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How-tos for all things horror; tips and tricks to help you write like Stephen King, tell a scary story, keep the monsters at bay and more.

The House That Breathes at Night
At first, everyone thought the sound was plumbing. A soft groan, like old pipes stretching, always around the same time—3:17 AM. In a house as old as ours, that wasn’t unusual. The building had stood for more than a century, swallowing generations of families, secrets sealed behind layers of paint and plaster. Houses like that made noise. They sighed. They settled. They complained.
By Modhilraj23 days ago in Horror
Inside Beelitz-Heilstätten — Germany’s Most Haunted Hospital and Its Haunting Ghost Evidence
Beelitz-Heilstätten is about 50 km southwest of the capital, a vast network of disintegrating brick structures and overgrown paths that has become notorious throughout Germany as the most haunted place in the country. Yet prior to its phantom fame was a truly living and living-breathing history, dating over a century and embracing medicine, global conflict, occupation, decline, and ultimately myth.
By Kyrol Mojikal30 days ago in Horror
The Sixtieth Second
The Sixtieth Second The evening of December 31, 2025 wasn’t like any other. A weird sense of foreboding lay over the world—not an exhilaration at new beginnings, but a kind of boniness in the air; like when there’s this too-silent hush before news comes down that shatters everything. Millions gathered in Times Square and throughout the world’s capitals. But from a screen in his darkened bedroom, Adam had watched the festivities with an unplaceable dread.
By WR.Sandy Maherabout a month ago in Horror
The Haunted Tower of London: Dark History, Ghost Stories, and Royal Tragedies
For almost a thousand years, the Tower of London has loomed along the River Thames as one of the most recognized—and spookiest—sites in the United Kingdom. Originally constructed by William the Conqueror in the 11th century, the Tower was first and foremost a fortress designed to secure Norman domination of England. However, as the Tower grew and matured as a structure and as a symbol of British history, it would come to serve many purposes simultaneously— royal residence, prison, treasury, armory, and even site of execution—no wonder it is associated with so many stories of ghosts and otherworldly experiences.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a month ago in Horror
Moon-Struck Figures
Arthur couldn't sleep. Again. Three weeks, four days since the accident, and the nights were all the same: too long, too quiet, too full of things that weren't there but felt like they were. The old cabin, deep in the Blackwood Pines, was supposed to be a refuge. A place to get his head straight, away from the knowing glances and hushed tones. Instead, it was a soundproof box for his own unraveling.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Horror
Yeongdeok Haunted House: Korea’s Most Terrifying Abandoned Ghost House
The Yeongdeok Haunted House (영덕흉가), or simply Yeongdeok House, is a haunted mansion situated on a cliff overlooking the ocean within Yeongdeok County, North Gyeongsang Province, South Korea. It does not look any stranger than any typical old haunted house – two stories, paint peeling off, windows smashed, and a whole lot of disrepair. However, this haunted house has been a legend in Korea for many decades as being among the most haunted sites within the country.
By Kyrol Mojikalabout a month ago in Horror
The Glass Petals
The woods had always been a good place to get lost. Silas preferred it that way. The city was a clamor, a relentless gnawing at his nerves, and the quiet of the pines, the rot of fallen leaves, that was his peace. Or what passed for it these days. His boots crunched through brittle undergrowth, a familiar, comforting sound, each step further from the ghost of his last mistake, his last broken promise. The sun, a pale, watery disc, struggled to penetrate the dense canopy, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and swayed like grasping fingers.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Horror
When Silence Became the Loudest Question. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Some stories don’t begin with an announcement. They begin with silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the dangerous kind—the silence that settles when people stop denying and start fearing. That was how it began: no headlines, no press conference, no official statement. Just a quiet administrative inquiry logged late one evening, after offices emptied and lights dimmed. On paper, it looked routine. In reality, it carried weight heavy enough to shake institutions built over centuries.
By Behind the Curtainabout a month ago in Horror
Three Knocks Beneath the Sea
Silence has a texture under the sea. It isn’t empty—it breathes. It hums against the steel, curls into the corners, whispers in your skull until you start to hear your own blood. We were two miles beneath the surface when I heard it. Three knocks. Measured. Solid. Familiar. It reminded me of the way my grandpa used to knock on my door after making the long drive to see me. I sat up in my bunk, heart pounding so hard I felt it in my teeth. No one should have been awake except Reyes on night watch. The rest of the crew slept in their metal coffins, their breath feeding the recycled air system. The clock read 02:46. Three more knocks. Louder now. On my door. I stared at it—the trembling hinge, the echo traveling through the walls—and said, “Who’s there?” Nothing. Of course it was nothing. The embarrassment came fast, hot. Calling out to nothing. Just the deep, eternal hum of the Odyssey and the distant groan of the hull flexing against pressure that could crush us in a heartbeat. I stood, bare feet against cold metal, and opened the door. The corridor glowed dull red under the night lights. The air tasted of oil and salt. No one. Only three small wet circles on the door—like fingertips. I touched one. It was freezing. Reyes jumped when I entered the control room. “Jesus, Harper,” he said, clutching his chest. “What are you doing up?” “Someone knocked on my door.” He frowned. “No one’s moving around. Everyone’s accounted for.” “Then what did I hear?” He hesitated, then tapped the sonar display. “I’ve been getting something weird. A return echo—small. Moving along the hull.” The pulse slid across the screen. It wasn’t static. It shifted. “Could be current,” he said. “At two miles down?” He didn’t answer. A flicker. Then nothing. “I’m checking the observation chamber,” I said. “Harper—” But I was already walking. The chamber buzzed softly. The external camera showed nothing but blackness—endless, patient black. I leaned closer. My reflection hovered over the void, pale and unreal. Then something moved. A distortion. Like heat shimmering in air. I flicked on the floodlights. The hull burst into view, silver-gray and sweating condensation. Near the edge of the frame—there. A handprint. Pressed into the metal. I froze. And through the steel, unmistakable, I heard it. Knock. Knock. Knock. “Reyes!” He arrived breathless. “Listen,” I whispered. Three soft blows echoed through the ship, settling deep in my bones. “That’s impossible,” he said. “We’re two miles under.” The Captain woke everyone. Ten of us gathered in the mess, whispering theories—pressure shifts, hull expansion, sonar ghosts. No one mentioned the fact that we had all heard it. Porter squinted at the monitor. “Zoom in.” The feed magnified. Something shimmered against the hull, pulsing faintly. “It’s moving,” he said. The Captain ordered more light. The shimmer vanished. Then a dragging sound scraped across the steel. Knock. Knock. Knock. I had never seen fear spread so fast. These were people who had faced death without flinching. That night, none of us slept. At 6:00 a.m., I found Porter shivering in the mess. “You look like hell,” I said. He raised his hand. Three red circles marked his palm. “It knocked back,” he whispered. “From inside the pipes.” My stomach twisted. “Inside?” He nodded. “It’s in the sub.” I laughed. I don’t know why. A stupid, brittle sound—like this was all a prank. The look on his face snapped me back. “Maybe it was your echo,” I said. “Maybe.” Neither of us believed it. Two men disappeared the next night. No alarms. No breach. Just gone. Bunks empty. Boots still by the door. Reyes found a puddle of saltwater near the aft chamber. No leak above it. Three shallow finger dents pressed into the floor. “We’re surfacing,” the Captain said. The engines failed. Lights dimmed. Emergency red flooded the halls. Knock. Knock. Knock. Porter’s scanner pinged. “Something’s in the wall.” The steel bulged outward, slow as a breath. Then it split. No water came. Black vapor spilled out—alive, veined with faint light. A face pressed through it. Almost human. It raised a hand. Three knocks. Then laughter. My laughter. The bulkhead sealed. Silence returned. Later, the intercom crackled. “Harper,” Porter whispered. “It says you shouldn’t have turned on the lights.” The line went dead. We found him floating, eyes open, a shadow behind him shaped like a man. By morning, half the crew was gone. As we ascended, Reyes stared at the sonar. “It’s following us.” Two blips. Perfectly aligned. The knocks grew louder. Closer. Then the whisper came through every vent, every thought: Don’t open the door. I did. Blue light flooded in. Beautiful. Warm. Familiar. Like home. Like my grandpa’s knock. I laughed as the water filled my lungs. I laughed as the light faded. I laughed as I knocked three times on the outside of the submarine.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Horror
December 25th Repeats
I wake up to bells. Not church bells—those stopped ringing years ago—but the cheap electronic chime of my alarm clock playing a distorted version of “Jingle Bells.” The sound drills straight into my skull. My eyes open before I can stop them.
By Modhilrajabout a month ago in Horror
The Carol That Knows Your Name
The first time it happened, I thought I was mishearing it. Christmas Eve had settled into the apartment like dust—quiet, soft, unavoidable. Outside, the city glowed in muted colors, strings of lights blinking in tired rhythms, as if even joy needed rest. I sat alone at the small kitchen table with a cup of reheated coffee, the radio murmuring to fill the silence. I always kept it on during holidays. Silence had a way of remembering things I tried not to.
By Modhilrajabout a month ago in Horror
The Night No One Heard the Screams: A Haunting Story of Silence, Shadows, and the Questions That Still Linger
Introduction: When Silence Became the Loudest Witness Some nights slip quietly into history, leaving no trace beyond a date on a calendar. Others linger, heavy with unanswered questions and a silence so deep it feels deliberate. The Night No One Heard the Screams belongs to the second kind. It’s a phrase that chills the spine because it suggests something went terribly wrong—yet nothing stopped it. No neighbors called. No alarms rang. No sirens broke the darkness in time.
By X Crime2 months ago in Horror