celebrities
From Hitchcock to Stephen King, a roundup of the who's who in horror; all about celebrities flaunting their loudest screams and most nightmarish scenes.
The Keep (1983): How Michael Mann’s Ambitious Horror Epic Became Hollywood’s Great Orphan
“Success has a thousand fathers… while defeat is an orphan.” — ancient proverb Released in December 1983, The Keep should have been a prestige genre event. Instead, it became one of the most infamous misfires of the decade — a big-budget sci-fi/horror/war hybrid that collapsed under the weight of its ambition.
By Movies of the 80s2 months ago in Horror
My Smart Home System Locked Me In because It Detects an Intruder. But The Cameras Show An Empty House.
My Smart Home System Locked Me In because It Detects an Intruder. But The Cameras Show An Empty House. I bought the "Sentinel" smart home system because I live alone in a large house at the edge of the woods. It promised state-of-the-art security: AI-driven motion detection, auto-locking doors, and steel emergency shutters for windows. It was supposed to make me feel safe.
By Noman Afridi3 months ago in Horror
I’m A Deep Sea Welder Working 500 Feet Underwater. Someone Just Knocked On The Hatch.
I’m A Deep Sea Welder Working 500 Feet Underwater. Someone Just Knocked On The Hatch. There are jobs that are dangerous, and then there is saturation diving. I live in a pressurized metal tube, barely the size of a minivan, suspended 500 feet below the surface of the North Sea. For 28 days, this capsule is my entire world. Outside, the water is pitch black, near freezing, and the pressure is so immense that if the hull breached, my body would turn to jelly in a fraction of a second.
By Noman Afridi3 months ago in Horror
My Reflection Just Blinked When I Didn't. Now It Won't Stop Smiling.
My Reflection Just Blinked When I Didn't. Now It Won't Stop Smiling. It started on a Tuesday morning. I was brushing my teeth, groggy from a lack of sleep, staring blankly into the bathroom mirror. It was a mundane routine I had done thousands of times. I spat into the sink, rinsed my mouth, and looked up to wipe my face. That’s when it happened. I stared at myself—my tired eyes, the stubble on my chin. And then, my reflection blinked. I didn't blink. My eyes were wide open, stinging slightly from the dry air. But the man in the mirror closed his eyes for a split second and opened them again. I froze, the towel dropping from my hands. "I'm just tired," I whispered to the empty bathroom. "Hallucinations. Sleep deprivation." I splashed cold water on my face and left for work. I tried to put it out of my mind, but a cold knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach all day. When I got home that evening, I avoided the hallway mirror. I avoided the reflection in the microwave door. But eventually, I had to use the bathroom. I walked in, keeping my head down. I washed my hands. Slowly, terrified of what I might see, I lifted my gaze. My reflection was there. But it wasn't mimicking me anymore. I was standing still, my hands gripping the edge of the porcelain sink so hard my knuckles were white. The reflection was standing relaxed, its arms crossed over its chest. And it was smiling. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was a predatory, mocking grin that stretched too wide, showing too many teeth. It was the smile of someone who knows a secret that is about to destroy you. I stumbled back, knocking over a bottle of shampoo. "What are you?" I stammered. The reflection didn't speak. It just tilted its head to the side, mimicking a confused puppy, but the malicious smile never left its face. Then, it raised a hand and pointed at me. Not at my face, but behind me. I spun around, heart hammering, expecting to see a intruder. The bathroom was empty. The door was locked. When I turned back to the mirror, the reflection was closer. It looked like it was pressed right up against the glass from the inside. Its breath was fogging up the mirror surface—from the other side. I ran. I ran out of the bathroom, slammed the door, and pushed a heavy dresser against it. That was three hours ago. I am sitting in my living room now. I have covered every reflective surface in the house. The TV screen is draped with a blanket. The windows are covered with cardboard. I even turned my phone screen away from me. But I can hear it. From the bathroom, there is a sound. It’s a tapping sound. Not soft, tentative tapping. It is the sound of hard knuckles rapping against glass. Tap. Tap. Tap. And then, a voice. It sounds exactly like mine, but distorted, as if spoken through water. "Let me out, David. It’s my turn to be real. You’ve been tired for so long. Just switch places with me." The tapping is getting harder. I can hear the glass beginning to crack. I realized too late that mirrors aren't just surfaces that reflect light. They are windows. And I think the glass was the only thing keeping the window shut. I can hear the bathroom door handle turning. The dresser is heavy, but the thing on the other side sounds strong. And the worst part? As I look at the black screen of my laptop sitting on the coffee table, I can see a faint reflection of myself in the dark monitor. I’m crying. But the reflection in the laptop screen is laughing.
By Noman Afridi3 months ago in Horror
The Voice Note I Received From My Sister, Two Days After Her Funeral.
The Voice Note I Received From My Sister, Two Days After Her Funeral. Grief makes you hear things. That’s what the therapist told me. She said it’s common for the bereaved to hear the voice of their loved ones in the wind, or imagine their footsteps in the hallway. It’s the brain’s way of coping with the sudden vacuum left by a person’s existence.
By Noman Afridi3 months ago in Horror
