There was only one rule: Don’t open the door. Dr. Bannister, Tessa’s hypnotherapist, had been unequivocal about this, but Tessa never understood why. Today, Dr. Peyton, a younger and more relaxed replacement, was filling in. He eased her into the session with casual chitchat about holidays and family, barely skimming through Dr. Bannister’s detailed notes.
“I’d like you to close your eyes and just relax,” said Dr. Peyton.
Tessa, familiar with the hypnosis process, quickly entered a calm state. There was little difference between the two therapists’ techniques. Soon, she was recounting memories in response to Dr. Peyton’s questions.
She began with her childhood home, describing the living room’s Christmas tree, presents, and family photos on the mantle. Her words were warm and vivid. She continued into the kitchen, where the smell of baking cake filled the air, and described the taste of a delicious rhubarb crumble she found on the table.
Next, she climbed the stairs and entered her childhood bedroom, where posters of a once-favourite band still adorned the walls. Turning back to the landing, she looked into the open bathroom, but her gaze stopped on the closed bedroom door ahead.
“Why don’t you open it?” Dr. Peyton suggested.
“I’m not sure I should,” Tessa replied.
“Go on.”
Tessa hesitated, then placed her hand on the handle. The door clicked open to reveal her parents’ mutilated, bloody bodies. Slowly, she raised her eyes to a full-length mirror and saw herself, drenched in blood, holding a kitchen knife.
Now, the door wouldn’t close.
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Hunt the Darkness
The sky oozed blood red as the sun dropped below the lonely forest and the moon crept upwards. The day was gone and the darkness settled across the empty hamlet. Here was where he had been brought to remove, the great shadow that hung so malevolently over the whole area. Clymold the monster slayer had been called on by the town elders to free the people from the clutches of the creature.
By Simon Curtisabout a year 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 4 days ago in Horror
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