monster
Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.
The Mirror That Showed Tomorrow
I moved into the apartment because it was cheap. That’s the kind of decision you make when you're broke, tired, and trying to start over. The building was old — cracked tiles, flickering lights, and a hallway that always smelled faintly of mold and burnt toast.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah7 months ago in Horror
The Voice at the Door
The rain was a steady, mournful rhythm against the windows, a soundtrack to the oppressive silence inside our small cottage. Three days. It had been three days since we’d buried my mother, Clara. Three days since her vibrant laughter, her comforting presence, had been reduced to a cold, sterile memory. The grief was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making every breath an effort.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Horror
“The Secret Room My Landlord Never Told Me About”
When I first moved into Apartment 3B on Halstead Street, I thought I'd found the deal of a lifetime. Two bedrooms, high ceilings, vintage windows, and a view that didn’t face another brick wall. It was oddly affordable, the kind of place that makes you pause and think, "What's the catch?"
By Hamad Haider7 months ago in Horror
Don't Answer the Knock
Okay, promise you won’t freak out? Because this story I’m about to tell you… it’s not like the others. It’s not about ghosts in castles or monsters under your bed. It’s about a house. Just a regular house. In a normal neighborhood. With one weird rule: Don’t answer the knock. Not even if it sounds friendly. even if they mention your name. The New House So, this all started when my cousin Zayan moved into a new house with his parents. It was kind of old, but cool—two stories, a big oak tree in front, and weird little gargoyle statues on the porch. The house came cheap, and his parents were happy. Zayan? Not really. He told me that the first night the walls creaked as if they were breathing. Additionally, the attic door opened by itself. But hey—it’s an old house, right? Still, something about it didn’t feel right. Especially the front door. The Note on the Door On their first night, they found a note taped to the inside of the front door. It wasn’t signed. It was written in shaky, old handwriting: “If you hear knocking after midnight, do not open the door. Not even if you know the voice. Not even if it begs. Wait until sunrise.” Zayan interpreted it as a joke. His dad laughed and threw the note in the trash. The First Step That night, Zayan was lying in bed, scrolling on his phone. It had passed twelve o'clock. The house was super quiet. Then he heard it. There will be knocks. Three knocks. Not loud. Not soft either. Just… wrong. He sat up. It could have been his parents. Maybe the wind. Then came a voice. “Zayan… it’s me. Let me in.” His body became cold. Because the voice? It sounded just like me. However, I was absent. The Message Zayan grabbed his phone and called me right away. “Why are you outside my house?” “I’m not,” I said. “I’m in bed. At home.” He told me about the voice. Until I heard it over the phone, I didn't believe him. “Come on, Zayan. It’s cold out here. Let me in…” Same voice. Same tone. Perfect imitation. But I swear on my life—I was in my bed. Then, just as suddenly as it came… it stopped. The Eyes in the Keyhole The next night, Zayan stayed up again. He left all the lights on. At exactly 12:07 a.m.: Knock knock knock. He crept to the front door, trying not to make a sound. And this time? He looked through the peephole. There was no one there. Just the empty porch. But when he stepped back… He saw something move. Something was standing just below the peephole. It is too low to see. Too tall to be a child. Too still to be human. The Background Zayan began looking into the house. It used to belong to a man named Mr. Embers, who was known around town for being “strange.” He never let visitors in. People said he kept something trapped in the basement. Others claimed he’d whisper to the front door at night. He died in that house. Alone. And when they found him, he’d scratched one word on the floorboards with his fingernails: “Don’t.” The Third Night Zayan called me again. “I’m coming over,” I told him. But he said no. He wanted to record it this time. So he set up his phone facing the door. At midnight, he turned off the lights, sat on the stairs, and waited. At 12:07… Knock knock knock. Then the voice. This time, though? It wasn’t me. It was his mom’s voice. “Open the door, sweetheart. I forgot my key.” His mom was asleep upstairs. He stayed silent. Frozen. The voice got angry. “Zayan, open this door now!” KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. “You’re a terrible son!” Zayan nearly cried. He didn't move, though. It was gone by 12:16. The Movie The next morning, he showed me the video. And Mehedi, I’m telling you—it was messed up. There was no person in the video. Just the door. But at 12:07, something strange happened. The door handle started jiggling. Then, faintly on the audio—something breathing. Sniffing. And then—a shadow moved past the bottom of the door. It didn’t walk. It crawled. And it dragged long fingers across the doormat. We immediately halted the video there. The Final Night The next night, Zayan had enough. A dresser was dragged by him in front of the front door. He taped paper over the peephole. He put on headphones and blasted music so he wouldn’t hear any knocking. But it didn’t work. At 12:07, all the power went out. His music died. His lights shut off. Even his phone screen went black. After that, Knock knock knock. Zayan ran upstairs. Locked the door. hid beneath the bed like a young child. Then he heard footsteps inside the house. Slow. Wet. Heavy. Something got in. Even though the door was still locked the next morning. The Second Note The next morning, a new note was taped to the door. Same shaky handwriting: “You answered with your silence. That bought you time. But it’s inside now. And silence won’t save you again.” Zayan moved out that same day. They never found out how the notes got there. Or what happened to the people who lived there before. So What Was Knocking? A ghost? A demon? Something pretending to be someone you trust? We don’t know. But here’s the thing. Two days ago, my doorbell rang. At 12:07 a.m. I looked outside. No one was there. But taped to my door… Was a note. It stated: “You’ve been told. Now you know the rule. Don’t answer the knock.” If You Hear Three Knocks... Do not open the door. Don’t peek. Don't talk. And don’t believe the voice. Because if you do... You come next.
By Lucien Hollow 7 months ago in Horror
The Stranger Who Knew My Name—And My Darkest Secret
The Stranger Who Knew My Name—And My Darkest Secret Some encounters feel like fate. Others feel like punishment. I remember the exact moment he sat down. The 7:43 p.m. train from the city was half-empty, the type of quiet that feels like a lullaby after a draining day. My earbuds were in, and the low hum of the carriage made everything feel distant—until he spoke.
By Muhammad Sabeel7 months ago in Horror
Room 313
There was no mention of Room 313 on the website. When Aaron booked the old Briarcliff Hotel for a weekend getaway, he scrolled past sepia-toned images of grand staircases and cracked chandeliers, his expectations set low. He wanted quiet, isolation—something far from the chaos of the city. What he got was more silence than he ever asked for.
By shahid khan7 months ago in Horror
