travel
Haunted locales and houses of horror from the Amityville home to the Tower of London; travel tips for those seeking a trip filled with fun and evil.
When Travel Becomes a Crime: The Unjust Consequences of Unilateral Sanctions – A Citizen's Testimony
By Maddalena Celano Rome, July 2025 On July 16, 2025, I, an Italian citizen, was denied boarding at Toronto International Airport for a flight to Managua, Nicaragua, with the Colombian airline Avianca. The official reason? "Governmental reasons." However, further investigation and statements from airline staff revealed that the real cause of the denied boarding was the application of unilateral sanctions by the United States government against travelers who have previously visited the Republic of Cuba.
By Maddalena Celanoabout a year ago in Horror
Putt Putt Park
Alba wanted a cute night out with Amos after a long week. She wanted to play putt putt, but was tired of the same ones in the town. She searched on her phone and found one that was located within a small town next to their own. They drove the 50 minutes in order to enjoy the new found spot. When they arrived the place seemed rusted, abandoned, and overgrown. They walked into the front building to pay. A man who seemed to be around 80 was standing at a desk. He did not look up and continued to read the book in front of him. He only pointed to the sign next to him that showed, "18 holes: $5 per person."
By Seashell Harpspring about a year ago in Horror
The Urban Legend of the Sinister Bunny Man
There are many urban legends out there from all over the world that consist of sinister, sometimes blood thirsty figures. Creatures that hide at the edge of the woods in the dead of night waiting for the next foolish and unsuspecting victim.
By Jasmine Aguilarabout a year ago in Horror
Whispers of the Silent Jungle
Whispers of the Silent Jungle Written by Mirza Ayan and Meher had been together for three years, bound by a love that grew stronger with every shared sunset, late-night talk, and spontaneous plan. Both city dwellers from Milan, Italy, they longed to escape the buzzing noise of daily life. Ayan, a nature photographer, proposed a weekend getaway to the Val Grande National Park—Europe’s largest wilderness area and one of Italy’s most isolated jungles. Meher, though hesitant about wild nature, agreed. She trusted Ayan. And besides, what could possibly go wrong? he Arrival They arrived on a Friday afternoon, driving hours through forest-lined roads until they reached a wooden cabin far from civilization. No neighbors. No phone signals. Just the chirping of birds and the endless rustle of leaves. “It’s beautiful,” Meher whispered as she stepped out of the car. Ayan smiled, adjusting his camera strap. “It’s only the beginning.” They spent the first few hours exploring nearby trails, laughing as Ayan took silly pictures of her pretending to be an explorer. The evening was calm. They cooked together, watched the stars, and curled up in a hammock tied between trees. But as the sun vanished behind the hills, the jungle grew... quiet. Unnaturally quiet. No birds. No wind. Only silence. Nightfall Sometime past midnight, Meher woke up to a distant whisper. “Ayan?” she whispered. He stirred beside her. “What?” “Did you hear that?” They both sat up, holding their breath. A faint sound—like footsteps crunching on leaves—came from the dense trees nearby. But when they flashed their torchlight, nothing was there. “Probably a deer,” Ayan muttered, though he didn’t sound convinced. They tried to sleep again, but the whispers returned. This time, closer. And they weren’t random sounds. They were voices. Low. Echoing. Speaking in a language neither of them could understand. “Turn on the fire,” Meher begged. Ayan lit the lantern and built a small fire. The voices stopped. But then something else happened. The trees began to sway. No wind. No storm. Just... movement. As if something was walking through the forest, pushing branches aside. Into the Jungle The next morning, Ayan wanted to investigate. “We’ll just check the trail cameras I installed yesterday. Maybe it caught something.” Meher disagreed. “We should leave, Ayan. This place doesn’t feel right.” But he was already deep into his curiosity. “Fifteen minutes. I promise.” They walked into the jungle with Ayan’s GPS watch guiding the way. After a while, they reached one of the trail cameras. The display showed a series of photos. A bird A deer A shadow A tall, figured silhouette watching the cabin... at 3:03 AM Ayan’s hand shook. “That’s not a deer.” Suddenly, the GPS watch glitched. The arrow spun in circles. The battery bar vanished. They were lost. he Forest Doesn't Want Them to Leave Trying to retrace their steps, they walked for what felt like hours. But no landmarks looked familiar. Then Meher gasped. “Look.” Their cabin. But it was burned down. Charred. Broken. Blackened wood. “No… this can’t be real. We just left it!” Ayan cried. But the smell of smoke was strong. It wasn’t old. A chill ran down Meher’s spine. “Ayan… maybe it’s not the cabin. Maybe… we’re somewhere else.” They turned around—and saw the same trail camera they had just checked—this time hanging upside down, the strap shredded like claw marks. The trees began to whisper again. Meher screamed. “We’re going in circles!” The Final Chase The whispers turned into growls. Low. Guttural. Then something darted across the path ahead—a blur of pale grey limbs and hollow eyes. Meher ran. Ayan followed, heart pounding, stumbling through vines and roots. Suddenly, they broke into a clearing—and there it stood. A stone circle, ancient and crumbling, covered in moss and symbols. Inside the circle, the whispers stopped. They didn’t know why. But they sat there, crying, shaking, holding each other. They waited. Hours passed. When the sun finally rose, they walked. And this time, the forest let them go. Milan, Meher couldn’t sleep. Ayan refused to look at the photographs he took. But curiosity overtook him one night. He connected the camera to his laptop. Click. Click. Click. One photo stood out. It was them—in the hammock. But behind the tree... A shadowy figure was watching.
By Moonlit Lettersabout a year ago in Horror
Houska Castle: The Gateway to Hell
In the northern wilderness of the Czech Republic, far from the romantic spires of Prague and the fairytale villages tourists adore, lies a fortress that was never meant to keep people out. It was built to keep something in.
By Veil of Shadowsabout a year ago in Horror
"The Dyatlov Whisper: When the Mountain Breathes Back"
Prologue: The Last Diary Entry February 1, 1959, Ural Mountains *"-30°C. Wind howls like wolves. Kolev swears the snow moved today. Sloped uphill. Igor says it’s stress. But tonight... we heard it. Breathing under the tent.
By Ahmed Abdeenabout a year ago in Horror
New World
The sun had only just fallen below the jagged rim of the shattered skyline, sending long shadows spreading across the remains of what had been Manhattan. The buildings were high and still, vacant and battered by the passage of years. It was 2145, and the world was different.
By Shaheen Khanabout a year ago in Horror
Ghost Palace Hotel Bali: Haunted History of Bedugul’s Abandoned Resort
A Monument to Corruption: The Tragic History of the Hotel Perched above the foggy highlands of Bedugul, the Ghost Palace Hotel (officially PI Bedugul Taman Rekreasi Hotel & Resort) is a decaying monument to greed, political corruption, and ghostly legend. It began in the early 1990s as a side project of Indonesia's then-authoritarian leader President Suharto's youngest son, Tommy Suharto. Thought out as a high-end retreat overlooking Lake Buyan, the hotel was showy Balinese in design: stairways lined by snakes, marble floors, and balconies with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking sensational views of volcanic peaks and rice paddy fields.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a year ago in Horror
The Silent Agony: A Portrait of Resistance and Loss
In a world overrun by noise—of war, of politics, of relentless chatter on digital screens—sometimes, a photograph tells the story louder than a thousand voices. The image before us is one such visual parable. It speaks in muted tones, in earth-stained fabric and blood-drenched wool. The woman depicted does not scream, does not reach out, does not protest. Yet everything about her—the closed eyes, the tension in her brow, the soft lines of her face frozen in fatigue or final rest—screams volumes.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Horror
Names of Honor and the Tragedy in Balochistan
Balochistan’s Names of Honor and a Recent Tragedy Balochistan, a region rich in tradition and steeped in tribal values, has long upheld a cultural system that places honor—ghairat—at the core of personal and social identity. Within this code, the concept of “name” (naal) or honor (izzat) often determines an individual's reputation, familial pride, and community standing. However, the weight of this honor can, and often does, lead to tragic consequences.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Horror
