Horror

The Camera That Captures the Next Second
Hassan had always believed that a camera could freeze reality. A moment. A truth. A memory. But he never imagined a camera could capture something that hadn’t happened yet.
By Salman Writes6 days ago in Fiction
The Street That Only Appears in Rain
The Street That Only Appears in Rain. It had been raining for three days straight. Not normal rain. This rain was heavy, constant, and strangely quiet. No thunder. No wind. Just endless water falling from a dull gray sky.
By Salman Writes6 days ago in Fiction
The Amber Hush
The sun was a bruised, heavy orange, sinking behind the jagged teeth of the mountains. In Oakhaven, this wasn’t a moment for poetry or postcards. It was a countdown.
By Feliks Karić6 days ago in Fiction
4:37 AM
With a long, exhausted blink, his glued eyes open. A couple more swift blinks followed by a resonating, endless yawn. Then, a sudden twitch, as if a thousand needles pierced his body. “What day is it?! Did I oversleep?!” The world hushed, and all he heard was the pulse of his heart drumming against his eardrums in a manic rhythm. With a still numb hand, he searched in the dark for his phone. Heavy breathing, strong palpitations, His hand picking up the pace. He lifted the blanket, tossed aside pillows, searching. Nothing. The air in the room thickened, and still, he didn’t know. Was it another dawn, or the mids of the night? For too long, his days and nights had blurred into a single, bleak darkness. Finally, he sees a black square resting on the white towel by his bed. His finger tapped the screen manically, and finally, it revealed the time: 4:37 in the morning. The drummer slowed down the beat, and all that fills the room is calming silence.
By George Roast6 days ago in Fiction
In love with a ghost
“Room 27” The rain poured relentlessly over Chambéry that evening. The streetlights flickered, as if they too were afraid.
By Gihan Mansory6 days ago in Fiction
Stand Behind The Yellow Line
Every morning at 7:12, the train slid into the station without a sound, as if it were embarrassed to be noticed. People were already lined up along the yellow strip, though no one stood on it. Shoes hovered a careful inch behind the paint — loafers, boots, a child’s light-up sneakers that blinked silently with each anxious shift. No one spoke about the spacing, but newcomers learned quickly. The first time you stepped too close, you felt it: not a touch, not quite a look, just a tightening in the air, like a held breath shared by strangers.
By Kam6 days ago in Fiction
Tower in the Mountains
Steam danced around the surface of the hot dark liquid residing in Igor's mug. He had placed it upon the heavy wooden table in the center of the room a moment early to let it cool while he stared out through a pair of binoculars, across the cold rocky landscape around him. The large man sat in the top floor of an old tower nearly seventy feet in the air, but he still felt uneasy every time he peered outside.
By Brier7 days ago in Fiction
IGNIS WAKE
The canteen was vacant as Hamish entered, he was early. The automated lights buzzed to life and flickered a glare across stainless-steel benches that rowed along each side of the modestly sized hall. A set of narrow windows accompanied each bench on the right side. Thick tropical fauna brushed and dragged with the wind against the exterior. The spattering of sunlight through the leaves and branches did very little to brighten the facilities dull concrete and iron panel laced interior. A closed hatch straight ahead into a kitchen indicated that lunch was not yet ready. But as Hamish’s mission detailed, this was the only opportunity to discuss the operation with his fellow MI6 and CIA agents embedded in the mysterious projects activities.
By Blair J Allan7 days ago in Fiction
Pinned
Sweat gathers at the small of your back. You writhe uncomfortably, trying to find the perfect sleeping position that doesn't exist. Lifting up the duvet briefly with an outstretched leg, cool air rushes into the swampy cocoon you've created for yourself. It feels nice for a moment, but then the shivers start, so you seal yourself in again.
By Shelby Larsen7 days ago in Fiction
My Grandfather Left Me a Wooden Statue, and Now I Hear it Moving at Night
When my Grandfather Elias passed away, he left me his cabin in the Pacific Northwest and a single, life-sized wooden carving he called "The Elderknot."
By The Glitch Archive8 days ago in Fiction
The Manuscript Beneath the Monastery
I have long resisted telling this story—not because it lacks proof, but because the proof itself should never be uncovered again. Yet time has a way of eroding fear, and memory demands a voice. What I am about to recount is not invention, nor drunken folklore whispered in candlelit taverns. It is something I witnessed, something that followed me long after I fled the mountains of Transylvania.
By Gaurav Gupta8 days ago in Fiction
Above the Blood-Red Sky
My dear, snivelling, wretched Robert Montague, Why did you flee by daylight—for “freedom”? Freedom in a straitjacket, behind locked doors? The doctors would have you believe you are safe from the monsters in your mind.
By Paul Stewart9 days ago in Fiction