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.
Closer
My hands shook, chest heaved as I pulled that little black book from his inner pocket. He was still moving, a heap on the floor. I slapped his flailing hand away and stood up as straight as I could. My hand shot out to catch me as my side twitched, slid against the elevator wall with a smear, but I got upright. I wouldn't be able to hide my split knuckles but I didn't think about that now, couldn't get distracted. Not now. It was finally within my grasp. Literally in my hands. He burbled something through his broken teeth. I didn't care.
By Tanya Greene5 years ago in Horror
The Deal
A key inserted into the lock. It turned, switching the deadbolt free. The front door pushed open without resistance. Nathan entered his grandfather's domicile quietly. The entryway was shrouded in darkness, which shrunk away as he flipped a switch. Light poured from the ceiling, lending a certain amount of stability, and sureness to his task. Closing, and relocking the door, Nathan made his way up the creaking staircase to the second floor. Every creak brought back memories of his grandfather Jeffrey, and how they used to play hide and seek when he was a kid.
By Shane Field5 years ago in Horror
The End
My eyelids are heavy with sleep, but to remember painfully jars me awake. Vestiges of a past world scatter about me in a haze both temporally languid and disorienting. The crunching of glass underneath my feet pulls me back into the present moment. I am instantly grateful for the abandoned leather work boots I found. The thick padded tongue of the boot is frayed, and the toe is scuffed and peeling, but the sole, the only part that comes into contact with the rough earth, remains intact. Sleep threatens to sweep over me, but my feet protest and lead me. My mind reluctantly, but eventually trudges behind. The cool Cleveland wind slaps my face with a malodor. Decades ago, I would have winced and run in the opposite direction. But in this time, it could signify a community of people. So I scurry in the direction of the pungent wisps.
By Jasmine Wilson5 years ago in Horror
Dear Son
I. Dear son, I will not expect your forgiveness for what I am about to ask you. My hands shiver, my mind falters as I write you this letter. Even now, immersed in the unforgiving softness of my own death bed, I cannot escape this ghastly recollection of thoughts which has gathered before me. For you must know that I have sinned, my son, and greatly, and for a long time, and in ways that no man should ever be granted to imagine. And as I brawl with my corrupted spirit to keep my sanity unbroken, my only hope is that your life shall be blessed with better luck instead, and a stronger will than your old man ever possessed.
By Anthony L. Wolf5 years ago in Horror
Nightmares in the Morning Mist
“They are everywhere! Run!”, Thomas screamed at the top of his lungs. His face was cringed in complete fear, and the blood had drained leaving only a ghostly white appearance. He lumbered forward, stumbling; the tears and scratches all over his body showed his deplorable state. He shrank down on one knee as he slowly lost his strength.
By Daryl Benson5 years ago in Horror
Night Train
A light flickers as a cold breeze runs through the subway train tunnels, and brushes onto the deserted platform. Carried by the air vents that invite the chilling night winter air. Graffiti, trash, and the smell of urine occupy this run down train stop, whilst 18 year old Colt sits patiently on the cold hard steel seats. Waiting for his midnight train to take him on an hour journey home. Exhausted from working overtime at an iron foundry, he sighs as he rests the back of his head against the cold concrete wall. Steam from his breath emitting into the air whilst he runs his charcoaled stained hand through his short brown hair. The last words of his supervisor running through his head, denying a pay rise but demanding for more overtime whilst being paid below the minimum wage. A common narrative for the low social economic areas. He pulls out his smart phone, the screen illuminating his face from his wallpaper photo of him and his girlfriend, Nicole. Arms around each other with big smiles, with the afternoon sun glistening in the ocean water behind them. A photo of happier times before the brain cancer struck and placed Nicole into a coma. And to remind him why he must work hard, as the orphaned couple only have each other and a mountain of overdue medical bills. The time is 12:01am.
By Ash Gallop5 years ago in Horror
