Horror
Ghost Night
Ghost Night in the Evening. Weather reports all agreed on the change, and no one really needed a warning. The birds do not fly. Leaning on phone books and bushes, they are shy and quiet, pretending to make it very difficult to fly even though the sky is calm. Anyone who cares knows what that means for Ghost Night before phone apps start alerting.
By Tsunami Karki4 years ago in Fiction
Drowned In The Underground
Blair drowned slowly; the murky water suffocated her as an unknown force dragged her deeper into the eerie abyss. The sinister energy wrapped itself around her, squeezing tighter as she ingested foreign particles. Her life slipped away; when a familiar embrace dragged her to the surface. Her best friend Quinton heaved her to the edge of the ill-lit poolside and attempted to resuscitate her; each compression starved him of hope. Quinton's guilt seized his existence; he was the one who had pressured Blair into this situation. Regret and anger burnt through his brain.
By Sharna Halliwell4 years ago in Fiction
The Fear Creatures, the Siren, and the Mist Filled Path
It wasn't so much that anything happened when the mist was thick, besides a trick of the light that left my neighbours alert--the unknown has always caused men to tremble. Simple men, I called them, who feared the mist. They differed from me, who, with the mind of a scientist sought the unknown and found wonder in ambiguity.
By jocelyn Townsend 4 years ago in Fiction
Seven Days
Content Note: This story deals with dark themes including mass murder, suicidal thoughts, and mass suicide. 7 The number is literally everywhere. It’s not an uncommon number but it’s kind of weird that I’m seeing it on anything that has writing on it. It’s in places that make sense, but it draws my attention. I notice it on the microwave clock before noticing that the time is 6:17. When I pull out the package of sausage that I’m going to cook up, I notice immediately the number 7 in the number of grams for sugar and carbs.
By Lynn Davis4 years ago in Fiction
Three Rivers
A mother's tears still stained his shoulder from having to restrain the poor woman as she rushed past staff trying to get to her son who was laying on a table, riddled with bullets. His blood flowed out faster than the trauma team could plug the holes. The woman was out of her mind and distraught. The floor was covered in crimson. Again. It was another bloody day, and it was his job to keep the bystanders, family, and friends from entering the area and interfering as they tried to save the poor kid's life. Standing there, holding a traffic wand as he directed cars away, Jeffrey felt the pain of that mother deep within his heart. For the boy, he still had a chopper ride to another hospital and a long road of recovery lay in front of him. That was if he survived the night and the three surgeries the doctors were predicting.
By Jason Ray Morton 4 years ago in Fiction
The Prisoner
Alexander Elijah Chamberlain might not have noticed time's warping had he not been vacationing on the banks of the Pigeon River, by the upper falls. The world had been moving by too fast, and he knew that he needed to slow down. He could only handle so many radio interviews, podcast interviews, TV interviews. At first they'd been thrilling. Now he felt like a circuit at the point of breaking. So he wrote an email to his girlfriend, an email to his agent, an email to his publisher, and then he secured a rental property off in the woods. With nothing except a bag of books and some food, Alexander Elijah Chamberlain retreated from the world.
By Littlewit Philips4 years ago in Fiction
His Body
The body floated right in front of her. How could they not see it? His brown, wavy hair glided over the gentle waves of the lake. His eyes held a cold, distant stare on her. His body was just below the surface. Or was it? Was this his ghost haunting her? Or her vivid imagination creating his shadowy image at her feet? Her mind was racing as she waded through the foggy waters beside the detectives. Was she feeling guilty or just anxious that her darkest secret might be discovered?
By Laura Tran4 years ago in Fiction
Resilence
I’m either going to kiss this man or stab him with a knife. I’ll know which in about ten minutes. Gavin had given me the nervous glare accompanied by his mild stutter, something that he hasn’t done since the 7th grade. “B-Baby, don’t be mad… You know I was with Kenny and Nick. We went to The Clubhouse, and you know, boys will be boys.” He allowed the light-hearted chuckle to escape his lips. I wasn’t the least bit amused. The Clubhouse, a gentleman’s club cited as Members only so bored husbands could do their dirt without judgment. But I knew better. It wasn’t the first time that he was involved in an affair. My eyes darted towards his appearance, the usual prim and pressed suits with gold cufflinks. Gavin always ensured that he was clean, down to his feet, from the top of his bald head. Yet tonight was different. His clothing was disheveled. He was sloppy. “Yeah, I know….” The tone in my voice went from the standard light stay-at-home wife to Ursula, the husky middle-aged southern black woman who kept her household in line. “So what… Did you do it?” I asked him again. In the meantime, my hand gripped the edge of the counter. It was so close that I could feel its imprint embedded within the palm of my hand. He was silent.
By AINSLEY ADAMS4 years ago in Fiction
The River
As usual, I was always the third wheel with my friend Heather and her boyfriend Sam. There is a canyon not far from where we lived and it only took about 15 minutes to get there. I had heard stories about this particular canyon, it was a place where people went to die. It was chosen because of how close it was to the city. There were many who chose to take their lives underneath the shade of the beautiful trees that grew in this canyon. My friend Chantel's uncle being one of them.
By Brooke Hudson4 years ago in Fiction
The Window To Nowhere
There are eels under the house. Growing up at the lake, whenever my brother and I dashed to the water to swim, my father would always shout after us. Be careful or the eels will bite off your toes! My brother, Oscar, had caught one once while fishing from the deck. He’d put it in a bucket and we watched it knotting itself over and over, filling up the bucket with stinking greyish slime. It was gross enough to convince us that the eels were indeed best avoided. But I’d had no idea how many there were, swarms of them lurking in unseen places.
By EJ Ferguson4 years ago in Fiction
