Horror

A Breath Before Dusk
It was late in the afternoon on a Friday. I was working on my desk as usual. The sunset was beautifully warm of cinnamon and orange, bleeding into everything—my desk, the papers, even my hands. The cool air smelled of the dried English lavender I didn't trim away on my porch—I let them wither exactly where they were growing, a good specimen for my observation.
By Une Femme2 months ago in Fiction
The last time I ever heard rain hit tin. Content Warning.
“The Last Time I Ever Heard Rain Hit Tin” That first drop landed on the roof like a marble on a cookie sheet. It wasn’t loud; it simply was — there. Then the sky cracked and poured out all of its contents.
By BHUMI2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Light in Room 217
I wasn’t supposed to notice the light in Room 217. The hallway of the old boarding house was usually a tunnel of darkness after midnight, lit only by a dying bulb that buzzed like an insect trapped behind glass. I’d lived there for eight months—long enough to memorize the limits of its shadows, the way the wallpaper peeled in places like tired skin, and the sighs the wooden floorboards made under my steps.
By tosarkastikomouegw 2 months ago in Fiction
The Fissure in the Frost: Beneath the Snowline. AI-Generated.
They had not escaped Brumewood at all. They were sleeping inside its family photo. Mara stared at the frame on the wall until the edges of the picture blurred. Clara, Michael, little Jonas. The same woman she had seen on the train, unchanged by ten years. The same child who’d sat on that empty lap. The same knitted hat. The same winter-blue eyes.
By DARK TALE CO. 2 months ago in Fiction
The Fissure in the Frost: A Town That Pretends Not to See
They both knew, with chilling certainty, that going back home now was definitely not an option. London meant distance, yes. But it also meant walking away. From the pouch. From the child-shaped shadow in the trees. From the hands that had buckled Emilia’s knees at the edge of the platform.
By DARK TALE CO. 2 months ago in Fiction
The Night Everyone in My Town Heard the Same Whisper
The Night Everyone in My Town Heard the Same Whisper No one in our town likes to talk about the night of the Whisper anymore, but every one of us remembers it—how could we not? It lives in our bones like a storm we once survived. Some swear it changed nothing, others swear it changed everything, and most of us simply carry the memory like a glass marble: smooth, small, and confusingly heavy.
By Anas Khan2 months ago in Fiction
Can I Get You Another?
“Can I get you another?” In a dimly lit bar, where the air seems to sit still, and the wood seems to carry the invisible stains of thousands of years of service, a man of 58 years, wearing a suit and tie, sits with an empty glass in front of him. He lifts the glass, curious, then sets it back down. The noise of a door opening at the front of the bar is heard, but when the man wheels around he sees the large wooden door at the entrance closed tight. A faint laughter drifts overhead. He looks behind him but finds only a line of empty booths. The stools beside him are empty as well. He tilts his head back towards the ceiling and can barely make out the light fixtures, as though they’re hidden behind a layer of fog. A wave of uneasiness flows over the lone man at the bar. But he’s not alone, is he? “Didn’t I just hear someone”, he thinks.
By Tyler Tomson2 months ago in Fiction
The Wisp's Change of Heart
The fog in the Whispering Woods was not ordinary. It was a creature—an ancient, drifting consciousness born of damp soil and forgotten paths. It called itself the Wisp, and its greatest joy was mild, artistic mischief.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
SEASON 8 - Whispers from the Lantern: The Keeper's Lament
Chapter 15 The silence was a palpable thing, a heavy blanket that settled over the entire coast. Aris and his team stood in the now-calm lantern room, a profound sense of exhaustion washing over them. The Keeper was gone. The drowned were gone. The mournful lament was gone.
By Tales That Breathe at Night2 months ago in Fiction
The Echo Collector
Every night at exactly 3:11 A.M., the house spoke. At first, Mara convinced herself it was just the building settling—an old colonial home with old colonial problems: rattling pipes, warping wood, air slipping through ancient vents like sighs from a sleeping beast. She was new to living alone, new to living anywhere quiet enough for her own heartbeat to sound like an intruder. So when she heard the first whisper one night in early November, she didn’t panic.
By Hashir2 months ago in Fiction
The Fissure in the Frost: A Psychological Winter Mystery
Mara told herself this was a break. The cabin was perfect—a sleek, modern box of cedar and glass tucked into the quiet mouth of a snow-dense forest. It was Emilia’s idea, of course. Emilia, hyperactive and relentlessly optimistic, believed a few lungfuls of fresh mountain air, far from the city’s grime and the memory of the difficult case Mara had just closed, would act as a psychic disinfectant.
By DARK TALE CO. 2 months ago in Fiction
In the Alpine Fog. Honorable Mention in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
"How much longer?" "Almost there." Angelina checked her Apple Watch. "Yeah — how long is almost?" "I don't know. 5 minutes? I'm not taking my gloves off to check my phone." Karl shuddered. He could see his breath in front of him as he and Angelina walked up the forested hill.
By Simone Rocca2 months ago in Fiction