Off Season Rate
What Door?
"There was only one rule: don’t open the door. "
Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead as I reached for the flashlight. I tried to calm my breathing from the loud bang which forced my eyes open. I nudged my husband.
“Jared did you hear that?”
He rolled over and grabbed my shoulder.
“It was nothing Babe. Go back to sleep.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to feel around for the flashlight I had left on the nightstand when we first arrived at this cabin. This cabin in the middle of nowhere. Cheap even for off season. When we got here, I understood why. The place was not as listed. Cozy hideaway really meant hide this one away. It was full of cobwebs, the floors creaked, then this sign, “Do not open the door!”
“What the F does that mean? What door?” I asked Jared. He shrugged it off and started opening every door. Cabinet doors. Back door. Front door blew open. Every door he opened telling me not to worry.
He promised we would leave in the morning; it was too late to head home.
Another bang, this time against the window.
Slam! I tried to pull my arm away from Jared as I was going to find that damn flashlight. Jared held onto my arm. “C’mon I want to find out what is going on. Another slam! I looked towards the window as a flash of light was focused right on me. I could see a shadow. Jared! He was outside holding the flashlight on me. I could see the horrified look on his face as he looked beyond me. I looked down at the hand now squeezing my arm. The hand that did not belong to my husband!
About the Creator
C. H. Richard
My passion is and has always been writing. I am particularly drawn to writing fiction that has relatable storylines which hopefully keep readers engaged
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More stories from C. H. Richard and writers in Horror and other communities.
Rhapsody View Farm
"There was only one rule: don't open the door." However, for every rule Ellenore made, I would find a way to break. The screen door had been tied up for years but yesterday I thought I would surprise her by repairing it. Once I started, I realized I did not have the right tools.
By C. H. Richard2 years ago in Horror
The Voice That Waited
Seen (1) At the edge of a quiet town stood an abandoned radio station, forgotten by time and avoided by locals. The building had been shut down for over twenty years, yet people claimed that at exactly 2:17 a.m., a faint broadcast could still be heard on an old frequency. No music. No news. Just a voice. Daniel was a small content creator who specialized in audio storytelling. He didn’t believe in rumors, but he believed in stories. When he heard about the mysterious broadcast, he decided to investigate—not for views, but for curiosity. One cold night, Daniel entered the radio station with his recorder and headphones. Dust covered the equipment, and spider webs hung from the ceiling. Everything looked dead. Silent. At exactly 2:17 a.m., the old transmitter crackled. A voice broke through the static. “Hello… is anyone listening?” Daniel froze. The voice was calm but tired, like someone who had been waiting for a long time. “My name is Arthur,” the voice continued. “I used to work here. If you can hear me, please don’t turn this off.” Daniel whispered into his microphone, “I’m listening.” The voice seemed relieved. “For years, I spoke into this microphone, hoping someone would hear me. When the station shut down, everyone left. Everyone except me.” Daniel’s heart raced. “Are you… alive?” There was a pause. Then a soft laugh. “That depends on what you mean by alive,” Arthur said. “I passed away in this building many years ago. But my voice stayed. This place remembers me.” Arthur explained that he had been a late-night radio host, speaking to lonely people, travelers, and insomniacs. The night the station closed, he stayed behind to record one final message—something meaningful. But no one ever aired it. He died alone, with his words unheard. “So I kept talking,” Arthur said. “Night after night. Waiting for someone to listen.” Daniel felt a heavy silence fill the room. “What do you want from me?” Daniel asked. Arthur answered gently, “I don’t need fear. I don’t need fame. I just want my message to reach someone. Anyone.” Daniel nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see him. “I’ll share your story.” For the first time, the static disappeared. Arthur’s voice became clear. “Tell them this,” he said. “You are not invisible. Someone, somewhere, needs your voice—even if you don’t know it yet.” The broadcast ended. The room fell silent. Daniel left the station before sunrise and spent the next day editing the audio. He uploaded the recording as a simple podcast episode titled *The Voice That Waited*. He didn’t add music. He didn’t add effects. Just the truth. Within days, thousands of messages poured in. People said the voice helped them through loneliness, grief, and dark nights. Some cried. Some found comfort. Some found hope. Daniel returned to the radio station one last time. At 2:17 a.m., there was no broadcast. The transmitter stayed silent. But Daniel smiled. Because he understood something important: Some voices don’t fade because they are loud. They survive because someone finally listens.
By Do bol ho jaaye 3 days ago in Horror
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith3 days ago in Humor
Comments (3)
Phenomenal job! I had a feeling this would be good before I even began reading it! This is one of your genres! BRAVO Cindy!
so pure and amazing👌
"Cozy hideaway really meant hide this one away." Hahahahahaha that made me laugh! Also, that was a chilling ending! I wonder who or what's with her in bed, lol