The Archivist's wake is a 1000 word horror story that's bound to get your emotions stirring in other realms that you never thought existed.

This is where it all started. This initial chapter is a major turning point in my life. It's a day I'll never forget. It's written as close to as it actually happened. This memory will probably the most accurate real life memory in the entire story.

When love turns dangerous, every secret becomes a weapon. Dark romance meets psychological suspense.

Here’s a chilling original horror story, "The echoes beneath." Crafted to put a chill in your bones leaving you with a burning fear stitched into your skin.

With honor once pure and golden, The forgotten souls wander the lands of Reveri where the stars shattered and rained down releasing beings passed and ahead. The lands fell into discord, what was once a peaceful landscape remains a limitless hell for hopeless and a playground for the powerful. Through it all remains one silent forgotten soul, broken blade in hand it sits in the depths of Dethus abyss, never given a purpose or a form to prove itself worthy of heaven. Never the ability to find peace in being sent to its grave. While Regarik rules the depths of Dethus, the Magiunion reins among the luminescent star lakes, the two sons of heaven safeguard the very edges of Reveri. Each being holding a peice of the forgotten souls peace. Will it go through the challenges of fighting with its calloused malice to regain an eternal peace or remain in its shallow fate sitting alone in Dethus destined to be forgotten once more?

She stepped into the mirror. Now it watches from the other side. The Room That Whispers — A 1000-word horror story.

A 1000-word horror story about memory, guilt, and the places that never forget. Mara thought she was there to archive the past. The house had other plans.

“The Hollowing — A barefoot child. A cellar that breathes. A pact that never died.” It captures the eerie dread of the story: a haunted house at the edge of frostbitten woods, a silent boy at the porch, and the creeping memory of a sacrifice that won’t stay buried.

The house is still there. No one remembers building it. But sometimes, late at night, if you walk past the pantry window, you’ll see a man staring out. His face is pale. His eyes are wide. And behind him, the cellar door is open. Waiting.

Halloween is that time of the year when everyone loves scary stories. Turn the lights down low and light your candles and get ready for a scary Halloween story.

The Hollow House is still listed. No plans. No permits. Just a room that watches. And a spiral that waits.

The museum reopened with a new exhibit: Echoes of the Forgotten. Visitors are drawn to the centerpiece—a tall, feminine structure of blackened steel. They say it hums. They say it breathes. They say if you listen closely, you’ll hear your own regrets whispered back to you. And if you step inside… You won’t be alone.

A small town overrun by world ending rabies. Can this brave dog be saved? Can the young reporter make a frontpage worthy article?

The house still stands. No address. No name. But if you walk the gravel path on a Thursday, you may hear a voice behind the east wing window. It will sound like your own. And it will ask: "Are you ready to remember?"

Newly-weds Daniel and Eleanor just moved into their marital home- a quiet, old Victorian. The house starts to whisper to Daniel at night, draining his sanity until he snaps.

A new writers introduction and what to expect from my channel. Also a little bit about who I am. Enjoy!

I'm sure that I feel the same way that most fiction writers feel, that is, they love to write but feel like they're not any good at marketing. If that's you, you're not alone.

This Essay is an analysis of the games Inside and Limbo, both of which are horror-based platformer games. The Essay compares how both games experiment with the concept of a platformer and create ambiance centric horror narratives.

In the midst of great violence and pungent chaos, a murder unfolded that would impact the future of a woman for decades to come. She knew not of how greatly her actions would impact her life until it was far too late to turn back. One shot, then two, then three, she was damned for all eternity.

The first few weeks at 113 Blackwood Lane were defined by the subtle dread that clung to the air like dust. It was the scent of old wood, mothballs and something metallic, something rotten. I quickly learned the house and two main inhabitants besides myself.