fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
The Coin
The car drove fast down the hillside and pulled into the driveway. A tall, slender man got out. His name was Charlie Banks. He looked at the estate of his departed mother, Alexandria and a tear came to his eye. He walked up to the door and was greeted by the butler, Jarvis.
By Gary Stuckey5 years ago in Horror
A New Home
Footsteps echo loudly in naked hallways, don’t they? Without carpet or furnishings to cushion the noise, it feels intrusive and loud, like hooves in a temple. Half of me savours the sassiness of the sound and the other half wants to slip my shoes off, tiptoe, whisper.
By L.C. Schäfer5 years ago in Horror
Gift Of The Forest
Gift Of The Forest By Ian Knowles Grandma always told me not to go near the forest on the edge of the property. She was a superstitious woman; God rest her soul. Mom always said she was eccentric and to pay her no mind. Uncle Darren also told me not to go messing around by the woods. "Dangerous wild animals,” he would gravely grumble. I believed Uncle Darren so I avoided it, even with the foolhardy confidence of being surrounded by my adventurous cousins.
By Ian Knowles5 years ago in Horror
Spring Allergies
This is the first short story I ever wrote, a sort of challenge to see if I could do it. It became a very long story that has been edited many times over the years. Some of the ideas in it are outdated, like tabloid magazines at the grocery checkout. All we see now are celebrity gossip rags. But the underlying question of how you respond when your world is falling apart remains.
By LUCINDA M GUNNIN5 years ago in Horror
Eating my experiences (14)
TOME 15 The walk towards downtown was peaceful and we enjoyed catching up to one another. I walked hand in hand with Zach, an act that brings up old memories of me crying in his arms over now seemingly trivial problems involving my mother. He is a kind and calming soul which I am glad to have retrieved. He would often catch me smiling up at him and tease me lightly. Just like old times.
By L.D. Malachite 5 years ago in Horror
Her
Her Her hands trembled as she reached for it. She knew it was wrong to go through other people's belongings, but she felt such an unavoidable temptation. It was clear, if she saw what was inside, there was no going back. There was no life before this. Nothing to stop her from pursuing what would come after opening the book. She hesitated, pulled back - and eventually, reached her hand out – ever so slightly. She picked up the book. She opened it. The first line of wording on the first page scared her. She immediately put the book down. She walked away.
By Brittanee Loomis5 years ago in Horror
Magnolia
July 17th, 1998 Long fingers dragged across the soot covered curve of the banister. I caressed the old wood and tapped along it like ivory piano keys. Everything was in ruin, the curtains, once heavy scarlet brocade, now fell in blackened whisps like burnt spiderwebs. The heel of my satin pump was broken off, it’s jagged edge making a rhythmic thumping as I moved across the room. Spinning, I watched the taffeta tear and the smell of burnt hair crescendoed in my senses. Arms outstretched I spun like a swan with singed feathers, letting my body move with the music only I seemed to hear crackling from the old record player in the corner. I watched my wide eyes in the window, or what was left of it, my face fragmented in the shards of glass. The chandelier on the ceiling moaned above me, sending her crystalline tears smattering the floor. I remember my mother’s pearls making the same sound when the strand broke off her neck. I recall watching them roll under her dressing table one by one, their opalescent glow seemed drawn to the shadows. Her fingers reached underneath, inching around like a copper colored spider, but she only found the sharp end of a hat pin. I had waited until she had left before reaching under myself. She had darted from the room, sucking her wounded finger and smearing a little blood on the corner of her mouth. I lifted my skirt and bent to my knees, holding out my hand for a moment until I felt one of those pearls roll right into it. I closed my fist around it like a small pink clam and when I finally opened it again, the pearl was red.
By Camille Boudreau5 years ago in Horror
Nice Guy
I am a nice guy, a good person. Sure, yes, I do sometimes do bad things, but so does everyone else. I’ve had bad things done to me, and I’ve done bad things to others, but I try to learn from those mistakes, and I think that makes me a good person. Better, in fact, than most.
By Tim Pierpont5 years ago in Horror
