Horror

Lumas
The future was full of potential. Technology of the future took us to the stars and gave us hope of what we could become. The future lied to us all.
By Samuel Green5 years ago in Fiction
THE HEART SHAPED LOCKET
“Hold on!! Hold on for dear life, Damnit! This isn’t gonna be good. We may not make it. We may not see each other again. The world as we know it is slipping into oblivion!!”
By Lily Diamond Scott5 years ago in Fiction
Anaria
Anaria gazed out across the wintry horizon, her fingers stinging with frost. Her breath was a fog before her eyes as she surveyed the countless empty buildings. The setting sun shimmered against the litter of broken glass, twinkling like glitter. Anaria rubbed her nose, warming it against the cold, as she watched for people.
By Juniper Woodstone5 years ago in Fiction
Where Grief Meets Fury
Jon Stevens wished he could "unsee" what was ahead of him: Six people making a meal of another human being. He hadn’t seen a living person in weeks, and he preferred it that way since just about every one of those “things” had tried to kill him and make him into dinner. Not that he often carried food because it was hard to come by after the world supply chains collapsed. Human beings were now food for each other.
By Karen Bouknight5 years ago in Fiction
A Cyber Monday
Ashes. Swirling smoke fills my lungs as I gasp for air and fling open my eyes. I see a sky of gray as dirty crumbling snowflakes cover my face. Are these snowflakes? Where am I? No, these are ashes. I scramble to my feet, holding what seems to be a heart-shaped locket. Head throbbing, knees shaking, I try to make sense of my surroundings. Maybe I should sit down. I hear distant crying and sirens. Am I safe here? Where did my office building go? I realize I am sitting near where it once stood. I have a nagging feeling that there is something that I am supposed to do, and it has something to do with this locket. As I attempt to slow down the heart beating out of my chest, I remember a voice and a face, like a distant memory. "You must release this; it is the only way the destruction will end. I didn't mean for it to go this far," the woman sobbed to me as she desperately tossed me the locket, ripping it from her neck - the building rattling around us. I don't really know what I am supposed to release or how to do that with some old locket. I roll it around in my grimy fingers and manage to pry it open - with a series of clicks, a tiny zip drive flipped outward from inside the locket. Oh no, nothing good is ever on a zip drive. What am I about to unleash? I hate Mondays.
By MELROSE 🌈5 years ago in Fiction
The Uncovered
A sour stench lingered day and night anywhere you went and there was no breeze to grant relief from it. Only scorching sun and a vengeful heat existed now. All the doors and windows of my house were wide open and there were six fans buzzing in the living room where Grandma and I sat. Whatever room we were in, the fans came with us. I liked to place them in a circle and sit right in the middle on the floor. Grandma needed to sit in her chair though, her aching back and hips couldn’t handle the bare concrete anymore. I had four fans surrounding her, blowing right in her face. Her long white hair streamed behind her, eyes closed, breathing raspy and dry. She slept peacefully for someone who had been through what she had. She lost both her children, my mom and uncle. They had gotten sick during the first heat surge and there hadn’t been enough hospitals or doctors to keep up.
By Elis Wing 5 years ago in Fiction
Jherica
Jherica walked along the Interstate Bridge alone; the sound of broken glass crunching beneath her steel toed boots echoing across the water, a gas mask on her face, and a Glock 17 pistol strapped to her hip. Every vehicle around her had their windows smashed and contents stolen ages ago. Graffiti covered the bridge- some childish, inappropriate words scrawled along the cars, while the words “THE PLANET IS DEAD” were repeated across the concrete. None of this bothered Jherica anymore. This is not the first time she crossed this bridge, and if everything goes as planned, it won’t be the last.
By Alanna Finnie5 years ago in Fiction
The Final Chronicle of a Randall
A large, indestructible compound confines a large decaying city in darkness and despair. There is no sun nor sky. No bird song, nor breeze. No flora, nor fauna. It’s the skeleton of a city. Only ash, decay, and the shell of what life once was long ago. This is Mordenelle.
By Letters from Juliette5 years ago in Fiction
Isabelle
Humming. It’s the only noise I can hear as I struggle desperately to penetrate the abysmal darkness. I reluctantly begin sitting up, but collapse back onto the cold, musky ground; my legs shaking from weakness. My vision sharpens, and I detect shadows all around me; trees stretching their spindly branches towards me, swaying unsteadily as the harsh wind carries the young girl’s lonely song, haunting my ears. I try again sitting up, as I thrust my hands back behind to steady myself. A burning touch grazes the hairs along my arm while I feel a menacing glare observing me at this precise moment. Falling back to the ground searching through the blackened night, my eyes discover my stalker. A girl. I can’t tell much about her…she seems miles away. Unable to call out to the girl for help, my body shivers as the heat exits my body. An envelope resting underneath my palm engages my eye, wrinkled and battered from time.
By Laura Griffin5 years ago in Fiction
I love you
John removed the arm he had been using as a sun shield and shifted his aching head back onto his backpack. He took in a long shuddering breath; his eyes stung from tears. The faint sound of footsteps pacing below echoed in the silence. The fact that he had made it through another night didn’t fill John with appreciation anymore. One more day alive was one less with Holly.
By Clelia l portsmouth5 years ago in Fiction
The Director
“Would you relax? They caught him.” She shook her head. “I don’t think they have the right guy.” “Why not?” “This guy isn’t just a predator, he’s a showman. This thing isn’t just art, it’s theater to him.”
By Rena Mam5 years ago in Fiction
The Spinning Factory
No one could quite remember how long they had been on the bikes. Sweaty, skinny, musty bodies pedaling on angrily buzzing stationary wheels in the dark. Nor did they have any idea why they were pedaling.
By Brandi Self5 years ago in Fiction