monster
Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.
5 Most Haunted Objects in History: From Annabelle to Robert the Doll
I have a confession to make: I am obsessed with European history, specifically castles. There’s something about a stone fortress that feels like a magnet for the paranormal. In my mind, every castle is haunted, usually by a lady in a white dress, a headless nobleman, or (the absolute worst) creepy ghost children.
By Areeba Umairabout 9 hours ago in Horror
The Voice That Waited
Seen (1) At the edge of a quiet town stood an abandoned radio station, forgotten by time and avoided by locals. The building had been shut down for over twenty years, yet people claimed that at exactly 2:17 a.m., a faint broadcast could still be heard on an old frequency. No music. No news. Just a voice. Daniel was a small content creator who specialized in audio storytelling. He didn’t believe in rumors, but he believed in stories. When he heard about the mysterious broadcast, he decided to investigate—not for views, but for curiosity. One cold night, Daniel entered the radio station with his recorder and headphones. Dust covered the equipment, and spider webs hung from the ceiling. Everything looked dead. Silent. At exactly 2:17 a.m., the old transmitter crackled. A voice broke through the static. “Hello… is anyone listening?” Daniel froze. The voice was calm but tired, like someone who had been waiting for a long time. “My name is Arthur,” the voice continued. “I used to work here. If you can hear me, please don’t turn this off.” Daniel whispered into his microphone, “I’m listening.” The voice seemed relieved. “For years, I spoke into this microphone, hoping someone would hear me. When the station shut down, everyone left. Everyone except me.” Daniel’s heart raced. “Are you… alive?” There was a pause. Then a soft laugh. “That depends on what you mean by alive,” Arthur said. “I passed away in this building many years ago. But my voice stayed. This place remembers me.” Arthur explained that he had been a late-night radio host, speaking to lonely people, travelers, and insomniacs. The night the station closed, he stayed behind to record one final message—something meaningful. But no one ever aired it. He died alone, with his words unheard. “So I kept talking,” Arthur said. “Night after night. Waiting for someone to listen.” Daniel felt a heavy silence fill the room. “What do you want from me?” Daniel asked. Arthur answered gently, “I don’t need fear. I don’t need fame. I just want my message to reach someone. Anyone.” Daniel nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see him. “I’ll share your story.” For the first time, the static disappeared. Arthur’s voice became clear. “Tell them this,” he said. “You are not invisible. Someone, somewhere, needs your voice—even if you don’t know it yet.” The broadcast ended. The room fell silent. Daniel left the station before sunrise and spent the next day editing the audio. He uploaded the recording as a simple podcast episode titled *The Voice That Waited*. He didn’t add music. He didn’t add effects. Just the truth. Within days, thousands of messages poured in. People said the voice helped them through loneliness, grief, and dark nights. Some cried. Some found comfort. Some found hope. Daniel returned to the radio station one last time. At 2:17 a.m., there was no broadcast. The transmitter stayed silent. But Daniel smiled. Because he understood something important: Some voices don’t fade because they are loud. They survive because someone finally listens.
By Do bol ho jaaye 3 days ago in Horror
The Station Without Trains
Seen (1) At the far end of a desert highway stood a train station that no map acknowledged. There were no tracks leading to it, no schedules posted, and no trains that ever arrived. Still, every evening at sunset, the lights turned on. Maya found the station by accident while driving cross-country to escape a life that felt too heavy. Her radio had gone silent miles ago, and her phone showed no signal. When she saw the station glowing in the distance, she pulled over, relieved to find signs of life. The station was clean, almost untouched by time. Wooden benches lined the platform, and an old clock hung above the entrance, forever stuck at 6:40. The air smelled of dust and iron, like a place waiting to be used. “Hello?” Maya called. No answer. She sat on a bench, telling herself she would leave in five minutes. But as the sun disappeared, the lights grew warmer, softer. Calm settled over her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. A man in a conductor’s uniform stepped out from the shadows. His clothes looked old-fashioned, but neatly pressed. His face was kind, though tired. “You’re early,” he said. “Early for what?” Maya asked. “For the train,” he replied. Maya frowned. “There are no tracks.” The man smiled gently. “Not all journeys need them.” He explained that this station was a place between leaving and arriving—a pause for those who were lost, grieving, or running from something they couldn’t name. People didn’t come here on purpose. They arrived when they needed stillness. “Does the train ever come?” Maya asked. “Yes,” he said. “But only once for each person.” Maya felt a tightness in her chest. “Where does it go?” The conductor looked at the horizon. “To the life you stopped believing in.” Maya thought of the dreams she had abandoned, the version of herself she no longer recognized. Tears surprised her, sliding down her face without warning. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she whispered. The conductor nodded. “That’s why the train hasn’t arrived.” They sat in silence as the stars appeared. For the first time in years, Maya didn’t feel the urge to run. She felt seen. Slowly, the station lights dimmed. The conductor stood. “When you leave,” he said, “you won’t remember this place. But you’ll remember how you felt.” A distant sound echoed—not a train horn, but something close to a heartbeat. Maya blinked. She was back in her car, parked on the side of the empty highway. The station was gone. The road stretched endlessly ahead. But her chest felt lighter. She turned the key and drove forward, not knowing exactly where she was going—but certain, for the first time, that she was finally on the right track.
By Do bol ho jaaye 3 days ago in Horror
Alpha Mosquito . Content Warning.
I start with a cracked window and a simple bath, leaving the warm water to sit longer than usual. A single mosquito emerges, small and inconsequential. Another appears soon after. They breed, proliferating the room over the weeks as I observe in fascination. I procur steroids and bulk fuel to add into the water. The next mosquito is slightly bigger. Their sentience grows alongside their size - I force them to fight to the death for nutrients, the biggest and smartest survive and continues their blood line. A Roman coliseum of these creatures' strongest gladiators.
By flutterfryyy4 days ago in Horror
THE SILENCE BENEATH ASHWOOD HOUSE
No one in Graymoor spoke of Ashwood House without lowering their voice. It stood at the far edge of town, where the road cracked and dissolved into weeds, where the fog came early and left late, clinging to the earth like a warning. The house had been abandoned for thirty years, yet every window remained intact, every door closed—as if someone still cared enough to keep the world out.
By Ahmed aldeabella6 days ago in Horror
The Lost People of Angikuni Lake
November 1930. The wind screamed across the frozen plains of what was then the Northwest Territories of Canada — a desolate and unforgiving landscape that would later become part of Nunavut. A lone fur trapper named Joe Labelle was making his way through deep snow toward an Inuit settlement he’d visited before, seeking shelter from the harsh cold. What he found there stopped him dead.
By Strange Enough To Be True8 days ago in Horror
