack her old Victorian home. My parents couldn't stand it to do that. They said it hurts too much. For me, it was a bitter job. I spent a lot of summer there as my kids went through the hallways, lit up the hallways, hiding in cupboards, and played with dusty antiques. However, we did not visit for many years.
By Md Asraf Hosainabout a year ago in Horror
"The Cursed 'Neelkuthi' – The Story of a Terrifying Palace"
Cursed 'Neelkuthi' - The Story of a Terrible Palace A palace called 'Neelkuthi' still stands in a remote village in Bengal. Many terrible stories are heard from the mouths of the villagers about this structure located in a dense forest. Some say it was the residence of a cursed landlord, some say murders were committed here in the name of indigo cultivation. However, the center of the story is one night, when a group of young researchers bravely entered the inner courtyard of this palace.
By Amdadul Haq Sardarabout a year ago in Horror
Haunted Price Tag
There are some things in this world that money shouldn’t touch. But what if the more it haunts you, the more it's worth? In a quiet European town, nestled between ancient alleyways and forgotten cobblestone streets, there was a small antique shop. Most of what it sold was harmless—dusty books, rusted clocks, cracked statues. But hidden deep in the back, behind a red velvet curtain, was a painting. One that seemed to breathe when no one watched. It was a portrait. A woman in a deep green dress, sitting stiffly with a blank expression. Her skin pale, her eyes pitch black. Her hands folded neatly. Harmless at first glance. But people said her eyes followed you—no matter where you stood. The shopkeeper always said: > “This one’s not for the faint-hearted. It sells itself. And it never stays in one place for long.” The First Buyer A wealthy collector from London paid $10,000 for it, intrigued by the painting’s mystery. Within three nights, he reported that the lights in his home flickered every time he walked by the painting. He heard breathing when he was alone. Eventually, he locked the room and left the house. But he never threw the painting away. He sold it—at a profit. The price? $50,000. The Second Owner An art museum in Vienna displayed it briefly. Cameras caught odd things—shadows moving, frames shaking, visitors fainting near the painting. One night, a security guard was found unconscious with scratches on his arms. “She spoke to me,” he said, eyes wide. “She said: Don’t look away next time.” The museum removed the painting immediately. Again, it was sold. This time for $100,000. The Curse... or a Gift? The more the painting scared people, the higher its price went. Whispers began in online forums—some called it cursed, others called it “the smartest investment in horror history.” One theory said the woman in the portrait was a noble executed for witchcraft. Before her death, she swore that her soul would live forever in her portrait, gaining power with every fearful glance. If that’s true, then every person who fears her… feeds her. The Last Sale In 2023, a mysterious buyer from Dubai purchased the painting for $1 million. No one knows where it is now. Some believe it's hidden in a private vault. Others think it’s hanging in plain sight, somewhere—waiting. And the strangest part? The shopkeeper, the first one who sold it, is now gone. The shop is empty. The curtain remains. But the painting never came back.
By Amritpal Singh about a year ago in Horror
The Monsoon Lullaby. AI-Generated.
Late one monsoon evening in a quiet village on the outskirts of Dhaka, a young teacher named Leila made her way home through winding mud lanes. The rain had eased, leaving the air thick with the scent of wet earth and jasmine. As she passed the old banyan tree that marked the turn toward her house, she heard the faintest melody drifting on the breeze—a lullaby, sung in a child’s voice.
By Shahruq Hossenabout a year ago in Horror
Three Charms, One Revenge
This isn’t just a story—it’s like a real-life curse. It’s about a brave 18-year-old girl who wanted to take care of her family. But she had no idea that her life’s scariest chapter would start one night, after eating a bowl of tripe. It was January 2019. A girl named Alo moved to Gazipur with her mom and older brother. Her parents were splitting up because of family problems, so Alo stepped up to help her mom and brother. On January 1, she started working at a garment factory. Their house in Gazipur had an old mango tree right next to the bathroom. The tree was strangely quiet, like it was hiding something dark from a long time ago. But no one thought it was dangerous back then. A few days after starting her job, Alo began waking up every night at exactly 3 a.m. to take a bath. Every time, she heard a soft voice whispering in her ear, “Don’t be scared, I’m here. Go take your bath.” Weirdly, Alo wasn’t afraid. She’d bathe and go back to sleep without a problem. Her mom noticed Alo waking up at the same time every night to bathe. When she asked about it, Alo didn’t know why she was doing it. This went on for three months straight. Then came the terrifying night—March 8, 2019. Alo’s dad suddenly came to Dhaka to visit. He brought fish, duck meat, and tripe. That evening, her mom cooked a big meal. But as soon as Alo ate some tripe, she felt horrible pain in her stomach. The pain was so bad that she passed out. What happened next wasn’t just physical pain—it was the start of something supernatural. Even while unconscious, Alo was laughing one moment and crying loudly the next. That night, 15 healers came to help her, but none of them could do anything. Some got sick themselves, and others ran away from the house. Around 3 a.m., Alo opened her eyes and saw something so horrifying that no one could handle it. She screamed and fainted again. The next morning, she woke up in her family’s home in Sherpur. She had no idea how she got there. But that evening, the same strange presence took over her body again—laughing, crying, screaming. A religious scholar from India came to help. He started treatment, putting needles under her fingernails, drawing blood, and tying three charms on her body. Each charm cost 3,001 taka. The next morning, all three charms were gone from her body! The scholar said, “I can’t cure her.” Alo and her family went to another healer. For three months, he tried to help, but nothing worked. Alo felt ice-cold all the time, and at night, something invisible wrapped around her. In her sleep, that unseen presence held her tight—but she started feeling like it wasn’t alone. There were others around her. Then came a man they called “Nana,” the father of their neighbor’s wife. He was an experienced healer. At first, Alo felt a little better with his treatment. The strange presence that seemed to protect her told her one day, “Give me something, and all your family’s problems will go away.” Alo believed it and told Nana. He said, “That’s a good thing. It’s here to protect you.” The next day, Nana brought snacks—samosas, puris, and sweets. Alo ate them, not knowing that by eating, she was closing the door to her freedom. Nana trapped the “good” spirit in a tree and sent 11 terrifying, violent spirits into Alo’s body. That’s when her real suffering began. These spirits attacked her every two days. If she didn’t obey them, they bit her or beat her. She couldn’t tell anyone. The pain and fear built up inside her like a fire she couldn’t put out. Nana also made sure she couldn’t get married for 14 years. Alo would stay up at night, wondering, “Why doesn’t God just take me away?” What she saw and went through is so awful that most people wouldn’t have the courage to talk about it. But Alo fought. She’s still fighting. She says, “I’m as strong as a healer now. I could hurt people with my power if I wanted to, but I won’t. I don’t hurt others. But I still haven’t fully saved myself…” This story doesn’t end here. Alo still carries the shadows of that cursed past. There are things she hasn’t said—because those terrifying truths are so dark, they might disturb anyone who hears them.
By Ahsan Sazid about a year ago in Horror