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.
Nightmare Date
The creaking of floorboards and the patter of rain to roof makes for an eerily comfortable setting as I amble aimlessly through my apartment. One ear on my tabby cat twitches as I check the refrigerator for the umpteenth time that night. I stare, disappointed once again at the contents and sigh dejectedly. My cat, Leroy, judges me as I contemplate dinner. After some deliberation, I make the decision to hit up the 24-hour diner for food and quality school time. With online classes, work can quickly get away from you if you aren’t careful and my grades aren’t going to improve themselves anytime soon.
By Taylor Harden5 years ago in Horror
New to Marsh Cove
"Left...left...left." Addy sighed while swiping away profile after profile on her dating app. "Everyone's so boring here Turnip." She said as she turned to her hamster, who could not have appeared less interested in her melodrama. He was curled tightly in a ball lying in a nice nest of bedding in his cage. As if annoyed by Addy's moaning, he stood up, turned to face away from her, and curled back up.
By Rochelle Gordon5 years ago in Horror
Hush
The driveway is long and winding; knobby, like the spine of a crooked old man. Clara can’t see the house from the road. She double checks the address on the crinkled piece of paper the man at the cafe had slid toward her across the counter. What was his name again? Art. No, it was Arthur. She remembers him correcting the barista with a small huff of annoyance.
By Nicole Porcello5 years ago in Horror
The Doors
”I can’t believe you’re late,” he shouted as I rushed through the door. I tried to think of a lie, something witty, but he was just a glorified doorman. No need for a real response, so I smiled and started jogging down the corridor. So many doors. The main hallway was lined with at least ten doors on either side, each leading to another hall...and more doors. The building was literally a maze. “Built to keep out intruders,” I was told the first time I was here. I smirked everytime I repeated that lie to visitors. I learned quickly the real reason for the labyrinthine layout. I scanned the end of the main hall before rounding the corner. “Left, right, left” I thought as I lengthened my stride. The second hallway, longer than the first and lined with more doors. Each door was a dark maroon with black symbols in the center. Raven, wolf, heart, rose...There were as many symbols as there were doors. I still didn’t know what all the symbols meant. Only my symbol. The snake. I was running full speed now, tearing the seams of my pants. It didn’t matter, they would be off soon enough anyway. “One more hallway” I said to myself as I rounded the last corner. Now I began to slow. Something seemed, off. There was a scent in the air. I inhaled deeply, but was repulsed, almost gagging. “Cardamom”? I recognized it from the Indian restaurant I frequented, but was confused since no food was allowed inside the building. My heart rate slowed to match my footsteps. I took another whiff. I smelled oil. I began to visualize it in my head. I paused mid-step, eyes fully closed, and stuck my nose up before sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “Gun oil”. The thought came to me in the image of a black revolver. I was almost to the door. My door. I ran my hand across the black lacquer logo as if feeling for a pulse and listened. I could hear movement inside. I calmed myself and slowly put my key in the door. As I opened it the blended scents of cardamom and gun oil overwhelmed me. It was pitch black inside, but I didn’t need my eyesight. “Follow your nose” I repeated in my head as I closed the door and stepped inside. I took off my shoes one at a time, slowly and deliberately, making sure to be as silent as I could. As if the quietness would help my now heightened sense of smell. I stepped out of my pants and unbuttoned my shirt. My eyes were closed, but I could “see” the smells. It felt like the first time all over again. I began moving forward. Whatever was moving before was still now, but the smell made it impossible to hide. I was tip-toeing towards it. Deeply inhaling and then exhaling like Darth Vader. I wanted to talk for some reason. I wanted to say something, anything to let my presence be known. All I could muster was a slow satisfying growl. Then movement. Before I could turn towards the sound, the lights in the room came on. I launched myself towards the switch and grabbed the man standing there. I remember the look on his face. It wasn’t terror. Not quite. It was more disbelief. As I picked him up and threw him across the room I accidentally brushed the lights back off. Then, darkness again.
By Bobby Steele5 years ago in Horror
A Blood Wine Date
Alexandria, what a strong powerful name. I stare at her as she introduces herself at my front door. She then mumbles something about how she should have brought a bottle of wine. She is right, it would have been the polite thing to do. Although, I did not expect much from a woman who accepted an invitation for a first date at someone’s home she has never met, and whom she has never even talked to on the phone. We had only texted for maybe two hours this morning.
By Portia Louise5 years ago in Horror
Merlot
Siobhan is not the least bit self-conscious as her sweetheart blouse plummets and reveals a jaw-dropping tease to the already transfixed audience. After all, the wardrobe malfunction was planned. Siobhan casually adjusts herself and continues to belt out a soulful rendition of 'Ball and Chain' that would bring even Janis Joplin to tears. As the music pauses, Siobahn croons the a cappella coda as an emotionally wrecked spirit that has had the heavens stripped from her. The music crashes back in and then outros. She drops her mic. Karaoke night at The Bauhaus has never seen any performance like this and the spellbound audience applauds, whistles, and whoops with exuberance.
By Carl DeScott5 years ago in Horror
Low on Merlot
I swore to my friends, all two of them, that if I ever found myself single again I'd be single for the rest of my life. Two years after my divorce, however, loneliness had wrapped its icy grip around every fiber of my being. Two years of being the fifth wheel, two years of cuddling with pillows at night, and, believe it or not, but two years of actually being jealous of hearing my friends talk about their relationship problems forced me back onto the dating scene with a vengeance.
By Troy Jamail Thomas5 years ago in Horror
Breeding Time
The bar where I meet him is called Chances. Whoever designed it probably self-identifies as an artist whose work is informed by explorations into nuveaux-modernism. The color scheme is dominated by blues, greys, cheap brushed metal made to look expensive, frosted glass, the dark green of several sansevieria and horsetail plants surrounded by small obsidian decorative stones. The floor is cold, hard concrete. Thin matte-black light fixtures hang from the ceiling like spiders from their webs. And although there are lights everywhere, there isn’t nearly enough lighting. Sports is the only thing on every flatscreen. Drinks are laughably overpriced. It’s the kind of place a man in a designer suit brings a date when he has one goal in mind. A wave of relief washes over me because I have the exact same goal in mind.
By Arthur Maturo5 years ago in Horror
