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Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.

The Red Eyes at Midnight
“The Red Eyes at Midnight” by Ali Asad Ullah There are moments in life that don’t just haunt your memory—they consume it. For me, it was the red eyes. I saw them when I was sixteen, and I’ve never been the same since. I grew up in a small, remote village surrounded by endless wheat fields and dense forests. Our home was modest, and the nights were so quiet and dark that you could hear your own heartbeat. There were no streetlights, no passing cars, just the thick presence of nature and shadows. And stories. My grandmother, a deeply spiritual woman, used to tell me tales of djinns, cursed places, and the one legend that chilled me the most—the red eyes that appeared at midnight.
By Ali Asad Ullah7 months ago in Horror
"I Found a Hidden Room in My House"
I Found a Hidden Room in My House I never expected to inherit anything from my great-uncle. He was the kind of relative you heard about only at funerals—quiet, distant, strange. When he passed away in 2022, I received a letter from his lawyer informing me that I’d inherited his house. No explanation, just a key and an address scribbled on thick parchment.
By Ali Asad Ullah7 months ago in Horror
The 3:17 Visitor” horror story
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a light sleeper. Every sound, every creak, and even the faintest whisper of wind wakes me. So when I moved into my grandfather’s old countryside house after his death, I expected many sleepless nights. What I didn’t expect was what began exactly one week later—at 3:17 a.m.
By Ali Asad Ullah7 months ago in Horror
The Thirst
The sun was unrelenting. It was supposedly the hottest day on record, and Hailey Greene believed it. She was lucky enough to find a spot under an umbrella, but even in the soft shadow, the heat seeped into her bones. Beads of sweat had become permanent residents on her brow, and she had never been so thirsty in all her life.
By thWrtr7 months ago in Horror
The Day the Sky Forgot to Shine
A moment of darkness. A lifetime of light. --- It was the kind of morning that felt… wrong. The sun didn’t rise the way it used to. No golden hue filtered through the clouds. No birds sang. No gentle warmth touched the earth. People across the town of Noorabad stood on their balconies and rooftops, staring at the gray sky, confused and unsure.
By Movies Channel7 months ago in Horror
The Whispering Walls”
The Whispering Walls Some houses don’t want to be sold. They want to feed. Maya Singh had dealt with plenty of old properties in her real estate career, but Whittaker Mansion was different. The house had been abandoned for decades. The townspeople never spoke of it directly—just shook their heads and crossed themselves when someone mentioned the name. Most said it was cursed. A few said it was alive. Maya, ever the skeptic, chalked it up to small-town superstition. She needed a big sale, and this house promised a hefty commission. One last deal before promotion. She arrived just before dusk. Whittaker Mansion stood at the edge of the forest like a forgotten tomb—three stories of rotting wood, shattered windows, and a sagging roof. The iron gate creaked open before she even touched it. She paused. The wind had picked up. The trees behind the house swayed as if whispering warnings. Maya ignored the chill in her spine and stepped forward. The front door opened with an unnatural ease, groaning like something waking up. As she crossed the threshold, her phone buzzed and died instantly, even though it had full battery moments earlier. The temperature dropped. A rotten, metallic smell hit her nostrils—like blood and wet wood. Inside, the house was darker than it should’ve been. The windows, though shattered, let in no light. Her flashlight flickered as she walked past long-abandoned furniture and dust-covered portraits. The eyes in the paintings seemed to move. She told herself it was just nerves. In the master bedroom, she began taking photos to upload later. The first few images looked normal. Then something whispered her name. “Maya...” She turned instantly. No one. The room was still. Her phone glitched again. All her photos vanished. One single image replaced them: a distorted photo of her own face—mouth stretched unnaturally wide in a silent scream, eyes black and lifeless. She tried to leave, but the hallway behind her had changed. Longer. Colder. The air thicker. She walked faster, then ran, but every door led to somewhere new. The floorboards groaned like something breathing underneath. Then she saw it—a stairway down to the basement, lit by faint candlelight. She didn't want to go, but her feet moved on their own. The basement reeked of mildew and burnt flesh. Walls were covered in black handprints. Children’s handprints. Then she saw her: a little girl, soaking wet, standing in the shadows. Her head tilted unnaturally to one side, water dripping from her hair onto the floor. “It still hurts,” the girl said. “They burned us here. They fed us to her.” The girl vanished. Then came the noise—screaming, dozens of them, layered over each other, coming from the walls. Maya screamed and sprinted back upstairs. But the house was now shifting in front of her eyes—walls expanding, doors shrinking, the ceiling breathing. She burst into the living room. It wasn’t empty. Figures surrounded her—shadows in human shape, their faces burned or missing. And in the center, a red velvet armchair turned slowly to reveal a woman—ageless, perfect, and horribly wrong. Her eyes glowed like embers. “Welcome,” the woman whispered. “You’ve already signed the contract.” The walls wept blood. Maya tried to scream but her voice vanished. The house didn’t want to be sold. It wanted her. One week later, Whittaker Mansion was listed again online. No agency name. No contact number. Just the caption: “Renovated. Ready to Show.” A photo was attached. A woman stood in the upstairs window, her mouth twisted into an eternal scream, her eyes hollow, staring at nothing. Some say it's a glitch in the image. Others say it’s Maya… Still waiting for the next buyer.
By Salman 7 months ago in Horror
The Light in the Well
We all heard the stories. That it was bottomless. That a girl had fallen in and never been found. That, on certain nights, you could hear her crying from the darkness below.
By Afzal Ahmad /Reg no:24MDBCS05937 months ago in Horror
Season 2 : The Hollowing: How a Village’s Children Became Vessels for Something Older
Chapter 9: The Child Who Could Not Dream April 6th, 1982 – 3:03 AM The orphanage slept. Every window now blacked out, as though reality itself had stopped reflecting. The clocks had ceased ticking, and in every room .... even in the staff quarters .... mouths twitched silently in shared torment.
By Tales That Breathe at Night7 months ago in Horror
They left me in the morgue. Content Warning.
Trigger Warnings: Psychological decay, claustrophobia, body horror, grief, and disturbing imagery. ---They Left Me in the Morgue Overnight
By E. hasan7 months ago in Horror
When the Walls Start Whispering
I. Introduction Elena sat alone in the car, engine idling, staring at the cottage as rain misted the windshield. The GPS had stopped working ten miles back, and her phone clung to its last bar of reception. But she was here. At the edge of town. Far enough from memory, from noise, from the version of herself she no longer recognized.
By Muhammad Sabeel7 months ago in Horror
The House That Breathed in the Dark: A Psychological Horror Story You Won’t Forget
I. The Return Samantha never believed in ghosts. As a child, she’d spent summers in her grandmother’s Victorian on Morley Street—where pipes groaned, floorboards shifted, and mirrors sometimes fogged with no heat at all. But she never truly believed. Not in the stories whispered by older cousins. Not in the way her grandmother always locked the crawlspace hatch at night. And certainly not in the tales of people who disappeared and were never found.
By Muhammad Sabeel7 months ago in Horror
The Phone That Rang After My Death
I. The Funeral I watched my own funeral from the corner of the room. It was strange, surreal. My body lay still in the casket, pale and unfamiliar. My mother wept silently, my brother clutched the prayer book too tightly. Friends spoke in whispers. The room was heavy, but no one could see me.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah7 months ago in Horror