Stories (419)
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The Portrait of Perdition
Salem, Massachusetts exuded a horrifying silence, its impenetrable forests and perilous hills concealing unspeakable terrors. Every full moon, a malignant force crawled over the town, snatching souls in an instant—fueling bloodcurdling legends of vengeful curses and abominations lurking in the shadows.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
The Glass: A Winter’s Curse
Danny had always been tormented by that unholy pull. The cursed snow globe sat high on his grandmother’s shelf, buried amid brittle, dust-choked tomes and faded, ghostly photographs—a pulsating orb, alive with malevolence. It wasn’t a mere toy or an innocuous decoration. It was something insidious. Inside, a miniature village shuddered beneath an unending, merciless blizzard, its glass prison barely containing the horrors that stirred within.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
The Drowned and the Damned
The sea felt like a relentless judge tonight, torn between mercy and hunger. Jeff Banks, a lifelong fisherman, faced an ocean as conflicted as a tormented man. The night was unnaturally still, the tide holding its breath. When he cast his line—routine as his own heartbeat—the current shifted sharply. A rippling force, neither gentle nor crushing, wrapped around his legs like a sinister caress.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
The Grin
In the cursed town of Sapulpa, Oklahoma, the streets writhed like fevered, pulsating arteries in a corpse decaying from its very core. Every step plunged one into a vortex of carnal debauchery and raw terror, as the very air seethed with venomous, malevolent murmurs—not mere idle gossip, but a primal, soul-corroding snarl that clawed mercilessly at the frayed remnants of sanity. Shadows convulsed into unholy, unspeakable entities, their forms twisting like severed limbs writhing in searing agony—and it was then that the ghastly apparitions began.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
Sea Ink
The ocean lay utterly still, a vast, accusatory mirror unleashing the moon's ghostly, spectral light. Yet beneath its deceptive calm, a malign force churned—a relentless, vengeful spirit known as the Skull of the Sea. This relic, unnaturally white and blemishlessly smooth, bore an eternal, mocking grin—a grim sneer that derided the abyss deep below. Old legends whispered it was cursed—a wicked link that bound the living world to the realm of the dead. Every time a life was snuffed out above, the sea trembled with loss, and the Skull would erupt, bleeding thick, tar-black ink. This was no mere fable but a harbinger of doom.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
The Forsaken Twenty
In the unyielding heart of Maine, beneath a sky that sneered with a lethal cocktail of terror and longing, Lena was ensnared by a suffocating, twisted fog. The mist snaked around barren, skeletal trees like desperate, reaching arms of vengeful phantoms, while the wind exhaled a nauseating stench of decay—a reeking perfume that repulsed and seduced all at once. Abandoned by the villagers for generations, these cursed woods—where shadows bleed into the earth and murmur ancestral sorrows—dared Lena, her defiant curiosity clashing with a primordial terror, to challenge their dire warnings.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
Kurokai
The ground convulsed in a series of violent, bone-shaking tremors that sent ripples of terror through the coastal villages of the Pacific. For days the people had been haunted by the ominous groans rising from the abyss of Mount Iskaru—a dreadful sound that foreshadowed ancient prophecies of wrath too monstrous for mortal minds to fully comprehend.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
Unveiling the Psyche
Dr. Cassandra Reynolds was renowned for her controversial, unorthodox methods—approaches that promised to peel back the layers of the mind even as they left patients teetering on the edge of despair. She led her patients into the depths of their darkest memories and rawest emotions, insisting that only by staring into the abyss of their own clashing selves could they ever hope to heal. For some, this journey was a hard-won breakthrough; for others, it ignited an internal struggle that spiraled into something far more harrowing.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
The Gaslight
The gas lamps coughed and spluttered in the oppressive gloom, their desperate flickers stretching jagged silhouettes along the cracked, weary walls of the Hollow Hearth Inn. Mr. Fallow, the innkeeper whose eyes carried the heavy burden of forewarned tragedy, had long warned of the sinister hum that quivered through the ancient pipes at night—a dreadful omen hinting at vengeful phantoms or something far older and bloodier, lurking beneath the floorboards, feasting on the living and the very dread of the place.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Horror
