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.
You Are What You Eat
Have you ever had a wet dream about pork sausage links or bacon-wrapped meatloaf? If so you might be like our stud Chuck Mcdonald. He is a lovely man who's dating profile says, “Country man with salt-pepper hair. Tall, dark, handsome, and weighing in at six hundred pounds.” Chuck lives at home with his mother and together they own and run a pig farm. To be honest, you can’t tell the two animals apart. His addiction isn’t heroin or any drug like that, but grease, it was his aphrodisiac. Chuck is not a jolly Saint Nick, instead he is a bitter man just looking for his next meal, who can make anyone lose their appetite and puts a new definition to the phrase, “You are what you eat.”
By Sara Kenney7 years ago in Horror
How Did You Know?
"How did you know?" I asked not sure I wanted the answer. I thought I had been careful. I thought she was asleep. She was usually asleep by this time. However, it's been six months, her habits could have changed. She was just sitting there in the dark. It felt like she was waiting for me. Her face was expressionless like she was looking at a ghost. Although in a sense to her, I was. I asked again, "How did you know?"
By Brittney St James7 years ago in Horror
Emily
The most beautiful smile I ever saw was the morning of Janelle's graduation. She was finally going to go to school with the big kids. See Janelle was about to turn 6 and will be starting grade 1 in the fall. She was wearing her 'fancy' dress; a beautiful, sea-foam-blue that bellows when you twirl; and her 'good' shoes; black Mary-Jane’s. Those are the ones we save for special occasions. Janelle was my little sister and we always played tea together whenever we found the time. This morning; however, we did not have the time.
By Nicole Cormier7 years ago in Horror
Independence (Part 1)
Distant thunder and the gentle tapping of rain on the abandoned cars that littered the streets of Independence, Missouri echoed through the once busy city. The only other sounds are that of the infected. Wild, vicious shrieking can be heard 24 hours a day, however unseen in daylight hours, most likely wandering beneath the streets. Though at night, we try our hardest not to listen. At night, they roam freely, in stumbling herds of at least 20. Their senses somehow much stronger than ours, they can hear the slightest of noises, smell the weakest of odors. Sleeping at night, or at all, is an activity of the past. The infected smear their bodies on every surface, searching for another host to pass the virus onto. We live in constant worry that our basement fortifications won't be enough, though we've lived through these last two months down here since the initial outbreak. In the stairwell leading into the basement where we reside is piles and piles of boxes, miscellaneous furniture, and anything we could find in the basement to clog up the way down to us, which has worked thus far. All windows have been painted black and boarded up, the only way in or out is through our steel basement door that we lock down as tight as we possibly can anytime I leave or come back from my weekly supply run.
By D. M. Bingham7 years ago in Horror
Old St. Nick
“Thanks for letting me crash your Christmas Eve Party. Nice house you have,” I sat on the couch across from the hosts of the party and was on my third or fourth eggnog. It was ten-thirty at night and the other partygoers were long gone by this point. The same cheerful Christmas songs played over and over again.
By Sara Kenney7 years ago in Horror
The Final Monologue
Memorizing lines has always come naturally to me. All that I require is a night behind closed doors and a script with my character’s lines. One study of their traits and words sends me into the island of their mind and I become them, the words written by the playwright become my own and I am a newly born persona conceived from a writer’s mind. That is how simple and natural acting is to me. In the most literal sense, I become someone new. Please, do forgive me if I sound too haughty or prideful, I do not mean to boast. But you must understand that my life is devoted to the art of drama, and it is something that is as much a part of me as my gray, diminished hair or the wrinkles and folds in my skin. I could act humble and even embarrassed of my abilities, and perhaps on a regular night I would. But tonight is different. Tonight I am leaving the acting skills in the chest at the bottom of my closet, along with my used scripts and old costumes. Tonight I am completely and utterly bare of any illusion, in front of you all.
By Omar Calvillo7 years ago in Horror
The Fairy Ring
Dark thunder clouds had gathered in the sky all afternoon. The summer storms in this part of Ireland always grew quickly as the warm air began to wrestle with the cold sea air that blew in from the coast. The low rumble threatened a storm; all day the clouds gathered over the sea, moving closer and closer to the rocky coast. The sky grew darker as the sun began its descent. Rain drops began to drip here and there as another low, distant rumble echoed over the moors. Gran tapped her cane on the packed dirt and stared at the rolling clouds with pursed lips. Grey hair fluttered about her face, some strands coming loose from the bun she had tied earlier. Her wrinkled hands gripped the polished driftwood as she turned towards the house.
By Hali Moore7 years ago in Horror
Dark Secrets
Years ago, I had worked such a tragic case. It was cold and late at night when I received a call from a distraught couple. They had said that their daughter was missing. She was 5-years-old and seemed like a happy kid when one would see her out with her parents.
By Alexis Bellaw7 years ago in Horror
50 Two-Sentence Horror Stories
For some people, horror is all about building suspense. It's the slow ratcheting up of tension until you get a sudden explosion of terror, or a glimpse into the cosmic workings of some madman's universe. Two-sentence horror stories, though, challenge you to tell us a story without all that time and space. You have the space of a breath to reach into our brains, and hot-wire that fear response.
By Neal Litherland7 years ago in Horror
