Horror

Swamp Water Stew
Gork Yellowbelly stirred the last bony human hand into the cauldron. The kettle was too big for his kitchen, but the others had somehow squeezed it in. He sniffed the broth, raised the spoon and tasted it.
By Jason Hauser4 years ago in Fiction
The melon heads
The melon head is an urban legend which has it own version in every state. in this we will be looking into the three major versions of this legends in three different cities.
By Narendran C4 years ago in Fiction
Just a Nightmare? Or is it a sign?
In he beginning, when all was still darkness a voice sang in her ears. "You are here now, my beloved; I have made you come back to me."
By Fiction 'Ai' Writer4 years ago in Fiction
Robert the doll
Robert's story begins in Germany. He was created by the Steiff factory in 1904 and was most likely part of an advertising window display of jesters or clowns, rather than a standard doll for sale. The doll was purchased as a gift from overseas by Robert Eugene Otto's grandfather and was promptly named after the young boy. The sailor outfit that made Robert the Doll famous in paranormal circles was not a Steiff product, but rather an outfit worn by Otto in his youth, making the boy and the doll inextricably linked.
By Narendran C4 years ago in Fiction
The Haunting of Castle Creag
Something shifted in the corner of the room when Elspeth looked up from her embroidery. The afternoon light was fading, and her eyes were tired. She blinked a few times but saw nothing except the tapestries on the stone walls.
By MJ Santos4 years ago in Fiction
Valentine
Valentine By: LC Harrison The dark room was lit with only a small flame from one candle, sitting in its brass holder on a small desk, pushed up against a window pane, flanked by burgundy curtains, hanging from a brass rod, attached to the wall. A shadowy figure approached the window and picked up the candle. As the figure did so, his face was lit by the eerie glow of the candle’s flame. His skin was pale, and he had long, white hair, that reached past visibility. His eyes were a pale blue, the color of the sky on a clear, sunny day. The figure turned and slowly walked to where I was seated, tied into a velvet upholstered chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him use the candle to light an old oil lamp, that sat on a table next to me. After doing so, he blew out the candle. The figure’s long fingers slowly untied me, as he performed this task, his long hair fell forward. It must have reached his waist. He brushed his hair back with his hand to reveal a pointed ear.
By Amy Chris Keiper aka LC Harrison4 years ago in Fiction
Till Death Does Us Part
Butterflies filled my stomach the more breath I would let into my lungs. Today was the day. Today was the big day that most girls have dreamt of for years to come. Staring back at the reflection in the mirror in front of me, I couldn't help but imagine what was to come after this. Would he be proud of me? Would he be infatuated by me for an eternity? The clock tower in the room struck 12 noon. This was it. This was the final hour of being a free woman.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet4 years ago in Fiction
Myth of a monster
This isn’t a story of a spoilt Prince who got everything he wanted. Despite the extravagant parties, golden laced suits and rooms filled with silver, the prince danced with hollow people. He listened to the same strained laughs, saw the same fake smiles, and witnessed the same false happiness. Surrounded by thousands of people, he had never felt more alone.
By Jane Wheeler4 years ago in Fiction
Don’t Go Chasin’ Goth Girls
I'm a sucker for a goth girl in a plaid skirt. So much so, in fact, that it comes as no surprise that I ended up here, in this weird limbo or here as the poltergeist of a haunted playground that only shows up at a certain time. These things may sound all very vague… but that's why they call it an exposition, right?
By Jose Sanchez4 years ago in Fiction
Never Really Gone
His back is bent and aches from exhaustion. Tiny beads of perspiration trickle down along his spine as he stretches his large frame to stand erect. Counting down slowly backwards from 30, pacing his breathing, quieting his mind, his eyes drift close as he pushes out a deep quivering breath. His nostrils are filled with the pungent smell of salt and copper; he can feel the droplets cascade down his face as his tongue pushes from behind his cracked lips.
By Nicole Deviney4 years ago in Fiction
Ice in the Blood
Ice in the Blood The main first class dining hall of the Titanic was a grand affair. Tables mostly seating 12, were laid with the finest silver flatware, porcelain dining sets and crystal glassware to match. This all sat on crisp, white linen table clothes, draped over heavy oaken tables. The décor was suitably grandiose, white panelled walls, interspersed with ornate pilasters topped with the busts of Greek gods surrounded the hall, which sat the entire width of the enormous vessel. The strap work ceilings, again in white, complement the setting perfectly. The captains table sat central to all of this, no grander than any of the others, but somehow imposing.
By Phil Tennant4 years ago in Fiction
The place I died
This is the place I died. It was a place of polish and wood married to a foundation of metal. It was a death of ice and water. When I forget to forget I can feel the press of liquid slipping into my airways. I can feel my skin go numb in patches of needles, all but my lungs which hold the memory of being so achingly full but empty of anything that I need.
By Megan Chadsey4 years ago in Fiction