Stories (419)
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The Hallowing Shadows
The first sign was so small, you didn’t even notice it: your shadow, just a little too long under the streetlights. It stretched unnaturally, curling at the edges as though reaching for something. When you stopped to stare, it froze, snapping back into place. You convinced yourself it was nothing, but the cold, prickling sensation at the base of your skull lingered all the way home.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
The Hungry Dark
Deep in the Appalachian foothills, the Airbnb sat nestled among the trees, promising tranquility. Jason had booked it to celebrate his promotion with his friends Tina, Derek, Lisa, and Emily. The photos had painted an idyllic picture: misty woods, a wraparound porch, and an old stone fireplace. But as they arrived, the charm of the place faded.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
The House That Waits
The house had always been too quiet, too perfect in its decay. Jason found it on a whim—an old Victorian on the outskirts of town, barely visible through the overgrowth of ivy and twisted trees. The price was laughable, almost as if they were begging him to buy it.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
Reflections of Darkness
Emily didn’t know what drew her to the mirror. She’d found it at a forgotten corner of a dusty flea market, its wood frame twisted like gnarled roots. The glass was dim, tinged with shadows that shifted whenever she moved. It looked like it held stories, maybe secrets—and as she held it, she felt a strange chill crawl over her skin.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
Warmth in Winter's Embrace
On a winter morning, the first snow blanketed the world in soft white. Mason stirred awake, glancing out his bedroom window, where fresh, powdery snow coated every surface in the yard. A quiet stillness filled the air, muffling the usual sounds of the morning. Winter’s embrace had softened everything, casting a peaceful spell over the world.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Families
The Last Breath
The man’s eyes shot open, lungs on fire as if drowning, gasping for air that refused to come. Darkness pressed against his face, smothering, swallowing every movement, every panicked thought. His hands shot out, clawing against splintered wood, tearing through rotting fibers. The walls were impossibly close, a coffin that seemed to squeeze tighter with every breath. Cold, stale air seeped into his mouth, gritty, like tasting earth itself.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Fiction
A Heartfelt Reflection: A Letter to My Mother
Dear Mom, As the season of reflection draws near, I find myself pausing and thinking about everything you’ve done for me. It’s not easy to put into words how much you’ve impacted my life, but I’m going to try because you deserve to know just how much I appreciate you.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Humans
Bound to Fear
Andrew’s eyes fluttered open, and pain lanced through his skull like a hot needle. Blinking away the haze, he looked around, trying to make sense of the cold metal pressing against his body. His hands, feet, and chest were bound tight, and a thick leather strap bit into his forehead, locking him in place. The stale air felt heavy with the tang of sweat and metal. It didn’t take long to recognize where he was: he was strapped to an electric chair.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
The Left Eye Curse
The cold ground bit into Agnes’s knees as she scraped at the earth, her breath forming misty clouds in the crisp autumn air. Her hand brushed something solid, and with a final heave, she uncovered an iron chest, heavier than it had any right to be. It lay in her hands, freezing to the touch, damp with the smell of mildew and decay. Strange carvings covered the surface, markings that twisted and tangled like vines, ending in a crude eye gouged deep into the lid.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Fiction
Forsaken Sanctuary
Father Giuseppe stood in the empty nave, breathing hard as he poured gasoline in thick, vengeful streams across the altar. Shadows loomed heavy and still, wrapping the statues of saints in the darkness of the church’s high rafters. They seemed to watch him with stony, accusing eyes, but he felt nothing but rage. If God was not here for her, then God does not belong here at all.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
The Return
Dr. Jonas Rourke had always considered himself a god among men. His intellect had earned him accolades, respect, and the ability to manipulate the very essence of life itself. But when the world fell apart—the crash of a plane, the scream of twisted metal, the sound of lives snuffed out—he was reduced to a broken shell. His wife, Laura, and his children, Aiden and Lily, were gone. And no achievement, no scientific breakthrough could repair the shattered pieces of his heart.
By Jason “Jay” Benskinabout a year ago in Horror
