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.
Who Is Your Leader?
He awoke, face down on the ground. As he began to move, he could hear and smell the crumbled dried leaves underneath him. Kirk, making his way to his feet, could easily be mistaken for a lumber jack. In the wooded light of the full moon, you can see his broad shoulders fill the red flannel long sleeve he is wearing. His whole front side looks like he had been playing baseball and had attempted sliding into home face first except for one obvious addition. As he tries to dust himself off, he lets out a grown. A shot of pain shoots through his left shoulder. The moon light is enough to illuminate, the deep gash to the front of his shoulder with a hatchet still imbedded in it. He has no idea how that happened, nor where he even was. He had seen enough medical shows to know, he probably should keep that in place. He appeared to be just off a well-traveled path.
By Geoff Stanford5 years ago in Horror
The Silent Observer
Brilliant shades of purple and orange set the dawn ablaze, biting back the cloudless starry sky from the inky nighttime blue. Jet black eyes watched the hulking figure from her pine tree perch as it strode into the open meadow, its gait lumbering and rigid. She watched passively as the pale light from the fading full-moon lit his shaggy, cumbersome form, and he knelt in the center of the isolated meadow with an exacerbated lurch. Too big, too unwieldy. They always struggled to maneuver by the end of the night.
By DeAnna Walker5 years ago in Horror
The Nightmares and The Owl
It was a cold, dark night. The wind was still and the sky was clear. The stars adorned the cosmos with their brilliant gleam as the full moon illuminated everything in sight. The silence was broken by a long, shrill shriek and was restored just as abruptly. Dark eyes, and a pale face could be seen in the shadows. A small bird, roosting on the branch of a tree could be seen flapping its wings. The field upon which the tree would be found was empty for miles around, and the call of the owl would not disturb anyone. The owl let out another screech, and flew off into the distance.
By Jose Alberto Camacho5 years ago in Horror
Texas 1964
The taste of sweat filled my mouth as I placed the paper onto my tongue. A familiar tingle crawled from there to the corners of my jaw; only a matter of minutes now until it starts. I take Robin by the arm, my brother who's already starting to experience the change in reality that's soon to take me, and we start for the barn. The 800 feet or so between the back porch of our old rancher, and the double door entrance to the rundown red barnhouse, stretched forward in front of me as if every step we took closer only forced it further away. This simple walk turned into an absolute journey as the stars danced across the deep blue and black of the night sky, pulling my eyes up and away from the ocean of grass, whose waves flowed back and forth with the gentle breathing of the wind.
By James Hall5 years ago in Horror
Who Is Afraid of the Dark
Do you ever get the feeling that you are being watched? You look around and don't really see anyone, or hear anyone but still feel like something is there. Is it a ghost? Is it a weird feeling that builds up inside of you. You think your imagination is playing tricks on you.
By Misha Trubs5 years ago in Horror
The Mouths of Hungry Babies
Was that the sound of dogs in the distance? Arnold couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to believe they had tracked him so quickly. As he stumbled through the woods with his bum leg slowing him down and the light of day fading, Arnold decided that it might be better if he just hid out for a few hours before continuing on. It would give him some time to figure out what to do next.
By Nancy Gwillym5 years ago in Horror
Night Owl
I’d always like to think of myself as night owl; a I stay up later, I don’t need as much sleep as a regular couch potater, type of fellow. You’ll get strange looks though, when you start to share your late night experiences with others, even if they are for the best part unequivocally mundane. A light midnight jog for example, with that rain that keeps you switched on and alert, ready for that fourth slippery step as you glide down on to the footpath that takes you under the bridge.
By George Dallimore5 years ago in Horror
WILD
The wind was brutal and so cold it cut like a knife sharpened by the devil himself. Would you expect anything less from Chicago during winter? I march through the thick bed of snow, and I’m too busy gasping for air like a maniac to pay attention to the violent wind, spitting flurries of snow into my face. The steam I’m still blowing over the entire accident is helping numb my body from the cold, like a furnace of fury within me.
By Inez Anette5 years ago in Horror
The Priory
Fire rose in the dark. Flames flickered and faded in the night. As each new building caught, the fire grew in size, until it engulfed the entire structure, began to fade, caught a new building. A horrifying cycle. Hope dwindled in the townspeople’s eyes as they watched the fires rise. The Pastor had herded everyone out into the fields, far enough from the flames to be safe. The midnight wind blew the bran back and forth, and the shimmering way it danced in the moon and fire tickled the waists of its inhabitants, as if saying “Hello! We don’t often have visitors. Are you planning on staying long?” Another building caught, and with it came a fireball taller than the trees. The townspeople gave a grieving gasp. The smoke plume rose black against the night sky, visible through the torchlight of fire and the stars it obscured. With the Word of the Lord, the people’s Pastor tried to calm his flock.
By Duncan Dempsey5 years ago in Horror
Rite of Passage
Four days had passed since the ritual had begun. Each passing sunrise and sunset loosened my grip on time's passage, like sand spilling from a crack in an hourglass. This contemplation of time's grains slipping through my fingers was as disheartening as the cold, which sunk itself deeper into my skin, creeping towards the bones within. The long night stretched out before me, beckoning slyly and coolly as if a trickster waiting for the fool. The swarthiness reached out and pulled as each step taken into the inky wickedness slowly seeped further from my lone figure; it's invisible current pulling me on and on.
By Amber Carter5 years ago in Horror
