Poems Horror Novels & Stories

"Damn you, Annabelle." As I continued my solitary journey, the shadows cast by the towering trees became more menacing. Each twist and turn in the road seemed to reveal hidden horrors, imaginary figures lurking just beyond my peripheral vision. My overactive imagination conjured images of malevolent entities hiding behind the gnarled trunks, their eyes glinting with malicious intent. A shiver ran down my spine as I quickened my pace, desperate to escape the oppressive darkness that enveloped me.

I could feel something staring at me from the darkness behind my back. “He’s here…” I forced myself to stay calm long enough to ask, “Who?” “The boss. The most terrifying existence in the horror game.” I nearly forgot how to breathe. My head turned, mechanically, like rusted machinery grinding into motion. In the distance stood a man dressed in black robes. Half of his face was hidden beneath a bronze mask as he silently watched us. Every step he took caused the mandrake flowers embroidered on the curtains to glow brighter. By the time he got to the center of the stage, black-red liquid began dripping from the flowers, releasing a thick metallic stench into the air. With a raise of his hand,

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.”

The scene at the Gables’ porch was no longer a private tragedy. The initial, piercing scream had acted like a grim summons, pulling people from their homes and their morning routines. They gathered in a loose, hesitant semicircle, a silent, growing audience to the horror. The air, once fresh with the promise of dawn, was now thick with the metallic tang of blood and the low, anxious hum of murmured voices. Faces, pale and drawn in the morning light, were etched with a familiar dread—the kind that came from knowing that no walls, no matter how well-fortified, could ever truly keep the darkness out.

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.

The next second, the Patchwork Monster tore the man in half. He tossed the body outside casually. Just then, a crisp, bell-like voice sounded outside. “It’s after work hours, who’s so rude as to be throwing bodies around?” A young girl with three heads and eight arms appeared at the doorway. With just one look at the shop, anger filled her voice, and her hair stood on end. “Who the hell had a death wish and smashed the Number One Must-Eat shop in the entire horror game?”

With a choir, singing in her living room! “Beth,”Emma said ever so sweetly,“honey,are you totally sure you weren't having a dream?You must realize how this sounds!All this talk of caskets and corn children giving you ominous warnings….did you watch a horror movie before bed?You know how those upset you.” Beth composed herself as best she could.”No, I didn't watch a horror movie Em.I came downstairs thinking I’d left the telly on and there in my living room was a casket with me in it!And a choir of children.”

All I have to do is ignore them, and I'll be fine. -------------------------------- "I really hate being in the library." Hilary complained. They were sent to the library to research about the history of their town through old newspaper articles. "Shut up, and help us. Come on." Henry, her twin brother said. "Hey, guys. Look at this." Xavier found a news article dated thirty years ago." Xavier announced. Everyone gathered around him, except for Landon. "Young boy found dead at the boy's locker room?" Olga read title of the headline.

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.

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