Pride Bohjam
Bio
I enjoy crafting dark, twisted tales that explore the supernatural and psychological. I hope my stories offer the eerie, unpredictable thrills you're looking for. Thank you for taking the time to give them a read!
Stories (16)
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The Queen’s Last Trial
The sun sank below the jagged peaks, casting the valley in shadow as the Queen stood before the great obsidian gate. Each breath she took echoed in the stillness, cold and sharp as the wind that tore through the barren plains. Behind her, the remnants of her kingdom huddled in the distance, unaware of her final gamble to save them.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Sound of Silence
Mason had always been a light sleeper. The slightest creak in his old Victorian house jolted him awake, every time. But tonight, something was different. He woke to a strange sound—a soft, barely audible scratching. He strained his ears, his body stiff with the alertness of someone who knows they’re not alone.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Hollow Whisper
There’s a place behind the thickest trees of Lochwood Grove that no one talks about, where light refuses to settle. Despite the small, forgotten warnings etched into stone at the grove’s entrance, people pass by with little regard, some even daring to wander close. But every town has its secrets.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Light
There was only one rule: never face him alone. The Phantom was more than a villain; he was a myth, a ghostly figure that haunted the city’s deepest shadows, bringing terror to anyone unfortunate enough to catch even a glimpse of his pale, hollow face. Rumor said he was a specter, a creature not born but created in some forsaken place, a monstrous being who existed to spread fear. No one knew his origins, but everyone knew his appetite—for lives, for fear, for the thrill of watching the brave crumble into terrified shells. People spoke in hushed tones of the Phantom’s chilling laugh, how it echoed through the city’s alleys like the sound of death itself.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Sunday That Never Ended
There was only one rule: don’t step outside after midnight. A relic of a warning, dusty and ancient, it was whispered like a bedtime story no one could forget. The legend had clung to the town, blanketing its people in both comfort and fear, woven into Halloween like stitches through fabric. They’d been spared another Halloween, just like every year before. That eerie rule? Outgrown, they thought, safe to ignore.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Horror
The Candle at the Crossroads
There was only one rule: never let the candle go out. Halloween night in Willow’s Creek was a time of dares and haunted whispers, and every October 31st, one unlucky soul had to sit alone at the crossroads with a candle until dawn. This year, it was my turn.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Horror
The Final Confrontation: End of Series
Clara stood at the heart of Eldridge Hollow, her pulse loud in her ears, her breath shallow. All around her, the shadows writhed, a storm of despair and wrath waiting to consume. The lost, mingling with the living, held her fate—and that of the town—in their grasp.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Horror
The Reckoning: Part 4
The air buzzed with tension as Clara walked into the heart of Eldridge Hollow, the night filled with an energy that crackled like a storm waiting to break. Townsfolk gathered, their faces pale, eyes wide, an unsettling fear lurking within. They had felt the shift; the awakening of the lost was a palpable force, weighing on them like an old, familiar sorrow.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Price of Knowledge: Part 3
Clara awoke with the woman’s plea reverberating in her mind, heavy as a stone. A decision loomed before her, daunting and dangerous. The townsfolk had spent their lives hiding from this truth, burdened by the fear of the unknown that lay beyond the fog. Yet Clara couldn’t let it rest; she felt compelled to find out what lay hidden beneath the silence.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Haunting Echoes : Part 2
Sleep eluded Clara that night. The voice from the library repeated itself over and over, threading through her mind, mingling with a sense of dread she couldn’t shake. In the shadows of her room, objects seemed to move, stretching and contracting as if imbued with a sinister consciousness. Every creak, every whisper of wind outside her window, felt like a warning.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Horror
The Whispering Well
There was one rule: never peer into the well after sundown. The well sat just past the end of our family’s overgrown garden, ancient and heavy with moss, its stones cool and damp even on the hottest days. They called it The Whispering Well, though no one seemed to know who had given it that name. I only knew my parents’ rule—strict and absolute—that I must never approach it at night.
By Pride Bohjamabout a year ago in Fiction
