fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
Lover's Bridge. Content Warning.
In the small town of Matlock in the 1940s, a bridge was constructed to connect the shopping and office buildings to the suburbs. It made travel a lot easier for a lot of people, even a sidewalk for those who do not drive. Not long after the construction of the Locke bridge, it had its first death as well. A bride-to-be named Jo Walker, had been left at the altar. Overcome by sadness she committed suicide by hanging herself over the side of the bridge.
By 3rrornightshiftabout 3 hours ago in Horror
The Man Who Lost 300 Years in a Single Night: The Tale of Urashima Taro
1. The Paradox of the Perfect Ending Every culture has its stories of forbidden kingdoms and magic. In the West, we have Rip Van Winkle and Pandora’s Box. But in Japan, there is a folktale that masterfully combines these elements into a single, haunting narrative: The Tale of Urashima Taro.
By Takashi Nagayaabout 16 hours ago in Horror
The Uniform. Content Warning.
The Capulins were a small family of three which consisted of two parents and a son. Oliver was very intelligent and had been accepted into a known private school. Ada was proud of her son and couldn't help but smile when he first put on that uniform. Not his father was the first to notice that something was wrong with his son.
By 3rrornightshiftabout 20 hours ago in Horror
The 10 Most Haunted Schools in the United States: Ghosts on Campus You Won’t Believe
Ghost stories are more than just bedtime tales; they’re part of the cultural fabric of every civilization. From vampires lurking in European castles to flying, dismembered ghouls in Asia, humans have always been fascinated, and terrified, by the unknown. But what ties these stories together is the setting: old buildings and places with long histories often harbor the most spirits.
By Areeba Umaira day ago in Horror
The Doll Maker. Content Warning.
Funeral dolls are normally used at a wake. Which allows the mourners to see their loved ones one last time. However, during the 1800s, some people found it too much to bear seeing a dead infant. So, they used wax dolls that look like their children, even using real hair. From this study, a small village adapted this practice, creating life-sized dolls for people to keep.
By 3rrornightshifta day ago in Horror
Recording #27
The tape arrived in a plain brown envelope with no return address. Ethan almost threw it away. It was a rainy Tuesday evening, the kind where the sky hung low and gray over the city, and the world felt quieter than usual. Ethan had just returned from work when he noticed the envelope sitting on the small table by his apartment door. No stamp. No name. Just the faint smell of old cardboard. Inside was a single cassette tape. Written on its label in faded black ink were two words: Recording #27 Ethan stared at it for a moment. He didn’t even own a cassette player anymore. At least, not until he remembered the dusty one sitting in a box in his closet. It had belonged to his father—an old portable recorder he’d kept after the house was sold years ago. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Ethan felt uneasy holding the tape. But curiosity won. Twenty minutes later, the recorder sat on the kitchen table. The rain tapped softly against the window. Ethan turned the cassette over in his hands again. Recording #27 Twenty-seven implied there had been others. He slid the tape into the recorder and pressed play. For a moment, nothing happened except the faint mechanical whir of the spinning reels. Then static. A long hiss. And finally—a voice. “…testing… testing… if this is working.” Ethan froze. The voice sounded strangely familiar. It was his voice. Or at least something very close to it. He leaned closer to the recorder. On the tape, the voice continued. “Okay. If you're hearing this… then something went wrong.” Ethan’s stomach tightened. “This is Recording Number Twenty-Seven. The others didn’t survive. Either they were erased… or they never reached you.” The tape crackled. Ethan whispered to himself, “What the hell…” The voice spoke again. “You probably don’t believe this yet. I didn’t either when I first heard it. But listen carefully, Ethan.” The sound of his own name made his chest feel hollow. “Yes. I know your name. Because I’m you.” The tape paused for a moment, as if whoever recorded it had taken a breath. “Three days from now, at 2:17 a.m., something is going to happen in your building.” The rain outside seemed louder now. “You’ll hear a knock at your door. Don’t answer it.” Ethan stared at the recorder. “This is important. No matter what you hear—no matter who it sounds like—do not open the door.” The tape hissed. A faint background noise appeared behind the voice—like distant alarms. “I tried twenty-six times already. Every time you opened the door.” Ethan felt cold. “And every time… that’s when it started.” The voice lowered. “I’m running out of chances.” The recorder crackled again. “Let me prove this to you.” A pause. “Right now you’re sitting at your kitchen table. There’s a half-drunk cup of coffee next to your left hand. You haven’t cleaned the dishes in the sink.” Ethan slowly looked toward the sink. There were three plates. Exactly as described. “You’re thinking this is a prank.” Another pause. “But you’ll keep listening.” Ethan realized his heart was racing. The voice continued. “The knock will sound like Mom.” Ethan’s breath stopped. “She’ll ask you to open the door. She’ll say she needs help.” But Ethan’s mother had died two years ago. “That’s how it tricks you.” Static burst briefly across the tape. “When you open the door, the hallway will be empty. But you’ll hear footsteps behind you.” The voice on the tape became strained. “Don’t turn around.” A loud metallic crash sounded somewhere in the background of the recording. “Damn it—they’re closer than I thought.” Ethan leaned closer to the recorder. “What are they?” he whispered. The tape answered as if it had heard him. “I don’t know what they are.” The voice sounded tired now. “I only know they shouldn’t exist.” Another pause. “You’re probably wondering how I made this recording.” The tape crackled again. “Let’s just say time isn’t as stable as we thought.” The sound of rapid footsteps echoed faintly behind the voice. “Every time you open the door, everything resets. Three days back. I remember. You don’t.” Ethan’s hands trembled. “That’s why I started making recordings.” Another breath. “Each loop, I hide one somewhere new.” The voice grew urgent. “If you found Recording #27, that means this one survived the reset.” A loud banging noise suddenly filled the tape. Someone pounding on a door. “Ethan,” the voice whispered quickly. “They’re here.” The banging grew louder. “Remember: don’t open the door.” The pounding on the recording became frantic. “Whatever happens—” The tape abruptly distorted. Then came a new sound. Three slow knocks. From the tape. Knock. Knock. Knock. The voice on the recording whispered one final sentence: “…oh no.” The tape stopped. The recorder clicked. Silence filled the apartment. Ethan sat frozen at the table. Outside, the rain had stopped. And somewhere in the hallway beyond his apartment door— Three slow knocks echoed. Knock. Knock. Knock.
By Sahir E Shafqata day ago in Horror
Unknown Caller
The phone rang at exactly 2:17 a.m. Daniel woke with a jolt. The shrill sound cut through the quiet of his apartment like a blade. For a moment he lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he had imagined it. Then it rang again. His phone sat on the nightstand, vibrating softly against the wood. The screen glowed in the darkness. Unknown Caller. Daniel groaned and rubbed his face. Telemarketers had become bold lately, but calling at two in the morning felt almost illegal. Half-asleep and irritated, he grabbed the phone. “Hello?” he muttered. There was only silence. Not the usual empty silence of a dropped call. This one felt… thick. As if someone was breathing just beyond the edge of hearing. “Hello?” he repeated. A faint crackle came through the speaker. Then a whisper. “…Daniel…” His chest tightened. “Who is this?” he asked, now fully awake. But the line went dead. Daniel stared at the phone. The call duration read 00:13. He frowned and opened the call log. The number froze his blood. 000-000-0000 “That’s… not possible,” he muttered. No real number looked like that. He told himself it was probably some glitch from his phone carrier. Technology did weird things sometimes. Still uneasy, he set the phone down and tried to go back to sleep. For a long time, he stared into the darkness. The phone rang again. 2:43 a.m. Same number. Daniel hesitated before answering this time. “Listen,” he said immediately, forcing confidence into his voice. “If this is some kind of prank—” “…you shouldn’t have answered the first time.” The voice was clearer now. Low. Hoarse. Familiar. Daniel felt a cold ripple move down his spine. “Who is this?” he demanded. A faint sound came through the speaker. Scratching. Like fingernails dragging slowly across wood. “You shouldn’t have answered,” the voice repeated. “Stop messing around,” Daniel snapped. “How do you know my name?” The scratching grew louder. Then the whisper returned. “…I’m almost there.” The call ended. Daniel sat frozen on his bed. The apartment felt different now. Too quiet. Too empty. He swung his legs onto the floor and checked the front door. Locked. Windows. Locked. Everything normal. “See?” he said aloud, trying to calm himself. “Just some idiot with a voice changer.” But his stomach twisted with doubt. The voice. He had heard it before. At 3:05 a.m., the phone rang again. Daniel didn’t want to answer. But something worse than curiosity pushed him. Fear. “What do you want?” he asked. The whisper came instantly. “…look outside.” Daniel’s throat tightened. “I’m not playing your game.” “…look outside.” Against his better judgment, he walked toward the living room window. His apartment was on the fourth floor. The street below was empty, lit only by flickering streetlights. Nothing moved. “No one’s there,” Daniel said. A pause. Then the voice said softly: “…I know.” The phone clicked dead. Daniel turned away from the window. And froze. Something was wrong. The apartment suddenly felt colder. He looked down at his phone again. Another notification appeared. Missed Call – 3:12 a.m. Same number. But Daniel hadn’t heard the phone ring. Confused, he opened the call log. The new call showed something strange. Duration: 00:47 “Wait… I didn’t answer that,” he whispered. His heart started pounding. Slowly, he raised the phone to his ear. And pressed play on the recorded voicemail. At first there was nothing. Just static. Then came a sound that made his blood run cold. Footsteps. Inside his apartment. Slow. Careful. Walking across the wooden floor. Daniel spun around, panic rising in his chest. The voicemail continued. Another sound. A door creaking open. His bedroom door. On the recording, his own sleeping voice could be heard faintly breathing. Then the whisper spoke again. Right beside the microphone. “…almost there.” Daniel dropped the phone. “No,” he breathed. That recording… it had been made inside his home. But that was impossible. He had been awake. He had answered the call. Hadn’t he? The phone rang again. Right at his feet. Daniel stared at the screen. Unknown Caller – 000-000-0000 His hands trembled. He answered slowly. “…hello?” The voice sounded different now. Closer. Clearer. Right behind him. “Turn around.” Daniel’s blood turned to ice. The phone slipped from his hand as a second voice whispered into his ear from the darkness of the room. The exact same voice from the phone. His voice. “I told you,” it said softly. “You shouldn’t have answered.” The line went dead. And Daniel finally understood something far too late. The number calling him didn’t belong to anyone else. It belonged to him. Or rather— to something that had been trying to reach him from the other side of the night. And now that he had answered… It no longer needed the phone.
By Sahir E Shafqata day ago in Horror
