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.

How safe is your water?
While misinformation can lead to embarrassing situations, it probably won’t harm you beyond dampening your ego a bit, especially when a friend corrects you, usually in a social situation.
By Anton Crane4 years ago in Horror
The Depths of Dread
The lake buried deep in the woods cast an icy fog that clogged its labyrinth guardian of ash and elm with dense mist. The last, dying motes of daylight fled, and a blanket of black rushed overhead to fill the void, hiding any light that dared shine. But three, silver fire pits cast a meager scarlet through the grove as they vomited their noxious fumes. Jodi stood centered among them—naked and exposed, choking back the wet cough that plagued her. Bumps raised across bare skin, and the dim reds only deepened the shadows of bones that bided their time to break from her frail form.
By JR Hall4 years ago in Horror
There’s Something in This Swamp
Something slithers in the night. You flash your light on it, only to see two glowing orbs staring silently back at you. “Shouldn’t be out here,” Jeg says, “Bayou ain’t safe.”
By Zo Grimmwood4 years ago in Horror
Shallow-Wood
Prologue: Over the past century, a story of either in beliefs of paranormal events, whispers of gossip spreads of unknown supernatural’s or just of fictional nonsense has since haunted and impacted the village of Shallow-Wood. The village was quiet, humble, and antiquated yet murky, obscure, and mysterious, as some of the natives of the countryside described it as creepy and advised those not of local to avoid it.
By CJ Enterprise4 years ago in Horror
FOG
Growing up, there were alot of stories surrounding the old swamp on Milton rd. Some say it’s been around since before our town came about. But others say it just showed up one day, out of the blue. For as long as I can remember though there has been a fog that blanketed that entire area. People say a lot of the town's folk have gone missing over the years.
By KingWolf4 years ago in Horror
The Beast
The Beast-Hiding Inside You Dan Holley had been planning a surprise for his new bride for months. Finally, the surprise was about to be revealed to her in a few minutes. The fall day had been crisp and cool, but now the sun was setting in the western sky. Dan pulled into the driveway that led to the victorian style home. The house had recently seen renovations to its old charm but still held a secret the young couple didn’t know. As he helped her into the house, she was utterly speechless. The interior decorating was precisely what she loved. Making their way to the back entrance, they noticed the sunlight glistening on the water as it began to disappear on the horizon slowly.
By Gary B4 years ago in Horror
The Corpse of the Beast
Professor Red Wilmington was a woman of her word. Always had been, and always would be. So when she stood in between a group of shivering scholars in wetsuits, pointing to the center of an ancient grave map for Lake Naring, we knew she wasn’t there to waste our time.
By Dreux D4 years ago in Horror
Horror at the Lake
The night I arrived at my Uncle Jersey’s small, somewhat secluded house in the woods, I had expected my uncle to already be settling in for the evening. I was supposed to arrive at his home in the early afternoon with enough time to take his boat out on the miniature lake he had on his property. Well, he calls it a miniature lake. I think of it as a large pond, but my uncle likes to proudly refer to it as the Lac du Jersey. Whether that’s proper French or not, I couldn’t tell you, and I doubt my uncle’s knowledge on the subject surpasses my own, but there you go. Any way you approached the pond, you were liable to trip over a worn wooden post that bore the name, and my uncle had painted the moniker in bold, black letters on each of the floating docks along the pond’s edge.
By Jeanie Breiling4 years ago in Horror
The grass is green, but moss is greener
“Come on sport, don’t trail behind!” I shout to my youngest son Damian, 7 going on 17. He looks up at me, his small hands gripping a sword half his size, and smiles that mischievous way he always does when he’s up to no good. I look around me for some form of defence as he runs toward me, and raise my own sword as his swings wildly towards my ribs. I respond with my own swipe at his legs, but the nimble squirt skips over the blow. He slashes, and the blade rips straight through my stomach. I fall to the ground letting out a painful shriek. He stands his foot on my chest, lifting his sword high into the air, and laughs the laugh of glory.
By Dan Hoy4 years ago in Horror
The Hunted
Rob let out a sigh of relief after hanging up his cell phone, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Was it relief? Or contentment? He took a moment on the side of the road to appreciate the line of sugar maples in the distance from the drivers seat of his car. Their leaves were bursting with crimson at the centre, and fiery amber at the edges, perfect for this new new assignment he'd just been given. He was thankful for the opportunity to photograph the backcountry, but more so relieved that it would get him out of another dreadful hunting season with his brothers and father. That was it, that feeling he couldn't quite place. It arrived in his mind without warning and his mouth puckered at the sour feeling. As if to shake it from his thoughts, he started the car and turned back onto the road again. He tried to think positively, to keep his mind on the new task, just as his therapist had recommended. As Rob drove towards home he held images of red foxes, discarded moose antlers off the beaten paths of the woods, and conjured up an image of a migrating pine warbler. He'd never been able to photograph one, but the thought of their bursting yellow faces camouflaged with the oaks shedding their leaves allowed him a moment of safety from his other thoughts.
By Christina Hunter4 years ago in Horror
Echoes Of The Land
Each star that stood out, I’d given them a name while laying on the flowered, thin sheet. Staring into the lovely night skies had become my favorite pastime. It was something I like to think of as a space that I could enjoy while being alone. It allowed me to reminisce about my dad’s life before death. I’ve always loved nights when hundreds of stars filled the sky, the same stars that my dad used to tell me stories about when I was but a small child. It had become a precious bonding time for us when we would camp in the backyard of grandma’s house. It started off with dad teaching me how to put our tent together but after a while, I was the one reteaching him. He had Alzheimers, it progressed pretty quickly, unfortunately ending his life too soon. He taught me how to make a fire with sticks and how to filter water, along with other things that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. It was always easy for me to sleep when I was in the tent, somehow I felt closer to him. Every once in a while, I would take the tent and other camping necessities out back to continue the tradition that we started. Sometimes, I swear that I could hear a faint whisper of his voice. Most people would probably be scared but knowing that he was still near, watching me, gave me a sense of peace. Grandma owned a huge white house and 130 acres of land, which included a small lake that had become every kid from around the way, go-to spot to chill the summer’s heat.
By Laydee B Writes4 years ago in Horror
Suicide Lake
Like most days in Golingbrook it was rainy, damp and foggy. I have felt the same coldness seep into my bones almost every single day since my family moved here 3 years ago. I hate it here, I despise this depressing weather. My friends seem to hate it as well, but at least we have each other.
By JPWrites.24 years ago in Horror