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.
She Disappeared at 2:47AM : I Still Hear Her Knocking
They say the body gives up before the mind does. I learned that the night Emma disappeared. It was 2:47AM when I woke up to the soft tap-tap-tap at our front door. Rhythmic. Unmistakable. She always knocked like that—three short, one long. Like a nervous heartbeat trying to keep time.
By Sheraz Khan7 months ago in Horror
Life Needs More Popcorn . Content Warning.
The winding road seemed to last forever as darkness enveloped his black convertible. It had been an unusually cool day and now it was an even colder night. Empty beer cans rattled around the vehicle each time he shifted gears while accelerating uphill. They had remained tucked away under the driver's seat until tonight.
By MICHELLE SHAAY 7 months ago in Horror
Residue . Content Warning.
"I exist in two places: here, and where you left me." — Margaret Atwood • There it goes again. It starts with a frightening silence. Then… slam! "Jesus!" my mother screams, like she's just realized how close she is to actually meeting Him. We run again. My brothers dive under the bed. My sister clings to my mom, as though she's thinking "maybe this time, she'd actually go, and I can go with her." I don't hide anymore. I just listen. Because one day, I'll need to remember every sound to explain why I don't sleep. There's kerosene in the air tonight. I can smell it. That awful smell. The kind of smell that doesn't leave, even when the windows are open. She's soaked in it. Hair, face, arms. Her eyes sting. Her voice cracks. And the match, that cursed match… won't light. His hands are too wet. It should be terrifying but he's laughing. Tells me how easy it is to end a life while my mother burns in tears and chemicals in the other room. And I cry. For the first time in a short while, I cry. "Why are you crying?" He stares at me like I've ruined the moment. "Stop crying." he says. That was it. The moment, I wanted to die. Not from fear. Not from pain. But because the match didn't light. And that meant it would happen again tomorrow.
By Oath of the fallen star7 months ago in Horror
Shadows of Blackwood Manor. AI-Generated.
Shadow of Blackwood Manor The wind howled through the dense forest as Claire pressed deeper into the shadows of Blackwood Manor. The mansion had stood abandoned for nearly a century, its once-grand facade now crumbling under the weight of creeping ivy and the passage of time. Locals whispered stories of dark secrets, vanished families, and restless spirits that prowled its halls. But Claire, a determined urban explorer, was drawn by curiosity stronger than fear.
By shah afridi7 months ago in Horror
"THE GIRL BENEATH THE BED"
The Girl Beneath the Bed by [Aamir muhammad] Genre: Psychological Horror/Supernatural Word Count Ray had always hated the sound of lullabies. Not the kind sung gently by loving parents, but the eerie kind; out of tune, whispered through walls, vibrated like teeth on glass. He remembered them from childhood, the same words, the same melody, seeping through the floorboards in the middle of the night, "Lay your head, no need to cry... soon you'll sleep beneath the sky..." He would scream, which would cause his parents to race into his room, only to find nothing beneath his bed. I'ts just your imagination Holy Cow, Ray's father would say, more annoyed than concerned, "No more stories." Ray knew what he heard. What he saw. The girl. She lived under his bed. He could never quite describe her, only that her hair was always wet, sticking to her pale face like wet moss and her eyes... they never blinked. Just stared. Ray was thirty when he returned, after both parents passed away. In their will they left the house to him, a shabby suburban two-story home with peeling yellow paint and a lawn that was already dying. The memories were stale but still somewhat manageable. He decided he would sell the house quickly and just move on. The first night back he didn't sleep. It wasn't so much the quiet that was keeping him up and nervous, it was the feeling; a kind of anxiety like someone was under the bed again, watching. He laughed it off. Too many memories. Too much dust. Until heheard the lullaby. Soft, like a breath blowing through years of tired pipes. He froze. No TV. No radio. No noise but the sound. “Lay your head, no need to cry…” said the sweet, soft lullaby. His therapist, Dr. Marsh, says it's unresolved trauma. "You were a sensitive child, Ray," she said in a Zoom session earlier that week. "Sometimes traumas come back up when we begin to experience an environment similar to the source. Your brain can start projecting the old days into today." He wished he could accept that as the explanation. But he also knew one other thing: the humming only started after the clock read midnight, and only after he had turned off all the lights. On the fourth night, things escalated. After drifting off, he woke up to fresh scratch marks on the wood floor, just under the bed. Not on the bed frame, on the wood. Four, relatively parallel lines. Fresh. Fingernail scratches, maybe. But there are no fingernails left unclipped in this house. By the next night, Ray did not sleep. He sat up in his bed, watching the wall across the room closely, his phone ready. At 3:17 AM, the humming came back. “Soon, you’ll sleep beneath the sky.” He flipped the lighting to bright. Nothing. He sunk down to the floor, full of adrenaline, slowly pulled the edge of the blanket up high, and looked under the bed. Nothing. And then— Drip. Drip. Drip. Wet. The floor boards were wet. Not saturated. Not water-logged, soaked to the rim. Just... wet. Like there was something breathing wet air through an opening in the wood, breathing moisture from some dark place that was softer than the ceiling above his head or the walls around the bed. Enough, he said to himself over and over. "You have had enough." The next day, Ray turned to the attic. I must find something, he thought. Dust attacked his lungs. He dug past dusty boxes full of old toys, old tax files filled with paper beyond paper, the boxes wedged between the rafters, away from the tan rubbery tape that always sealed the attic door.he scrambled across his bedroom floor and began even further away from the bed as possible. The door to his bedroom was open, he wanted to run to the hallway.
By Aamir Muhammad 7 months ago in Horror
One Minute Left
One Minute Left By Khan Khan G The phone rang at exactly 11:59 PM. Hassan frowned. “Who’s calling this late?” He was just about to turn off the lights and sleep. He picked up the phone, thinking it might be a spam call. But when he saw the screen — No Caller ID — a strange chill ran down his spine.
By Furqan Elahi7 months ago in Horror
The Comments Weren’t from Humans And They Were About Me
I only meant to post a short horror story. That’s it. Something creepy, late-night inspired, nothing more. It was called “The Girl in the Mirror Smiled First.” Just a simple tale about a girl who notices her reflection behaving… oddly. I wrote it in under an hour and uploaded it to a writing platform I’d recently joined. It wasn’t my best work, just something fun before bed.
By Muhammad Shinwari7 months ago in Horror
Whispers from Apartment 413
Apartment 413 had turned into something of a neighborhood rumor. Three people had lived there in the past year. None stayed more than a month. Two just... vanished. Their stuff was still there, phones dead, rent unpaid. The third tenant? He left in the middle of the night without telling anyone. All he said to the landlord before speeding off was:
By Talha Maroof7 months ago in Horror
The Mirror’s Memory
When Elise bought the mirror from the estate sale, she hadn’t expected it to feel alive. It was tall and Victorian, framed in ornate brass vines, the kind you’d imagine in a haunted castle. Dust had blanketed it like it had been asleep for decades. She only bought it because it reminded her of something—though she couldn’t say what.
By Talha Maroof7 months ago in Horror
