fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
Beware the Man on Cherry Street
At the end of the block, in a crumbling brick house, lives the man with no face. If the sun is out, he is not. He only goes outside when he can hide within the dark blankets of the night. Every night I see his shadow in his backyard. Always pacing—back and forth. Back and forth. It's like clockwork. Many nights I have fallen asleep watching his rhythmic pacing from my bedroom window. It's almost hypnotizing. It has become an obsession. I don't know how to stop.
By Amber Pollock7 years ago in Horror
With My Last Breath
*Chapter 1* Nothing feels the same after you’ve lost the person you loved the most... Nothing on Earth could ever take away the pain or even come close to making you feel slightly better... I guess I’m in between the phases of denial and acceptance after everything. I mean, after hearing your father get murdered while you can only stand there helpless, it’s going to mess with you pretty badly... I wish I could go so far as to say that things eventually got better, but it didn’t. The only thing that changed was my mom getting married to a guy named Axel a month after everything happened.
By Lily Evans7 years ago in Horror
3 Scary Stories
Call My Name At about three AM in the morning, I decide to get up and go fix myself a late-night snack, but as I walk passed the bathroom, I hear a soft voice calling my name, I just ignored it. I thought Maybe I was hearing stuff, so I continue walking towards the kitchen, as I’m making myself a sandwich. I hear the same voice call my name again, so now I’m getting freaked being that I live alone, so I try to watch YouTube on my phone while I eat my sandwich hoping I don’t hear that same noise again. So an hour later I finish my sandwich, and head over to my bedroom, and as I’m walking past the bathroom, I hear the same noise, so I decided to be bold and investigate the noise. I walked in the bathroom but no was in there I checked in the shower, behind the door, and even in the medicine cabinet but still nothing, so I decided to go back to bed so after an hour of sleep I wake up from the same noise calling my name, so I looked up and peeked into the bathroom, and saw my mom staring at me... my mom has been dead for ten years.
By Kycel Cromwell7 years ago in Horror
The Spoken
I stared into the abyss as I watched the incoherent muttering from afar. The moving of mouths. I began to wonder what it would be like if we, as humans, couldn't speak at all. How would we communicate? Express hatred? Express love? Express fear? The muttering rang in my head to the questions. I would come to find that this wasn't just another one of my crazy, delirious epiphany-like fantasies. No. It was much more. Well, much more since the new girl arrived.
By Annie Kapur7 years ago in Horror
The Massacre Tapes
It happened last year, or somewhere in the middle of last year. Our town witnessed the single greatest horror in the history of any town anywhere; I'm sure of it. It was first said to be an unknown phenomenon of some kind, and people were blaming it on a disease we didn't know existed yet. But it was far from it. Let me tell you what happened. Men, in their 20s, would start randomly being found dead doing perfectly normal things. There was one named Christopher—I forget his last name—who died whilst he was on his way to work. He didn't appear to have any cuts and bruises, no marks to the skin. Nothing happened to him that could've been inflicted by someone else. Everyone, at that time, just shrugged it off as a death of natural causes. But then, more things happened.
By Annie Kapur7 years ago in Horror
The Tunnel
I am trapped in a tunnel. I have no idea how the hell I got here, and, at this moment, I have no idea how the hell I'm going to get out. I've been down here for about four, maybe five days. My sense of self, and my sense of time have both seemingly vanished. The ceiling above me is a stone grey arch that's mounted down on both sides of the floor–the arch stretching about five metres in width. There's not much light, but the cracks in the walls let some of the sunlight in every now and again, so at least I can tell when night-time comes. Whether that light is from the sinking sun, or the rising moon, I'll never know. I have to keep moving, maybe five miles per day just to keep away from that rising shadow that keeps following me. I've travelled far enough now that I know there's probably no end to this tunnel in sight–there's still an endless run of that stone grey arch in front of me, it fades out near the end, where my eyes can't make out anymore. Then, behind me is all the length I've travelled, again it fades to black. I normally drop my now-empty water bottle with the nozzle pointing in the direction I am supposed to be walking the next day, just to remember where I'm going. The stone floors don't offer soil to make footprints in, only the beating sound of the steps or movements of whatever's after me, gaining on my trail.
By Annie Kapur7 years ago in Horror
Always Keep the Axe Sharp Pt. 2
Arriving at the old farm brought back a swarm of feelings and memories. It was always a sight to behold as one came up the old road, now nearly forgotten and overgrown with weeds and tree branches. It had gotten so bad over the years that the farmhouse and barn were barely visible from the road, just ghostly silhouettes against the gray sky. Approximately 1,000 yards or so from the farmhouse a large tree had fallen across the road so the car could not take me all the way, I was forced to walk the remaining distance.
By Scott Tauser7 years ago in Horror
Into the Light
The doctor removed the stethoscope from his ears and, looking at one nurse, shook his head slightly. I felt a sudden shock then, realising the patient had died. Hushed words were spoken as the doctor left the small room and the two nurses began to attend to the deceased.
By James Bradley7 years ago in Horror
Always Keep the Axe Sharp: Pt. 1
Grampy had a lot of sayings that he would often repeat as lessons, most of them I never truly understood. He spoke in an obsolete vernacular that was often confusing to my ten-year-old self. That and the fact that cancer had taken half his jaw and teeth long before I was born. Probably because of this handicap, he spoke sparingly and when he did it was to convey something he felt was important. I was a child and a late bloomer at that, my mother often commented on how I didn't start talking till I was five or six years old. My childhood memories are scattered, and life on Grampy's farm seems like centuries ago.
By Scott Tauser7 years ago in Horror
Bad Girlfriend
He ran through the forest, cuts all over his body, almost certain he had lost the killer, he was afraid to look behind him, because he knew with his luck he’d trip or run into something. Flashbacks run through his mind, of when the man first appeared, carrying the heads of two teenagers, who also happened to be there. He was horrified at how a simple date got him stuck in the middle of all this. This was his girlfriend's favorite spot. They’ve been here many times before. Confused, he trips, quickly jumping back to his feet. “I’m so glad I cleaned up my act and got into sports,” he thought to himself. As he was running he came across a figure in the distance, “the killer?” he thought to himself.
By Fin Shepard7 years ago in Horror
