Horror

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 Archive10 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 Gupta11 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 Stewart11 days ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Fog: A Town That Never Sleeps
The town lay under a velvet fog that never fully lifted, its streets slick with damp and silence. Even the neon of the diner flickered with hesitation, as if unsure it should illuminate the night. The air carried a weight, a subtle hum that tugged at the edges of the mind—a whisper of things best left unspoken.
By Algieba11 days ago in Fiction
The Skull Washed Ashore
The Skull Washed Ashore The tide was slow that morning, dragging itself across the shore with a heavy sound that seemed to settle into the bones rather than pass through the ears, and the sky hung low in a dull grey weight that made the whole stretch of beach feel closed in, as though the world had narrowed to that one place and refused to open beyond it. I had walked there many times before, enough to know every shift in the sand and every curve of the shoreline, yet that day something felt wrong in a way that could not be easily named, something quiet and watchful that seemed to exist just beyond the edge of thought.
By George’s Girl 2026 12 days ago in Fiction
Part 2 The Malfunctioning Time Machine. Content Warning.
I WROTE THIS, I EDITED THIS, IT IS NOT FAKE IT IS MY WRITING MY PROMPTS MY WORK. The Architect’s Quiet Hour: Rewriting the Destination
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 12 days ago in Fiction
A Kind of Stillness. Content Warning.
As spiders crawl upon your skin do you wince or lie still awake at twilight as spindles spin lacy traps across your window
By Paul Stewart12 days ago in Fiction
The Malfunctioning Time Machine Part One. Content Warning.
PART ONE The Malfunctioning Time Machine Opening Prose: When the Marble Remembered the Century The revolving doors exhaled her into the lobby like a secret the building had been holding too long.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 13 days ago in Fiction
Nuked . Content Warning.
He sits there in opulence, hating them. All of them. HATING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM Not just the Blacks who don't know their place, and the gays and the lunatic left, and the useless women like Ilhan and AOC who are delusional enough to think that what they have to say somehow matters, not just them...
By Sam Spinelli13 days ago in Fiction
Invitation. Honorable Mention in Something Is Beginning, I Think Challenge. Top Story - March 2026.
The invitation was elegant for all its simplicity: The management & staff of “the Epicure” are hopeful that you might grace us with your presence as we celebrate the completion of our recent renovations at the Skyview Tower.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock13 days ago in Fiction
Broken and Driven . Content Warning.
It’s done. I have saved our species…. I have saved our planet…. And in so doing I have embraced my own damnation. I know, on a cognitive level, I am the greatest hero humanity has ever known. But in my soul that I am also our greatest villain....
By Sam Spinelli13 days ago in Fiction
Like Black Mercury. Runner-Up in Something Is Beginning, I Think Challenge.
My eyes opened. I can't say that I opened my eyes because once my eyes were open, I tried to move and discovered I couldn't move any part of my body, except my eyes. I couldn't even blink.
By John R. Godwin13 days ago in Fiction