monster
Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.
The Zodiac Killer: Randomness as Rehearsal?
California, late 1960s... The country was loud. Televisions glowed late into the night. Radios carried voices across highways and into homes. America was watching itself, war overseas, unrest in the streets, optimism colliding with anxiety in real time. And in that noise, something learned how to whisper.
By Veil of Shadows8 months ago in Horror
The Ninth Hour of Malachi : SEASON 2
Season 2 Chapter 5 BROKEN DOCUMENTED FACT: The Monastery of the Silent Veil was built on the ruins of a pre-Christian pagan site known for ritual sacrifice. Historians note a significant number of suicides among the early monks, with bodies often found twisted into unnatural postures, mimicking the position of a figure being broken on a wheel. The term "Malachi's Hour" first appears in a 13th-century text, referencing the ninth hour of the day...the hour of ultimate darkness before dawn.
By Tales That Breathe at Night8 months ago in Horror
Nothing Felt Wrong at First — That’s What Made It Terrifying
Short introduction Come Closer is a psychological horror novel about possession, but not in the dramatic, spinning-head, holy-water kind of way. It’s quiet, modern, and very close to real life. The book follows a woman named Amanda as something slowly starts going wrong with her thoughts, her behavior, and her sense of self. It’s short, simple, and written in a very direct voice — which is exactly why it works.
By Rosalina Jane8 months ago in Horror
My Cancer Manifesto: Surviving Monsters, Misfits, and Mistakes. Content Warning.
This is being made into a film, and I am working on the screenplay now. What you are reading is less fiction . . . .Email me at [email protected] if you want to help. This is actually about vampires. . . Thank you.Bye for now. I need to finish the screenplay ASAP. I will be focusing on it. See you around.
By SAMURAI SAM: Wild Wayne8 months ago in Horror
Jack the Ripper: The Silence That Never Left...
London, 1888... At night, the city did not sleep; it thinned. Gas lamps cast weak halos that failed to reach the corners of the streets. Sound behaved strangely in Whitechapel. Footsteps overlapped. Voices blurred. A single cry could vanish into brick and fog before it fully formed. Thousands of people moved through the same narrow corridors each evening, close enough to brush past one another, distant enough to remain unknown.
By Veil of Shadows8 months ago in Horror
3:17 AM.
The first thing people noticed about Building 9A was how quiet it was. Too quiet. No children played in the corridors. No televisions hummed behind closed doors. Even during the day, the building felt frozen in time, as if sound itself refused to stay there for long. But the rent was cheap, and the city was expensive, so people moved in anyway. Jack didn’t believe in bad signs. He was tired, broke, and desperate for a fresh start. When he moved into Building 9A, he thought he had found peace. What he found instead was a phone call that would follow him into his grave. On his third night in the apartment, Jack woke suddenly, his heart racing for no clear reason. The room was dark, the air heavy, and then his phone vibrated on the table beside his bed. The clock read 3:17 AM. The screen lit up. Incoming Call Caller ID: Jack His hands trembled as he stared at the screen. Assuming it was some kind of glitch, he answered. At first, there was silence. Then breathing. Slow. Panicked. Familiar. “Jack,” a voice whispered. It was his voice. “Do not open the door,” the voice said. “No matter what you hear.” The call ended. Jack sat frozen, convincing himself it was stress, a prank, anything logical. But logic failed him when screaming echoed through the hallway minutes later. The next morning, police sealed the apartment across from his. Mrs. D’Souza, a quiet elderly woman, had been found dead inside her locked apartment. According to the report, the time of death was 3:17 AM. Over the following days, patterns emerged. Everyone in the building received phone calls. Always at 3:17 AM. Always from their own number. Always in their own voice. The calls warned them—don’t turn on the lights, don’t look in the mirror, don’t open the door. Those who ignored the calls didn’t survive the night. One tenant laughed it off and answered his door when someone knocked after the call warned him not to. Neighbors found him collapsed in the hallway, eyes wide open, mouth frozen in a scream. The building began to feel alive, watching, waiting. Jack started researching Building 9A. What he found made his blood run cold. Twenty years ago, the building had burned down in a massive electrical fire. The incident killed everyone inside. The structure was declared unsafe and demolished. Yet here it stood. Occupied. Breathing. Digging deeper, Jack searched the list of victims. He found his own name. Jack — Age 16 — Deceased Memories flooded back violently. Smoke. Flames. His mother screaming for him. The pain. The darkness. He remembered dying. Building 9A wasn’t real. It was a scar in time, a place where the dead relived their final days on repeat, unaware of the truth. The phone calls weren’t warnings—they were messages from the moment of death itself, looping backward, trying to delay the inevitable. Those who listened survived a little longer. Those who didn’t were pulled back into the fire. On the seventh night, Jack’s phone rang again. “Tonight is different,” his future voice said calmly. “Tonight, it ends.” The walls began to change. Paint peeled away to reveal blackened concrete beneath. The smell of smoke returned. The building groaned as if remembering its final breath. Jack heard screams echoing through the corridors—screams that had happened twenty years ago and were happening again now. “You can’t escape,” the voice said. “You already tried.” The lights flickered violently. The floor grew hot beneath his feet. At exactly 3:17 AM, the illusion shattered. Building 9A vanished. Firefighters arrived to an empty lot after reports of smoke. There was no building. No bodies. No record of anyone ever living there. Except for one thing. A smartphone lay in the center of the lot, its screen cracked but glowing. Incoming Call Caller ID: Unknown The clock read 3:17 AM. .....THE END..... The real terror isn’t death. It’s realizing you already died—and never escaped.
By Rosalina Jane8 months ago in Horror
The Haar: A Fog That Hides More Than You Want to See
Short introduction The Haar is a short horror novel set in a quiet Scottish coastal town. It mixes folklore, grief, body horror, and revenge in a way that feels both strange and oddly emotional. On the surface, it looks like a creature feature. But once you start reading, you realize it’s really about loneliness, loss, and what happens when someone finally decides they’ve had enough of being stepped on.
By Rosalina Jane8 months ago in Horror
Someone Has Been Watching Me My Whole Life
The first time I saw him, he was standing beside my mother’s grave. Clad in a black coat, with no umbrella and an emotionless face, he stood perfectly still. Rain soaked his hair, yet he didn’t move, only gazing at her name carved into the stone. When he caught me watching, he looked up and smiled.
By Rosalina Jane8 months ago in Horror
The Giant Who Never Spoke
The rain was coming down in sheets that night, drumming on the old tin roof like impatient fingers, and I was maybe twelve, curled up on the porch swing with a blanket that smelled like pipe tobacco and my granddad’s coat. He didn’t talk much anymore-age had stolen most of his words-but stories? Those he still had. He’d lean back in his rocker, eyes half-closed, and let them spill out slow, like molasses in January.
By KWAO LEARNER WINFRED8 months ago in Horror
