Horror Poetry Novels & Stories

There was no one but darkness outside. "Who's that?" "Corrine?" "Elise?" Eiden guessed. He thought that it was his sisters being ignorant. Eiden approached the door and looked outside. There was no one and it looked deserted. Maybe everyone was fast asleep and didn't realize the power was off. Eiden closed the door and as he turned around, that was exactly when he saw the demonic figure. His eyes were fiery red with his entire body covered in blood. His teeth were sharp and emitted a lot of foul odor with two black horns on his head. He grinned at Eiden.

Sharp as a scream. And when it moves—when it tilts its head—the suns flicker, as if even they are afraid. “Who—” My voice scrapes out, raw from dust and fear. “What are you?” The figure laughs, low and soft, like chains dragging through water. “I am what was before your gods learned to whisper their names. I am the quiet between the first heartbeat and the last breath.” Great. Cryptic horror with delusions of poetry. Perfect. “You sound like a bad hymn,” I snap, because anger is easier than terror. “Try answering the question.”

He was lying face down, and face up, all at once. I live in that house now. I am the village "fixer." And every night, I listen to the scratching beneath the floorboards. I don't fear the ones that crawl. I fear the ones that wait. Because now I know that the most terrifying thing in the world isn't death—it’s a corpse that refuses to close its eyes.

Fear. Then: "Impossible." Silence. Then: "The horror knows." Everyone froze. Then far beyond the prison— a terrible roar echoed through reality. The sleeping horror had awakened. And it was coming.

Horror filled our features. Our eyes went wide as saucers. Oh sh*t! Sh*t! Sh*t!

“Yes, horror is the only modern genre that’s as fatalistic as classical tragedy. But one is considered by critics to be the pinnacle of fiction and the other is considered the nadir.” “You know you get the cutest little furrow in your brow when you get all serious.” “Blow me,” said Sam chucking a zippo at Jimmy’s head. “Only if you furrow your brow for me.” Jimmy took a hit from the bong and said, “You’ve thought quite a bit about this haven’t you?” “Yeah, I have. It means something y’know. The ancients used mythology as a way of exploring a lot of important, unspoken things about their lives. The closest thing we have to that is horror, it’s our way of exploring the unspoken matters in life

Now imagine what you can do to me if I dare argue with you. ‘You know I will never hurt you Billy, I love you.’ ‘Bye Petunia.’ With that, he left. I knew that not only will loneliness and darkness will be my refuge that night, but I was going to be haunted by all of my sins. I lived every day, haunted by the look Naledi gave me before she died, now all I could see was Anna’s wriggling feet, my strong grip on her mouth and the cold eyes I regained consciousness to. The way Billy looked at me didn’t sit well with me. He looked at me with disgust but mostly fear. The guy that I thought to be my everything, feared me. I was a monster like Anna had said. Why else would the person who sent me to k

Her body trembled, her muscles tensed as she strained to listen for any sign of danger. The night seemed to press in on her, the darkness alive with unseen terrors. Shadows danced and twisted, morphing into grotesque shapes that played tricks on her terrified mind. Every rustle of leaves, every hushed whisper of the wind sent shivers down her spine, threatening to unravel her fragile composure.

The deafening silence only intensifies my fear, leaving me with a sinking feeling that something truly horrific has occurred. I took my step after standing paralyzed for so long, one step at a time, slowly. And as my feet move, the scene before my eyes gets much more horrifying. The furniture is overturned, the walls are splattered with blood, and a chilling breeze sends shivers down my spine. My heart races as I realize that I am not alone in this house, and the unknown presence lurking in the shadows only fuels my terror.

The chilling fear gripped her, paralyzing her body and clouding her thoughts. In the pitch-black abyss, Storm’s imagination ran wild. She could hear the faint sound of her own breath, an eerie reminder of her vulnerability. Every creak and groan of the house seemed to echo through the corridors, magnifying her dread. Was Lucy awake? Who was walking around the house? The air felt thick and heavy, as if a malevolent presence lurked just beyond her sight. As her eyes strained to adjust to the darkness, her mind played tricks on her. Shadows danced and twisted, morphing into grotesque figures that seemed to mock her fear.