Horror

In love with a ghost
“Room 27” The rain poured relentlessly over Chambéry that evening. The streetlights flickered, as if they too were afraid.
By Gihan Mansory5 days ago in Fiction
Stand Behind The Yellow Line
Every morning at 7:12, the train slid into the station without a sound, as if it were embarrassed to be noticed. People were already lined up along the yellow strip, though no one stood on it. Shoes hovered a careful inch behind the paint — loafers, boots, a child’s light-up sneakers that blinked silently with each anxious shift. No one spoke about the spacing, but newcomers learned quickly. The first time you stepped too close, you felt it: not a touch, not quite a look, just a tightening in the air, like a held breath shared by strangers.
By Kam6 days ago in Fiction
Tower in the Mountains
Steam danced around the surface of the hot dark liquid residing in Igor's mug. He had placed it upon the heavy wooden table in the center of the room a moment early to let it cool while he stared out through a pair of binoculars, across the cold rocky landscape around him. The large man sat in the top floor of an old tower nearly seventy feet in the air, but he still felt uneasy every time he peered outside.
By Brier6 days ago in Fiction
IGNIS WAKE
The canteen was vacant as Hamish entered, he was early. The automated lights buzzed to life and flickered a glare across stainless-steel benches that rowed along each side of the modestly sized hall. A set of narrow windows accompanied each bench on the right side. Thick tropical fauna brushed and dragged with the wind against the exterior. The spattering of sunlight through the leaves and branches did very little to brighten the facilities dull concrete and iron panel laced interior. A closed hatch straight ahead into a kitchen indicated that lunch was not yet ready. But as Hamish’s mission detailed, this was the only opportunity to discuss the operation with his fellow MI6 and CIA agents embedded in the mysterious projects activities.
By Blair J Allan6 days ago in Fiction
Pinned
Sweat gathers at the small of your back. You writhe uncomfortably, trying to find the perfect sleeping position that doesn't exist. Lifting up the duvet briefly with an outstretched leg, cool air rushes into the swampy cocoon you've created for yourself. It feels nice for a moment, but then the shivers start, so you seal yourself in again.
By Shelby Larsen7 days ago in Fiction
My Grandfather Left Me a Wooden Statue, and Now I Hear it Moving at Night
When my Grandfather Elias passed away, he left me his cabin in the Pacific Northwest and a single, life-sized wooden carving he called "The Elderknot."
By The Glitch Archive7 days ago in Fiction
The Manuscript Beneath the Monastery
I have long resisted telling this story—not because it lacks proof, but because the proof itself should never be uncovered again. Yet time has a way of eroding fear, and memory demands a voice. What I am about to recount is not invention, nor drunken folklore whispered in candlelit taverns. It is something I witnessed, something that followed me long after I fled the mountains of Transylvania.
By Gaurav Gupta7 days ago in Fiction
Above the Blood-Red Sky
My dear, snivelling, wretched Robert Montague, Why did you flee by daylight—for “freedom”? Freedom in a straitjacket, behind locked doors? The doctors would have you believe you are safe from the monsters in your mind.
By Paul Stewart8 days ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Fog: A Town That Never Sleeps
The town lay under a velvet fog that never fully lifted, its streets slick with damp and silence. Even the neon of the diner flickered with hesitation, as if unsure it should illuminate the night. The air carried a weight, a subtle hum that tugged at the edges of the mind—a whisper of things best left unspoken.
By Algieba8 days ago in Fiction
The Skull Washed Ashore
The Skull Washed Ashore The tide was slow that morning, dragging itself across the shore with a heavy sound that seemed to settle into the bones rather than pass through the ears, and the sky hung low in a dull grey weight that made the whole stretch of beach feel closed in, as though the world had narrowed to that one place and refused to open beyond it. I had walked there many times before, enough to know every shift in the sand and every curve of the shoreline, yet that day something felt wrong in a way that could not be easily named, something quiet and watchful that seemed to exist just beyond the edge of thought.
By George’s Girl 2026 8 days ago in Fiction
Part 2 The Malfunctioning Time Machine. Content Warning.
I WROTE THIS, I EDITED THIS, IT IS NOT FAKE IT IS MY WRITING MY PROMPTS MY WORK. The Architect’s Quiet Hour: Rewriting the Destination
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 9 days ago in Fiction
A Kind of Stillness. Content Warning.
As spiders crawl upon your skin do you wince or lie still awake at twilight as spindles spin lacy traps across your window
By Paul Stewart9 days ago in Fiction