The house had been abandoned for decades, or so the town whispered. Its windows were blind, its doors swollen shut, its roof sagging like a mouth too tired to speak. Children dared each other to touch its rusted gate, but none lingered long enough to hear the faint hum that rose from within—like breath caught between walls.

This is just an experimental type of poem I wrote. I like to mostly write horror and some dark poetry, because I'm just fucked up like that.

The locals called it Black Pine Hollow, though no one had lived there for decades. The forest was a tangle of skeletal trees, their bark blackened as if burned from within, and the air carried a damp, metallic tang. Hunters avoided it. Children whispered about it. And yet, curiosity has a way of pulling people toward places they should never go.

Two women. One tied up and the other interrogating. One racing against the clock to save the world. The other fighting against her morality to protect her world.

The storm passed. The church stood silent. But the basement waits. Footsteps echo. Another soul descends. A 1000-word horror relic by Neil Brown.

A puppet sat on a shelf, it gaped at Holland. The puppet could not stop watching Holland and his every move.

Some houses don’t wait for owners. They wait for prey. Step inside, and silence will swallow you whole…"

Elena returns to her childhood home in Greybridge after her parents’ deaths and is haunted by whispers in the woods that sound like her missing brother, Isaac. Drawn to the old well where he vanished, she discovers a shape-shifting creature mimicking his voice to lure her.

Marcus moves into a new apartment where the landlord gives him one strange warning: never open the bedroom vent. On his first night, Marcus hears rattling, scraping, and then a whisper calling his name from inside the vent. A pale, twisted finger reaches through, and a voice begs him to let it out—using strangely imitated human speech.

Marcus, a graduate student in folklore, had heard rumors about Evelyn’s disappearance. He specialized in haunted architecture, the way buildings seemed to absorb trauma. When he learned the house had been abandoned again, he couldn’t resist.

He should run. Leave. Call someone. But something about that voice—her plea—anchored him in place. “Ma’am?” he tried again, forcing the words out. “I’m going to open the door.” He pushed it slowly. The hinges groaned. Inside, the bathroom was pitch-black, the only light coming from the faint glow of the hallway behind him. The tub sat half-filled with murky water, rippling faintly though the air was still. Then he saw it. A hand—wrinkled and pale—rose from the water, fingers trembling. Vincent lunged forward. “I’ve got you!” he shouted, grabbing her wrist. But the moment his skin met hers, the water went still—solid, like glass. Her hand stiffened beneath his grip, and her face emerged just beneath the surface, eyes wide open. Not breathing. Not alive. He stumbled backward, gasping. The reflection in the water shifted. The woman’s face was still there—but it wasn’t hers anymore. It was his.

“The wall split open, revealing a darkness deeper than night.” Evelyn thought she inherited a house. The house thought it inherited her. Whispers in the walls. A locked room that opens itself. And a chair that waits. Read the full story—if you dare.

The house on Calder Street had no front door—only a narrow alley that led to a rusted iron gate, and beyond that, a courtyard of broken tiles and dead vines. It was said the house had been built backward, its windows facing inward, its walls thick with secrets. No one remembered who lived there now. Only that someone did.

A short horror depicting the grief-induced descent into madness of a mother, Evelyn, who lost her son to stillbirth.

Let’s descend into something atmospheric, psychological, and symbolically rich—just the way you like it.

For ten thousand years, Gemini wanders the endless void of the Dream Realm—alone, eternal, and forgotten. Time loses all meaning as silence becomes his only companion and despair his shadow. But when all hope seems lost, a light breaks the endless night. From that radiance emerges Andromeda, the second dreamer—a being of creation and warmth who brings color, sound, and life to Gemini’s prison. Together, they shape the Dream Realm’s first landscape: mountains, rivers, and skies born from imagination and hope. From her hands rises a grand castle—Terminus, Gemini’s new home and throne. The Zodiac King learns what it truly means to protect. And though Andromeda must return to the waking world, her promise to come back fills Gemini with something he thought he’d lost forever: hope. Make sure to read the prologue first if you have not already as the exciting conclusion is about to unfold.

If you read burning plans, then this is a character from within that story, Saoira. I decided I wanted to make a backstory for them since they’re like basically the main character. I tried my hardest to write from inside their head and from when they were younger, so this is them around age 10 to 12/13. Also, there was that I thing that makes the words slanted in my doc that I was writing it originally, but when I pasted it in here, it did not keep any of those and I’m too lazy to fix it so. HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! lolz (I need to revise but I know I shouldn’t do it until like I actually finish writing the main like everything and then I should go to the editing stage but my OCD… UGHHHHH)

A missing fifteen-year-old girl finds herself in a parallel universe similar to her family's home, and something feels off about it. Everything doesn't seem to be normal, for she comes to realization that she is not in her home. Enduring terrors and exploring the depths of her dread, she comes to accept a grueling truth. Will she escape from her pain to find her way back home, or will she remain in her new home in the dark.

Beyond the veil of sleep lies the Kingdom of Dreams — a realm ruled by thirteen Zodiac Kings and threatened by Gemini’s dark twin, Genocide. Discover stories of courage, loss, and wonder in a world where dreams are alive, and nightmares fight to take control.

The Hollowing House doesn’t haunt you. It learns you. Step inside Barrow’s End, where memory curdles and guilt becomes architecture. You won’t find ghosts here—just the parts of yourself you buried. And the house? It’s still hungry.