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 Hollow Eyes of Harrow House
The Hollow Eyes of Harrow House In the small town of Harrow Hill, there stood a mansion that had been abandoned for decades—Harrow House. The locals avoided it, speaking only in hushed whispers when the subject came up. It was a house of legends, the site of strange happenings, and of a family that had vanished without a trace.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Oak
The Whispering Oak The town of Westbrook was small, nestled deep in the countryside, with winding roads and old, weathered buildings. The people were friendly, the air was fresh, and life seemed to move at a slower pace. But there was one place the locals avoided—the old oak tree at the edge of town.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Lantern in the Fog
The Lantern in the Fog It was said that the fog never lifted on Old Hollow Road. A dense, thick mist that clung to the trees, seeping into the cracks of the houses, and seemed to swallow up everything in its path. It was a road that no one traveled after dark, and for good reason.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Lantern Keeper
The Lantern Keeper In the quiet village of Black Hollow, surrounded by dense woods and blanketed in thick fog nearly year-round, there stood a lighthouse far from the sea. Locals called it “The Lantern Tower.” It hadn’t guided ships for centuries—there was no ocean for miles. Instead, it was said to keep something else at bay.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Train
The Last Train The fog was thick the night Ellie missed the 9:15 train. She had been visiting her grandmother in the countryside and was now stranded at the old Harrington Station, a place half-swallowed by ivy and forgotten by time. The ticket booth was closed. The benches were empty. Not a soul in sight.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Mirror in Room 9
The Mirror in Room 9 Eleanor Hart had spent decades cleaning rooms at the Elmwood Inn, a crumbling, once-grand hotel tucked into a forgotten town. She had seen it all—bachelor parties, broken hearts, the occasional rat—but Room 9 was different.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Lantern in the Woods
The Lantern in the Woods They warned us not to go into Marlowe Woods after dark. The stories were old—passed down through whispers and drunken tales. People spoke of a ghostly lantern that floated through the trees, and if you followed it, you'd never come back. Of course, my friends and I thought it was just small-town folklore. We were seniors in high school, full of skepticism and bravado, and it was Halloween night.
By Sumon Ahmedabout a year ago in Horror
The Silent Room. AI-Generated.
It all began on a rainy evening in November. The kind of evening where the sky was a blanket of gray, and the wind howled through the trees like a warning from something ancient. Ryan had just moved into the countryside, looking for peace away from the chaos of the city. His new home, a small two-story cottage, was nestled between fields and forest, a good hour from the nearest town.
By M Kamrul Islam about a year ago in Horror
The Reflection That Isn’t Me
The Reflection That Isn’t Me I realized for the first time on Tuesday that I didn't have a problem. Convulsions in the mirror above the sink - a small delay - I choked it down with bad sleep. Maybe I blink late; my brain did the trick. But it happened again.
By Md Asraf Hosainabout a year ago in Horror
Lab Z-13
Title: Lab Z-13: No Cure, No Mercy It started with a whisper in the dark. Not the sound of a voice, but the low hum of machines restarting after years of silence. Deep beneath the Siberian permafrost, buried in isolation, Lab Z-13 came back to life. Dr. Elina Mirov didn’t believe in ghosts. She believed in data, in controlled environments and clean procedures. But when the Russian government covertly hired her to investigate a “communication blackout” at an old military bio-research facility, she sensed more than a simple technical failure. Something was wrong the moment her boots hit the cracked concrete floor of the subterranean lab. The complex was cold. Not the kind of cold that came from lack of power—it had electricity. It was the kind of cold that lived in places where no living thing had walked for a long, long time. Her team of five, all elite scientists and engineers, descended into the facility with heavy gear, hazmat suits, and weapons. No one asked why biologists were issued firearms. The airlock sealed behind them with a mechanical hiss. The heavy steel door groaned shut, trapping them in the past. “Ventilation's working,” said Karim, their systems engineer. He tapped his tablet. “But atmospheric composition is...off.” “How off?” Elina asked. “Like someone exhaled something... not human.” They pressed deeper. The lights flickered to life as motion sensors, somehow still functional, followed their path. On the walls were remnants of Soviet insignia, crossed out with black paint. Below them, scrawled in Cyrillic, were three chilling words: "No Cure. No Mercy." They found the first body in Lab C. A scientist, mummified in his suit, face frozen in a scream. His arm was reaching toward a red button labeled Purge. “It’s like he was trying to stop something from escaping,” muttered Anya, the team’s microbiologist. The data logs were fragmented. From what they could piece together, Lab Z-13 had been developing a viral agent—Project Thanatos. A bioweapon meant to render enemies incapacitated in minutes. It was designed to mutate. To adapt. "They used human test subjects," Elina whispered, reading through an entry. "Prisoners. Political dissidents." Then they found the holding cells. Scratched into the walls were hundreds of tally marks. The steel bars were twisted, as if something inside had gained the strength of a god. Blood painted the walls in arcane shapes, long dried but still pungent. That night, the screaming started. It wasn’t coming from any of the team. It came from the walls. From the ventilation shafts. A howling mix of pain and rage, echoing down the dark corridors. “Motion detected in Sector D,” Karim announced, his voice shaking. “That’s impossible. We’re the only ones here,” Elina said, but she was already gripping her pistol. They followed the signal, tracking it through the narrow maintenance tunnels. What they found in Sector D was not human. At first glance, it looked like a man. But its skin shimmered with a translucent, veiny membrane. Its eyes were gone, replaced by sockets that pulsed with red light. And its mouth... it stretched too far. It didn’t speak. It screamed. Bullets slowed it down but didn’t stop it. Only fire, from a makeshift flamethrower, drove it back. “What the hell is that?” Anya cried, as the creature retreated into the dark, flesh bubbling. "A host," Elina said. "The virus... it didn’t just mutate. It evolved." They tried to leave. The airlock wouldn’t open. System override failed. Communications were jammed. One by one, the team was picked off—Karim vanished near the generators, his radio left behind in a pool of blood. Anya tried to find an escape route through the old freight elevator and was torn in half by something too fast to see. Only Elina remained. She sealed herself in the central control room. Her breathing was shallow. The emergency power wouldn’t last much longer. She stared at the final report on the mainframe: PROJECT THANATOS: TERMINATED STATUS: BREACH CONTAINMENT DIRECTIVE: NO CURE. NO MERCY. Elina realized the truth. There never was a plan to recover the lab. She and her team were the final test. A data point. A sacrifice. Outside the reinforced window, shadows moved. Something waited. She picked up the last syringe on the table—a viral suppressant prototype. It wouldn’t cure her. But it might let her stay herself... for a little longer. She pressed record on the facility's black box. “This is Dr. Elina Mirov, Lab Z-13. Do not send anyone else. This place cannot be cleansed. It cannot be understood. It must be buried. Burned. Forgotten.” The lights went out. And something began to knock on the door. END
By Top stories about a year ago in Horror
Don't Turn Around
Don't Turn Around: The Last Thing You'll See It started with a dare. The kind of stupid, late-night challenge teenagers whisper about in hushed tones when the world is quiet and curiosity outweighs fear. "Stand at the edge of Bellman’s Forest, just before midnight. Don’t turn around. No matter what you hear. No matter what you feel. Just don’t." They said it was a ghost. A woman who once lived deep in the woods with her children. She vanished one winter, and when they finally found the cabin months later, the children were gone. No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just claw marks. Long ones. On the inside of the walls. Now, if you go there and stand still at the tree line, she finds you. But only if you turn around. Jenna didn’t believe in any of it. She was the kind of girl who wore sarcasm like armor. But even she couldn't resist a dare from her brother Kyle, especially with his smug little smirk and the camera already rolling. "It's just five minutes," Kyle said. "Stand there, back to the trees. Don’t turn. Easy likes for the video. We’ll even call it 'Urban Legend Debunked.'" The wind was sharp that night. It sliced through her hoodie like tiny knives. The trees creaked as if they whispered to one another, warning her. The moon hung low, smothered by clouds. She stood at the edge of the forest. The others waited by the car, their flashlights dimmed. Kyle held the camera like it was a weapon against the dark. Jenna checked her phone. 11:58 p.m. She faced the gravel road. Behind her, just a foot away, the tree line loomed like a wall of bones. Then it began. It started as a whisper. Not a voice. A breath. Slow. Close. She clenched her fists. Probably Kyle playing a recording. Idiot. Another minute passed. A twig snapped. Then another. She turned her head slightly—not enough to break the rules—just enough to scan the corner of her vision. Nothing. Just blackness. But something shifted in the air. The pressure changed, like the world had sucked in a breath and held it. Then the whisper came again. Right by her ear. "You see me..." Her chest tightened. The voice was low, raw, like gravel soaked in blood. She bit her lip. “Not funny, Kyle,” she muttered. Something touched her shoulder. Not a tap. A grip. She froze. Her instincts screamed to run, but the dare echoed louder in her head: Don’t turn around. The hand remained. Cold. Fingers too long. Pressing down like roots burrowing into skin. She squeezed her eyes shut. "It's not real. It’s not real." Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Midnight. The five minutes were over. She breathed out in relief. Then she heard a second buzz—coming from the forest behind her. That wasn’t her phone. That was Kyle’s. She turned. Just her head. Only a little. And saw nothing but blackness. Then, a pair of eyes opened in the dark. Wide. Milky white. Too far apart. Then another set below them. And another. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was already too late. Something pulled her backward. Fast. Violent. The last thing she saw was the road. The trees swallowed her. --- Kyle called out. "Jenna?" The camera feed was still on. The timestamp said 12:03 a.m. They walked up to where she had been standing. The ground was disturbed—boot prints, then a long drag mark going straight into the woods. He hesitated. “Jenna?” No answer. Then something buzzed near his feet. He picked it up. Her phone. The screen was cracked. A single message was open. From Jenna’s number. "Don’t turn around." He looked up. The others were already backing away. “Let’s go, man,” one of them said, voice trembling. “We’ll call someone. The cops.” Kyle turned to face the forest again. That’s when he felt it. The breath. Right behind him. Warm. Damp. Like rot and ruin. He didn’t move. His hands trembled, the phone slipping slightly in his grip. He whispered, “Jenna?” The breath came again, followed by a voice. "Now you see." He spun around— --- The police never found Jenna. Or Kyle. Or the three friends who waited at the car. What they did find were five cellphones, scattered like breadcrumbs along the road leading away from Bellman’s Forest. Each phone had the same final message on the lock screen: "Don’t turn around. It’s the last thing you’ll see."
By Top stories about a year ago in Horror
