Welcome to our 2023 50 Word Horror Story We Miss Halloween Contest. Everyone wishes they had 2 Halloweens, but no one will listen. Being that I’m missing Halloween, I need horror stories and lots of them. So post your 50-word horror stories in the comments below. The winner gets free promos on our site, email, and social networks. The best story, selected by me, wins.
I’ve been running these contests for years, and some fantastic stories have been posted.
The rules:
- It must be high-quality horror stories
- It must be 50 words or less
- It must be a complete story
- Have to be in before our deadline.
- The deadline is June 15, 2023
- Enter as many stories as you like!
- Post your story in the comments below.
- Scariest Story Wins
The prizes:
- The top scariest story will win the promotion.
- Promote anything writing-related.
- You get 1 ad, an email blast, and a posting on all our social networks.
- Your story will be published on our site.
So this is easy; leave your scary 50-word story in the comments. I’m really looking forward to reading them.
Enter as many stories as you like!
Gloria Watts says
I wanted to . . . but held back, my eyes misting – how beautiful she looked. I gently, gently reached out, until my hands feeling the softness of her skin squeezed, squeezed tight, until the room echoed with the softness of her last sigh.
Gloria Watts says
I wanted to . . . but how beautiful she looked, golden curls cradled by a silken pillow, breath soft, in the silence. I gently reached out, my hands circled her neck, tightened, squeezed, Her eyes opened, golden curls rose with snake like fangs to draw blood. Her face lit with a smile.
Adam Gooch says
The darkness crept in, closing in around her as she realized she was not alone in the abandoned asylum. The screams of tortured souls echoed through the halls. Barely audible above the sound of her own pounding heart, she could hear the echos of distant footstep getting closer.
Closer….
Paul Bahou says
The world ended on a Tuesday.
The world ended on a Tuesday, consumed in atomic fire. Skin and civilization burning; the Mona Lisa and the pyramids, dust. But I survived, me in the bunker. Me and the mutants, pustule arms pounding on safety glass. Bang, bang, bang. They hunger. They want my rations; they want me.
Paul Bahou says
The diagnosis
White walls glowed beneath florescent lights, the chatter of nurses peripheral. The oncologist moves with quiet haste. He sits on the chair opposite mine, clipboard flipping open. It’s positive, stage 4, spread to organs, terminal. I don’t hear what follows as he’s off to the next room. I sit, numb.