monster

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

Spookies
Spookies is a film so utterly badass it seems improbable that it took me thirty years to see it. Unless I’m misremembering and saw it before—but, considering how memorable it is, and how utterly repulsively delicious (as if it were a psychologically tainted cheese), that seems unlikely.
By Tom Baker5 months ago in Horror
The Signal Didn’t Come From Space . Content Warning.
The Signal Didn’t Come From Space Kiya had trained her whole life for moments like this. An emergency alert from Alpha One Station didn’t just happen without reason. Still, as she suited up for launch, excitement sat heavy in her chest, mixed with something colder. Unease.
By Rachel Foster5 months ago in Horror
The Last Tenant
The landlord told me the last tenant moved out three weeks ago. He said it with the kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes. The kind that answers a question you haven't asked yet.I didn't ask why the rent was so low. I should have.The apartment was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like old wood and something else I couldn't name. Something sweet. Something that reminded me of fruit left out too long. I told myself it was the walls. Old buildings breathe, my mother used to say. They hold onto things.I moved in on a Saturday. By Sunday night I knew something was wrong.
By Shadow_kernel5 months ago in Horror
The Wendigo: The Hunger That Never Ends. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
There are horrors that stalk the dark. And then there are horrors that were once human. Deep within the frozen forests of North America, among the endless pines and silent snowfall, Indigenous tribes whispered of something far worse than death. Not a beast. Not a demon. But a curse. A sickness of the soul born from starvation, greed, and cannibalism.
By E. hasan5 months ago in Horror
The Manananggal: The Night That Splits Open. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I. Dusk Is a Warning There is a moment—just before night fully takes hold—when the world seems to hesitate. Dogs stop barking. Cicadas fall silent. Even the wind feels like it’s listening. In parts of the Philippines, elders will tell you that this silence is not natural. It is permission. Because somewhere, behind closed doors, beneath a nipa roof, or inside a quiet, dimly lit home… A woman is preparing to come apart. II. The Splitting It begins slowly. A tremor in the spine. A tightening beneath the ribs. A sound—not quite a scream, not quite a sigh—escaping her throat. Then— RIP. Not metaphorical. Not symbolic. Her body tears in half. Skin stretches until it cannot. Bone separates with a wet crack. Organs glisten in the open air. The lower half remains standing, grotesquely still, as though death forgot to finish its work. And the upper half? It doesn’t fall. It rises. Wings burst from her back—thin, veined, and bat-like—beating against the suffocating night. Her entrails dangle beneath her like obscene decorations, swaying as she ascends. There is no transformation into something else. This is what she is. This is what she has always been. III. The Hunt She does not wander. She knows exactly where she is going. Across fields. Over rooftops. Through the thick, breathless dark—she glides with purpose. Below her, homes sit quiet and unaware, their walls thin, their roofs fragile. She listens. Not for movement. Not for voices. For something softer. A heartbeat that isn’t meant to be heard. IV. The Chosen Pregnant women rarely sleep well in the heat. They toss, they turn, they wake to strange discomforts they cannot name. Sometimes, they think they hear something above them. A faint tapping. Tik… tik… tik… So distant it feels harmless. So quiet it feels ignorable. But the sound is a lie. The quieter it is— the closer she is. V. The Feeding She lands without a sound. No creaking wood. No shifting weight. Just presence. Her shadow spreads across the roof like a stain. Then, from her mouth, something extends—long, thin, impossibly precise. A tongue. Not soft. Not human. A hollow, needle-like appendage that slides through cracks in the roof… through bamboo… through thatch… through anything that dares separate her from what she wants. Below, the woman stirs. A cold sensation. A pressure. A dream that suddenly turns wrong. And then— It begins. The Manananggal does not tear. She does not claw. She drinks. Slowly. Carefully. With practiced cruelty. Life is taken before it can become a cry. Before it can become a name. Before it can become anything at all. And the mother? She wakes the next morning weaker. Pale. Confused. Sometimes she never wakes at all. VI. The Witnesses They never see her clearly. No one ever does. But they remember pieces. A shadow passing over the moon. The sound of wings too large to belong to any bird. A heavy weight pressing down on a roof that should not hold it. One man swore he saw something rise into the sky—half a body, trailing something wet and glistening beneath it. He never spoke of it again without shaking. A woman claimed she heard the tik-tik above her every night of her pregnancy—until her neighbors lined her home with garlic and ash. The sound stopped. But she never forgot how close it felt. VII. The Other Half Every predator has a weakness. The Manananggal leaves something behind. Her lower body—empty, hollow, waiting. Hidden in shadows. Tucked beneath floorboards. Concealed in tall grass or abandoned corners of the village. If you find it… if you know what you’re looking at… if you have the courage to get close— There are ways to end her. Salt. Garlic. Fire. Simple things. But nothing about this is simple. Because while you search in the dark for something that looks like half a corpse— The other half may already be on its way back. VIII. Dawn She must return before sunrise. If she doesn’t— She doesn’t survive. The first light of morning does not forgive what she is. It burns. It exposes. It destroys. So she flies faster as the horizon begins to bleed with pale gold. Wings beating harder. Body straining. Hunger still clinging to her like a second skin. And when she finds herself again— She completes the act. Upper half meeting lower. Flesh sealing. Bone reconnecting. Skin knitting together as though nothing ever happened. By the time the sun rises fully— She is whole. She is human. She is walking among everyone else.
By E. hasan5 months ago in Horror
Cyber-Occult Requiem. AI-Generated.
Cyber-Occult Requiem is the kind of film that feels risky from the very beginning and that’s exactly what makes it work. Blending dark fantasy with modern tech culture, it introduces a world where necromancy doesn’t hide in ancient ruins but thrives in code, networks, and mobile apps. It’s an unusual premise, but one the film leans into with confidence, delivering something that feels both eerie and surprisingly relevant.
By helsing Riddick5 months ago in Horror
The Ledger of Seven Shadows
The Ledger of Seven Shadows The package arrived on a Tuesday—unmarked, wrapped in brown paper that smelled of wet earth and old copper. As a collector of "weird" things for my Vocal blog, I thought it was just another fan sending me a prop. I was wrong. Inside was a diary bound in what looked like weathered leather, though it felt uncomfortably like cold skin.
By Talha Maroof5 months ago in Horror
The Error Code That Knew My Name
The Error Code That Knew My Name It was 2:00 AM when my house told its first lie. People say technology is soulless—that it has a brain made of silicon but no heart to feel. But that night, when my Aegis Home System detected motion under my bed and sent a notification reading: "Guest detected in Master Bedroom," I realized that a 'digital soul' is far more terrifying than a human one. I held my breath, paralyzed in the dark, knowing I was supposed to be alone.
By Talha Maroof5 months ago in Horror
The Sorrel-Weed House Hauntings
There are places where history settles into the walls so deeply that it begins to feel less like memory and more like presence, where the past does not simply exist as a record, but as something that lingers, shifts, and occasionally reveals itself in ways that defy explanation. In the heart of Savannah, Georgia, a city long associated with ghost stories and layered history, the Sorrel–Weed House stands as one of the most enduring and unsettling examples of this phenomenon. A location where accounts of paranormal activity have not only persisted for generations but appear to have continued into the present day.
By Veil of Shadows5 months ago in Horror
I Found a Livestream of My Own Living Room
I Found a Livestream of My Own Living Room The blue light of my laptop was the only thing keeping the shadows of my apartment at bay. It was 2:14 AM. I was scrolling through an obscure forum dedicated to "unexplained internet glitches" when I saw a link titled: 02:14: LIVE.
By Talha Maroof5 months ago in Horror
The 2026 NASA Scientist Disappearances...
The Disappearance of General McCasland There are moments in any investigation where a single case shifts the tone from curiosity to concern, where the details surrounding one individual begin to outweigh the broader narrative and demand closer attention. The reported disappearance of General Neil McCasland represents one of those moments. Unlike cases that can be attributed, at least initially, to environmental hazards or personal circumstances, this incident exhibits a level of specificity and contradiction that complicates easy explanation.
By Veil of Shadows5 months ago in Horror
The Algorithm That Replaced Us
In the year 2042, the world had changed in ways no one could have imagined just two decades earlier. Cities were smarter, faster, and more efficient. Traffic flowed without signals, hospitals diagnosed diseases in seconds, and businesses ran themselves with minimal human effort.
By Truth words 5 months ago in Horror