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.

Owl Eyed Girl
It’s hard to say exactly when the dreams started. Probably around the time when I started seeing her. She came in for questioning in connection to a case related to identity theft. She was very cooperative. “Suspiciously cooperative,” my partner said. Normally those kinds of cases don’t merit the budget for a full scale investigation, but there were drugs involved, which meant the funding flowed freely. The girl’s roommate, Celeste, was caught burglarizing a house and her accomplice got away with the social security card of the house’s inhabitant.
By Christine 5 years ago in Horror
Phantom
When a gruesome crime rocks a small town, Detectives Harbour and Andrews are tasked with solving the darkest case they have ever been given.
By Leonardo Pizzolato5 years ago in Horror
The Path
The Path The ground slides underneath my feet. It’s hard to get any traction on the muddy trail so I run slower than usual, knowing I won’t make my goal time. But hey - I’ll sacrifice a good lap time to avoid a sprained ankle any day.
By Laura Melvin5 years ago in Horror
The Owl and the Sexton
In an old farm town in the New England countryside so long ago that it doesn’t much matter whether the story is true or not, there resided a sexton by the name of Otis McPherson. As many great men have noted, sextons, although constantly surrounded by images of mortality and morseness, are rarely melancholy fellows themselves. Otis was no exception to this general trend and indeed he was as merry a gentleman as they come. One damp evening out behind the old church, Otis took to warming himself in his usual manner, with shanties and scotch. He was a portly man, with a red pockmarked nose and a balding head of wheat brown hair. As he walked his considerable gut bounced over a taught belt that kept up a tight pair of breeches while his red hands swung heavily at his hips.
By Zak Buczinsky5 years ago in Horror
Am I Being Followed? 1.6
**Disclaimer** Do not distribute or post elsewhere without my approval This series may contain: Disassociation, Blood, Gore, Violence, Seeing things, Hearing voices, Dangerous situations, possible crude language and mental breakdowns.
By PrettyQuill5 years ago in Horror
The Creature
That creature – that detestable beast – that barn owl - now haunts me even in my slumber, my last bastion of sanity. No longer content at the peripherals of my vision, a shadow on my days, it invades a once-peaceful time, my little death between the grindings of life. What was once a bookmark, a pause of reality, has become one unceasing extension of horror.
By Steph Rae5 years ago in Horror
Owl & Munchkin
The figurines came alive. In a flash, they snuffed out the light of the man and the woman. Then the mermaids, arrogant in their deed and their bellies full of the newly feasted souls, slithered to their place on the mantle. They returned to their glamorous ceramic state, gleeful in the terror they had caused before snatching the life forces of the feeble humans.
By Kiera M. Burrell5 years ago in Horror
Her Eyes
Her eyes are dark. When I look at them I think of violence. Violent men. The sort with deep, sunken eyes, shrouded in shadows. Little black pearls that when gazed upon reveal nothing of a soul within. A sort of stark, loveless void where good things go to die.
By Dan Egan5 years ago in Horror
The Wings of Fate
It had to be this way, didn’t it? The only thing that could have changed this is if you had kept your damn mouth shut. Now, look at where we are. All thanks to you. Are you happy now? You’ve never known when to stop talking. That’s been your biggest weakness since the day I met you. That trait sure has gotten you into a lot of sticky situations and I’m not surprised to see that it is the very thing that has led to your downfall. Because of your running mouth, you’ve landed yourself right here, in my arms, covered in blood and dust.
By Seth Maurizzio5 years ago in Horror
A Sunday Stroll
She always preferred to gather flowers early. In the beauty of dawn, there was a chill to the air that clung to her skin and raised the hairs on her arms and legs. Dew on the tall stalks of grass dampened her shoes as she stepped carefully along an overgrown path through the large meadow near her home. You couldn't see the path through the grass, but she knew it was there. In the distance was a wall of trees, maple in the prime of summer, their leaves dancing and stretching for the brightening sky above. The shadows beneath, between thick trunks that she suspected were many hundreds of years older than herself, called to her, inviting her into the coolness. She could smell the moss that made a patchwork quilt on the earth. The meadow hummed with grasshoppers that made death-defying leaps from branch to branch, careless if they reached their destination, and larks dipped toward her in the sky before pealing away with calls to their companions. They danced around her in a wide halo, straying to the trees but always returning. She would have thought it was deliberate, if such a thing were possible. If she let her eyes lose focus, it seemed she was part of the meadow, swaying in the breeze and soaking in the rising sun. She bent to cup a small flower in her hand. How had primrose managed to take over the whole area? Her hand travelled down the stem, with a mind to pluck some flowers and weave them into her hair. She could make a small crown, something to wear as she worked on her garden later.
By Steph Rae5 years ago in Horror
The Shift
Have you ever felt the mood of a room shift, even if it’s only in the slightest, most insignificant way? There’s a change in the air, a different vibration that sinks its way into that hollow space of atmosphere, followed by an eerie rhythm that somehow breaks the silence. That shift could happen at any moment, but it seems to favor those darker, more comforting hours when it has the chance to catch you off guard. You could be sitting in your bedroom, relaxing on your bed with a book, or watching your favorite reality show. Or, perhaps you’re next to a campfire that’s surrounded by good company and frivolous stories to occupy the lack of sound around you. A strong feeling of warmth holds you tight, keeping you blissfully ignorant of any change that might come.
By Seth Maurizzio5 years ago in Horror
The Threshold
The city of Azuros wouldn’t be the same without its gloomy towers, hardened citizens, and most importantly--dangerous nightfall, and tonight was no exception. Moon-kissed rooftops frame the city’s innards as vendors lock up shoppe, their customers all rushing home to their families. Like the pouring of sand, the marketplace is quickly emptied, left looking as though it’s not been inhabited for ages. Anyone with an inkling of sense knows not to stay out at night, as it’s been drilled into everyone’s brain since they could form coherent sentences.
By Emily Bendevis5 years ago in Horror