Novel & Cerita Horror Poetry

I steeled myself and opened the door. The hallway was awash in red. Smears and spatters of bright and dark blood covered the walls, the floor, and my door. My head reeled. What the hell happened? Why was there so much blood outside my door? Hadn't the guy in 603 seen it through his peephole? I couldn't help looking toward apartment 603. To my surprise, the door stood half-open, and it was dead quiet inside. I picked my way past the bloodstains and made my way to apartment 603.

“They walk in shadow, cloaked not in fur but in malice woven. Their eyes are voids, deeper than tombs, and their breath withers hope. They need no pack, yet oft they come as one—five, ten, more—like the black wind before the storm.” “Beware, oh kin of claw and fang. When the woods fall still and the birds forget their songs; when the moon hides her face and the beasts of field flee in silence—then they are near. Bolt thy den and speak not their name, for to name them aloud is to draw their gaze.” “Let this be writ in claw and ash: the houndras cometh not for meat nor mirth, but for the ending of all things forgotten.” “That's it?” Rune asked, frustrated as he flipped through the pages hoping

“Castle. Vampires. Throne with issues.” “Vampires,” he echoed. “Right. Should’ve expected that.” He tilted his head. “You write horror?” I blinked. “What?” “You said ‘horror,’” he pointed out. “Unless you meant your life, in which case—relatable.” A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “Both, technically,” I said. “But yes. I… wrote horror. Online mostly. Short stories. Flash. Some longer stuff. Nobody important read them.” “Clearly somebody did,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the bus, the windows, the [KEY AUTHOR CANDIDATE: FLAGGED] that had flso long ago. “But hey, that’s metal. My mom hated scary movies; she’d have lost her mind over you.”

I lie on the bed inhaling deeply and the smell is much stronger here. My heart races with the thought of someone breaking into my home and the dread in me intensifies seeing a black note on the side of the table. Ice grips me as I stare at the cursive words written in red. Caged in a nightmare. Fear the darkness, Unknown to the eyes. The flower spreads poison, just as ocean drowned the love.

Her pulse thunders in her ears, and it takes precious moments for the residual terror to subside in the tiniest sense of it. In the eerie stillness of the night, Marisol clutched at the sheets, her heart racing wildly owing to the scare of the nightmare that had taken a few nights off, only to return stronger than it would seem. The vivid imagery of the beast persists even behind her closed lids, haunting her waking moments as she grapples with the remnants of the surreal horror that had unfolded in her dreams.

A faint, unearthly mist creeps across the ground, like skeletal fingers reaching out to snatch the living, as if death itself was reclaiming the land. The trees, once green and vibrant, now stand as skeletal sentinels, their branches like bony fingers reaching towards the sky. The wind whispers an unsettling melody, a haunting dirge that seems to warn of impending doom. In this ominous hour, the shadows come alive, twisting and writhing like living darkness. The very fabric of reality seems to be unraveling, and the whispers of the unknown are a chilling reminder that something ancient and evil lurks just beyond the edge of perception.

His wrinkled face looked like it was crawling with countless wriggling worms. I shuddered and stepped back, whispering to Silvia, "Good thing I've got you. This place is terrifying." She snorted and suddenly shoved me forward, straight toward George. With an icy laugh, she said, "This pretty boy will make a great offering. You're going to love him." Before I could react, George gestured, and several eerie puppets stepped forward to pin me down and drain my blood. A sharp bell rang out, echoing through the night.

Rian's eyes opened and looked directly at me as my entire body froze in fear. A cloud of black smoke covered his hanging body that stared at me as if he was looking straight into my soul. A tear left his eyes, and his hand reached me as I was slowly backing away. Then, Rian disappeared, leaving me shaking in fear and looking at the pitch-black void that made me feel blind.

That man died the second my mate screamed through that screen. I am what you birth when you break something sacred. This is the part where the devil prays I never catch up. Because horror thrives at night. And I just became its fucking god. You think you've seen rage? No. Rage is a cracked mirror. This? This is a void. A nuclear core. A storm without mercy. You want to know what I see? I see red. Kex... I won't kill him. I'll redefine him. He'll beg for death and scream so loud, the dead will cover their ears.

The foliage has begun reclaiming sidewalks and parking lots, even poking through the street’s asphalt. But not here. Nothing grows here. “I grew up reading a lot of classic horror, Stephen King, H. P. Lovecraft, especially,” Father Ward says. “Dad did, too. He was a different sort of pastor. A little more relaxed. Anyway, there’s a scrap of poetry by Lovecraft. Goes something like this . . . ” Father Ward closes his eyes and with a thoughtful expression recites: The Thing, they whisper, wears a silken mask Of yellow, whose queer folds appear to hide