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.
Inheritance
She sat at the kitchen table slowly sipping her freshly brewed coffee, her fingers flicking through the pages of the little black book once again. She had received it as part of her inheritance from her grandmother, £20,000 and this blank book. The leather cover was cracked and peeling like old skin, but there was nothing else of significance about the book apart from the fact that her grandmother had been seen with it not long before she had disappeared in mysterious circumstances. The police had no leads and years later they made the decision to close the case, assuming she must have died, and her body lost or taken.
By Jo Skinner5 years ago in Horror
Used-to-be-Arthur and the little black book.
It was quarter past three on a Thursday afternoon, and Arthur was dead at his table in his usual diner. Surprisingly, for the fact that he was (emphasis on past tense) an otherwise healthy forty-six year old, it took two hours for anyone to discover that he was no longer as healthy as he had been. And when someone did, it was not the someone Arthur might have hoped for it to be. It was not, as Arthur may have wanted, a paramedic. Or even a member of the faux-jovial staff that always pretended to remember his face.
By Sophia Shearwood5 years ago in Horror
It's All in The Eyes
The lights were glaringly bright, bouncing off the blank screens wherever she turned in the stark office. She caught sight of her reflection and spun hurriedly back to the one lit screen, preferring the horror it imparted to the wide eyed, drawn countenance she would not have believed was herself.
By Gina Harmon5 years ago in Horror
Secrets In The Rafters
Cole stepped out into the cool evening air, having just laid the kids in bed. He lit a cigarette and let out a long sigh, followed by an even longer drag on another nail in the coffin. Looking out at the stars, Cole felt a moment of peace, followed by the insignificance that had hung around him like a cloak all his life. When nothing but the cotton filter and a small glowing cherry was left, he tossed it into the snow and grabbed the mail out of the box. Walking inside, where the light was better, he sat at the kitchen table next to his laptop that displayed the beginnings of a story he would never finish.
By shane foshee5 years ago in Horror
Déjà Vu
It’s 3am—and here I am, stuck in the same dream as the night prior. I never asked to be in this place but my mind, whenever restless, casts me into the pit of this nightmare. An evening that grows into a deep indigo that stains the sky. The howls of a strong wind roaring behind me. Lush Western Hemlocks rustle in perfect synchronization around me and at the foot of these gigantic trees—there I stand.
By teva jenkins5 years ago in Horror
THE OUTSTRETCHED HAND
There is hardly anything alive left. Except insects. Their proliferation is actually quite staggering. The vegetation grew exponentially lush in the past few years. Sometimes I can see glimpses of a few birds flying by, but since I don't have any control over my head movements, I can’t really look at them properly.
By Francis Ouellette5 years ago in Horror
'Annie's Book' by Hannah Gemmell.
Fresh rays of sun shines through the cracks in my blind, crossing paths with my eyes- its morning. I live alone with my golden retriever, Holly. It is a friendly neighbourhood. The highest forms of crimes we have is the occasional theft or drug use in an isolated house. Stereotypically, everyone knows everyone, at least at a superficial level. Most people like everyone. One of the few ostracised members of this society is my quiet neighbour Annie. I am not aware of her last name. She has lived next door since I moved in 5 years ago. She is older, enjoys her own company, friendly but people see her as odd. Her appearance is typically dishevelled, she is covered in loose, dated clothing. Her style is strongly practical, dull-toned items. Her overall aura is earthy. I do not see anyone visit her. Apart from the subtle friendship we have managed to develop over the years, over the top of the sectioning garden fence, others have taken her perceived abnormal low interest in her image and her preference for her own sole time, as painting her with a ‘weird old lady on the corner’ palette. Predictably, this eventually hindered potential friendships outside of ours, to be built. Even our friendship- comparing it to others, the quality of it is a fraction of the connection I have in comparison of other friends. Our friendship is crafted with minor conversations with petite detail- like I said, I do not even know her last name. The way she is, identifies that she is a very private (arguably, secretive) person, who seems to not help, on her end of the friendship- building process.
By Hannah Louise Gemmell5 years ago in Horror
