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 African Food Chain
Peter’s eyes opened in slow motion to the sound of the weavers singing their sweet morning melody. The blood orange African sun glowed through his tent window, gently caressing Peter’s skin like a warm morning hug. He sat up in a slouch and rubbed the crust out of his eyes with his callused knuckles. “Living the dream,” he thought to himself as he quickly did the math on how many hours they would be out on the Serengeti Plains. Yesterday, it was seventeen hours of conservation meetings and lion observation. Most of the lion observation happened at night and the people observation during the day. At this stage of the lion conservation project, there were more lions than people. Peter was desperately in need of help and today he would find an unlucky chap who was willing to sleep a total of four hours a night for three months straight. He didn’t have the same energy he once did in his twenties.
By Alexandra Tett5 years ago in Horror
January 1st and 2nd, 1890
January 1st, 1890 The storm that sprang up and swept across the North Road from the depths of Gods’ Hollow caught me by surprise and drove me to ground. For ten minutes, I huddled against a stone wall and waited for the wind to abate, when it did, I rose to my feet only to be slammed from behind and pushed over the wall.
By Nicholas Efstathiou5 years ago in Horror
WARP
I woke up... with a distant feeling of dread. As if something really horrible happened or was about to happen. I tried to jolt myself into reality, forced my eyes open, shook my head and tried to pull myself out of the lethargy I was swimming around in mentally. Ugh... where am I? I felt extremely groggy and lightheaded. For a second I could have almost believed that I had been drugged, causing me to be this slow. As I sat up, I accidentally kicked the oil lamp by my side. Oh no! I put out the fire but there was glass everywhere, shattered and ready to slice me into a thousand mini MEs. I tried to avoid it but I did indeed cut my finger. There was a sharp pain and a lot of blood but it was the catalyst I needed. To my horror and dismay, I suddenly remembered exactly where I was and what I was supposed to be doing.
By Dark knight5 years ago in Horror
The Coffer
Something bright flashes against my closed lids, turning my sleeping world bright red for a moment. I'm not quite ready to wake up, so I toss my blanket over my face and groan from a sharp pain in my wrist. The hell did I do in my sleep this time? Slowly I open an eye and see two things that catch my attention very quickly: this is not my blanket, and when did I get a tattoo? The black ink looks fresh, almost like a pool of liquid on my skin, with my skin around it showing an angry and burning red-black. Curiosity and fear starts to eat at me, making my stomach churn, so I slowly bring the blanket down so I can see where I am.
By Scarlett Vargas5 years ago in Horror
Chapter 2 - Joanne
What a sweet little family. Pulling back the curtain of my kitchen window, I watched Michelle as she carried her son back home. My heart ached for them; such a kind woman, overshadowed by the presence of an evil man. It had been decades since dealing with my own father, but that wound was a deep one.
By Alyssa Ramos5 years ago in Horror
Forgotten Time: Part Two
Part 2: Picture of the past My eyes darting back around me as the front door that I had so eagerly walked through and having opened it without invitation, closed once again with a loud click as it returned inside the frame. There is no way a breeze could have pulled the door closed and although to my eyes there was no view of anything or anyone, I could not help but feel there was someone still watching me from within the shadows, a feeling that most likely had followed me from outside.
By Alixzandra Wiseman5 years ago in Horror
A Promise Kept
If one took a second to look at the shaking hands, they would conclude that it was age that caused the trembling. These hands were shriveled remnants of strength long since passed. Skin that was wrinkled and scarred was loosely wrapped around bone and withered sinew.
By Megan Chadsey5 years ago in Horror
Forgotten Time: Part One
There is a mansion of gothic Victorian elegance, hidden behind a tidy garden and a high iron fence that stops any unwilling soul wandering up the driveway to the ornate porch which shield the front door from the elements of bitter winters and cursed April showers.
By Alixzandra Wiseman5 years ago in Horror
One Thousand Miles Per Hour
I am someone who is always very careful. Since the day I was born nothing I had ever done wasn't methodically thought out or done without the utmost extreme caution. So the day I was selected to go to the moon I had failed. Or something was very wrong. Let me go back and explain.
By Eliza Vargas5 years ago in Horror
Goop
I awoke this morning to the blurry view of a ceiling that was not my own. The delinquent beams of golden sun that poked their wandering light through minor imperfections in aged drapery painted the news of a new morning. The haze of sleep hung heavy in my mind still, making every thought nothing more than background noise, but it would become deciphered once the fog between my ears and behind my eyes began to finally dissipate. My body made the executive decision to begin the day before my mind could once again stifle the advances of time. I peeled the heavy down comforter and smooth linens from my skin and briefly mourned the loss of their embrace. Feet met carpet as my legs swung over the side of the bed. I appeared to be wearing nothing more than silken boxer shorts. My eyes stared blankly ahead, deciding the time had not yet come to focus on anything in particular, resulting in nothing more than a nondescript haze of dimly lit shapes around me. My thoughts began to become apparent, as if I were finally zeroing in on their frequency through thick static. My left hand began to grope the smooth surface of the table beside my bed, eventually finding a cigarette and delivering it to the dehydrated surface of my lips where it stuck and hung loosely. As my lighter sparked and smoke filled my throat, my mind, body, and senses finally found a commonground. The carpet beneath my feet was smooth and short, clean and economical. The dark wood paneling on the walls was stained with the same deep chestnut as the furniture around the room. The walls above the handrail were painted, or perhaps papered, with a shade of what must have once been off-white, but had developed warmth with age, giving off a vague nostalgia reminiscent of a grandmother’s kitchen first thing in the morning. I stood and pulled back the curtains covering the window, immediately flooding the room with blinding light. As my eyes began to adjust, I scanned the room for details that my mind had failed to retain of the previous day, or had it been longer? I walked a few short paces from the window to a desk, upon which was a notepad with the heading Bergenheim Luxury Hotel & Suites. The surface of the desk was covered with a glass pane, the majority sprinkled with remnants of various substances. Torn, crumpled, and otherwise discarded pieces of notepaper littered the floor. Most of the scraps contained nonsensical words, number sequences correlating to nothing, and bizarre scribbles and doodles. One had what appeared to be a portrait of Richard Nixon with massive eyes and lips that looked as if they could burst through the page and the words “FEAR MONGREL” scribbled over it. I crossed the room to the French doors that divided the suite and stepped into the sitting area, or at least what remained of it. The couch had been overturned and shredded to pieces, a new touch tacked on this time to an all too familiar scene. The powder blue wallpaper had been scorched, gouged, and scribbled upon with more queer images and meaningless characters, the phones had been violently ripped from the walls, leaving scars and tattered wires where the connection had once been, and empty liquor bottles were strewn about, some broken, some still full. I took in the scene from the doorway of the bedroom in the same detached but shocked way one takes in the scene of a horrible accident from a distance. After all, what was another hotel room? At least this time I had made it inside. Surely I’d be asked to answer for my crimes and the damages I had caused in my drug induced fugue, but worry evaded me. Now was not the time to panic, plus the “James Clover” that had reserved the room would cease to exist as soon as the doors of this hotel closed behind me. I heard a knock at the door. The sound froze me in place.
By Groupielivesmatter 5 years ago in Horror
