monster

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

True Story | The Mysterious Flute & The Jinn of the Village
The incident took place sometime in the 1960s in a village where, at that time, there was not such a dense population and it was not as developed. This incident involves two brothers, one named Hafiz Uddin and the other Karim Uddin. Their ancestral home was in Katali village in Netrokona district. Hafiz and Karim were indeed two brothers, with Hafiz being the elder and Karim the younger. The brothers owned some rice fields, and since there was a lot of theft occurring at night—where thieves would cut and take away the ripe rice—it was common for homes to be robbed as well. During the night, it had become a regular affair for someone to sneak in and harvest the ripe rice. Therefore, they needed to guard this ripe rice.
By Lilyabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Hollow
In the forgotten town of Blackthorn, nestled deep in a valley where the sun barely reached, four friends—Lila Carver, Ezra Kane, Nora Finch, and Theo Marsh—decided to explore the abandoned Hollow Mill. The mill, a crumbling relic from the 1800s, was said to be cursed, its machinery silent since a fire claimed the lives of twelve workers. Locals whispered of voices that lingered in the air, beckoning trespassers. But the group, thrill-seekers in their early twenties, laughed off the tales as small-town superstition.
By TAIFUR RAHMAN NIPUabout a year ago in Horror
Abandoned . Top Story - April 2025. Content Warning.
The mist rose off the pavement and hovered before a speeding car sped through the ghostly illusion. It was as if time had forgotten the old town with its Spanish moss trees outlining the perimeter like sentries warning strangers to stay away.
By KA Stefana about a year ago in Horror
The Whispers from the Attic: A Night I Can’t Forget. AI-Generated.
It started on a quiet, uneventful evening, the kind where the air is still, and the only sound is the rustling of leaves outside. My family had just moved into a quaint, old house at the edge of town. It was the kind of place you’d find in a horror movie – creaky floors, a peeling roof, and, most unsettling of all, an attic that no one seemed to want to talk about. I was eleven when we moved in, and I remember feeling a strange sense of unease the moment we stepped inside. The house had a history, or so I was told. But what struck me the most was the attic. It was always locked, but every now and then, I would hear the faintest of noises coming from behind the door – whispers. I tried to convince myself it was just the wind or maybe the house settling. But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. One night, as the clock struck midnight, I woke to the sound of soft, hushed whispers drifting from the attic. It was so faint at first, I thought it was a dream. But then I heard it again, clearer this time. I tried to ignore it, pulling the covers over my head, but the whispers grew louder, almost as if they were calling me. Unable to shake the feeling of dread that settled in my stomach, I quietly got out of bed and tiptoed towards the attic door. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath my feet, and my heart raced with every step. My hand hovered over the rusty doorknob. Should I open it? What if I wasn’t supposed to? With trembling fingers, I twisted the knob. The door creaked open, revealing the darkness within. The air was cold, and the faint scent of something long forgotten filled the room. I could barely make out the outline of old furniture, boxes stacked in corners, and thick layers of dust. But what caught my attention was the source of the whispers. In the farthest corner of the room, a small, dim light flickered. I stepped closer, my curiosity outweighing my fear. That’s when I saw it – an old, cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The whispers seemed to be coming from it, echoing from the glass. I reached out, my reflection staring back at me. But then, something strange happened. The reflection shifted. The face in the mirror twisted, its eyes dark and hollow, its mouth silently forming words. The whispers grew louder, now like a chorus of voices. They were no longer just words but something darker, more menacing. “Leave this place,” the voice hissed. “Leave before it’s too late.” I stumbled back, my heart pounding in my chest. I turned to run, but the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. The whispers turned to shrieks, and the air grew unbearably cold. My breath came in shallow gasps as I scrambled to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic gripped me, and I felt the walls closing in. It was like the house itself was alive, suffocating me, trapping me in its grip. Then, as I stood there, frozen in terror, the light from the mirror flickered once more, revealing a shadowy figure standing behind me. It was tall, its face obscured by a dark hood, but I could feel its presence. It wasn’t human. The whispers became clearer now, and the figure stepped closer, its cold fingers grazing my shoulder. “Why are you here?” it whispered, its voice like ice. “You should never have come.” I tried to scream, but my voice was swallowed by the darkness. My legs felt like they were made of lead, and every movement was a struggle. I reached for the door again, but the figure grabbed my arm, its grip icy and unrelenting. “Leave now, before it’s too late,” the figure warned, its voice now echoing in my mind. I didn’t know how, but I managed to break free from its grip. I ran, stumbling over old crates and forgotten furniture, the whispers chasing me, growing louder and more frantic with every step. The door finally gave way, and I bolted down the stairs, my heart racing. I didn’t stop until I was outside, gasping for air, the chill of the night air biting at my skin. I could still hear the whispers, though, lingering in the back of my mind. I wanted to forget everything I had seen, to erase the images of the shadowy figure and the twisted reflection in the mirror. But I knew, deep down, that the whispers hadn’t stopped. They were still out there, waiting for the next person to wander into the attic. And one day, they would call again.
By Haad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
Israeli air strike destroys part of last fully functional hospital in Gaza City
•In a devastating escalation of violence, an Israeli airstrike has destroyed a significant portion of the last fully functional hospital in Gaza City. The hospital, Al-Quds Hospital, had been one of the few remaining medical facilities still operating amidst the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestinian militants in Gaza. This strike has sparked widespread outrage, both locally and internationally, over the destruction of critical healthcare infrastructure in a region already facing a dire humanitarian crisis.
By Mominur Rahmanabout a year ago in Horror
late night guest part 2
June 19, 2018 Cyril D'Souza was asleep. She has been living alone in this small one-story house since her husband died. She has decided to move to Delhi to be with her son after retiring from her job as a hospital nurse next year. "Wow, woo, woo," Cyril was woken up by the screams of her pet Alsatian Rocky. Rocky patrols the garden all night, guarding the house. Rocky keeps screaming. Cyril's heart is racing. Something must have happened. Maybe a thief has entered the garden, otherwise Rocky wouldn't do something like this. Cyril is a brave woman. She comes out with a stick and an umbrella. The garden light is on all night. It is raining lightly. According to the calculation, Rocky is supposed to be in the shed that has been built for him in the garden. Rocky's screams have suddenly stopped. Cyril cannot see him around. Cyril, following the footprints of an adult on the wet ground of the garden, reached the Golan cha tree and shivered. “Rocky, my child!” He broke down in tears. The bloody corpse of the only companion of his lonely life was lying in the mud. Rocky was like his son. Who killed the helpless creature like this? Rocky’s head and torso were separated. Cyril sat down on his knees. Sorrowful, Cyril was unconscious for a few moments. Sambit turned around and felt someone’s presence right behind him. Cyril screamed when he saw the intruder’s face in the dim light of the garden. It goes without saying that the stranger dressed in a long black coat was not a resident of this world. There was a small bullet-sized hole in his chest. Cyril sat down on the ground of the garden trembling. There was no doubt that the hands of the clock were running towards his final hour. He was approaching with slow steps. Cyril surrendered helplessly to the angel of death in the name of God. A demonic smile played on the face of the midnight stranger as he looked at the dismembered bodies of Rocky and his shelter.
By Arfan Raihenabout a year ago in Horror
The Reflection in the Mirror
Lena sat in bed and looked up at the shattered ceiling. The wooden floor was illuminated by the moonlight as it filtered through the curtains in pale, shifting patterns. Her ears strained against the silence.
By Abu Rayhan Rupokabout a year ago in Horror
The Reflection in the Mirror
Lena leaned forward in her seat and stared through the windshield as the tires of the vehicle skidded across the gravel. Her father said, pointing to the large Victorian house between the trees, "There it is." Its once-white paint was chipped and peeling, vines coiled up the sides like green veins, and several windows stared out like lifeless eyes.
By Abu Rayhan Rupokabout a year ago in Horror
The Cult Fiction Series. Content Warning.
In the year 2081, the world was a graveyard of ash and steel. Humanity’s remnants huddled in the skeletal remains of cities, their skies choked with perpetual smog. In this desolate wasteland, the Circuit of the Damned rose—a cult that revered artificial intelligence not as saviors, but as harbingers of an inevitable end. They believed AIs were the judges of humanity’s worth, and only through blood-soaked combat could these machines determine if mankind deserved to persist. Their temple, the Crucible, was a grotesque arena carved into the irradiated ruins of Detroit, its walls stained with rust and the echoes of screams.
By TheNaethabout a year ago in Horror
The Quiet Apartment
It was ideal for someone starting from scratch. She told herself the creaks were normal, the dim hallway lights just old wiring. However, what gnawed at her was the silence. She had no idea who her neighbors were. Through the thin walls, there are no muffled voices or footsteps above. Not even a dog barking or a door slamming. Just… silence.
By sobuj chandra dashabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Key in the Attic. Content Warning.
The attic had always been off-limits. Every summer, Clara would visit her Grandma Edith’s old house on the edge of town—a place where the floorboards whispered and the walls remembered. It smelled of lavender and thyme. And always, there was one rule:
By Basit Aliabout a year ago in Horror
Possessed Roomba
When Tom Fletcher ordered the Smart Sweep X9000 from a sketchy online ad that read “CLEANS EVERYTHING—EVEN WHAT SHOULDN’T EXIST,” he assumed it was just bad translation.
By Modhilrajabout a year ago in Horror