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 Haunting at Blackwood Manor
In the heart of the misty Scottish Highlands, nestled deep within a forest untouched by time, there stood a foreboding mansion known as Blackwood Manor. Its ominous presence cast a shadow over the landscape, and whispers of its dark history sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest souls in the nearby village of Glenmore. The tales told in hushed voices around flickering fires told of unspeakable horrors and a curse that had plagued the Blackwood family for generations.
By Moses Mukuka2 years ago in Horror
Did I Lock the Door? . Content Warning.
I had just moved to New York City. I got a job in Midtown in Manhattan, some typical executive assistant position making just enough to live here, but not enough to enjoy it. My roommates were nice enough though, both slightly older girls than me, who was fresh out of college. Anna, lived in a downstairs studio that connected to the two of us upstairs. She bartended in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Shannon, the upstairs roommate worked for a non-profit, something to do with the city parks she told me. They welcomed me with open arms and wine. Telling me about the city and all the fun to be had. Once I was all moved in, we all settled into went on our own schedules.
By J.D. Brooks2 years ago in Horror
The Haunting of Blackwood Manor
The hunting blackwood manor The wind howled through the old trees surrounding Blackwood Manor, sending a foreboding chill through the bones of anyone who dared approach. The mansion has stood for centuries on the outskirts of the small, secluded town of Willowbrook, and its dark silhouette is a constant reminder of the past. Few ventured into its depths, and even those who never returned. Emily Saunders is a young and curious journalist who has always been drawn to the macabre and mysterious. Ever since she was a child, she had heard legends and stories about Blackwood Manor, strange ghosts and eerie sounds that echoed in the night. But the recent disappearance of local historian Professor Robert Thornton piques her interest, leading her to the doorstep of a creepy mansion. As Emily approached the imposing gates of her manor, Blackwood, she felt uneasy. The wrought iron gate creaked open of its own accord, as if to invite them in. With each step she took toward her mansion, the air grew colder and the sounds of the outside world faded into an eerie silence. Inside the mansion, Emily's footsteps echoed in the dimly lit hallway. On the wall hung a picture of my ancestors with a dusty face, and I watched their every move with my eyes. The air was heavy with rotten odor, and every corner was covered with cobwebs. Emily's heart raced as she made her way deeper into the house, determined to find out her truth behind Professor Thornton's disappearance. At the library, Emily finds her first clue. The room was filled with shelves of old books, the leather-bound spines cracked and faded. As I scanned through the titles, the title ``Secrets of Blackwood Manor'' caught my eye, so I grabbed it from the bookshelf and began flipping through it, discovering an account of strange events dating back centuries. According to the book, the mansion was built on an ancient burial site and the original owner, Sir Nathaniel Blackwood, is said to have engaged in dark and forbidden rituals. It is said that his thirst for knowledge led him to make a pact with an evil creature living in the depths of the mansion. As I continued reading, Emily's fascination turned to discomfort. The report details the disappearances of countless people who have entered the mansion over the years, all connected to Lord Blackwood's occult research. Professor Thornton was the latest victim drawn to the mansion in search of answers. Emily continued exploring her mansion, determined to solve the mystery. It seemed like every room she entered had its own secrets. In her master bedroom she found Lord Blackwood's own diary. His entries spoke of his growing obsession with beings he summoned, beings he called "Shadows of the Abyss." While reading, Emily suddenly felt a chill run through the room and felt a presence behind her. She slowly turned around and saw a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. His eyes burned with an eerie intensity. Before she could react, the figure attacked her and the world went black. Emily wakes up in a cold, damp cell in the basement of the mansion. The air was filled with the smell of putrefaction, and walls seemed to close in around them. She knew she wasn't alone. The monster, Shadow of the Abyss, claimed her as her latest victim. **Continue...**
By Ayon ahmed2 years ago in Horror
“The Curse of Bhangarh: Trapped in the Haunted Shadows”
The moon was high in the sky in Rajasthan, and it made the city of Bhangarh look spooky with its light. The city that used to be prosperous is now destroyed, with its tall buildings and falling apart palace reminding people of a disliked past. As the sun went down, the atmosphere in Bhangarh was different, and the air seemed to become denser with a creepy feeling.
By ScribbleSage2 years ago in Horror
" The Day I Entered a Broken House in Our Village at the Age of 12"
Introduction When I was just 12 years old, my village was a place of wonder and mystery. It was nestled amidst lush green fields and surrounded by towering trees, creating a serene and picturesque setting. Every nook and cranny of our village held stories waiting to be unraveled, and every day brought with it new adventures. But there was one particular day that would forever be etched in my memory – the day I entered a broken house that stood at the edge of our village.
By MD.Likhon Hossain2 years ago in Horror
The Attachment
Mena's black boots glistened from the petite puddles scattered on the old and cracked pavement that had turned black from the night's rain. She maneuvered between fellow pedestrians and pranced around the scattered pools of water that shimmered from ambient hues of gold and white light with a splash of blues, greens, or reds from the restaurants and bars of the French Quarter.
By Melissa Muhs2 years ago in Horror
The Haunting Refrain: A Symphony of Eternal Torment
The moon hung low in the essay- black sky, expiring creepy murk through the elderly forestland. Thick, gnarled trees brewed like cadaverous elephants , their branches reaching out like cadaverous galettes ready to catch any unknowing vagabond. It was a situation where indeed the bold defied not foot , for the whispers of the locals spoke of a curse that had chanced the timberland. One cataclysmal night, a group of audacious buddies concluded to ersatz the portentous tales. Sarah, the fearless line, had heard keys of a long- lost air, a song that could grant inextinguishable life. Eager to try the terminations of their courage, they set out into the heart of the haunted forestland. The air grew colder as they ventured deeper into the timberland, and the formerly asking path came crooked and grown. A sense of foreboding crept over them like a cloak, but they pressed on. Sarah, a blessed musician, carried her violin, ready to play the forgotten air. As they shifted through the ghostly forestland, they stumbled upon an elderly, moss- covered monument well. It sat alone, girdled by an creepy stillness. Sarah, propelled by an inexplicable appetite, approached the fountain. The others followed in stillness as she ventilated her violin to her chin and began to play. The creepy air filled the air, transferring jitters down their chines. The notes sounded to resonate with the very soul of the forestland. Leaves rustled, and murk danced, but nothing prepared them for what happened next. Arising from the fountain was a figure draped in tattered, ethereal robes. Its face was obscured by darkness, but its eyes glowed with an unearthly light. The being extended a cadaverous phase toward Sarah, who lasted to play the haunting tune, unqualified to stop herself." Who are you?" she asked, her voice pulsing." I am the guardian of the forgotten air," the figure replied in a voice like a chorus of whispers." I have anticipated for centuries for someone to play it formerly more." The figure's phase touched the violin, and Sarah's galettes shifted of their own accord, playing the air with an unearthly indulgence. The forestland sounded to come alive, and the very trees swayed in time with the music. As the final notes faded into the night, the figure spoke again." Your letch for inextinguishable life has awakened me, but there is a freight to be paid." Sarah's buddies followed in monstrosity as the figure passed into her casket, pulling forth a spectral, palpitating heart. Sarah screamed in agony, unqualified to rebut. The figure placed the heart into a glass crash and sealed it with a cork. The forestland fell silent formerly more." Your heart now belongs to the air," the figure intoned." You are granted inextinguishable life, but you shall ever remain its prisoner." Sarah's body sat motionless, her soul netted within the air, forced to play it for all perpetuity. Her buddies, horrified and defenseless to support, fled from the cursed forestland, the creepy air echoing in their smarts. Times passed, and the mind of that fateful night visited Sarah's buddies. They tried to forget, but the air remained in their conceits, a haunting keepsake of their portion in Sarah's murder. Some left megacity, while others sought comfort in remedy, but the air's grip on their souls noway waned. One by one, they penetrated appointments to a mysterious gathering in the heart of the forestland, each signed with Sarah's name. They knew they had no choice but to return to the situation of their agonies. As they sat before the same well, the figure cropped formerly more, its eyes glowing with an inextinguishable belly. It demanded that they each play the air and surrender their centrals to the cursed tune, icing Sarah would nowise be alone in her inextinguishable murder. One by one, they played the creepy air, their centrals tattered from their cases and sealed in glass concussions. As their bodies fell breathless to the ground, their souls joined Sarah's in the endless symphony. The forestland, now darker and further crooked than ever, absorbed their life force, and the air grew stronger with each transitory time. It praised through the trees, drawing in farther unknowing souls, perpetuating the curse for all time. And accordingly, the forgotten air played on, a terrifying requiem that praised through the cursed forestland, soliciting those who defied to seek the secrets of inextinguishable life. Those who entered were ever locked in a noway- ending agony, their centrals stolen and their souls netted in an endless symphony of monstrosity. The legend of the haunted forestland grew, and none would ever refuse to enter again, for fear of getting another casualty of the forgotten air.
By Sanaf Ahmed2 years ago in Horror
