Tales That Breathe at Night
Bio
I write what lingers in the dark—true horrors veiled in fiction, fiction rooted in truth. Some tales are whispered in graveyards, others buried in silence. If it gave someone nightmares, I’ll write it. Some stories remember you, too.
Stories (67)
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SEASON 2: THE RECITATION
CHAPTER 6: THE THIRTEENTH AYAH The black liquid pooling from Saad’s throat wasn’t blood. It was thicker, darker, moving with purpose across the floorboards like spilled ink drawn by unseen fingers. Mehvish watched in paralyzed horror as it formed shapes....not Arabic, but older. Jagged. Cuneiform.
By Tales That Breathe at Night8 months ago in Horror
THE GOD IN THE ASYLUM WALLS: SEASON 2
CHAPTER 5: THE RECRUITMENT OF LAINE The newspaper arrived at 3:33 AM, though Simon Voss hadn't ordered a subscription. It lay coiled on his welcome mat like a dead thing, the headline screaming in a font that didn't exist....letters squirming like worms in daylight. The obituaries section pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
By Tales That Breathe at Night8 months ago in Horror
THE GOD IN THE ASYLUM WALLS
CHAPTER 1: THE BLUEPRINTS THAT BREATHE The envelope arrived at precisely 3:33 AM, wedged between her apartment door and the frame. Dr. Laine Mercer hadn't heard the delivery, hadn’t even stirred from her restless half-sleep until the scent hit her—old parchment and something metallic, like a scalpel left to rust in a wound.
By Tales That Breathe at Night8 months ago in Horror
The Hourglass of Hollow Earth
Chapter 1: The Descent That Shouldn’t Have Happened Hunedoara, Romania – April 3, 2024 The earthquake was soft...too soft to warrant panic. It barely nudged the antique chandeliers in Corvin Castle, caused only the gentlest ripple in the moat below. Tourists paused their photos. Locals exchanged uneasy glances, then carried on sipping their țuică and talking about politics.
By Tales That Breathe at Night9 months ago in Horror
THE HUNGER OF SAINT MARGUERITE'S HOSPICE
Season 1 PROLOGUE: THE FIRST INCISION Sister Evangeline's Private Journals - Locked Ward, 1893 The hospice's east wing had been silent for seventeen years when the screaming began again. Not the usual cries of the dying - this was the wet sound of meat being parted from bone with deliberate precision.
By Tales That Breathe at Night9 months ago in Horror
