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 Killer Box
To Whom It May Concern: I have enclosed the infamous “killer pig box.” I am a sergeant with the Denver County Police in Colorado, and I have followed this brown paper box through several cases in different states. We honestly don’t know what to make of it or if it actually has any connection to the deaths. Being the lead paranormal research group in the country, I am hoping you can put this rumor to rest of the killer box. Here is the known history about the box:
By Jessica Mathews5 years ago in Horror
The Foul Smell of Whores (finale)
"Put it down; don't touch it!" I yelled to him. My pleas fell on deaf ears, and this glittering diamond became a spiked sphere that shot its quills into his eyes. A shrill scream pierced my eardrums as he tried his best to pull the awls out of his eyes. The blood trickled down his cheeks and the streams of crimson intertwined with each other, creating a series of eights down his neck. It was beautiful--in an odd sort of way. I must admit, there was an art to murder, and though I could not fathom taking a living soul, a part of me desired to administer fine strokes upon a milk-white canvas. He could not pull the objects from his eyes; he resorted to taking his pinky fingers and proceeded to dig like a dog. All I could remember was the sound of grunting and the intense exhalation of breath. I prayed that shock would induce coma, leaving him dead in his slumber. Unfortunately, there was no such peace for him, and his fingers dug deep into his oculus and pulled these thorns from below.
By Cory DeAn Cowley5 years ago in Horror
Fatal Weekend (Part 2)
She started by crashing on the bed but ended up on the hardwood floor laying on a pillow. The place seems a bit organized other than the clothes o spread out everywhere along with the unmade bed. We enter the height of the afternoon as the sun prepares to go down within the next hour. She wakes up with a tribble of drool while wiping the sleep from her eyes.
By Ace Howell5 years ago in Horror
Pick Your Poison
Pick Your Poison By
By Jamey O'Donnell5 years ago in Horror
They Hunger
Sta It was rainy and dreary that October morning. It was a Tuesday and I had been on the road non-stop for the last day or so. I made a point of carrying a calendar with me in my endless trek. Even though the year for which the calendar was actually intended had passed several months ago, there were some mini-calendars on the back cover spanning an additional two years. Somehow keeping count of the passing days helped to keep me sane. Funny thing time is though. Did it really matter anymore? With no need to set an alarm, with no appointments to keep, without others waiting for you, did it even really exist anymore? Surely the sun still rose and set over our festering world, but without a title to attach to the day, how can one prove it existed? How many others were out there just like me, traversing the endless void of what once was? Did any of them bother to care what day it was? Did they even have any idea what year it was at this point? Well, I knew, and that made all of the difference. It was time itself that was at stake as man’s greatest invention to be lost. Without accounting for the passage of time, you can really only live from day to day. If, somehow, the timeline could be maintained, maybe, just maybe what little was left of life could also be maintained. My pondering, philosophizing mind wandered, and my car followed shortly behind, meandering slightly off to the grass beside the roadway. Jarred back to my journey I righted my car back into a smooth course. My previous musings on time brought me back to the reality that it had been quite some time since I had last put gas in the tank. Glancing down at the gas gauge I wasn’t surprised to see that the tank was nearly empty. This wouldn’t be a problem for long though; I had made sure to stock up on fuel before I took to the highway. It was actually a pleasant trip so far. The main interstates were ghost towns at this point. Sure some of the on and off ramps to more populated areas were a nightmarish parking lot full of cars, trucks, SUV’s, and even a motorcycle or scooter, all funneled into a lane or two at best . These means of conveyance would be coffins for their former owners had it not been for the fact that they got up and wandered off only moments after they had been half-devoured where they sat. Once you were actually driving across the open road, however, you could go for miles and miles before even coming across an abandoned car. Even so, you never really wanted to spend too much time on a roadside pit stop. Invariably they would come. First in slow trickles, gradually working their way, one by one; they would come. Slinking through wooded stretches separating the road from the neighborhoods that ran parallel to it, they would soon find you. They were never too far, and they would find you. It started with one or two, but they would draw more to you. Before long they would arrive in numbers, and even then, more would find their way until you had no choice but to run or be counted among their ranks.
By Robert Marshall C.5 years ago in Horror
Order Of the Heart
Mary Walker sat as the truck bounced down the road, quickly approaching the ageing farmhouse and barn. She had not been here for over a year, but it felt like a lifetime, so much had changed since she bought her last dozen eggs outside of a barn. The pandemic came and seemed to go away until the new variant seemed to create the living death.
By Bruce Curle `5 years ago in Horror
NOBODY WANTS A PIECE OF THE CHOCOLATE CAKE
No one knew what was inside the old barn. It sat there for centuries, yet everyone was afraid to go inside. Urban legends will have you shaking in your pants after you hear about all the murders. No one even gets close to the barn, for it is said if you do, your blood will be shed.
By Beautiful Intelligence5 years ago in Horror
The Barn Yip
A lone figure trudged through the soaked gully. The droplets bounced off his rough leather overcoat, the limits of its thick hide being tested. Protecting his shoulder-length hair was a leather Akubra. It wasn’t too necessary, after weeks in the bush his hair had the same greasy waterproofing as a duck’s feathers.
By Scott Haller5 years ago in Horror
