Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Horror.
THE WHISPERS IN THE WALLS OF THE BOY SCOUT CAMP
There are hauntings you can escape. Doors you can shut. Lights you can turn on. But what do you do when the thing watching you has no face? No form? No eyes? What do you do when the darkness itself decides to stand up?
By Veil of Shadows2 months ago in Horror
You don't see his face… but he sees everything inside.. AI-Generated.
When my family traveled that winter, I wasn't overly concerned. They left me alone for just a few days, and the roads were safe despite the snow that had started piling up that morning. I thought the solitude would be simple, routine, nothing more than extra free time. I didn't expect that the tranquility would later transform into something else—not a loud terror, but a constant feeling like a cold hand touching my shoulder without me seeing it.
By Activité182 months ago in Horror
We Don't Talk to Edith Thompson. Content Warning.
September 2nd, 2025-8:35 AM "W-what do you mean, 'we don't talk to Edith Thompson'?" I ask, mind still spinning from the confusing revelation. It just doesn't make any sense! Why would an entire community, unanimously, decide to publicly shun a weird teen girl? Like, what did she do? What does she know? Rubbing both my temples, I continue, "Is that girl Edith Thompson? Why doesn't anyone talk to or acknowledge her? What happens if you do talk to her?"
By Rain Dayze2 months ago in Horror
🕊️ The Returned Angel
The village of Rahimabad lay tucked between silent hills, far away from cities, noise, and anything that looked like hope. Years ago it had been a lively place—children running along dusty lanes, women laughing as they drew water from the well, and men returning home at sunset with tired smiles. But time had not been kind. One by one, the people changed. Joy faded. Crops withered. Illness spread quietly. And the night, once peaceful, now felt heavy enough to swallow even the bravest heart. No one remembered exactly when the darkness began. They only knew that the world had become a colder, harder place. Some said it was fate. Others blamed themselves. But deep down, the people shared a quiet belief: they were forgotten. And then, everything changed on a night when the moon hid behind thick clouds. It started with a glow—weak at first, like a candle fighting against the wind. A shepherd boy returning home was the first to see it. He stopped, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the sky. The light grew brighter, warmer, almost like the sunrise happening at the wrong time. Soon, the villagers noticed it too, stepping outside their homes in confusion. The glow descended slowly, taking shape—first a shimmer, then a figure, then unmistakably something not human. An angel landed at the edge of Rahimabad. He stood tall, wrapped in a soft radiance that moved like living flame. His wings, long and silver, glimmered as though dusted with stars. His face held a calmness that made even the oldest villagers feel like children again. The people stared in stunned silence. Some cried. Others trembled. A few whispered prayers they had forgotten long ago. The angel didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence alone felt like a warm hand placed gently on an aching heart. Without a word, he began to walk. Where he stepped, the ground healed. Dry grass turned green. Wilted crops straightened and lifted toward the sky as if remembering what sunlight felt like. The old well, long cracked and unusable, sealed itself with a soft rumble. Clear water rose, sparkling. A barren tree near the schoolyard blossomed with white flowers. The villagers followed him like a river follows its path. Mothers held their children close, amazed as the little ones—sick for months—suddenly smiled with color returning to their cheeks. The old imam, who hadn’t walked without his cane in years, found his legs steady again. Even the animals sensed the change; dogs wagged their tails, cows lifted their heads, and birds returned to rooftops where they hadn’t perched in seasons. Everywhere the angel went, something broken became whole. Yet he spoke nothing. Not even a whisper. Some wondered why he had returned. Stories of a guardian angel of Rahimabad existed long ago, but most believed they were tales for children. Now, seeing him in the flesh, they realized something far greater: they had never been abandoned. They had only stopped believing in their own strength. By midnight, the angel reached the village center. People stood around him in a circle, waiting, hoping he would say something—anything. But he simply looked at them with eyes filled with quiet compassion. Then he lifted his hand. A feather drifted from his wing—long, silver, glowing softly. It floated in the air like a falling star and landed at the feet of Gulzar, the youngest orphan in the village. The boy picked it up carefully, holding it against his chest as if it were made of glass. The angel smiled—not with his lips, but with the warmth that filled the space around him. And just like that, he began to fade. His light softened, dimmed, and then dissolved into the night sky until nothing remained except a gentle breeze. The villagers stood there long after he vanished. When dawn arrived, Rahimabad looked different—not because the angel had healed everything, but because the people themselves had changed. They repaired their homes with new energy, replanted fields, and helped one another without hesitation. Laughter returned to the wells. Songs returned to the rooftops. And every night, before sleeping, villagers glanced at the sky—not searching for the angel to return, but remembering that he had come when they needed him most. Because sometimes, an angel doesn’t stay forever. He appears just long enough to remind you that hope is not something that visits you… it is something you carry inside.
By john dawar2 months ago in Horror
The Room’s Teeth
Author's note: I genuinely hope you enjoy this story and I welcome any feedback, thank you. It was a warm, humid Thursday evening. Me and Ma had just come in from a swim in the lake behind the house. From the kitchen window, I could see the indigo blue sky fading with the orange glow of the sun on the horizon. The cicadas and crickets sang outside, a shrill chirp carried in the faint breeze traveling inside.
By Davlin Knight2 months ago in Horror
The Paranormal Digest for Nov 29, 2025
This week represents the final Paranormal Digest for the month of November, which means that Christmas is right around the corner. I still have a few more weeks of paranormal weirdness to share with you all before Santa (or maybe Krampus) arrives, so let’s dive into this week’s spooky fun.
By John Watson2 months ago in Horror
The Midnight Caller – Part Three. AI-Generated.
Whispers of the Wandering Mask Fog rolled over Ravenwood like a living thing, curling around streetlights and swallowing the morning sun. The town had not slept. Doors stayed locked. Curtains stayed closed. And every rustle of wind felt like a warning whispered too late.
By Alshalil 7712 months ago in Horror
