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.
Gallows
It was the start of a new day, the day that one old man would lose his life. His swollen, bloody feet stumbling to take the next step, forced to walk at a fast pace. Blindfolded, all he had was his sense of hearing. Hearing the chatter of the crowd, gathered around to watch the event occur right before them. Two men, fully clothed in black, had a white knuckle grip on both of his arms at an awkward angle. The crowd just watched with their eyes glued to the three men as if they had nothing better to do. The two men took the first step of five, dragging the helpless man, carelessly to the top. The man’s body sank as his foot hit the first step, knowing his fate was at the top. Finding no use, the old man let his body fall limp, his knees hitting the second step.
By Natalie C..7 years ago in Horror
Memories of Nowhere
Some memories are fleeting. They vanish on the wind in an instant or they fade slowly over time so that the details become increasingly less well defined, less clear. Each time you tell the story it becomes a little different because you find you can't quite recall the little details anymore.
By Bryan Irving7 years ago in Horror
Hell Underground
The alarm rings relentlessly, waiting to be turned off. I do so with regret, knowing that I have to get up and go to work. Barely a sound can be heard outside, except for a few cars passing by my window. My feet finally manage to step out onto the wooden floor of my room. As per usual, I take a shower, have some breakfast and prepare myself to face another tough day at work, where I'll have to get involved in banal conversations with my colleagues on top of all the paperwork. I sigh just thinking about it. About half an hour later, I step out of my small apartment in the center of Madrid, outside of which one can barely distinguish an earthly sound. It's such a cold winter morning, that December is almost tangible. I feel like a ghost, invisible, while I walk the small distance between my home and the subway station, outside of which there is already a homeless gentleman begging for money.
By Eugenia Moreno7 years ago in Horror
Do Not Open
A simple command, really. But people like to make things harder than they actually are. Admit it, you’re probably one of those people too. One of those people who take something as simple as doing the dishes and think to yourself, “Hm. How can I possibly make this as difficult for myself as possible?” But we’re not talking about you right now, so relax.
By Jonathon Guillot7 years ago in Horror
Black Sheep
Solemn faces stared as the box was lowered, further and further down into the hole; exactly six feet deep. It was a warm evening for autumn, and a few salty beads had formed on the foreheads of several silent mourners that stood in the churchyard; the air was humid and stale. The vicar breathed a few final words of prayer before dismissing the procession, and retired back inside the grey walls of the church, escaping the eerie silence that had descended. Few milled about before leaving the yard through the rusted iron gate, however two stayed a few moments longer. One held a hand over the hole, and released her grasp on a single red rose, and watched it float down and brush against the rough, splintered lid of the coffin. The other held his flat cap in silent respect, sweat gripping to his wispy, grey hair. The woman turned around to the man, looking into his eyes with an almost vacant expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but she turned and walked towards the flaking metal fence before he could utter a word, her eyes lowered. He looked down the hole once more before the gravediggers would fill it, their eyes fixated on him. The pair held grimacing smiles on their faces, edging closer to the hole, barely holding themselves back; they bared their teeth. With a shudder, the man turned and followed the woman out of the yard, his tweed jacket brushing against the dark rust of the gate.
By Joseph Parkinson7 years ago in Horror
Chemistry, Pt. II
Nate and I have been unofficially a thing for about six months now. He has gotten a lot weirder though; distant, cold. He always seems to only come out at night, which I don't entirely mind on account of the majority of my shifts being from 11 PM to 2 AM.
By Elijah Taylor7 years ago in Horror
Forgotten
August 14, 1945 “Everybody line up!” Barked the headmistress of the gloomy orphanage. All the young children scatter, they push each other trying their best to get in line quick. Once everyone was lined up, the cruel headmistress made her way down the line. She eyed the children with her cold blue eyes, she was all business. Headmistress Ketch was never casual, the children always saw her steely grey hair tied into a tight bun, and she always wore a pressed grey dress. The children had a nickname for her, they called her the iron maiden. She obtained that nickname because of her hands, they would feel like a paddle of iron whenever she would spank the children. Though, sometimes the spankings would be a little… too rough.
By Jinx Cipriano7 years ago in Horror
Monster on the Shelf (Pt. 1)
“That's just it, I can write outlines all day, but I can't put down the words for a whole story.” That was the conclusion I came to every night, after hours of working on little more than plot summaries and outlines for stories that I dreaded would never be written. Following this, or sometimes even prior to this, my wife would assure me that I could do it. The fact of the matter was, the closest I had ever come to completing anything like a finished novel had been when writing single segments of a story with people at work, and having them continue with the next segment. That had worked wondrously, so why couldn't I just do that alone?
By Caleb Sherman7 years ago in Horror
