Wellova

Joined July 2025

88 stories

Bio

I am [Wellova], a horror writer who finds fear in silence and shadows. My stories reveal unseen presences, whispers in the dark, and secrets buried deep—reminding readers that fear is never far, sometimes just behind a door left unopened.

Stories (88)

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The Room With No Window – Part 6
The town of Hallowmere had learned to forget. They boarded the house long ago, paved the street, and renamed the block so that no one would remember where it stood. But stories have a way of surviving, even when walls crumble and people disappear.
By Wellova 3 months ago in Fiction
The Room With No Window – Part 5
For years, the boarding house remained untouched—a silent shell of wood and dust, sealed behind caution tape. Locals whispered that no one should go near it after dark. But eventually, the city council ordered it torn down. To them, it was just another forgotten ruin.
By Wellova 3 months ago in Fiction
The Shadows Beneath Buzludzha
The autumn of 1996 had already cast a long shadow across Bulgaria. In the heart of the Balkan Mountains, near the decaying Buzludzha Monument—the massive abandoned communist-era structure shaped like a flying saucer—four friends from Sofia decided to spend a weekend exploring.
By Wellova 3 months ago in Fiction
The Room With No Window – Part 4
Jonathan Hale no longer recognized himself in the mirror—or in the man who had emerged from it. Ever since the night he faced his doppelgänger behind the hidden door, his days had blurred into sleepless nights, haunted by whispers and the diary’s silent, patient watch. The pages, once brimming with threats and secrets, now lay blank, yet somehow pulsed with a presence he could feel.
By Wellova 3 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Curse
The Whispering Castle For centuries, the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania have been shrouded in mist, their jagged peaks hiding legends older than the stones themselves. Among these myths stands Castel Ardelean, a fortress built in the 14th century, long abandoned, yet never truly empty. Locals call it “The Whispering Castle,” for on nights when the moon is shrouded, voices echo through its ruined halls—voices no one dares to follow.
By Wellova 3 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Curse
The Clockmaker’s Curse Prague was a city of whispers. Its cobbled streets and crooked alleys held centuries of secrets, and its shadows never truly rested. Tourists marveled at the Old Town Square, the Gothic spires, and the Astronomical Clock, but to the locals, time in Prague was more than a measurement. It was a presence.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Horror
The Room with No Window — Part 3
Jonathan Hale had not slept in weeks. Ever since the night the voices had returned—whispers crawling through the cracks of the windowless room—he had lived in a limbo between waking and nightmare. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale, and his mind frayed by the constant echo of sounds that did not belong to this world. He told himself to leave, to abandon the cursed boarding house and its suffocating corridors, but something stronger than reason chained him to the room. It wasn’t merely a place he rented anymore. It was alive. And it wanted him.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Vanishing at Blackthorn Abbey
The rain had been falling over Yorkshire for three straight days, soaking the earth and flooding the narrow lanes. On the fourth night, Detective Eleanor Ward received a call that pulled her from the warmth of her flat into the teeth of the storm. A tourist had gone missing—Karl Meyer, thirty-two, a German national traveling alone. His rucksack and camera were found at the entrance of Blackthorn Abbey, a ruin that clung like a scar to the cliffs above Whitby. His footprints ended at the threshold. No sign of struggle. No sign of retreat. He had simply ceased to exist.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Room with No Window — Part II
Jonathan Hale thought he had escaped the nightmare, but the room had other plans. The night he burst out of the boarding house in London, he was barely able to breathe. His clothes were torn, his fingernails cracked and bleeding, his eyes wild with terror. When the police found him, he babbled about a room without windows, about walls that whispered and a door that never stayed shut. They dismissed it as hysteria. The old building, they said, had plenty of cellars and crawlspaces. A trick of the dark, a bout of madness. Doctors labeled it sleep deprivation and trauma. But Jonathan knew the truth. He could still feel the weight of the walls pressing in when he closed his eyes, still hear the low hum of something waiting behind that door.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Forest of Stolen Voices
In the mountains of Romania, deep in the Carpathian forests, lies a place locals call "Codrii Furați" — the Forest of the Stolen. Few maps mark it, and those who wander too far inside rarely come back. The villagers whisper that the trees themselves are alive, but not with roots or sap. They are filled with voices.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse at Skagen Point
At the northernmost tip of Denmark lies Skagen Point, where the Baltic Sea and the North Sea collide in endless grey chaos. Waves smash together from opposite directions, creating whirlpools, sudden riptides, and a constant roar that can be heard for miles. For centuries, sailors called it the "Mouth of the Drowned," and they feared the waters almost as much as they feared what stood above them: the lighthouse of Skagen Point.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Bells of Saint Aurelia
In the quiet hills of southern France stood the ruins of Saint Aurelia’s Abbey. Long ago, it was a place of prayer and devotion, its bells famous across the valleys for their rich, beautiful chime. Villagers said the monks timed their lives by those bells—the rising of the sun, the call to prayer, the solemn toll for the dead. But one stormy night in 1624, the bells rang louder than ever before. The next morning, not a single monk remained. Their beds were empty, their robes neatly folded, as if they had stepped out of their lives and vanished into thin air. The bells fell silent, and for four centuries no one dared to ring them again.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction

Wellova

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Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(88)

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The Room With No Window – Part 6

The Room With No Window – Part 5

The Shadows Beneath Buzludzha

The Room With No Window – Part 4

The Clockmaker’s Curse

The Clockmaker’s Curse

The Room with No Window — Part 3

The Vanishing at Blackthorn Abbey

The Room with No Window — Part II

The Forest of Stolen Voices

The Lighthouse at Skagen Point

The Bells of Saint Aurelia

Stories (88)