Stories in Horror that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
I just keep looking down at my phone. Her last message still haunts me. Why are you knocking? Just come in... I can't believe he got her.
Jingle Bell Rot
The idea of Santa Claus is a curious thing. A gentle, fat, joyful man who delivers gifts to good little girls and good little boys. The same good little girls and good little boys that are told not to accept gifts from strangers. But Santa doesn't count, does he? He's magic...he's an exception...so definitely can be trusted.
“I can't believe you have never been to Goatman's Bridge, Brittney.” Derrick and his twin brother, Darren, said in unison. “What's so special about it?” Brittney asked as they pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car. “Nothing, really.” Derrick replied. “We have been here a bunch of times, and nothing has ever happened,” Darren told the group. “What is supposed to happen?” Brittney asked. “Well, that is where the intrigue begins.” Derrick said. “It could be one of three options. One is a lynching victim that comes back for revenge, two is the wife of the lynched man, looking for her murdered children, and three is Satanists summoned a portal to Hell.” Everyone was silent as they climbed the small incline to the abandoned road. Soon, they were mere feet from the start of the iron truss bridge with a wooden deck. The four of them stood there for a few seconds before Brittney broke the silence. “What do we do now?” “We need to knock three times at midnight and cross the bridge.” Emily finally spoke up as everyone remained silent and looked at each other. “I don't remember that,” Darren said. “Yeah, you have to knock three times on the bridge at midnight.” Emily took a few steps to the metal supports and knocked. She slowly walked onto the wooden deck. Derrick and Darren were the next two to knock and walk, and then Brittney followed suit. “You know what? I like the idea of the portal to Hell the most. The other two are terrible.” Brittney shivered. “And kind of the same story, right?” Darren looked around, but when no one spoke up, he continued, “It's the wife of the goat herder that got lynched looking for whoever murdered her children. All of them were killed that night by some klansmen.” “I think the goat herder's name was Oscar Kendall, actually.” Emily looked at them, becoming more animated. “It was1899 when a group of …” “We don't need to go down that road tonight, do we, Emily?” Derrick said. Emily glared at him and fell silent. “Hey, I want to know.” Brittney said, giving Derrick a frustrated push. Emily looked smug. “Oscar Kendall was a successful black goat farmer down the way from this bridge. He put a sign that said ‘This way to the Goatman’ on the end of the bridge, and a group of angry white people decided that was worth his life. They pulled him out of his house in the middle of the night and dragged him to the bridge where they had a noose waiting. The mob put Oscar's head through the noose and threw him over the edge of the bridge, but something went wrong, and Oscar's head snapped off his body. They searched for the body up and down Hickory Creek, but it never showed up.” “Where do the three knocks come from?” Brittney asked. “That I don't know,” Emily replied. “Ha … I do.” Darren laughed before replying, “It is the rule of three.” After everyone just kind of shrugged, he explained. “Whatever you put out into the world, whether negative or positive, comes back to you at least threefold.” “So what are we putting out?” Brittney interjected. “Positive or negative?” When he only responded with a shrug, the group fell into general chatter, talking and walking from one side of the bridge to the other without moving further down the deck. A few more minutes dragged by before Derrick and Darren turned to walk down the bridge. Three “nos” instantly came from the young women. “Come on, ladies.” Derrick sighed. “Nothing is going to happen.” Darren assured them. “Fine!” Brittney huffed before she and Emily followed behind the boys, huddling together as they walked. A loud clap of thunder rumbled, but no flash of lightning accompanied it. The girls squealed as they ran to catch up to the boys. Another, even louder crack of thunder, echoed all around them, causing the girls to huddle together as they walked. There was still no flash, and only seconds passed before a third peal of thunder rang out, seemingly from the center of the bridge. A gust of wind sprang forth from nowher, almost pushing the teens to the ground. “What is happening?” Brittney cried. “We don't know,” Derrick shouted. He took a step back as a red circle carved itself out of the fabric of reality. It took less than a second for the circle to become whole, but watching the red line get longer and surviving the ear-splitting tone with which the process assaulted their human ears made it feel like the longest second of their lives. The crimson line became a red circle before the inside of the circle started to trickle down like droplets of blood, completely disappearing at the bottom, revealing a black hole wrapped in crimson liquid. There was a flash of light from inside the hole, and something slowly rolled out of it. The five teens watched as shadowy figures threw something else at the opening. The second item landed right on top of the first and shot it out of the portal to Hell. The group looked down, frozen in fear, to see the head of a goat lying at their feet. The teens all let out a series of cries as they took a few steps back. Darren reached for his phone to catch the experience on video and got recording just in time to get the shadowy figure throwing another object. This odd item had more heat on it and hit Derrick in the chest with a disgusting squish before falling to the ground. It was a human head this time, male, blond haired, with milky blue eyes that stared at them reproachfully. Derrick stumbled over his own feet to turn around and run. Emily fainted when a naked figure stepped to the threshold, haloed in crimson light. An overwhelming smell of decaying flesh invaded the teens' senses before the thing emerged fully. It was a large, muscular man with the legs and head of a goat. In its hands were severed human heads. The literal Goatman stood between seven and nine feet tall with glowing red eyes. Aside from its hind legs and genitals, the beast was hairless and covered in scars. It threw both of the heads it held at Brittney. The giant goat growled as the limber teen dodged the heads and turned to run. Derrick was back down the incline and still running. Emily was mere feet from the monster, but it paid her no mind. Its red eyes were fixated on Brittney. It growled again before lunging at the girl. She was able to roll out of the way and quickly got to her feet to run off the bridge. The demonic satyr jumped in front of her planned route, revealed a thick knife in each hand, and plunged them into the girl's chest. Then, with a swift movement, the Goatman decapitated the screaming girl with the same blades. Her head spun in the air, mouth still open, eyes wide, reflecting the red glow of the unholy portal. The beast let the body drop to the wooden deck but snatched her head out of the air. Without missing a stride, it entered the crimson gateway, the heads of his former victims following on a blast of hot wind. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the portal vanished. In the far distance, thunder rumbled like a contented beast after a meal. As soon as the hole disappeared, Emily dragged herself, shaking to her feet from where she had fallen when the wind knocked her off her feet. She was lucky to have fallen at the right angle to keep from slamming her head into the wooden deck. She finally noticed Darren standing there, recording her. “Are you going to help me or just keep recording?” Emily screamed as she put her hands out towards him. “I can do both,” Darren replied as he stepped over and helped her to her feet, his phone in her face. “What happened?” she asked, still in a daze. Then she noticed Brittney’s body. She screamed. “Brittney!” “The thing chased her down,” Darren said, swallowing hard. “I don't want to know, Darren.” Emily could barely keep the tears at bay. “I want to go home. Now!” “The car is back this way …” “Let’s go.” Her words were high pitched, but Emily stopped, took in a breath, then finished in a regular tone. Tears tracked down the smudges of dirt on her face. “Around. I will walk around,” Emily said as she took a few steps away from the support of Darren. “That's a dead end now,” Darren replied as he continued to record her. Emily stopped walking and slumped her shoulders before turning around. When she noticed Darren was recording her, she let out an angry “Stop!” and tried to walk to him. He laughed as he pranced in front of her, mocking each stumbling step before stopping and letting her catch up. When she did, he turned his camera off. “Are you sure you don't want to see what you missed?” Darren asked, teasing her with his phone. Emily walked to the other side of the bridge, keeping her eyes focused on the metal supports as she hurried along. Darren followed her, but seconds after leaving the bridge, the phone was back in her face. “How are you so calm?” Emily asked as they walked down the incline. “I kind of shit my pants.” Darren looked back at her with raised eyebrows before shrugging and almost whispering, “And I froze.” Emily could barely hold back a laugh for a moment before asking, “What was with the phone?” “He just looked through me, and I knew he didn't want me.” Darren stared at her, “And then I figured I should record it because no one would believe us.” “I can't believe the story was true,” Emily said as they stood where the car should have been. “Right, who knew the Satanists actually summoned a demon?” Darren responded as he started to fidget with his phone again. “Where is it?” “Derrick left us?” Emily leaned on the incline, “And if that was a demon, it would have killed anyone, right? I think the story about being judged off your bloodline is true.” “What?” Darren snapped. “I think Brittney had klansmen in her heritage.” Emily said matter of factly “What the hell, Emily?” Darren yelled as he shakily pointed to the bridge. Standing at the edge of the bridge was a beautiful ebony skinned woman, wrapped in an eerie white light, with her arms stretched out towards the teens. She whispered something that was then carried on the wind. “Thank you.” “You're welcome, Mama.” Emily whispered uncomfortably to herself.
Classic Movie Review: 'Black Christmas (1974)'
Black Christmas (1974) Directed by Bob Clark Written by A. Roy Moore Starring Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Andrea Martin, Lynne Griffin, Margot Kidder, John Saxon
This bizarre and complex series of events started innocently enough. At three in the morning, I begrudgingly dragged my body out of a cozy, warm bed to answer nature's call. I never put on a light for this journey, preferring to use whatever moonlight is available. On my way back to bed, I spotted it. A speck of light no larger than a pinhole appeared to be shining through my bedroom wall. The phenomenon held my attention for about two seconds, then I went back to sleep.
Coffins For Sale
Coffins For Sale By; Akil K. The sound of metal clashing could be heard echoing in the distance, like a reenactment of medieval swordplay. However, it seemed too late in the evening and far too cold in the suburban town for something as extraordinary as that to take place.
Intrusive Thoughts of a Psychopath?
Every morning, every day, the same. Every morning, every day, the same old humdrum. Wake up, coffee, shower, shave, brush teeth and floss.
Enigma of a Christmas Memory
Gazing into the misty embrace of the steamed-up bathroom mirror, his desolation weighed heavily upon his soul like an anchor dragging him down. His pallid skin mirrored the color of despair, and his bloodshot eyes told tales of countless sleepless nights. “Never again,” he whispered, the words etching themselves into the depths of his weary being.
No Good Answers
It feels like old times again. James glances over at his wife, grinning as they sing the words to Def Leppard’s song together.
“Hello! We’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty,” Alec hung up the phone. He hated robocalls; he knew he could just not answer, but he also hated losing control over his phone. He worked a customer service job from home. If someone needed to call him and he didn’t have their number saved in his phone, which was often, he needed to answer.
The attic mirror shows a reflection that isn’t my own. Ugly and torn, my face, if it is my face, stares back at me with malice. A hatred, deep and boundless emanates from this vile thing. The air feels heavy and thick with its malevolence.
“The police are waaaaatching youuuuu…This is a two-way mirrorrrrrrr…” The only other person in this room with me was my reflection. Did she just speak to me?