supernatural
The hidden world of all things supernatural; a look inside witchcraft, spells, vexes, black magic and other spine-tingling supernatural phenomena.
THE MIRROR'S GAZE
Amelia had always been drawn to the charm of old things. The scent of aged wood, the intricate designs that spoke of a time long past, and the stories that seemed to whisper from every corner of an antique shop. It was on one such visit to a quaint little store nestled in a forgotten alley that she found it—the mirror.
By Ryan Ebakor 2 years ago in Horror
The Silent Scream
The wind shrieked, twisting through the gnarled trees of the forest. A wild, mournful cry that made the branches quiver as though they, too, feared the darkness gathering above. The sky, an endless smear of ashen gray, threatened to break open, casting a deluge that the forest had long been thirsting for. And there, nestled in the heart of this forsaken wilderness, stood the mansion. Rosewood Manor. Majestic, once. Now a shadow of grandeur, its walls crumbled under layers of ivy and time’s unyielding grip. Abandoned, untouched for a century—a shrine to secrets and whispers. Jack, Emily, and Sarah dared to break the silence. On a foolish bet, they had come, drawn by the promise of the unknown. Legends of shadows sliding through corridors, of unseen voices murmuring just beyond the ear's reach, had spurred them on. But the tale that haunted them most was the scream—a scream that chilled the air and rattled bones. Some swore it was the ghost of a murdered woman; others, the house itself, howling in its eternal agony. Emily halted at the iron gates, her face pale, the cold seeping into her bones. "Are we really doing this?" she stammered, eyes wide. Jack forced a grin, a mask to conceal his own doubt. "Why not? It’s just an old house. What’s the worst that could happen?" "Right... just old stories," Sarah muttered, though her gaze was fixed on the mansion, its shadow looming, an eerie promise of what lay within. The gates creaked, groaning like a soul waking from a hundred-year slumber. The path, choked by weeds and tangled roots, pulled at their ankles with every step, as if nature itself sought to deter them. With each stride, the air grew denser, colder, pressing against their lungs, stifling every breath. The front door loomed before them, its surface marred by time. Jack hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Ready?" Two nods, quick and uncertain. With a twist, the door creaked open, a guttural sound that reverberated through the empty halls. Inside, darkness greeted them like an old friend. The air was thick, a mixture of rot and dust that clawed at their throats. Cobwebs draped across the ceiling, strands of ghostly silk that glimmered in the faint light. "See?" Jack said, voice unsteady. "Just... an old house." Their footsteps echoed, a dull thud on the wooden floor. Every step was a protest, the floorboards groaning as if under a weight too heavy to bear. The wallpaper peeled in long, ragged strips, revealing the scarred walls beneath. Broken furniture lay scattered, skeletal remnants of a life forgotten. "How could anyone live here?" Sarah muttered, trailing a finger through a thick layer of dust on a table. Rooms upon rooms, they wandered. Each door opened to reveal emptiness. Yet, there was something, an unseen presence that lingered just out of sight, watching. The silence was alive, vibrating with whispers they couldn’t quite hear. The mansion wasn’t empty; it breathed around them. Then they found the staircase. Majestic in its decay, it spiraled upward, vanishing into shadows. Jack placed his foot on the first step—creak! The sound echoed like a groan, long and deep. Cautiously, they climbed, each step an eerie metronome in the stillness. At the top, a corridor stretched out before them, a gauntlet of closed doors. One door, at the very end, stood slightly ajar. Light flickered from within, casting shadows that twisted and writhed like living things. "Who left the light on?" Emily whispered, voice quivering. "Don't know," Jack replied, eyes fixed on the door. "But we need to check it out." Slowly, they approached, their hearts drumming a wild rhythm in their chests. The air grew colder with each step. Jack pushed the door, and it creaked open to reveal a bedroom frozen in time. The bed, grand and covered in layers of dust, dominated the room. A mirror hung on the wall, cracked and grimy, its surface reflecting only a distorted version of reality. Then it hit them. A chill, biting, penetrating their skin. The door slammed shut behind them. They spun, terror flooding their veins. The door was sealed, as if by some invisible force, refusing to budge no matter how they pushed or pulled. “What’s happening?” Sarah’s voice trembled, panic rising like a tide. The scream came next. Piercing, excruciating, filling the room with a sound that tore at their minds. They clutched their ears, dropping to their knees, but it was futile. The scream wasn’t just sound; it was inside their heads, vibrating in their bones, a manifestation of agony they couldn’t comprehend. "Get us out!" Emily screamed, pounding on the door with frantic fists. And then, silence. A silence so thick, it smothered them. Gasping, they turned toward the mirror. Words were etched on its surface, written in a substance that glistened darkly in the dim light: "LEAVE NOW." Panic overtook them. Jack threw himself against the door. With a splintering crash, it burst open, and they tumbled into the hallway. The house groaned, the floor shuddered beneath their feet. They ran, lungs burning, fear propelling them faster and faster. The walls warped, shadows writhed, murmuring in languages they didn’t know. The stairs groaned under their weight, threatening to collapse. The front door loomed, a portal to safety. They reached it, crashed through, and staggered out into the night. The wind whipped around them, cold and relentless, urging them to flee. They didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the forest, gasping, hearts pounding in the aftermath of terror. "What... was that?" Sarah choked out, eyes wide with disbelief. Jack shook his head, face drained of color. "I don't know, but we're never going back." They glanced back at the mansion, its windows like dead eyes staring into their souls. And in one of those windows, a figure—a shadow—stood watching. A chill coursed through them as a faint, distant scream echoed through the forest, a lingering reminder of the horror that dwelled within Rosewood Manor. And so, the mansion remained, a fortress of secrets, its silence broken only by that scream—a warning to all who dared to enter.
By Black Rose2 years ago in Horror
The Last Door
The house on Wren Street sat in perpetual silence, its darkened windows hiding secrets older than the town itself. People spoke of it in murmurs, casting sidelong glances as if even mentioning it could bring ill luck. Whispers swirled: some said it was haunted; others, that it carried a curse. But nobody really knew. It was just there, a place where the air felt thicker, heavy with unseen eyes. And the shadows? Well, they had a life of their own. Samantha wasn't one for tales. No, she was rational, grounded, the kind who demanded evidence before entertaining such fancies. So, when she inherited the house from her late aunt, she dismissed the stories. To her, it was an opportunity. Sure, it was an ancient structure, but perhaps it could be transformed into something useful—a quaint bed-and-breakfast, maybe. People loved a bit of history, didn’t they? The day she arrived, the sky was a blanket of steely gray. Cold seeped into her bones as the wind gusted through the gnarled trees lining the property, almost as if the land itself wished to warn her. With keys gripped firmly in her hand, she approached the rusty gate. It groaned, protesting as she pushed it open. The house loomed ahead, a looming silhouette against the bleak horizon. Inside, the air was stale. It tasted of dust and decay, as if time itself had rotted away within these walls. Cobwebs hung in thick sheets, veiling every corner. It’s just a house, she reminded herself, her voice echoing in the vast emptiness. She flicked the light switch. A dim, flickering glow stretched down a narrow hallway, lined with doors on either side, each one ancient, worn. As she explored, moving room to room, something odd caught her eye. At the far end of the hallway stood a door that didn’t belong. It was stark, freshly painted in an unyielding black, contrasting sharply with the faded, peeling wallpaper. Frowning, she traced its frame with her fingertips. Why was this door so… new? Had her aunt renovated? And if so, why just this door? It was locked. She rattled the handle, but it held firm. Irritation prickled at her thoughts. This is my house now. What could possibly be behind a door I’m not allowed to open? She spent the next hours searching every crevice—the kitchen drawers, the attic’s dusty corners, the closets crammed with relics of a forgotten past. No key. A tight knot of unease twisted in her stomach. A door, in her house, that she couldn't open? Why? Night crept in, bringing with it a thick silence. As Samantha settled into one of the upstairs bedrooms, an unnerving sensation washed over her. The feeling of being watched. Outside, the wind howled, causing the house to moan and creak in response. Just as sleep began to tug at her eyelids, a sound pierced the quiet. Thud. Pause. Thud. Again, it came from the hallway. Her pulse quickened. Grabbing the flashlight beside her, she edged out of bed. Darkness swallowed the hallway, an abyss that seemed almost… sentient. Slowly, she crept toward that black door. Thud. Thud. The sound grew louder, more insistent. "Hello?" she called, her voice wavering. Silence answered, except for the steady, rhythmic pounding. Trembling, she reached out and touched the door. The noise stopped. Cold dread washed over her, rooting her feet to the spot. It’s just an old house. Nothing more. Yet, as she turned away, a sharp click echoed through the hallway. She spun back, heart hammering against her ribs. The door knob was twisting, moving on its own. Panic surged, freezing her limbs. It turned slowly, deliberately, until the door creaked open, revealing a sliver of yawning darkness. Don't. Every fiber of her being screamed to run. Yet curiosity, that insidious lure, pulled her forward. She pushed the door open wider. A rush of frigid air hit her face, carrying with it the scent of damp earth. Flashlight in hand, she stepped into the room. It was small. Windowless. And at its center stood a single object: a tall, ornate mirror encased in a cracked, decaying frame. Dust cloaked its surface, thick as if untouched for centuries. She approached, a sense of wrongness prickling along her skin. Just as her hand reached out to wipe the glass clean, she saw it. A shape within the mirror, a faint, undulating shadow. She froze. No one else is here. No one. But the shadow moved, turning, twisting, until its hollow eyes locked onto hers. A scream died in her throat as she stumbled back, dropping the flashlight. It clattered to the floor, rolling away. A whisper filled the air, low and chilling. "The door was meant to stay closed." The door slammed shut with a thunderous crash, sealing the room—and whatever lay within—behind it. Samantha staggered back, heart in her throat. The door stood firm, mocking her with its impenetrable barrier. She fled to her room, locking herself inside. Pressing her back against the door, she tried to steady her breathing. But one thought pounded in her head, relentless: Some doors should never be opened. This was one of them. From that night on, the house on Wren Street was not silent. For every evening, as darkness settled in, the rhythmic thudding would begin behind The Last Door. And Samantha would lie awake, eyes wide in the dark, haunted by the sound that seemed to echo from the depths of a nightmare she dared not revisit.
By Black Rose2 years ago in Horror
To My Big Brother. Content Warning.
March 3rd I always kind of hated my brother. Well, hate is a strong word. I just always hated how easy everything was for him. He's two years older than me, but everything just comes so easily for him. In high school, he was in ROTC, taking courses in criminal justice so he could get a leg up on his law enforcement career, and had a string of friends and girlfriends to make his high school years amazing. He never seemed to study, always retained what he needed for tests, and finished his high school years half a year early with a nearly perfect GPA. He didn't need to, he could have gone straight to the police academy, but he chose to join the Army for four years, saying it was his "duty to his country. He served as an MP and later as a base investigator for base-related crimes. He was practically ready to start police work when he got out.
By Joshua Campbell2 years ago in Horror
THE POSSESSION OF LILY GRANGER
It all began on a stormy Friday night, when Lily Granger and her friends Emily and Jake decided to gather in the attic of the Granger household. With the rain pounding against the roof and the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the dusty space, it seemed like the perfect setting for a night of spooky fun. Among the old trunks and forgotten heirlooms, they stumbled upon an ancient Ouija board.
By Ryan Ebakor 2 years ago in Horror
The Thrill of a Horror Story
There’s something oddly fascinating about being scared. Even though we may scream, cover our eyes, or feel a rush of panic, many of us can’t resist diving into a good horror story. But what exactly is it that draws people to fear, and why do horror stories captivate us?
By Mamoona Bushra2 years ago in Horror
The Box. Content Warning.
Watching the grandkids helping me clear out the cupboards warmed my heart. Yes, they were being bribed with money and chocolate to do so, but still it made me smile. The youngest one trotting around in my old high heels, the other two pottering around looking for anything they could keep.
By Kennedy Chambers2 years ago in Horror
Midnight Snack. Top Story - September 2024.
Jasper woke up early to get to Pteetneet Greenhouse and Gardens right as they opened. They were unloading a truck full royal blue hibiscus, dug fresh from the forest, and he had been trying to get a dozen all spring. The truck had barely pulled into the country dirt lot before he had his pallet ready to load.
By Amos Glade2 years ago in Horror
