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How-tos for all things horror; tips and tricks to help you write like Stephen King, tell a scary story, keep the monsters at bay and more.
The Agreement of the Dead
I was not always dead. No, death came much later—like a belated apology, or a kindly word after the firing squad. My name, though unimportant now, once sat proudly on university plaques and inked letters of recommendation. Now, I am only remembered in whispers. And worse still: in documents signed in bloodless ink by breathless men.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Horror
The House That Whispers Mercy
In the year 1847, beneath the silent shadows of a decaying village in Southern Anatolia, stood a house no one dared name aloud — for it was believed the house whispered. Whispered not to ears, but to souls. It stood alone, like a punished child at the edge of the earth, cloaked in vines and memory.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Horror
The Room That Shouldn't Exist
Samantha Winters had just turned 24 when she signed the lease on Apartment 3B in the Ashgrove Complex. It was one of those older buildings—red-bricked, slightly crooked, with creaky staircases and ivy crawling up the sides like green veins.
By Silas Blackwood7 months ago in Horror
The shadow. AI-Generated.
Amtola was the name of the quiet village, which was far from the city, surrounded by ancient trees, and had an eerie silence. At the village’s edge stood a centuries-old, crumbling mansion: Chandan Villa. Even during the day, people avoided going near it. The road that leads there was completely empty at night. A young writer by the name of Jack came from the city about a year ago, looking for ideas for his next book. The tranquil village seemed perfect for him because he valued solitude. However, he had no idea what lay ahead. Jack chose to stay in Chandan Villa itself. He was warned by the villagers, "Sir, that house has a curse on it. People enter but never exit. Teertho replied with a grin, "There are no ghosts." The mind alone can create fear. The first night went by without a hitch. The second did as well. However, on the third night, he was awoken by an odd creaking sound. He looked at his watch—it was 2:00 a.m. Grabbing his flashlight, he stepped out of his room. In the dim moonlight, the corridor was faintly visible. Suddenly, he noticed a shadowy figure in the far corner. It had no face or distinct features—just a dark silhouette, completely still yet clearly aware of his presence. Without a sound, it glided toward the old well… and vanished. The next morning, Jack asked an elderly villager, “Does anyone still use that well?” "That's where Rose, the zamindar's daughter, took her own life," the man responded. A cruel man had orchestrated her marriage. One night, she jumped into the well. Since then, her shadow has been seen wandering around. People say she’s still searching for her lost love…” Jack made the decision to go back to the well the next night out of a sense of empathy and curiosity. The shadow reappeared, this time more clearly, as he waited in silence. A woman with sad eyes and long, disheveled hair in a white, wet sari. Jack calmly asked, "Who are you?" despite his fear. The figure didn't say anything. She turned slowly toward the well. Just before disappearing into the mist, Jack heard a faint whisper: “My love… Will you return…?” He realized that this was more than just a haunting; it was the agony of a soul entwined in love that never came. The next day, he searched the village archives and discovered that Rose had fallen in love with a humble music teacher. The zamindar, her father, was against the relationship. Rumor had it the teacher had vanished mysteriously. Many people thought that the zamindar had killed him. Determined to help Rose’s soul find peace, Jack returned that night with an old sitar. Sitting beside the well under the moonlight, he began playing the teacher’s favorite raag. The melody drifted through the night like a prayer. Soon, the shadow returned. She moved closer—her eyes now filled with longing, not grief. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept across the courtyard. From deep within the well, a voice echoed: "Rose... I'm here..." Jack watched in awe as another shadowy figure emerged—tall, gentle, and familiar to her. Slowly, the two shadows got closer to one another. The moonlight became more brilliant. Like mist blending into the dawn, the shadows embraced in the stillness and slowly rose into the sky together. The next morning, when Jack shared what had happened, an old villager said softly, “What we couldn’t do for a hundred years, you have done, sir. You brought peace to a restless soul.” Jack didn’t spend another night in that house. He had come in search of a story, but he found a truth instead: some spirits don’t want to harm—they simply seek peace. And true love… endures, even beyond death.
By Mohammad Shariful Islam7 months ago in Horror
Horror Unleashed: Family Home Engulfed in Raging Fire
A peaceful evening turned into chaos as flames tore through the walls of a family's cherished home. It was a calm Sunday evening in the quiet suburbs of Lahore. The Hussain family had just finished dinner. The children were in the living room, watching cartoons, while Mr. and Mrs. Hussain were sitting on the terrace, enjoying the soft summer breeze. Everything felt ordinary, safe — until, without warning, everything changed.
By Muhammad musab7 months ago in Horror
Cartoons Are Real? The Shocking Truth I Found Hidden in My Childhood Shows
I always believed cartoons were just fantasy — exaggerated stories to keep kids laughing before bedtime. That changed the day I found a VHS tape in my grandfather's attic. It was unlabelled, dusty, and hidden behind boxes marked "Do Not Touch." Naturally, I touched.
By Sohanur Rahman7 months ago in Horror
