urban legend
Urban legends have captivated us from ancient eras to the modern day; a deep dive into scary lore and 'could be true' tales about Bigfoot, Slender Man, the Suicide Forest and beyond.
Ripped from the Womb. Content Warning.
Although it’s a myth, a legend, many believed it to be true. The whispers echoed through Siberian winters, dating back to 1934. There was a small village, Tomsk, nestled in the desolate cold. Despite its sparse population, the village had its own quiet rhythms. But one of those bitter winter nights would carve its name into the dark folklore of the land.
By Dr. Krevichalsteinabout a year ago in Horror
Demonic Shadows
Chapter One – The Beginning of Darkness The night was quiet in the small village surrounded by mountains. The echoes of daily life faded into the empty streets, leaving an eerie silence. While most of the villagers were deep in sleep, Kira tossed and turned in her bed, trying to push away the troubling thoughts of her mother, whom she had lost years ago.
By mohamed elsayedabout a year ago in Horror
The Cab Ride
I stood near the edge of the curb waiting for the next available taxi to come take me back to my hotel. While I was out a little later than I intended to be exploring the sights of the city at night, I've been enjoying my trip to Tokyo, Japan.
By Jasmine Aguilarabout a year ago in Horror
My Best Friend Went Missing 10 Years Ago—Then He Walked Into My House Like Nothing Happened
It all began with a mysterious disappearance. No trace. No note. Not even a body. Just mystery. Ten years later, he’s back— As if nothing happened. Same voice. Same face. Same gestures. But I can’t shake the constant thought: Something is off. --- It was a slightly cloudy night when a knock on the door jolted me upright. My heart skipped. Who could that be? The clock read 9:47 p.m. Too late for casual visitors. Still in a haze, I crept to the door and peeped through the hole. I froze. I sucked in a sharp breath, eyes straining to make sense of the face outside. Am I seeing this right? That can’t be… So many questions. Not a single answer. My hand moved before my mind could catch up. I turned the doorknob. And there he was. Standing under the porch light like no time had passed. Jack. --- He brushed past me casually, like he'd been gone ten minutes, not ten years. My body tensed as he moved inside. No coat. No shoes wet from rain. No explanation. Just that same calm swagger, the familiar smirk, jet-black hair falling over his eyes. His clothes looked too clean. Pressed. Like he’d stepped out of a department store display. “Hi, Em,” he said. Same rasp in his voice. Smooth, but with that tiny scratch at the edge. But something… something was missing. Or maybe added. “Hi…” I barely managed, my voice cracking. Someone wake me up. Please. Over and over, I chanted it in my head. He sniffed the air and smiled. “What’s for dinner?” He turned before I could answer. “Cream pie? Could never miss that smell—not in this life.” Not in this life? --- I stood there, frozen. Watching him move like he belonged. He admired the paintings, the wallpaper, then stopped at a portrait on the wall. “You still have this?” I blinked. No. No, that hasn’t been there in years. I gave it away. I remember. But there it was. Hanging crookedly. I couldn’t even remember seeing it go up. Something inside me started to itch. He asked about school. About people. But his phrasing was… off. Names he shouldn’t forget. Places he shouldn't mix up. He asked if the old football coach was “still at the academy.” Jack never called it an academy. --- Then I saw a chance. “How’s Pete been?” I asked, voice even. He grinned. “Been great. Still out finding trouble, you know him.” I didn’t even breathe. Jack never had a brother. No Pete. No sister. No cousins close enough to call family. I didn’t correct him. I didn’t say a word. Because suddenly I wasn’t sure what I was talking to. --- As if summoned by my dread, the oven dinged. The pie was done. Before I could move, he was already there. He opened the oven like he knew where it was. Pulled the drawer. Took out a knife. My breath caught in my throat. My feet moved back instinctively. He saw me flinch. “Relax,” he chuckled, the sound hollow. “It’s just for the pie.” I watched his hand. He sliced with his left. Jack was right-handed. I remember. He used to make jokes about it—how “lefties are freaks.” His words. Not mine. I backed away slowly. And then I saw it. In the hallway mirror—he cast no reflection. None. Just the hallway behind him, undisturbed. --- I needed answers. I needed to be sure. I slipped out of the room, my heart hammering. I found the old photo album hidden on the shelf—the one with our memories. I flipped through it, my hands trembling. There was a picture of Jack and me, taken just a week before his disappearance. The same smile. The same familiar eyes. But as I flipped the pages, one particular photo caught my attention. A news clipping, yellowing at the edges: “Jack Ellis, presumed dead after vanishing under mysterious circumstances. Police find no trace of the teen in a river search.” I felt the room spin. This can’t be real. He can’t be here. He’s dead! --- Just as the thought hit me, the lights flickered above. Once. Twice. I rushed back to the living room. Jack—or whatever this thing was—hadn't moved from the kitchen. But something was wrong. His face had shifted. Not physically but his features seemed slightly ......stretched. The lines of his face were more sharp, and his eyes glinted unnaturally. The air grew colder, making me shiver. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but when I checked it, the screen was glitching. Words scrambled across the screen like a message was trying to form, but then it disappeared. I glanced back at him. His head tilted, almost like he was listening for something… or watching me. And then I noticed it. The faintest hum—almost like a low frequency I couldn’t hear, but could feel in my bones. He turned slowly toward me, eyes narrowing. “You look uncomfortable, Em. Is something wrong?”
By Gift Abotsi about a year ago in Horror
No One Lives on This Island. No One Ever Has. And No One Ever Should
Did you know this place exists? They say there’s a place on Earth more isolated than anywhere else. No people. No towns. No ships pass by. It’s called Bouvet Island, and if you looked for it on a map... you’d probably miss it. Because it doesn’t want to be found. According to long-forgotten records, it floats in the South Atlantic Ocean— about 1,100 miles from Antarctica, and 1,600 miles from South Africa. Its isolation is beyond comprehension. It’s the farthest you can get from any civilization. No native humans. No visitors. Not even shipping lanes dare pass nearby. It’s a chunk of volcanic rock buried beneath glaciers, battered by violent storms, and surrounded by endless ice. But in 1964—someone found it. A South African expedition flew over when they noticed something strange: A lifeboat. Just sitting there, on the shore. No footprints. No bodies. No shipwreck. No missing persons reports. Just that boat. Like it had washed up from nowhere. They investigated and found nothing.
By Gift Abotsi about a year ago in Horror
Whispers of the Palasik
In a quiet village nestled between the misty highlands of West Sumatra, there lived an old healer named Mak Rina. Known for her midwifery skills and potions made from forest herbs, she helped many women during childbirth. But some whispered that she never aged… and that babies born near her hut often fell mysteriously ill — or vanished.
By Maulana Dimasiqi Akhnakhauri Akeyla Syahabout a year ago in Horror
The Curse of Hantu Kum-Kum
In the heart of Kalimantan’s thick rainforest, in a small Dayak village nestled by the banks of the Mahakam River, lived a midwife named Nek Tini. Known for her herbal knowledge and powerful mantras, she was both respected and feared. Rumors whispered that she once dabbled in black magic — using spells from the old days, when shamans would speak to spirits and sacrifice animals to keep peace between the worlds.
By Maulana Dimasiqi Akhnakhauri Akeyla Syahabout a year ago in Horror
Gunkanjima: The Ghost Island of Japan’s Industrial Nightmare
Hashima Island: Haunting Legacy of Industry and Suffering Off the coast of Nagasaki, Japan, lies Hashima Island—locally known as Gunkanjima (Battleship Island) because of its warship profile—is a crumbling relic of Japan's industrial past and haunting reminder of human subjugation. Once the most populated place on earth, this erstwhile island town is now a ghostly labyrinth of crumbling concrete, veiled in tales of suffering and phantom desolation.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a year ago in Horror
The last voicemail
I didn't realize the dead could leave voicemails. At least not until yesterday. At 3:17 a.m., my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but something about it felt odd. The ringtone sounded twisted, like if it came from underwater. I let it go to voicemail and attempted to go back asleep. I checked the message this morning. It was from my sister Maddie. A sister who died two years ago. Her voice was weak, but it was hers. "Ryan," she said quietly, "I don't have much time." It is freezing here. He monitors everything. Don't trust the lights. Then static. Then came quiet. I played it again. One hundred times. I checked the number. It's burned into my memory. I tried to call back. It did not exist. My hands couldn't quit shaking. Maddie died in a vehicle accident, which included a closed casket, a funeral, and grieving therapy. I witnessed the wreck personally. There is no going back from that. But this was her voice. I knew it like it was my own. I drove back to our hometown. The voicemail did not give me a choice. Maddie and I would sneak out to an old cabin in the woods behind our house, which we called "The Quiet." I hadn't been there since she died, but I found myself trudging down the path regardless, boots crunching in the frost and breath hanging in the air like ghosts.
By Mastura Islamabout a year ago in Horror
The Haunting of Rumah Hantu
It was a cool evening in the bustling city of Jakarta, Indonesia. The city was alive with the hum of traffic, the call of street vendors, and the bright lights that pierced through the haze of smog. But amidst the life of this sprawling urban landscape stood a house that time had forgotten, or perhaps, one that no one dared remember.
By Sabiha Sumsabout a year ago in Horror
