Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
He wasn't Santa. Content Warning.
He wore black instead of red and he had a gaunt face. His teeth were yellow and jagged. He spoke in a dialect not of this world. There was a lot of clicking of his forked tongue when he spoke. He handed little Judy Miller a shiny red box. She took it and watched as the creature walked out the front door. She stood there a moment or two looking at the package. She wanted to open it. The present was from Santa, or so she thought. She placed it under the tree and headed up to her bedroom. She curled up all nice and comfy in her bed. She fell asleep and entered a nightmare. She went downstairs to find her parents, Stacy and Jeff butchered beyond recognition. She also found her little brother Donny; he was dead as well. She woke up crying.
By DJ Robbinsabout a month ago in Horror
The Screams Beneath the Floorboards. AI-Generated.
Old houses make noise. They creak, groan, and sigh as if remembering things they were never meant to keep. That’s what I told myself when I first heard it—a faint sound beneath my feet, barely louder than the wind slipping through cracked windows.
By David Johnabout a month ago in Horror
Something Is Living Under My Bed. AI-Generated.
I used to believe monsters only existed in a child’s imagination. Sharp teeth, glowing eyes, clawed hands reaching from the dark—things parents dismiss with a laugh before turning off the lights. I believed that too, once. Until the night I realized the fear under my bed wasn’t imaginary.
By David Johnabout a month ago in Horror
OBLIT
This is me. My name is Oblit. It's odd, isn't it? I live on an island. Well, at least I think I do. I haven't seen anyone else in a long time, so I assume I do. I live inside a little house - it's quaint. A five-windowed bungalow, built on a street with only half-constructed houses all around. The lights don't light up at night - and the various concrete and plaster walls that decorate the plain green field only serve as props to my living. I live inside 1557 Rangolin Street. One front door, one back. A modest little backyard with benches and various plants sprouting from scattered pots. Two sets of gardening tools, one for me, one in case I forgot the other.
By Albert Xiongabout a month ago in Horror
