supernatural

The hidden world of all things supernatural; a look inside witchcraft, spells, vexes, black magic and other spine-tingling supernatural phenomena.

Oklahoma City’s Most Notorious Haunts
Maria, a dedicated nurse working the night shifts in Oklahoma City, experienced something that defied explanation. Known for its vibrant cowboy culture, bustling livestock markets, and the constant hum of oil wells, Oklahoma City also harbors a shadowy side steeped in history and hauntings. Amidst this backdrop, Maria’s chilling encounter at the OU Medical Center reveals a ghostly chapter from the city’s dark past.
By Elle Colon2 years ago in Horror
Tales from the Darkside: "Seasons of Belief"
"Tales from the Darkside" is a series so exceptional that it almost seems redundant to mention it. Everyone in the know already acknowledges it as one of the top horror anthology shows of all time, masterfully created and produced by the late George "Living Dead" Romero, who also crafted the film it was spun off from—Creepshow.
By Tom Baker2 years ago in Horror
The Other
Somewhere beyond the little yellowed faces peering out from the wallpaper, are screaming souls. How do I know this? I put them there.
By Tom Baker2 years ago in Horror
The Changing Theme. AI-Generated.
Ryan had always been fascinated with technology. As a teenager living in a small town, he was known for being the go-to guy whenever someone had an issue with their gadgets. His room was cluttered with the latest devices, all in various stages of disassembly and repair. But none of those gadgets compared to the new smartphone he had just received—a prototype so advanced that it wasn’t even on the market yet.
By Kabildev2 years ago in Horror
Shadows of the Zambezi. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
The sun dipped low over the Zambezi River, casting long shadows that danced upon the water's surface. A warm breeze whispered through the tall grasses, carrying with it the rich scents of the African wilderness. Amara stood at the edge of the riverbank, her eyes tracing the horizon where the golden hues of sunset met the deep greens of the riverbanks. She was a zoologist from Lusaka, drawn back to her homeland by a project that promised adventure and the chance to make a difference: crocodile ranching in the heart of Zambia.
By Niski2 years ago in Horror
Lucy West
The undead stay damned. I want to make that clear before continuing. The undead stay damned. There is no redemption for us. I could live the life of a saint, but I still drink blood. There are no two ways about it. I am damned, and with that comes an eternally damned life.
By Amy Black2 years ago in Horror
Corpse jumps out of coffin to find home: Scientist's headache
The story of a dead body suddenly standing up, walking normally and returning to its home seems to only be in Hollywood horror movies. However, this is a real story and very familiar to the Toraja people in Indonesia, making zombies walk is an ancient ritual in their spiritual life.
By Ken Daklak2 years ago in Horror
The Mirror's Reflection. Content Warning.
Sarah, a struggling artist, had always been drawn to the charm of old buildings. So when she found a charming, old apartment in the heart of the city, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and a sense of history that whispered through its dusty corners, she knew she had found her new home. The rent was a steal, a lucky break for someone struggling to make ends meet.
By M Nayeem kamal2 years ago in Horror
Eldric Thornecroft
In a town forsaken by the sun’s embrace, Where shadows fell like a silken lace, There lived a girl with raven hair, Whose eyes reflected depths of despair. Her name was a murmur in the breath of night, A tale concealed from morning’s light. She wandered through streets that knew no dawn, Her presence felt but seldom seen, withdrawn. The house she called her place of rest, Stood lonely and cold, a spectral nest. Its windows, misted with eternal tears, Guarded secrets of forgotten years. Each night, she lit a solitary flame, To battle darkness in its cruel game. The flame flickered, casting dancing ghosts, On walls that whispered of lost, aching hosts. Her dreams were haunted by spectral forms, By faces pale as winter storms. Their voices sang a mournful cry, A melody that pierced the sky. One fateful eve, the wind began to howl, A lament that made the shadows scowl. She followed the mournful, eerie sound, To a place where no solace could be found. A graveyard lay beneath the sable sky, Where forgotten souls in silence lie. A figure stood amidst the ancient stones, A spectral man, with hollowed bones. "Come closer, child," he beckoned near, His voice a whisper of deep-seated fear. She took his hand, so cold, so frail, And ventured with him through the darkened vale. They wandered past the tombs of old, Where stories of the damned were told. The stars above began to wane, As they journeyed deeper through the pain. The moon, a witness to their stride, Guided them where shadows hide. They stopped before a weathered stone, Inscribed with names of lives unknown. Here lies the girl with raven hair, Her eyes shadows of despair. She knelt beside the mournful grave, A shroud of sadness she could not stave. For in this place of endless night, Her soul had long since taken flight. The man then spoke, his voice a chill, "Now you see the final thrill. This world was never meant to hold, The stories of the broken and the bold. Return to dust, embrace the gloom, And find your peace beyond the tomb." She closed her eyes, her heart so still, A final breath, a soul to fill. The wind grew still, the moon grew pale, As in the grave, her spirit frail. The town below, with whispers filled, Of the girl who in darkness, was stilled. Her tale became a haunting lore, Of the girl who lived and felt no more. Her name, a whisper in the breeze, A shadow dancing with the trees. In the echo of the moonlit grave, Her story lingers, dark and grave. For in the silence of the night, The girl with raven hair takes flight. Her soul adrift in shadows deep, Where dreams and darkness softly creep. Her name, a whisper, never clear, A tale of sorrow, forever near. And in the heart of that forsaken town, Where night’s embrace has settled down, The story of the girl with darkened hue, Forever lives in whispers, old yet new. Each moonlit night, her spirit roams, Through the spectral mist, she finds her home. In whispers soft and shadows cast, Her legend lives, and shadows last. For in the quiet, where darkness reigns, Her spirit wanders, free from chains.
By Sudarsan2 years ago in Horror
** The Harvest Moon*
-- When Emily and Mark inherited the old farmhouse from Emily's estranged aunt, they thought it would be a quaint escape from their city life. Nestled on the edge of a dense forest, the house exuded rustic charm and tranquility. But as autumn descended and the harvest moon rose high, the peace they sought was replaced with a creeping dread that gnawed at the edges of their sanity. The first sign of trouble came with the shadows. They danced along the walls of the house, but not in any way that could be explained by the flickering candlelight. Emily noticed them first. She saw elongated shapes writhing and twisting as if they were alive. She tried to dismiss it as her imagination, a trick of the light. Mark, ever the skeptic, shrugged off her concerns. "You’re just tired, Em," he said one night as they settled in for bed. "It’s probably just the light coming through the cracks in the old windows." But Emily wasn’t convinced. The shadows seemed too deliberate, too purposeful. They moved with a rhythm that was disturbingly familiar, as though they were performing a silent, sinister dance. As days turned into weeks, the house grew colder. The once-cozy fireplace offered little warmth, and the air carried a chill that no amount of firewood could dispel. The creaking of the old wooden floors became a constant companion, each groan and crack amplified in the dead of night. Emily’s nightmares became vivid and relentless, filled with fleeting glimpses of twisted faces and anguished cries. One evening, while exploring the attic, Emily stumbled upon a dusty trunk. Inside were old family photographs, letters, and an ornate, leather-bound journal. The journal was filled with a meticulous account of her aunt’s life, but one entry stood out, dated almost fifty years earlier. It spoke of a ritual performed under the harvest moon, a tradition meant to appease an ancient, malevolent entity that resided in the forest. According to the journal, the entity thrived on fear and despair, feeding on the anguish of those who ventured too close to its domain. The ritual was meant to keep it at bay, but her aunt’s writings hinted at something gone terribly wrong. The final entry was frantic, barely legible, and ended abruptly with a warning: “Do not let it come back.” Emily’s hands trembled as she read the journal. She shared her discovery with Mark, but he dismissed it as a relic of a bygone era, no different from the eerie old tales that people tell to scare children. “It’s just a story,” Mark insisted. “A creepy old story.” Yet, as the days wore on, the phenomena in the house grew more intense. The shadows became bolder, their movements more erratic. Strange noises emanated from the forest, like distant wails and guttural growls that seemed to grow louder with each passing night. Emily and Mark’s arguments became more frequent, fueled by the mounting stress and fear. One night, driven by a mix of dread and desperation, Emily ventured into the forest, hoping to find answers or at least some semblance of peace. The harvest moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie, silvery glow over the woods. The trees seemed to close in around her, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. In the heart of the forest, Emily found an ancient, crumbling stone altar. The symbols carved into it were eerily similar to those described in her aunt’s journal. As she approached, the ground seemed to pulse beneath her feet, and a cold, malevolent presence filled the air. She felt a pressure, as if something unseen was watching her, waiting. Desperate, Emily recited the words from the journal, hoping to perform the ritual and appease whatever dark force had been unleashed. As she spoke, the shadows around her twisted and coiled, forming grotesque shapes that writhed in the moonlight. A low, guttural growl echoed through the trees, and the air grew thick with the stench of decay. Emily’s voice faltered, and the shadows surged forward, coiling around her like living chains. In a final act of desperation, she plunged a knife—one she had taken from the old trunk—into the altar, hoping to sever the connection. The shadows recoiled, shrieking in anger, and the pressure around her intensified. Suddenly, everything went silent. The forest fell still, and the oppressive weight of fear lifted. Emily collapsed, exhausted and trembling. She managed to make her way back to the farmhouse, where Mark was waiting, worry etched into his face. The following days were marked by a heavy silence. The shadows retreated, and the house seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Emily and Mark decided to leave the farmhouse behind, sensing that their presence was no longer welcome. As they drove away, Emily glanced back at the old house, now shrouded in the darkness of the forest. The harvest moon hung low, its light casting long shadows that danced and flickered in the night. She knew that the entity was still there, waiting for the next harvest moon to claim new victims. The farmhouse stood silent once more, a grim reminder of the past that would never truly let go. And as the moon waxed and waned, the shadows danced, forever hungry for the fear they could taste in the darkness. --- **The Harvest Moon** left a mark on Emily and Mark’s lives—a reminder of the thin line between reality and the supernatural, and the darkness that can lurk in the most unexpected places.Start writing...
By MD shezan Hossan2 years ago in Horror
The Echoes of Silence. Content Warning.
In the quaint town of Eldridge Hollow, nestled between dense woods and a shimmering lake, lived a woman named Clara. She was known for her warm smile and gentle demeanor, but beneath her calm exterior lay a mind tormented by shadows of her past. Clara had always been sensitive to the world around her, feeling emotions deeply and sensing things others could not. This gift, or curse, had isolated her from the townsfolk, who whispered about her peculiarities.
By M Nayeem kamal2 years ago in Horror
Watashi wa Kirei ???. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the depths of rural Japan, nestled between towering mountains and dense, ancient forests, there existed a village so remote that it was never marked on any map. The villagers led simple lives, their days filled with the rhythmic sounds of nature—the rustling leaves, the distant calls of birds, and the gentle babble of streams. They relied on the forest for their livelihood, gathering wild herbs, hunting small game, and fishing in the clear waters. Yet, beneath the serene facade of their existence, they shared a dark and chilling secret: they often heard the whispers of the "Kuchisake-onna" – the Slit-Mouthed Woman.
By M Nayeem kamal2 years ago in Horror