monster

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

👁️‍🗨️ The Doll of Fear
In a real-life psychological horror story, a woman in North Carolina, USA, finds her life turned upside down—not by financial stress, family troubles, or even a medical crisis—but by a doll. And not just any doll, but Chucky, the infamous horror movie icon known for his creepy smile and murderous tendencies. What started as a cruel office prank ended in mental trauma, unemployment, and a lawsuit that has stunned the internet.
By saqib rehmanabout a year ago in Horror
Whispers in the Windowlight
We are told the window is a comfort — that light through glass is protection. A boundary. A blessing. We are told that reflections are innocent. But. No one asks what happens when the light bends wrong. When glass forgets it is glass and becomes something else. Something hungry.
By Muhammad Rahim about a year ago in Horror
Logan
A silver moon slices through skeletal branches. The night air is heavy and still — but something shifts on the dusty forest floor.
By Mark Stigers about a year ago in Horror
Season 5 - EMILY ROAN : The Nomen Child
Chapter 15: Echo Burial Location: Sablepine Grove - Hidden Sect Grounds, 4 miles southeast of Tallowridge Date: November 27, 1985
By Tales That Breathe at Nightabout a year ago in Horror
The Crimson Pact
The Crimson Pact > “Two foxes danced under the haunted sky, unaware the lion wept with hunger nearby.” It begins in the silence before the scream. The forest is still. Too still. Every leaf suspended in air like it had been waiting for something dreadful to arrive. Something ancient. Something inevitable.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Horror
Don’t Look Under the Bed at 3:00 AM
When I turned 17, I moved into my uncle’s old house in Sylhet to finish my studies. It was a peaceful village area — no city noise, no distractions.
By Spondan Chowdhuryabout a year ago in Horror
Whispers in the Floorboards
It was supposed to be a restoration project. Eli and Marla Winslow had bought the derelict house on the edge of Briar Hollow for next to nothing. Newly married and full of ambition, they saw potential in the century-old Victorian with its ornate woodwork and wide, echoing halls. It was their dream home, a fixer-upper with history and character. The townspeople, however, gave them strange looks when they mentioned the address.
By Atif khurshaidabout a year ago in Horror
Whisper beneth the floorboards
When Eleanor Bradford inherited her grandmother’s Victorian house in the quiet town of Black Hollow, she thought it was a blessing. Tired of city life and a string of failed relationships, she welcomed the isolation. The creaky house sat at the edge of a forest, flanked by fog-covered hills and surrounded by whispers of the past. Locals avoided it. They whispered about strange sounds, about Eleanor’s grandmother going mad before her death. Eleanor dismissed the stories as small-town superstition. Her grandmother, Margaret, had lived alone for nearly forty years. Isolation could crack anyone’s mind. The first night was uneventful, save for the occasional groan from old pipes and the wind brushing against cracked windowpanes. It wasn’t until the third night that Eleanor heard it: a whisper, faint and raspy, drifting from beneath the floorboards. She sat up in bed, heart pounding. "Hello?" she called into the dark. Silence. She waited, clutching the edge of her blanket like a child. Just as she started to lie back down, she heard it again—closer this time. “Let me out…” The next morning, she convinced herself it had been a dream. The floorboards were old, the house made noises. Nothing unusual. But the whispering continued. Every night. The sounds became clearer—pleading voices, crying, the occasional guttural growl that made her blood run cold. It wasn’t just one voice anymore. There were many. By the end of the week, Eleanor was sleep-deprived and jittery. She scoured the library for anything on the house’s history. An old clerk hesitated before pulling out a faded book. “Bradford House, eh? That place... there's a reason we keep quiet about it,” he muttered, sliding the book across the counter. The entries were disturbing. In 1923, three children went missing near the property. In 1951, a man claimed he heard voices and tore up the floor trying to “free them.” He disappeared before he could finish. Her grandmother, according to town records, had been institutionalized briefly in the 70s after complaining about “things beneath the house.” Eleanor rushed back home, determined to prove this was all a case of suggestion. Yet when she entered the living room, something had changed. The floorboards—particularly under the rug—looked disturbed, slightly raised. Her breath caught. Grabbing a crowbar from the shed, Eleanor returned and peeled the boards away, one by one. The wood shrieked and cracked under her force, revealing a narrow crawlspace beneath the floor. And there, staring up at her, were eyes. Not human eyes. Dozens of them. Embedded in pale, leathery flesh that stretched like a membrane under the house. Some blinked, others wept blood. Frozen in horror, Eleanor stumbled back. Then came the voices. “You see us now.” “We are hungry.” “She fed us.” Before Eleanor could process the words, the boards slammed shut. Something beneath surged upward, slamming her into the wall. The house trembled violently. She awoke hours later, sprawled across the room. Her ears bled, and her vision was blurry. But the whispering had stopped. For now. She tried to flee, but the front door no longer opened. Windows wouldn't break. The house had become a prison. Over the next few days, the house began to shift—walls pulsing like breathing flesh, shadows crawling against the grain. The whispers returned, now speaking in unison. “She kept us quiet. You set us free.” In her delirium, Eleanor found her grandmother’s journal, hidden beneath a loose tile in the fireplace. The final entries were erratic: “They are not ghosts. They are older than memory, older than God.” “I fed them animals… then strangers… It was never enough.” “If I die, they’ll need another.” The last page was a handprint in dried blood. Eleanor understood then. Her grandmother had been a warden. Now, it was her turn. The house would not let her leave. And the voices—the things beneath—were growing stronger, louder. They wanted more. And one night, when a hiker wandered too close to the edge of the forest, the floorboards opened once more.
By Samiullah about a year ago in Horror
The House That Remembers: Beneath the Wallpaper
After Nora was found in the woods, she was placed in a psychiatric facility two towns over. No one believed her story. Authorities assumed she’d suffered a breakdown, perhaps triggered by her brother’s disappearance and the isolation. She spoke rarely, and when she did, it was always the same thing:
By Atif khurshaidabout a year ago in Horror
Massive Tornado Hits Phoenix, Arizona Today: A Detailed Report
Introduction Phoenix, Arizona, known for its scorching heat and desert landscapes, experienced an unprecedented natural disaster today as a massive tornado swept through the city. This rare weather event has left residents stunned and authorities scrambling to respond to the aftermath. This article delves into the details of the tornado, its impact, response efforts, and what it means for the future of Phoenix.
By Elizabethabout a year ago in Horror
The Curse of the Labubu Doll
In the quiet town of Elmridge, nestled between mist-covered hills and ancient forests, lived an old toymaker named Mr. Thorne. He ran a curious little shop called “Whimsy & Wires”, cluttered with forgotten toys, wooden soldiers, porcelain dolls, and winding music boxes that played haunting lullabies. But none of these drew as much attention—or fear—as the Labubu doll.
By Junaid Shahid about a year ago in Horror
When the Game Glitch Ate Me
I used to laugh at those online creepypasta stories about cursed games and haunted consoles. You know, the kind where a glitch pulls the player into the screen or a ghost hides in the code. I thought they were all nonsense. That was before it happened to me.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Horror