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How-tos for all things horror; tips and tricks to help you write like Stephen King, tell a scary story, keep the monsters at bay and more.
Whispers Beneath the Floorboards
Whispers Beneath the Floorboards Secrets Buried in Silence, Waiting to Be Heard The house on Windmere Lane had been empty for years, its once-vibrant windows now clouded with dust, the paint on its frame curling like dried leaves. Neighbors whispered about the place in the same way children whispered about monsters—soft, careful, half-believing. When Clara inherited the house from her grandmother, she hadn't expected anything more than a dusty old structure in need of repairs. She was used to old buildings. As a freelance writer with a love for vintage aesthetics, she saw charm in the creaking floorboards and cobwebbed corners. But something about this house was different. From the first night, Clara heard it: faint murmurs just beneath the edge of hearing. At first, she blamed the wind, maybe mice in the walls. But no wind whispers names. And mice don’t say “help me.” She lay awake in the upstairs bedroom, covers pulled up to her chin, as the noises came again. Soft. Insistent. Almost human. Whispers beneath the floorboards. The next morning, Clara began her inspection. Her grandmother had sealed off the basement years ago after an old heating system collapsed. The floorboards in the living room were oddly new compared to the rest of the house—sanded and varnished, yet somehow uneven. She knelt and knocked. Hollow. She tried to forget about it. She told herself she was being dramatic—too many horror books, too little sleep. But the whispers returned that night. Louder. More desperate. “Why did she leave us here?” Clara bolted upright. This was no dream. She grabbed her flashlight and tiptoed down to the living room. The floorboards were warm, unnaturally so. Her fingers trembled as she ran them along the edge of the nearest plank. It was loose. Just slightly. Something told her not to pull it up. But curiosity is a stronger force than fear. She pried up one board, then another, until a dark cavity yawned open beneath her. The old basement—smaller than she expected, almost like a crawl space—was barely three feet deep. She shone her flashlight into the darkness. There, nestled in the dirt and shadows, were toys. Old wooden dolls. A broken tricycle. A child's shoe. And then, a pair of eyes stared back at her. Clara screamed and tumbled backward, the flashlight clattering across the floor. By the time she scrambled to her feet and peered back into the hole, the eyes were gone. The next morning, she went into town and found an old man sitting at the café, sipping coffee slowly. His name was Harold, and he’d lived in the neighborhood all his life. “Your grandmother,” he said, “was a good woman. But strange.” “How so?” “She took in children, back in the 1950s. Orphans. Said she couldn’t bear to see them sent off to homes. But one day… they just stopped coming. And she stopped speaking of them. We assumed they’d grown up or left.” Clara’s skin prickled. “There was a boy,” Harold continued, “James. Red hair. Sweet kid. Disappeared one winter. The police asked questions. Your grandmother said he ran away. But she looked… haunted after that. Like she was hiding something she couldn’t stand to say out loud.” Clara returned to the house that night, mind heavy. The whispers were louder now—no longer begging, but crying. Wailing. Children’s voices, calling names. Pleading for someone to listen. She couldn’t bear it anymore. The next day, she called a local contractor and had the floorboards removed completely. Beneath them, the earth was disturbed, loose in places. And buried beneath, just a few feet deep, were bones. Small bones. The coroner’s report confirmed it—at least three children, their remains decades old. The police reopened the case, and newspapers had a field day. “Murder House on Windmere Lane!” the headlines screamed. Clara watched her family’s name spiral into infamy, her heart sinking under the weight of ancestral guilt. She left the house, moved back into the city. Tried to forget. But the whispers followed. They came not from beneath the floorboards anymore—but from her dreams. From the rustle of paper. From the silence between breaths. “Thank you,” they said sometimes. “She couldn't hear us. But you did.” And sometimes, “Don’t let her hurt us again.” Clara doesn’t sleep much these days. She writes, mostly. Stories about haunted houses, broken families, and secrets buried in silence. And sometimes—on the edge of sleep—she still hears the whispers.
By IRSHAD MUHAMMADabout a year ago in Horror
The Candle in the Window
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was the kind of place kids dared each other to approach, the kind of place that made the wind sound like whispers. Locals called it Hollow Pine, though no one remembered why. The forest had long since swallowed the path to its door, and the trees grew too close, as if trying to keep something in.
By Ashikur Rahman Bipulabout a year ago in Horror
The Voting Day
From the early hours of the morning, the village of Sunfield had a different atmosphere. Every corner of the speakers bloomed: "Your voice, your rights. Vote carefully and choose the right person." The villagers seemed to wake up earlier than usual - because today was election day.
By MD NAYEM HOSSANabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering House
The village, covered in gentle mist, surrounded by thick forests and quiet hills, stood in a house that no one had dared to abandon. Locals believed it was cursed. Decades ago, a woman named Eleanor lived there alone after her husband's death. On a stormy night, she disappeared without any traces. Since then, horrifying whispers and strange lights have been reported from empty houses, which have become known as the Whisper House.
By Robin Hassanabout a year ago in Horror
That inhabitant of darkness
As soon as she unlocked the door, a musty smell hit Sudeepa's nose. It wasn't unusual for this old house to smell like this on a rainy day, Sudeepa herself was used to this smell; but still, today, her senses were somehow confused. She somehow pushed her soaking wet body into the bathroom. She stood up from the shower and fell down, her body shaking and trembling. The shower water was pouring down her face in a continuous stream, this is a hilly area, water is used very sparingly here, but Sudeepa didn't care about that today. So, will the police really be looking for Deepta? As soon as they heard everything, they said that he was somehow rolling in the ditch! Will Sudeepa tell everything at home now or wait for morning!
By Tahsin Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Man With No Neck. Content Warning.
During the war in 1985, my father was a 22-year-old boy.. At this time, my father is serving as an army officer... My father served in the North and East for 22 years.. He has shared with us several such stories that happened during these 22 years..
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Horror
The Cursed Souls of Bang Pu Shoe Factory: Thailand’s Most Haunted Industrial Ruin
The Spooky Legacy of Bang Pu Shoe Factory: A Terrible and Disaster Story It is in the center of Samut Prakan's Bang Pu Industrial Park where the ruined, deserted Bang Pu Shoe Factory is now Thailand's best-loved ghost site. It holds a sad past that is made up of an appalling blend of factory tragedy, pitiful sadness, and paranormal legends, born out of Thai popular beliefs about vengeful spirits.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a year ago in Horror
The Creepy Doll Contest Is Back—And It’s Time to Choose the Most Terrifying Toy
The Creepy Doll Contest Is Back—And It’s Time to Choose the Most Terrifying Toy A dark room. A broken chair. And in the corner sits an old doll—its glassy eyes staring right at you, as if trying to say something. If you’ve ever felt even a little uneasy looking at an old, worn-out doll, then get ready for one of the strangest and spookiest events of the year: The Creepy Doll Contest is back! Every year, people from around the world cast their votes to crown the most haunting, unsettling, and downright disturbing doll. The winner receives the title of “Creepiest Doll of the Year.” This contest is not just about horror—it's about laughter, nostalgia, and those eerie childhood memories etched into the silent faces of forgotten toys. What Is the Creepy Doll Contest? It all started at a local museum, which housed a unique antique toy collection. Among the items were a few dolls so bizarre and unsettling that the staff jokingly created a poll: “Which doll is the creepiest?” The response was overwhelming. What began as a light-hearted game quickly turned into a viral tradition. Now, each year, new entries are put forward and the public is invited to vote—whether they’re horror fans, antique lovers, or simply thrill-seekers. This Year’s Contestants—Faces of Fear The 2025 lineup includes some truly nightmarish contenders that feel like they’ve stepped straight out of a horror film: "Margaret the Watcher" – A Victorian porcelain doll with a slightly tilted neck and glassy, lifelike eyes that seem to follow your every move. "Rusty Pete" – A metal clown toy with peeling paint and a frozen smile that never fades—though no one knows why. "Lila in the Window" – Discovered in the attic of an old mansion. Locals say she would mysteriously appear by the window whenever it rained—without anyone placing her there. Each doll comes with a backstory, a mysterious past, and secrets that make you wonder: are these just old toys… or something more? How to Vote If you’re brave enough to face these creepy contestants, head over to [official website] to view their photos and eerie descriptions. Every doll has a name, an origin story, and yes—close-up images of their haunting faces to help you make your choice. You can vote once a day until [last date]. The winning doll will be announced in a special livestream event—where people will be laughing nervously while their skin crawls with fear. Why Are We So Obsessed With Creepy Dolls? Psychologists say dolls scare us because of a phenomenon called the "uncanny valley"—that psychological space where something looks almost human, but not quite. It’s familiar, yet disturbingly off. And when a doll is aged—its face cracked, its eyes dulled, its clothes worn—it stops being just a toy. It becomes a story. An unsolved mystery. A lifeless companion holding not just memories, but maybe even secrets. Your Vote Could Become Part of a Legend So this year, don’t just be a spectator—be part of the legend. Cast your vote. The doll you choose could become the next horror short film star. Or maybe… it’ll appear in your dreams.
By Riaz hossin Rafiabout a year ago in Horror
That terrible black cat
The SSC exams were over. So this time I would get a long vacation. So I started planning where to go. After much thought, I decided to go to my village home. I requested my dear friend Suman to go with me to my village home, he agreed. On the specified day, Suman and I reached the village home by bus. We went there on Tuesday, so it was not very crowded. The day after reaching the village home, a strange incident happened. The village's Sharif Ali is said to have died. He also committed suicide again. I felt a little bad. The police investigated and said that he committed suicide by jumping off the roof. I did not understand why a person like him would commit suicide. Because he got his two daughters married. He also got grandchildren. He should be happy. Anyway, as I was going to his house that day and thinking about him, I did not realize when the night had passed. After running around all day, after eating and drinking, Suman and I lay down on the bed. Still, I couldn't sleep at night. Still, I forced myself to stay in bed. When I woke up in the morning, it was almost ten o'clock. I woke up and saw that Suman was not next to me. Then I went to the inner room and saw that not only Suman was there, but also no one else was at home except my two aunts and two sisters. When I asked my aunt where the rest of the family was, she said that everyone in the family had gone to Jasim uncle's house, and Suman was also there. Jasim uncle died last night. Then I ran to Jasim uncle's house without delay. I heard that Jasim uncle had committed suicide by hanging himself. People started saying that someone must have cursed the village. Due to which people are dying one by one. They stopped coming out of the house at night out of fear. Then Avi and Suman decided that we will go out at night. Whatever happens to us will happen but we will find out the secret of the death of the people of the village. At night, the only thing being talked about at the dinner table. At one point, uncle said that tomorrow we villagers will go to a monk or priest together and see if they give us any solution. After finishing the meal, everyone fell asleep. Suman and I were acting, then after everyone fell asleep, we quietly opened the door and went out. After walking some distance, I saw our neighbor Anwar uncle going towards the pond. I didn't understand anything at that time, I just called him. He didn't answer. Suddenly I remembered that he doesn't go swimming. Then I realized that maybe he is going to commit suicide by drowning in the river. Suman and I immediately ran and stopped him. After some time, he came to his senses. When I asked him, he said that he didn't know that he was How did he get to the pond? He said he only heard the sound of a cat crying and then he didn't remember anything else. Then the cat in front of me ran away. Suman and I ran and blocked the cat's path. Then I took out a box of matches from my pocket and said, "Tell me who you are or I will set it on fire." The cat said, "No, don't kill me, I will tell you everything." The cat changed from its cat form into a beautiful woman. Suman said, "She is Akash Ali's wife." Akash Ali used to come home drunk every day. When he came home, he would beat her and her daughter. The girl would just ask, "Why are you beating us?" I would not answer. After going on like this, one day I met a monk and told him everything. Then I asked him how I could keep my daughter with me but no one would see her. He said, "I will recite a mantra and put your daughter inside a cat, so no one will know that there is a girl inside the cat." The next day I took my daughter to him along with our pet cat. He recited the mantra and performed the task. After a few days, Akash Ali's wife went out for some work. She forgot to take the cat, that is, her daughter. went. Akash Ali got angry that day and killed the cat to satisfy his anger for no reason, and after killing the cat, his daughter came out of the cat. Akash Ali's wife came and saw that her daughter had been killed by her husband. A few days later, Akash Ali married another woman. Akash Ali's wife committed suicide in grief over her daughter. After her death, her soul entered the cat. Since then, when the cat cries, people who hear the sound of this cry commit suicide. Akash Ali's wife also told us that until Akash Ali is punished, his soul will not find peace. Then I promised Akash Ali's wife that we will definitely punish Akash Ali. Then Akash Ali's wife came out of the cat's body and the cat died. The next day, my friend Suman was found dead. I said that the soul has left, then how did my friend die? I went to a priest and told him the story. He said that some evil spirit had entered your friend's body. Its purpose was to kill you. You leave here as soon as possible. I am tying a little thread on your hand. Never untie this thread or you may be in danger. I bought a bus ticket that day and returned home. I still don't understand what happened to me that day.
By Tahsin Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Chamber of Dark Magic
Chamber of Dark Magic : Episode One: The Lost Bell... Nisorgopur was a little village along the river, nestled in a deep forest. The locals were straightforward, sincere, and passionately religious. However, the community had a horrific past, focused on a bell that had hung in an old temple a century ago. When it rang, odd things happened.
By Sazid Rahman about a year ago in Horror
