fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
The Ninth Hour of Malachi : SEASON 4
Chapter 12 (Climax and Immediate Aftermath) CHRONICLE LOG: Final entry in the retrieved portion of Father Pavel’s journal. The entry consists of only two words, written in a shaky, almost illegible hand, before the page is consumed by a jagged tear: "She awoke." The whereabouts of Father Pavel remain officially undisclosed.
By Tales That Breathe at Night8 days ago in Horror
The Last Train Home. AI-Generated.
Daniel had never liked taking the late train, but that night he had no choice. Work had kept him longer than expected, and the last train departing from the nearly deserted station was his only way home. The platform was unusually quiet, the overhead lights flickering as if struggling to stay awake. A cold wind swept through the empty space, carrying scraps of newspaper across the cracked tiles. Daniel checked his phone for the time, relieved to see the train was arriving on schedule. When the distant rumble echoed through the night, he felt a strange sense of comfort. At least the ride would be short.
By Sudais Zakwan8 days ago in Horror
Day 9: Entry two. Content Warning.
Day eight isn’t lost; I couldn’t write. The sensation was so cold. I spoke to Harvest-woman April, who focused more on telling me she isn’t that kind of doctor. I slipped up stating that I could’ve been, and on occasions, was for emphasis, which sucked her in until she asked me what I thought of the nature of my illness. Her terms carried something I wasn’t expecting but understood. A certain defeated curiosity; ‘I mean, if I don’t have to get up, I’ll look into it as a kind of help.' Started with my past, which she’s getting none of, whether she knows or not, and switched effortlessly into second opinions for which I had loads of examples. Before Wolfman Patrick stole me away, she said she’ll get back to me and my case. Her smile said a hint of hypocritical oath might still flicker, but the concealing of her horror of the topics said patience wasn’t sharp enough for the private practice bedside manner. Coldman Jason needed a word.
By Willem Indigo9 days ago in Horror
There are places history tries to erase.
There are places history tries to erase. You won’t find this village on most modern maps. The roads that once led to it have long been swallowed by weeds and time. But if you follow the old county records—yellowed papers tucked away in a forgotten archive—you’ll find a single line written in faded ink:
By sagar dhital11 days ago in Horror
The Vanishing Train. AI-Generated.
The midnight train from Ashwood Station was always quiet, but that night, it was eerily silent. Ravi had missed the earlier train and decided to wait for the last one departing at 11:59 p.m. The platform was nearly empty, lit by flickering lamps that cast long shadows over the tracks. A few other late travelers shuffled along the benches, but most had already gone. The train’s arrival was announced with a soft whistle, and the carriages glided to a stop as if floating rather than rolling.
By Sudais Zakwan12 days ago in Horror
The Reflection That Wasn’t Mine. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Sara had always been meticulous about her appearance. Every morning, she checked her reflection twice—once in her bedroom mirror and again in the bathroom. Mirrors, she liked to think, were honest companions. They revealed flaws, imperfections, and every stray hair without judgment. For years, she had trusted them implicitly. That trust ended the day she moved into the old apartment on Crescent Lane.
By Sudais Zakwan12 days ago in Horror
The Shadow in Room 9
The old Grand Horizon Hotel had been in the city for nearly a century. Its marble floors gleamed during the day, and the chandeliers sparkled, masking the decades of history held within its walls. Employees whispered stories about certain rooms—particularly Room 9 on the top floor. No one wanted to stay there, and guests who were assigned to it often requested transfers the next morning. Yet the management always claimed these were mere coincidences, accidents of imagination.
By Sudais Zakwan12 days ago in Horror
The House That Watched
The house at the end of Willow Lane had been empty for nearly twenty years. Its windows were dark, its garden overgrown, and its gate hung crooked on rusted hinges. Children dared each other to touch its door before running away in panic. Adults avoided speaking about it altogether. Rumors drifted through the town like cold wind—strange noises at night, shadows moving behind curtains, lights flickering in rooms without electricity. But no one had ever confirmed anything. The house simply existed, silent and waiting.
By Sudais Zakwan12 days ago in Horror
