monster

Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.

I Am Getting Paid $800 a Week to Spy on a Stranger
--- Money hasn't been easy. The economy has changed in a drastic measure, and I'm struggling to finance my life. I couldn't pay for car payments, my rent, and I had to limit myself with buying food from the grocery store. All that changed when I spotted an online job listed on Indeed.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror
The Cedar Hollow Library Mysteries
"Libraries don’t lose people. People lose themselves. But the night I followed Elena’s library card, I realized—some disappearances are by design."
By Digital Dreamerabout a year ago in Horror
The Town That Disappeared Overnight
Let me tell you about a true story that historians still can’t explain—something creepy, mysterious, and chilling to the bone. This story takes place in 1872, in a small settlement called Riverbend, somewhere deep in the forests of western Pennsylvania. You won’t find it on a modern map. In fact, many people argue it never existed at all. But there are old letters, newspaper mentions, and one surviving journal that say otherwise. And the way the town disappeared? It’s not just strange—it’s terrifying. What Was Riverbend? Back in the 1800s, people were still moving west, building small towns out of forests, rivers, and empty land. Riverbend was one of those towns—tiny, isolated, and built along a bend in the Allegheny River. It had about 43 people: loggers, trappers, farmers, and their families. The town had one schoolhouse, a church, a general store, and a row of cabins. The people were close-knit. They worked hard. They prayed every Sunday. They looked out for one another. And then, in June 1872, they were gone. Every single one. The Letter from the Trapper The first clue that something was wrong came from a trapper named Joseph Keller, who passed through the area regularly to trade furs. He arrived at Riverbend on June 24, 1872, expecting to sell his pelts and stay the night. But the town was empty. Not burned down. Not looted. Just… completely abandoned. Doors were open. Pots were still on the fire. Clothes hung on lines. A Bible lay open in the church. But not a single soul was there. Keller later wrote in a letter: “It was as if every man, woman, and child stood up at once and walked out, never to return. No signs of struggle. No blood. No footprints leading away. Just silence. The air felt wrong.” The Journal That Was Left Behind Keller searched the cabins. He found a journal in the home of the town’s schoolteacher, Abigail Grey. The last few entries were normal: – "Held spelling bee with the children." – "Mr. Patterson’s cows broke through the fence again." – "Ordered more chalk from town." Then the tone changed: June 20: Something’s howling in the woods at night. Not wolves. Sounds like crying. Or laughter. June 21: The children say they see faces in the trees. I told them not to lie, but they swear it. June 22: Mr. and Mrs. Crane vanished last night. Their house was locked from the inside. June 23: I saw it. Tall. Pale. Watching from the river. It smiled when I screamed. June 24: They’re here. That was the last entry. The Investigation Word spread quickly. A search party of men from nearby towns was sent to Riverbend. What they found was exactly what Keller had described: a fully intact town, untouched—but lifeless. Even weirder, animals wouldn’t go near it. Horses refused to enter. Dogs howled and ran in the opposite direction. Birds avoided the sky above it. And people who stayed too long reported hearing whispers—but no one was there. Some claimed they saw shadows moving inside cabins, even though every room was empty. After three days, the search team gave up. They left a sign nailed to a tree: “DANGER – DO NOT ENTER – PROPERTY OF THE STATE.” And Riverbend was forgotten. Theories Over the Years Over the next century and a half, many people tried to explain what happened. a) Mass Disappearance Theory Some believe the people were taken—by cult, kidnappers, or something unknown. But no bodies were ever found. No trails. No messages. Just the journal. b) The Wendigo Legend Old Native American stories talk about a creature called the Wendigo—a tall, thin spirit that lives in forests, feeds on fear, and drives people mad. The description from Abigail Grey’s journal matches it almost exactly. c) The “Rip in Time” Theory Some fringe historians believe Riverbend disappeared because of a time rift—a tear between dimensions. They point to magnetic readings in that area being unusually high. But this isn’t proven. d) The Government Theory The U.S. government eventually bought the land and sealed it off. To this day, drones and hikers are blocked from the area. Why? No one knows. They say it’s “protected forest.” Protected from what, though? What Happened in 2025 Now here’s the creepiest part, and why I’m telling you this story now, in June 2025. A group of three TikTok explorers who call themselves “NightCreepers” posted a video just last week. It was titled: “We Found Riverbend. And Something Found Us.” The video was only up for seven minutes before it was deleted. I saw it. It showed a clearing in the woods. Trees twisted strangely, almost like faces in the bark. Old wooden buildings, almost perfectly preserved, covered in moss. Then the camera spun. One of the guys screamed. In the background, just beyond the trees, something tall and white was walking slowly—without moving its legs. And then the video cut out. Their account was deleted the next day. All three boys are missing. The Truth? I don’t know what happened to Riverbend. No one does. But what scares me the most is that the place isn’t gone. It’s still there. Waiting. And every now and then—especially in June, when the forest is thick and wet and heavy—someone new goes looking. Some never come back. And those who do? They don’t talk about it. They just go quiet. And sometimes, if you’re near the river late at night… You’ll hear crying. Or laughter. Or both. The Town That Disappeared Overnight Some places vanish from maps. Others vanish because something doesn’t want them to be found.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Horror
Do Not Answer the Third Call
Hi. I need to tell you something strange that happened to me last month. It started with a phone call. Actually—three of them. Everyone has heard the rumor by now. That if you get three calls from the same unknown number and answer the third one, something bad happens. Something you can't undo. Most people just laugh it off. A dumb urban legend. A TikTok trend. I laughed too—until I got my first call. 1. The First Call It was 2:47 AM. I was sleeping. My phone buzzed once and lit up with a number I didn’t know. No caller ID. Just: UNKNOWN. I didn’t answer. Who would? But when I unlocked my phone the next morning, there was no missed call. No number. Just a message in my notes app: "One." I never wrote that. And the note was timestamped: 2:47 AM. 2. The Warning At school, I mentioned it to my friend Kayla. Her face changed immediately. "You didn’t get the first call, did you?" I nodded slowly. Kayla pulled me aside and lowered her voice. “That happened to my cousin. She got three calls. Answered the third. Then she went missing the next day. No signs. Phone still ringing, but no one picks up. Her voice just keeps whispering ‘help me’ on the voicemail.” I didn’t believe her. Not really. But something in her eyes told me she wasn’t making it up. 3. The Second Call It came two nights later. 3:03 AM. My phone didn’t even ring. It just lit up with a missed call. “Unknown.” I checked the call log—empty. But this time, my lock screen had changed. It showed a photo. Of me. Asleep. In my bed. Taken from above. I live alone. I stared at it for a long time, heart pounding. Then I noticed something in the corner of the photo. A figure—thin, tall, head tilted sideways—standing in the dark near my closet. I didn’t sleep that night. 4. Everyone Gets Three I started digging. Online, there are thousands of posts about it. People from all over the world. They all say the same thing: You get three calls. You don’t know why you were chosen. You can ignore the first two. But if you answer the third, something hears your voice… and comes for you. And once it knows what you sound like, it can mimic you. One user posted this before their account was deleted: “It answered when I called back. But it used my voice to tell my mom I was dead. She believed it.” 5. The Third Call The third call came exactly three days later. It was 3:00 AM sharp. This time, my screen didn’t show a number or even say “Unknown.” It just said: “Answer me.” I froze. My thumb hovered over the screen. I told myself I wouldn't touch it. But the phone buzzed again—and again—and again. “ANSWER ME.” Something inside me snapped. I pressed "accept." And instantly, my room went ice-cold. 6. The Voice At first, it was just silence. Then, breathing. Slow. Wet. Too close. Then I heard a whisper, in my own voice: “You shouldn’t have answered.” The call ended. I stared at the screen. It was completely black—even the brightness wouldn’t come back. Then the text popped up: “I’m in.” 7. After the Call Weird things started happening. My reflection blinked when I didn’t. My friends said they got texts from me that I never sent. My phone played recordings of me crying at night—recordings I never made. I found wet footprints leading from my bathroom to my bed… even though I had locked the door. I tried smashing the phone. It didn’t work. I bought a new one. The same three calls came again. 8. It Can Speak For You Then came the scariest part. My mom called me one evening. "You okay?" she asked. "Yeah. Why?" "You just called. Said something awful happened. That you… weren’t yourself.” I hadn’t called her. Something used my voice. It’s learning. That night, I unplugged everything. Turned off the lights. Sat in the dark with a knife in my hand. And from my closet, I heard it: “You answered me. Now I can come through.” 9. The Missing I stopped going to school. People started asking where I was. But they’d get weird replies. A friend told me I posted a video online—but when I checked, I hadn’t. The video? It looked like me. Sounded like me. But the smile was wrong. Too wide. Too still. That version of me said: “The third call is never the end. It’s the doorway.” And then the screen went black. 10. If You're Reading This I don’t know how long I have left. I don’t sleep anymore. When I do, I wake up with bruises I didn’t have before. Voicemails show up that I never record. I saw myself walking past a window yesterday. I live on the 12th floor. Please. If you get a call from an unknown number—especially at night—don’t answer it. If it calls again, block it. If it calls a third time… Run. And never speak a word. Because once it knows your voice— It can become you. Do Not Answer the Third Call Some phone calls aren’t scams. Some are invitations.
By Silas Blackwoodabout a year ago in Horror
The Hollow Eyes of Blackridge Manor
Sarah Mitchell, a seasoned investigative journalist, had seen her fair share of dark stories. But nothing had ever intrigued her as much as the legend of Blackridge Manor. Hidden deep in the English countryside, the manor had been abandoned for over a century, but its dark past had always lingered. Whispers from the locals spoke of people who had entered the house and never returned, their disappearances shrouded in mystery. And those who had come back? They were never the same—empty, broken, and haunted by something no one could understand.
By ABDU LLAHabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Pines"
Lila had always been drawn to the quiet beauty of the pines. As a child, she and her family had vacationed at a cabin in the remote woods of Maine. The towering trees, their needles rustling in the wind, had always felt like old friends to her. But there was something about the woods now—something she couldn’t explain—that made her uneasy.
By ABDU LLAHabout a year ago in Horror
Bed Seven
Thomas Granger had never been a superstitious man. An accountant by profession, logical by nature, and mildly annoyed by anything remotely paranormal. He believed in data, not ghosts. But what happened to him at Brookridge Memorial Hospital changed everything—if not for him, then for those who still remember. It began on a cloudy afternoon in October 2022. Thomas checked himself into Brookridge after experiencing a sudden dizzy spell while driving. The hospital was old, built in 1954, and had changed hands more than once. The exterior was solid brick, but the hallways smelled faintly of mold and history too much history. He was placed in Room 307, Bed Seven. It was a quiet room on the third floor. Clean, well-lit, and uneventful. But one thing caught his eye: etched into the metal frame of the headboard was the number “7”, almost like someone had scratched it in with a knife. When he asked the nurse about it, she simply shrugged and said, “Just an old tag, probably from inventory. Nothing to worry about.” But Thomas felt something strange the moment he laid down that night. An uneasy heaviness settled in his chest not physical, but like a whisper pressing against the back of his mind. And at exactly 3:07 AM, he heard it. A voice. Not loud. Not angry. Just close. “You’re the seventh. The others never left.” He bolted upright. The room was still. No one around. The hallway empty. The next day, he mentioned it to a nurse. She smiled nervously. “You probably dreamed it. It’s a quiet floor. Nothing happens here.” But something did happen. Again. On the second night, he dreamt of a little girl standing beside his bed. Her dress was outdated, her hands cold, her eyes wide and too still. She whispered, “This pillow was his. The one who never woke up.” Thomas jolted awake. The sheets were damp with sweat, and the room smelled faintly of something old something like rusted water and forgotten spaces. The next morning, he requested a different bed. The staff complied and moved him to Room 306. But by nightfall, Thomas somehow woke up again in Bed Seven. No one saw him move. No cameras captured anything unusual. But there he was, lying in the exact same position, on the same bed. A nurse named Abigail, the only one who spoke freely, eventually sat down beside him and said, “Look… you’re not the first to ask about Bed Seven. Over the past fifteen years, five patients have died here in their sleep. All cardiac arrest. All unrelated. All… in this bed.” Thomas’s voice trembled. “And I’m the sixth?” “No,” she said. “You’re the seventh.” He didn’t wait for discharge papers. He wanted to leave that night. But the hospital rules didn’t allow overnight exits without clearance. He agreed to stay one last night. The staff gave him a sleep aid. Just something mild. Just to help him rest. He never woke up. His body was found the next morning, cold, rigid, and twisted sideways, as if he had tried to scream with his whole body but not with his mouth. The death certificate said: "Sudden cardiac arrest during sleep." His family was devastated. But his mother bless her stubborn instinct requested his personal items. Among them was the pillow he had slept on. Sewn inside the cover, on the underside near the zipper, was a tag stitched decades ago. It simply read: “Property of Brookridge Bed #7” His mother swears that on some nights, when the room is quiet and the wind brushes the curtains, she hears a faint whisper: “When does the eighth arrive?” Some objects remember more than we realize. And some places… aren’t done with us, even after we leave them behind.Thank you very much for reading!🥰
By Mayaabout a year ago in Horror
Pixie Dust: Part Four. Content Warning.
The hiss of decompression was followed by a wet, sucking sound. I snapped the Remington into my shoulder, light jerking toward the noise.
By Stephanie Wrightabout a year ago in Horror
My Daughter Talks to Someone in the Wall. AI-Generated.
It started with whispers. At first, I thought they were part of my daughter’s make-believe world. Kids invent friends all the time, and at four years old, Lily had an incredible imagination. She would sit by the corner of her bedroom wall, facing the faded wallpaper with the tiny pink flowers, and talk for hours in soft, giggling murmurs.
By Mustaqeem Sherabout a year ago in Horror
The Vampire
Alan’s eyes never left the flames, picturing the screams of the woman. He knew what he was getting himself into. He was willing to do whatever it took to have food, water, and a place to sleep.
By Emy Quinnabout a year ago in Horror
Pixie Dust: Part Three
I didn’t even check if she was breathing. My legs moved before my brain could catch up, stumbling back from her collapsed body as the echo of her voice still hung in the air. The ancient darkness awakens… Her words pounded behind my eyes, turning my stomach inside out.
By Stephanie Wrightabout a year ago in Horror
Scarlett and the Dogman
“Oh, my little Scarlett. I can’t wait to see you, it’s been too long!” “I miss you, too, Grandma. I can’t wait to make homemade meals with you again.”
By Melissa Muhsabout a year ago in Horror