slasher

Don't open that door! Psycho made slasher films a hallmark of the horror genre; explore iconic hackers, slashers, and chainsaw-wielding psychopaths, from the safety of your living room.

Do Not Scream
The boat was called Serenity Tide, which felt like a promise when they first stepped aboard the small cruise vessel—six friends, wind-tangled hair, a reason to celebrate.
By Julie Lacksonen5 months ago in Horror
The Stalks
"Hot damn, Baby! Sugar Island, you better be ready!" Terrell’s voice cracked across the upper deck, competing with the throb of the ferry’s engine. He leaned over the railing, grinning at the emerald smear of land rising from the Atlantic. "Look at this place! It’s a postcard... but with better odds of getting lucky." He winked.
By Sara Wilson5 months ago in Horror
STORE 79. Content Warning.
“Did we really have to haul everything out here? It weighs a ton.” It was 5.45pm. The Sun was just about to set when we arrived.
By Elizabeth Butler5 months ago in Horror
A Vengeful Shadow. Top Story - May 2026.
The town of Riverfield was plagued by a series of brutal murders. The killer, dubbed the "Riverfield Reaper," struck without warning, leaving behind only a signature mask and a trail of blood.
By Clyde E. Dawkins5 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
Stay a While. Content Warning.
Sue had grown tired of the city—the noise, the constant movement, the feeling of being surrounded yet completely alone. So she left.
By Rachel Foster5 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
sOmEoNe tO tOy WiTh. Content Warning.
Midnight almost upon thrill-seeking teenagers, as five friends filed from vehicle, on what many consider, the unluckiest day of all, Friday the 13th. The night balmy as they shift restlessly, in anticipation, awaiting each to collect belongings desired for exploration of old cemetery, likely lost to time and decay. Each carry a flashlight, yet a few grab a small tote containing a snack and beverage.
By Kami R. Taylons5 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
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
Uninvited
The map said the trail ended at the lake. It didn’t mention the cabin. They saw it at dusk, when the sky had already begun to bruise purple and gray. It stood just beyond the tree line, half-swallowed by dark, its silhouette warped. No path led to it. No smoke curled from its chimney. It simply… existed.
By Julie Lacksonen5 months ago in Horror
Strangers From Hell is the Most Underrated and Terrifying Nightmare
I feel that Strangers from Hell is hardly ever talked about online. This story was based on a comic that was released through an app called Webtoon, so perhaps that was one of the reasons why this television show feels so unknown among the horror community. I was convinced by a family member to check out the show when it was released on Netflix, and I thought it was one of the best one season horror wonders.
By Emy Quinn5 months ago in Horror