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.
Alabama Reign
“There is no place like Alabama,'' I exclaimed as I walked into the tavern at the corner of Mill and Dockery road. The dreary eyed patrons canceled all conversation and began to stare. I’m totally drenched from head to toe as I made my way to the bar. With every step, my galoshes leave a puddle of disfigured footprints on the wooden boards supporting the 90 year old structure. The bar seemed to move further from me as I approached. I can hear the snickering and whispering from the old men who reaped aged beer and cheap whiskey. Finally, I secured my corner seat at the end of the bar and yelled, “Butch, the usual.” As Butch slid the cold IPA my direction, I gestured for him to come closer, so I could unload the woe’s of my day. “Wow! Mack, it looks like you’ve been to hell and back”, Butch shouted with a devilish smirk. I hesitantly responded, “Shut up Jerk, and listen to what I’ve been through, my friend’. By this time, the patrons had drawn seats and were pushing to grab a position to listen in.
By Lamont Renzo Bracy4 years ago in Horror
Submergence
It began with a black stain on the kitchen floor. No larger than a golf ball in diameter, the inky blotch was smeared on the tile like a tiny handprint. Despite its off-putting appearance, it gave off no foul scent, nor did it seem particularly viscous or slimy. It looked like a small splatter of dark, dirty water, so it should have been no trouble whatsoever to clean up.
By Roy Svensson4 years ago in Horror
Eyes Ashore
She stared at the waves, flowing back and forth onto the shore. The tears brought her peace, as though his hand were still on her shoulder. A cold, spectral fog crept up from the corners of the window, obscuring her view of the lake and forcing her to pull her blanket back up around her shoulders. She took one last sip of tea, set her cup down and headed outside.
By Patrick Poulin4 years ago in Horror
Lady of the Lake
My favorite part of the summer has always been staying at my Uncle Max’s lake house. While he and his family took extravagant vacations to Bali or the Maldives, my family would move into his mansion of a house for two weeks to house sit for them and have a cost effective family vacation of our own.
By Michaella Marshall4 years ago in Horror
Black Ponds
The water is still. No ripples disturb the black mirror surface. A vast inky spill in the middle of the dark green expanse. The green is haunting as if the beauty of each tree and bush is tainted from drinking up the water of the forest pond. No sign of infection or illness spots any leaf, trunk or branch, though each tree seams to reach from the soaked soil. Arms of the black expanse ready to grab and infect the very air. The moisture that hangs dense, chokes and strangles, no refreshing breath is found here. The area is mostly untouched by man, other than the small trails and signs that surround the pond and give passage to a clearing of grass and weeds on the south side of the lake.
By Thomias Bruch4 years ago in Horror
The Lake of Sanctuary
In the deepest forest of Massachusetts, near a ghost town called Sanctuary, there dwells a lake. A lake that holds terrible and dark entities, only a few know and a foolish some wish to know. Locals who are aware of the ghastly body of water try to warn visitors to never go there when it’s mist covers it like a blanket of dread, for when the mist appears, death will always be the aftermath.
By Tay Gallagher4 years ago in Horror
Push and Pull
I feel the wire ridge of her bra underneath my palm. The stiffness of it is pressing into me. Her heartbeat is just below my fingers, a steady soft drum. My forefinger rests on her bare skin. It’s clammy and cool from the damp air around us. All I have to do is push. Just once. A whisper of a brush against her. Barely any effort. I test the force needed, and she laughs, finishing on a sigh. I push harder this time. She takes a step back into a puddle, giggling now at the slight stumble. Her feet slip easily over the edge, almost willingly. At the last second, her fingers bend to claw into my wrist, but it’s too late. The giggle turns into a panicked shriek. And that’s it. She’s gone.
By Sarah DuPerron4 years ago in Horror
Hollow Man
She wanders to him. The Hollow Man tucked away in the woods. The serenade of his violin rides high on the wind, leading her onward. Her bare feet, white in the shadow, pad over rocks and bramble. She doesn't wince or whimper. Her eyes staring ahead, veiled by the warbling notes of the violin. Her movements move in time with the playing of the Hollow Man measured, heels just grazing over the grass for a moment.
By Kate M. Sine 4 years ago in Horror
