Top Stories
Stories in Horror that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly2 years ago in Horror
Metagoth. Content Warning.
This is the opening chapter of my outrageous splatterpunk novelette METAGOTH, now available from Godless and Amazon. Rosa pinioned her hands against the cubicle as her bowels jetted a red-brown soup into the porcelain. Her stage fright always started in the gut, though Rosa would never have admitted that's what it was. And it never got easier. The tension of stepping out in front of a crowd of unimpressed, unenthusiastic punters caused her gastric contortions she was unable to contain. Fortunately, the smell of some agoraphobic chemist's notion of a pine forest covered up her own colonic aromas.
By Addison Alder2 years ago in Horror
Backyard Skulls. Content Warning.
February 2007 His blade slices through the fleshy parts with ease. It’s graceful, disgusting but graceful. How he holds that carved handle with equal parts purpose and delicacy, as if he’s painting a rummage sale art piece to hang over a fireplace.
By Christy Munson2 years ago in Horror
One to See, One to Speak, One to Listen
Contains gore and horror some readers may find disturbing. Rated 14+ Author's Intro: This story is meant to revive the Gothic literature so famously crafted by one of my favourite writer's, Edgar Allen Poe, and as such, the language and style is deliberately antiquated. Thank you for reading my all time favourite work of horror - Les
By Call Me Les2 months ago in Horror
Creeps
Climbing from her apartment window onto the rusty fire escape, she carefully avoided the sharp bits she had snagged herself on before. Up a few more ladders and landings, she finally ascended to the rooftop. Laying on her back, she peered up at the stars that began appearing in the night sky. She had done this since she was a girl. Long ago, it became too dangerous to travel on the ground, significantly as night fell. However, from this particular vantage point, the world looked the same as before the reckoning, except for the decrease of smog. She felt like she could reach up and touch the twinkling lights above her and swirl them around her fingers like diamond rings.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Horror
