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.
Ghostly Whispers
Chapter 1: The Ominous Melody It was a Sunday night when we heard it—the haunting tune drifting through our new home.* My father stopped the movie, his face etched with confusion. "What's going on here?" He searched every room, finding nothing. No little girl who could've produced that singsong voice. Just emptiness. The song was barely audible, yet it terrified us. You see, the sound of a child singing is only frightening when you know yours is the sole family living there. Dad gave up searching as the singing ceased. Though it lasted only minutes, the melody continued echoing through my mind in the days that followed. I've never been able to hear that song, or watch that movie, again without feeling a chill down my spine. There was a helplessness in the air that night, like some unseen darkness had seeped into our home when we weren't watching. Chapter 2: The Night Terror A few nights later, I awoke to screams. Mother's screams. Father comforting her, beckoning my sister and I into their room. "Sleep in your grandmother's room tonight," he urged. "It's the only one without windows on the second floor." In the morning, Mother recounted her nightmare: A frantic search through the house for the ghostly singer, concluding with a scream and a pale, eyeless face grinning at her through the bedroom window. My father had awoken to find Mother convinced the girl was still there, watching her. Waiting. While our previous supernatural encounters were few, we'd never experienced anything like this. But now we felt certain some sinister presence had invaded our home. My parents seemed to age a decade in just a few weeks. The mounting stress compounded Father's financial worries and kept us all on edge. We began dreading sundown, when the entity grew bold. Chapter 3: The Intruder It happened at dusk a few days later. Carrying my laptop to the dining room, I spotted from the corner of my eye a hunched white figure on the table. I froze as a sharp cackle broke the silence. Slowly, I made out the form of a young girl in a tattered dress, legs bent at impossible angles, smile stretching unnaturally wide. My heart hammered as she stood, rising taller and taller until hunkering down to avoid the ceiling. Then came the urge to call for Mother. But Mother wasn't there. My sister arrived instead, causing the apparition to vanish. Still, I felt comforted having channelled Mother in my moment of primal fear. They say ghosts can't hurt you, but this one was destroying Mother bit by bit. Her sleepless nights spent sensing its presence warped her mind and spirit until she ultimately snapped. Chapter 4: The Breaking Point Three months had passed, and the occurrences multiplied. Objects misplaced. Strange sounds in the night. Mother's mental state deteriorating. The apparition itself began materializing more frequently, sporting rotted skin and vacant eyes. I'll never forget arriving home one evening to the news of Mother's suicide. She had locked herself in a room to escape that thing's reach. As my sister discovered her body, I learned she had struggled to open the door against unseen forces moments earlier. And on that doleful night, our spectral tormentor laughed. We were alone. So alone. Relatives blamed us, unaware of the true cause. Would anyone believe a spirit was responsible? Stigma around suicide muddied perceptions. In isolation, the creature grew stronger, now demonstrating a fascination with my sister. Personal items went missing or appeared damaged. It gave us no respite. No sanctuary. Chapter 5: The Cleansing Desperate, we decided to enlist the church's help. A priest and elderly woman arrived to bless the home. But the darkness lingered after they left. Past midnight, a knock roused us from restless slumber. The woman had returned—to truly listen. Her compassion drew out our full story, ending in tearful catharsis. She promised to help however she could. At dawn, she returned with religious tokens and an exorcist. He expressed particular concern over the suicide, troubled that some evil presence had physically influenced the event. After purifying our home, the weary man confessed his age prevented battling our feared phantom. Nonetheless he pledged to keep trying, as many times as needed. We enjoyed three days peace. Then it started again. Objects displaced. Strange sounds. Mother's disembodied screams piercing the silence. The infestation seemed to spread. We have witnessed twelve entities now. Five arrived after sharing our account. Perhaps that was unwise, but we felt so alone. We needed someone to believe us. To help us. Now my uncle lies hospitalized, having rushed recklessly into the house one harrowing night. Even he heard Mother's cries echoing from that cursed dwelling. The neighbors avoid us too, frightened by unnatural forces they cannot comprehend. I apologize for keeping details vague, but this remains deeply painful. I appreciate you taking the time to understand our plight. Your support eases our isolation. Perhaps if I do not write again, it will mean this haunting has finally ended, and we are at peace.
By Liglis Rodríguez2 years ago in Horror
The Forbidden Clearing
The night was cold and moonless, the darkness swallowing the world around me as I ventured deeper into the dense, foreboding forest. The eerie silence was only broken by the sound of my own footsteps, which echoed ominously through the trees. I had always been drawn to the unknown, seeking the thrill of the supernatural, and tonight was no different. Little did I know, this would be a night I would never forget.
By Aaric Nilan2 years ago in Horror
The Art of Necromancy. Content Warning.
Introduction Necromancy, a term that has fascinated and terrified people throughout history, is the practice of communicating with the dead or manipulating the spirits of the deceased. Often portrayed in literature and popular culture as dark and sinister, necromancy has a rich and complex history that extends across cultures and centuries. In this article, we will explore the concept of necromancy, its historical roots, cultural variations, and its portrayal in modern media.
By Prince Ajavon (Ace)2 years ago in Horror
Of Mince and Madness
The most Northern, and one of the first, fire watch towers in Canada was built in 1882 in the Northwest Territories. At latitude 67.50857, longitude -128.32031, it was the second most Northerly regularly manned fire tower in the world, losing out on the first-place position only to the Orneojet tower in Northern Greenland.
By Bronson Fleet2 years ago in Horror
The Haunting of 112 Ocean Avenue: Amityville's Chilling Mysteries
In 1977, the world was introduced to the most infamous haunted house in history, famously located at 112 Ocean Avenue in the once-quiet suburb of Amityville, New York. The Amityville Horror, a book by Jay Anson, recounts the spine-chilling experiences of the Lutz family, who moved into this house a week before Christmas in 1975. Their unsettling encounters began subtly with inexplicable cold spots and mysterious odors. Yet, as time passed, the paranormal phenomena escalated, including levitations, demonic apparitions, and eerie footprints in the snow. They even called in a priest for an exorcism, which took a sinister turn. Within just 28 days of moving in, the Lutz family fled the house in terror, leaving behind their belongings. While the story claims to be true, skepticism abounds. However, the most chilling aspect of the tale is an undisputed fact: six people were brutally murdered in that very house a year prior to the Lutz family's arrival, a crime that remains shrouded in mystery.
By Perry Allen2 years ago in Horror
When the darkness calls
One! ho isscn1bbing dishes in front of that pond , Foushee shouted... Hearing her scream, her parents looked at the pond fron1the roof and saw that there was no one in the pond. They then took Foushee honle. This pond has a quota..every year it will attract one aninial to itself - be it human or animal; Folklore has it that the day the pond was cut in the year 1990, there were jungles and jungles all around, nlurders were going on. A mnd old woman was murdered and buried under this pond. Not only the nlad old woman, but many other bodies were buried. But that crazy old wonrnn did not harmanyone. Many have seen that crazy old woman; But that crazy old lady whom he doesn't see. When someone ishaving a bad tinle, or when someone is having a good time, that old lady can be seen.
By Md. Apple Mia2 years ago in Horror
The Architect's Nightmare
Edgar Allan Poe once referred to sleep as those “little slices of death.” He claimed to loathe them, and I tend to agree. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of being trapped inside your own mind, held down by invisible forces, and forced to watch yet another snuff film stitched together from the darkest corners of your psyche.
By Bradley Ramsey2 years ago in Horror
Un-Haunted House
The high-mileage car sputtered, bucked and coughed before giving up the ghost, stranding its occupants. Kevin, Marsha, and their two kids sat quietly for several minutes, trying to decide on their next move. The family stared out of the car windows at what looked like the set of a Hitchcock movie. A full moon illuminated the leafless trees lining the windy driveway, which led to a dilapidated Victorian-style house. It sat atop a hill, commanding the surrounding valley. None of the family were sure if it was the crisp October night air or the creepy surroundings that made them all shiver.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Horror
Ghosts of The Summit Hotel
Jane’s plane landed at Denver International with two large bumps as she had expected. The rule was turbulence in the air means a smooth landing, smooth flight means a bumpy landing. At least, that’s the way it always seemed to be for Jane. She recognized patterns in things very quickly which made the world more predictable and easier to navigate for her.
By Kai Wilson2 years ago in Horror
The Call of the Bells
I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans as I walk along the sidewalk. The frosty air does nothing to halt the perspiration on my palms. I see a man walking on the sidewalk across the street from me and I stop and stare as he passes. It’s just after midnight and that’s the first soul I’ve seen. He stops too, abruptly. Then his head snaps back, the back of his skull flat against the backs of his shoulders. His eyes are dark orbs and his jaw is slack. I shake my head, avert my eyes, and keep walking. I ignore the erratic thump of my heart.
By Tiffany Fairfield2 years ago in Horror
