50-Word Horror Stories: 2024 Contest Archives
Welcome to the archives of our 2024 Halloween 50-Word Horror Story Contest! This thrilling competition closed in October 2024, and what an incredible journey it was. With over 600 bone-chilling submissions, our judges were both terrified and impressed by the creativity on display.
The Power of Micro-Horror
There’s something uniquely powerful about horror in its most concentrated form. These 50-word stories prove that fear doesn’t require lengthy exposition or elaborate setups – sometimes the most terrifying tales are those that leave just enough to our imagination. Like a shadow glimpsed from the corner of your eye or a whisper in an empty house, these micro-stories plant the seed of fear and let our minds do the rest.
The best horror touches on universal fears while surprising us with unexpected twists. Whether exploring the supernatural, psychological terror, or the monsters that might live among us, these compact nightmares demonstrate that skilled writers can create complete worlds of dread in just a handful of sentences.
A Community of Storytellers
We’re incredibly grateful to all the writers who shared their darkest imaginings with us. The comments section below contains hundreds of chilling tales that range from the subtly unsettling to the downright terrifying. We encourage you to scroll through and experience these tiny terrors for yourself – but perhaps keep the lights on as you read.
Looking Ahead: Halloween 2025
The overwhelming success of this contest has inspired us to make it an annual tradition! We’ll be launching our 2025 Halloween Horror Story Contest in early September next year with another exciting prize package for the most spine-tingling submission.
Follow our social media channels or subscribe to our newsletter to be the first to know when submissions open for the 2025 contest. Start brainstorming your most terrifying concepts now – you have almost a year to perfect your 50-word nightmares!
Explore the Darkness
Feel free to browse through the comments below to read all the entries from our 2024 contest. Whether you’re looking for inspiration for your own writing or simply enjoy a good scare, these micro-stories offer concentrated doses of horror from hundreds of talented writers.
Thank you to everyone who participated in making this contest such a tremendous success. We can’t wait to see what horrifying tales you’ll craft for next year’s competition!
- 50 Word Horror Story Contest 2024 - August 14, 2024
The skin slid off her body and puddled on the floor, folding into the spaces between her toes. A keeper came close, gathered up the folds, and dropped them heavily on a table to be scrubbed, dried and moisturized. Standing very still, she felt the raw breeze caress her bones.
With a thunderous BANG, the lights went out. Frantically burning a candle, I surveyed my surroundings. Heart raced as I inched toward the basement, to the fuse box. In the corner- they all gathered, swaying in unison. As my candlelight invaded their darkness, they all crawled towards me, hissing.
I found an old, dusty picture of myself as a child in the attic, smiling next to my parents. But there was something wrong. I don’t have any childhood photos.
Flipping it over, a note read: “Taken today. Welcome home.”
Suddenly, I heard footsteps upstairs—where no one should be.
I heard my mom calling me from downstairs. As I headed toward the stairs, I felt a hand grab my arm.
I turned around—my mom, pale and trembling, whispered, “Don’t go. I heard it too.”
I woke to a notification: “You’re now being watched.” Confused, I checked my phone. The message wasn’t from any app. I laughed it off, until another ping: “No, don’t turn around.”
I froze. My reflection in the mirror across the room grinned—though I hadn’t moved.
As I tucked my daughter into bed, she whispered, “There’s someone under my bed.” I smiled and looked to reassure her, but when I bent down, I saw her—another her—huddled, trembling.
“Daddy,” she whimpered, “there’s someone in my bed.”
I turned back, but the girl was already smiling.
I found an old, dusty picture of myself as a child in the attic, smiling next to my parents. But there was something wrong. I don’t have any childhood photos.
Flipping it over, a note read: “Taken today. Welcome home.”
Suddenly, I heard footsteps upstairs—where no one should be.
My phone buzzed with a new photo notification: “You look peaceful while you sleep.”
Confused, I checked the picture. It was me, in bed, taken from the closet.
Oooooh, I had a chill when I read this.
The elephant looked angrily at the full moon. No crop raiding tonight. Her stomach growled.
The rule was old. “Too much light,” mom always said.
She snapped.
The villagers rushed outside when the screams began.
She did not care. Their small bodies would all feel the weight of her rage.
My daughter wouldn’t stop crying at night, pointing at the dark corner.
I told her there was nothing there.
Then, a voice whispered back, “She’s lying.”
The wall clock kept ticking. More and more, the ticking sound sounded closer and closer to my ears. I tried to open my eyes, I saw a black shadow standing at the end of the bed, staring at me blankly. My breathing stopped.
Traffic was stopped. He clinched tightly and cursed that burrito again.
“What the hell? Move people,” he screamed..
He looked over at some bushes. “I have to,” he said and opened his door
Unaware of the terrors that await him on the the road ahead, sweet relief washed over him
I woke up to my wife stroking my hair. She died two years ago.
He calls her name three times into the mirror. The candle flickers wildly, yet nothing changes.
Another stupid ghost story, he thinks.
But before he turns away, something in his reflection stops him. Blackness swallows the whites of his eyes as his lips slowly curl into an unnaturally wide smile.
Just a dream, she thought, covered in sweat.
She rushed to work.
“Thanks for finally joining us, Carol,” her boss said. “We’ve got a real nightmare here. Accounting says…”
A skeletal arm suddenly ripped through the floor and latched onto his neck.
She woke up smiling.
Finally a good dream.
Death’s claws were tearing more and more of her away. She wished it wasn’t happening in this hospital bed.
A nurse enters. “Hi, Agnes, how ya feeling today?”
The dark entity sits on her chest eating pieces of the heart it had ripped out.
Agnes struggled. “Much better,” she replied..
The ice cream truck broke down, but the music still played.
“Hey,” a boy shouted, “you alive? We need a treat.”
The back door suddenly ripped open. A pale little girl grinned evilly at the driver.
The tow truck arrived soon after, but the ice cream man was never found..
An unseen terror stalked the dark neighborhood, but all the dogs knew. They barked fearful warnings hoping their humans would hear.
“Shut up you mutts,” a sleepy man yelled, but they kept barking.
With hate in its heart and death on its mind, the specter quietly entered a family’s home.
He opened the door, a strange smell wafting out. The police found two lifeless bodies—a mother and her three-month-old daughter—wrapped in an eternal embrace. The husband had slaughtered them, calling it “the wrath of betrayal.” His madness invades my dreams, leaving me forever deprived of peace.
“Kill it,” my grandmother insisted, her voice cold and unforgiving. At seven, my heart shattered as I ended Billie, my beloved dog. “Be strong, or a girl will break your heart,” she warned, cruelty veiled as wisdom. Now, I whisper apologies to Billie. Rest in hell, Grandma. Your strength left me shattered, forever alone.
“I’d rather marry a dog than you, useless wretch!” my father roared, slamming my mother against the wall. His eyes pierced me, cold as ice. “You were a mistake; I forgot protection.” This is my hell. They say, “Life’s a blessing,” but I’d barter a decade for just one genuine smile.
“Breathe with me, feel my warmth,” my beloved girlfriend whispered as she faced cancer’s grasp. The love we shared plays like a haunting film in my mind. “I hate you for leaving me,” echoes my pain. I’ll cherish our dog, Catia, and hold onto our last photo together, forever.
“When I grow older, I will become a doctor,” the son said, holding his mom’s hand as they crossed the road. Unbeknownst to them, a reckless drunk driver struck. As they lay bleeding, the son whispered, “I’m feeling cold.” “It’s okay, baby…” she breathed, never to finish her sentence.
“May his soul rest in peace.” Waking from the nightmare, I realized it was my burial. What pissed me off was being buried goddamn poor; the ceremony was cheap! Let this be your motivation: work hard, live like a youth, and get buried rich. That’s my everyday nightmare.
In the dim light, she whispered her secret to the mirror: “I’m the last one left.” The reflection grinned, eyes gleaming with malice. As dawn broke, her screams echoed, trapped behind glass. The mirror shattered, but only her blood stained the floor. The grin remained, waiting for the next victim.
“Eat it, finish the whole pot of meat!” a roaring voice boomed as the boy stared, horrified, at the steaming contents. “You must sacrifice your loved ones to become rich.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whispered, his heart pounding. The beast cackled, “Good, now your sister needs to join her.”
“Sigh here and you will be free,” the voice hissed. Jonna pierced her palm, blood soaking into the white paper. Instantly, she rose to fame, but with each triumph came whispers of betrayal. At night, shadows clawed at her dreams, reminding her of the price paid for her dark success.
Purgatory takes many forms, for the ever arrogant Abraham Crick, it is a train station. Each day he awakes and by nightfall he is gutted, dismembered, diminished, reset. An indefinite cycle. Punished for crimes that only he remembers, but will never admit to. There he now lays, the contemporary Prometheus.
Stephen and his friends were playing cricket, the ball fell into an old house, Stephen went inside that house, suddenly the door closed, Stephen got scared. He saw his ball, but as soon as he went near the ball, some ghost took it away. Stephen got scared.
There’s a well in my grandparents’ garden. When I was little, grandpa used to tell me: “Don’t lean over, or it’ll see ya!”
One time, my frisbee flew in. I had a peek inside. Two glaring dots were piercing the black void. A raspy voice ran up the walls: “Heelp.”
At 1:30 in the night, there was a very strong lightning which struck Alina’s electricity meter, causing the meter to fuse. Alina went to the basement to check the electricity box. She felt someone behind her, her heart started beating faster, and her whole body became drenched in sweat.
Marina was at her home on the night of the new moon. There was a grave behind her house. The sound of someone screaming was coming from the grave. When Marina looked out of her window, she saw a ghost and immediately the power went out. She was very scared.
The train stopped at a station at night. Christina got out of the train. She looked outside and saw that there was a lot of hustle and bustle. When the train started moving, she went and sat down. She looked outside from the window. There were only graveyards and ghosts.
She glowed in the pitch-black night; the shovel made a thud next to her. Sweating, dripping, dirty, it was hard to tell but it was all finished now. The earth below her as empty as it could be. She wept as she covered him, blood and dirt mixing in secret.
Her bottom tooth jutted where a front one should have been. Rotten molars had replaced her canines. There was a cavity, fresh and bleeding, between the rows. Her dry tongue shrunk away, and she screwed the incisor, gently, into her mouth.
Then the tooth fairy treated herself a fixed, broken smile.
The rabbit is lucky. It has to be. Everyone is out for the rabbit, salivating after its body—in hand, in pieces, in captivity. Freedom not a given, but a blessing. It consumption a fleeting fortune for all else. But entrapment is given tenfold in swiftness, wrath, and meat.
They won’t search for me here; they don’t have the courage. I curl amongst the remains, embraced by the brittle hands of ancestors not my own, the only ones I’d trust. Rough and bleeding, I feed the ossuary grounds under the watchful gazes of skulls, twitching and empty no longer.
I feel them, so much. I clench my jaws to threat of shattering, grinding my teeth to enamel dust. Knocking from below the cavities, slowly ripping their way through barriers of pulp and tissue—I don’t know what’s forcing their way up, but they want out, one way or another.
I could hear every single of my bone crack one by one. Slowly, he started to peel off my skin. Blood was rusting out. My bones were peeping outside. My flesh has already started to rot at many places. Why doesn’t he just eat me? I want to hug death.
Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.
Squeeze. Whimper.
Pause.
Tip. Tap.
Shuffle. Tear, yelp!
Pause.
Tip-tap! Tip-tap! Tip-tap!
Pound, pound—
Crash, thump—BANG!
Scream!
Choke—
Slam!
Squeal—
SLAM!
Gurgle—
SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM—
Pause.
Silence.
Thud.
Tip. Tap.
Drip…
Tip. Tap.
Drip…
Tip. Tap.
Drip…
Tip. Tap.
Drip…Drip…Drip…
I woke up, looked at the clock “13:00”. Ahhh, I am going to wake up. I cannot move; “Sarah, helpppp”. Oh no, what do I do my sister is in trouble…… Suddenly, all stops. The clock rings 12 times, each time getting faster. Everything slowly stops; 13:01 “few”, “Sarah, Ahhh”… Ding Dong.
“The 13 strikes”
Theresa admires herself in the mirror. Almost fifty and her prom dress finally fits again. After a thirty-year carousel of Slim-Fast, bulimia, Tab, and menthols, she’s hit on an all-natural and highly effective weight loss plan. Even better, the doctor said she wouldn’t have much of an appetite during treatments.
If my crush hadn’t been having a Halloween party I wouldn’t have bought a clown costume, wouldn’t have driven there wearing size twenty shoes, wouldn’t have hit the accelerator instead of the brake, wouldn’t have sped into that busy intersection, wouldn’t have met you for many more years. Lucky me.
Earth resonates with an unseen bell’s toll. We feel it bone deep.
It tolls again. Our bones ache.
We run, but each toll weakens us. We slow. Sit. Slump to the ground.
We feel the Earth’s toll, not in our bones – those are gone – but in our hearts.
Father says you won’t be back. Where did you go? The ground is too cold. They cannot see you anymore. I see you sometimes. I see you in the snow. I see you kiss me goodnight. I see you in the freezer.
“Do not wonder into the woods alone”, those were the words I was told when I was a child who lived at home.
For you do not know what creatures may linger.
I have heard the tale of a witch who feasts on a child’s finger.
My eyes won’t focus through their lazy slits on the shadow above. I hear ringing, and the silhouette of a man eclipses the street light above. I feel his hands on my collarbone while he wrestles my top blouse button fastened. Two footsteps past my head, and he’s gone.
A manacing voice was coming from the dark narrow lane. With little fearfulness I went inside.More I walked inside clearer the voice became.At that point my body freezed sensing someone behind me. I was terrified ,yet thought of turning behind.As I turned back a bloodbathed apparition appeared.
Good . I could also really feel the voice of the bloodbathed apparition….
He’d stolen eyes from a man drowning in a puddle. His trained crow swallowed them bloody without traces. At home, the bird laid pinned to a corkboard, scalpel bearing down feathered stomach. He fished through guts until strained caws stilled. Beckoning its twin perched outside, the eyeball lured like bait.
My mom died watching me sleep. A tentacled monster wouldn’t sway juries like a drunk father did. But rigor mortis showed she held its limbs away, protecting me. Twelve years on, an insomniac, I’m privy for answers. When sleep beckons, I pull the plastic off, kissing her rotted cheeks goodnight.
We bought special shampoos for his fleas. We’re unsure if that’s what did it. The infectious patches kept growing, consuming his appetite along with his life. The ceremony was intimate, close families hovering over turned soil by the fence Roger gnawed clean. Shame, preschool would’ve looked good on Roger.
They’ve won, unfettered by frail human constructs: forget personas, what’s autonomy?
The opposable thumb a primitive design now, bested by the newest protruding tail jutting out the spine, all the rage in New Earth. Wait when it’s common knowledge the fossils used to grasp things with thumbs…huzzah! And walked upright?
He has a thing for eyes. He’d steal a pair, then glued them on his tiled walls. Like pegs on a Battleship board, he added more when the irises lose color. At night, before turning in, he’d lock his closets, whispering “until tomorrow” to his walls for watching over him.
If I only had a brain,” he sang, stumbling down an empty street. What’s that from? He felt delirious.
His stomach raged nonstop with hunger.
Finding living ones was rare now.
Nothing to eat.
“If I only had a brain.”
He licked where his lips had been and continued searching.
“Why can’t I shut my thoughts off? I don’t want to think anymore,” Melissa desperately asked her psychiatrist.
“I’m afraid you are infected with worms,” he replied.
“Uh, what?”
“Yes,” he continued direly. “Your synapses completely infested.” He pulled a large knife from his desk. “I must remove them immediately.”
A yearly party is held under the moon. Witches, warlocks gather, the walking-dead are welcome, too. Blast at last for ghostly figures, residual energies. Winds chime through the trees while Ogres bump, monsters jerk, cryptid knock the breeze. Halloween’s frightful until vampires disappear, all return to holes, caves, castles.
The antique mirror reflected her room exactly except for one thing: her mirror was missing. Every night it whispered secrets to her, encouraging her to join the other side. One evening she couldn’t resist. As she stepped through, the mirror shattered, and she was trapped forever with her ghostly twin.
The crime is atrocious! With eeriness hanging in silence contradicting a helter-skelter scene, is a metallic odor clinging to heavy air. Diabolical scheming considering discovery arranged a surprising, albeit shocking Halloween. Time has arrived. While darkness fills every corner inside something hideous eagerly waits as you approach the door…
The antique mirror reflected in her room, exactly except for one thing: her mirror was missing. Every night it whispered secrets to her, encouraging her to join the other side. One evening she couldn’t resist. As she stepped through, the mirror shattered, and she was trapped forever with her ghostly twin.
Doorbell rang. ‘Trick or treat?’ screamed a child’s voice. I opened the door, but there was no one there. A chilling fog was covering the street. Eventually nobody showed up that evening. As I was about to fall asleep while waiting, an eerie voice whispered ‘Thanks for letting me in!’
My mother kept an old family necklace hidden. One day, when she wasn’t home, I looked for it and found it. As I tried it on, it started choking me immediately and could not take it off. At the same time, my reflection in the mirror started grinning at me.
Woke up frightened and dizzy. My arm was sore, covered in a warm liquid. ‘Smells like iron’, I think to myself. I turn on the light, only to discover it was blood. I look up and there was a message waiting for me, written in it – ‘Thanks for the meal!’
Armor pierced; the princess was now spitting blood. Limping towards the parapet, her raven flew into darkness with her whispered warning.
“Can’t hide…” the creature, half-woman half-serpent hissed, slithering forward.
The princess unsheathed her sword. Across them, her knights’ corpses stirred.
Tears falling, she knew they’d once fought for her.
CAUTION.
You are now entering the confinement zone.
The manner of infections are as follows:
1st Wave (Early stage): Flu-like symptoms, loss of appetite.
2nd Wave (Late stage): Complete deterioration of mental cognition, seizures.
3rd Wave (Final stage): Day one of reawakening.
“Please be alive, Lianna. I’m coming.”
“168-772-53!”
“I won!”
“Congratulation,” said the host bringing the fanged woman closer to the cages. “Go on, pick whichever baby you want.”
“I always wanted twins since the last one died.”
“Poor you!”
Behind the monitors, a man signal for an intern. “Inform the labs, human twins are on season.”
The silver letter popped out of thin air weeks after the funeral; a barnacle-encrusted ticket, reeked of seas.
A rub and the room whirled and disappeared.
“It’s been long, Captain!” Human skeletons with eye-patches, mossed hooks and peg-legged whooped and patted my back in delight.
Granddad, what’ve you been hiding?
“Brace!”— was the last thing I heard before the searing pain ripped my back. When I woke up, I was standing in queue made up of my flight’s passengers. Ahead, a hooded man handed me a ticket.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“The raffles. If you win, you go back.”
Halloween Candy Recipe
• Place honey, syrup and rosewater in saucepan. Boil.
• Let kids pick color. (Oh! Last year’s tantrum)
• Reminder: No mentioning guessing game at school.
• While mixture cools, argue costumes.
• Eggs. Thousands.
• Wrap.
• Set treats outside.
• Cozy up around windowsill with guesses.
• Witness man-eating spiders burrowing out trick-or-treater’s throats.
“But they’re here!” Belle clamped his wrist, dreading.
“We need something sharper,” Sam creaked the closet door open, gesturing the bat.
She sniffled at the body sprawled two feet from their hiding spot. “Jason’s dead.”
“We’ll too if—”
Acting motionless, Jason glimpsed the shadows slit Belle and Sam lifeless.
A thud; she knew she’s not home alone. Lights off, she hid in the closet until cerulean eyes trapped her behind the unlatched doors but he looked past. As if he could only hear not see. She sucked in muffled screams catching the flame-draped man lugging her dog’s severed head.
The girl knew she had gotten older when her imaginary friends stopped aging. She wondered if that was the same as dying. She sat in her playhouse, alone with the very real thought that the place was haunted. After all, who else but her friends would open up without knocking?
A putrid smell suffocated me as dirt crept through the splintered cracks of the coffin, burying me alive. Creatures with tiny, insatiable legs skittered across my body and burrowed under my skin. They feasted on my flesh until all that remained was the echo of a heartbeat.
As the clock struck midnight, I awoke to a bone-chilling whisper in her ear, “I see you.” Paralyzed with fear, I scanned the dark room, but no one was there. Suddenly, a frigid hand clamped down on my shoulder. The voice hissed, “I’ve always been here, waiting for you.”
“Rohit?” Rohit’s mother called him. As he tried to go down stairs he was pulled back by his mother. She said “Hide fast, I heard it too!” As both of them tried to hide a creature lurked inside from their basement, smashed his mother’s head and carried Rohit with it.
“tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” the clock screams the curse of time continuously in his ear;
there are a million ways to die; in the 700 years since his foolish bargain with Mephistopheles, he has tried them all;
there would be no period releasing his soul from the damnation of this sentence;
“Mommy, I want uppies!”
I tug at mommy’s arm, but she doesn’t listen.
“Mommy!!”
She walks faster, checking over her shoulder as she holds my hand tight.
“Mommy! I want uppies! I’m scared!”
…
“Please Mommy! Listen to me!!”
…
She finally bends down,
“What is it sweetie?”
….
It isn’t my mommy,
Lightning flashed.
She approached her gate, shooing away two ravens.
Rain poured. She hurried to her door—it was cracked open. Slowly, carefully, she entered.
“Mom? Dad?” A chill permeated her shoulder. “Mom! Dad!”
Something was wrong. Thunder crashed. She finally realized.
They were ghosts. All three of them.
He opened his eyes. Moonbeams shone through the dirt.
It has come.
He reached up with his pale hands, clawing away at the dirt trapping him beneath the Earth.
He pulled himself to the surface. He stood there, on his own grave, silhouetted against the blood moon.
The zombies called…
The storm is coming.
Thunder crash. Lightning flash. And,
the monsters awake.
A spider spins a web.
Round, and round, and round, she goes.
Spinning her soft silk.
A hundred feet high
And it’s nearly twice as wide
Its maker watches
She waits for prey to fall
Into her delicate silk
And then, she’ll feast…
The witch snickered at the terrified screams of children tumbling into her concealed traps. “Imbeciles.”
Myths like “Hansel and Gretel” inspired entire generations to challenge Satan’s chosen. No longer did witches require candy cottages or enchanted songs.
The oven flared with Master’s eternal hellfire, flames crackling in anticipation.
“It’s dinnertime.”
Annabelle Jones’s windswept apparition appeared on a Sunday right after church let out.
None who saw could believe their eyes, for everyone knew…Annabelle Jones had died.
The whole town had gathered to watch the fire. “Burn, witch,” they had cheered.
Burn THEY did now.
No eyes remained to shed tears.
Do not read this. I beg you.
Malamicus, hear my plea made in this sacred Mind temple. Ever doom my endeavors. Make every inconvenience I encounter catastrophic. Infect me with evil energy.
May the momentary presence of these words seal our pact, only to be released by the sacred word.
Well, that was 50 words. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough space left to reveal the sacred word that lifts the curse. 🤷♂️
Terror consumes as the nightmare takes hold. Trembling, the bloated stench assaults my nostrils. Writhing maggots feast upon my wife as an acid scream builds. Skull covered ground squelches, oozing blood and treacly brain, and I turn seeking answers.
The murderer in the mirror stares back. wearing my face.
Our Bus got T-boned by a reckless driver at an intersection. Us straphangers were ushered out of the back and looked on, as the emergency crew began showing up. To kill time, I went into a nearby cafe for a Cortado.
Barista said- “Nope, we don’t serve the dead”.
In a cursed village, the harvest moon glowed blood-red. Every Halloween, children carved pumpkins, unknowingly inviting demons. Each smiled face awakened sinister spirits, dragging them into the darkness. Those lost souls cried for freedom, their hollow forms gleaming. The village remains silent, haunted by carved memories of terrified laughter.
“Oh no, that’s your girlfriend’s body you’re eating!” James exploded, bound to the chair as he watched his friend feast. “He shouldn’t have cheated with my best friend anyway. Now shut the hell up—you’re ruining my taste! You’ll be next on the menu. Enjoy your last breaths.”
“Sign this paper with your blood, and I will reincarnate your great-great-grandmother,” the devilish voice roared. John winced as he cut his hand in the cemetery. “Welcome back, Big Mama. Let’s consume the world. Every city shall face the wrath of Gogamora—only blood, hell, pain, and death await. Can’t wait! Hahaha!”
“Hell! Kill them all!” The words echoed through the darkness, a chilling command that sent shivers down the spine. Shadows moved, and the air crackled with a malevolent energy as chaos descended on the unsuspecting victims. No mercy, no hesitation—only destruction lay ahead.
“Fear. Death. Hell. Come. Freedom.” The air crackled ominously as John’s great-great-grandmother emerged from the grave, her eyes hollow and mouth twisting into a maniacal grin. “I’m thirsty for blood!” she shrieked. I ran, heart pounding, the darkness behind me alive with whispers, promising horrors beyond my worst nightmares.
The old mirror flickered, revealing a shadow behind me—something I couldn’t see. My breath caught as icy fingers grazed my neck. I turned, but there was nothing. Heart racing, I glanced back at the mirror. My reflection smiled, while I trembled. It whispered, “You’ll know my true self soon.”
In the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with fear, the captives trembled, bound to the cold stone altar. The ritual had begun. A chant echoed, primal and haunting, as the flickering candlelight danced off darkened walls. The leader’s knife glinted—sacrifice was demanded. Humanity’s darkest hour loomed, bloodlust insatiable.
I returned from the candy shop, excited, only to find the door ajar. Inside, my family’s laughter was replaced by an eerie silence. Blood stained the floor. My father stood amid the chaos, eyes wild, knife in hand. “You shouldn’t have left,” he whispered. I was the only survivor.
From the observation area, a Drone enthusiast piloted his machine over the waterfall. Just as he practiced, he began descending downwards, following the gravitational gushing water. While the drone filmed on- a person wearing a raincoat tumbled, face first. Right before impact, the fallen- looked directly towards the camera- SMILED
The room felt empty, shadows of laughter lingering among untouched belongings. A noose swung gently from the ceiling, a grim reminder of despair. Questions swirled—what signs were missed? Guilt and sorrow intertwined, heavy in the silence. Life’s fragility struck hard, leaving behind echoes of a friendship now forever altered.
In the dim light, Janeth’s heart raced with dread. Nine months of pain led her to the blade, which promised relief. Her father’s shadow haunted her, suffocating her spirit. With a heavy heart, she chose to end their suffering—two lives extinguished, leaving behind nothing but sadness and despair.
On her wedding night, Linda found herself paralyzed by the weight of her past. As her husband leaned in, a chilling memory surged—faces of her tormentors loomed in the darkness. Overwhelmed, she gripped his throat, a visceral response to years of trauma. It wasn’t him; it was the horror that haunted her.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
I smack my hand on her counter.
“I’m gonna get ya!”
I get on my knees. I start crawling.
Then, a whimper. Gotcha.
I glance at my blade handle, its notches. Ready to add another.
Her alarm screeches. But this won’t take long.
Every night, I heard whispers from my closet. They were soft and pleading. Tonight, I mustered courage and opened the door. Inside, a mirror reflected my terrified face—but behind me, a shadow grinned, eyes glinting. The whispers stopped. “Now you’re mine,” it breathed, and I was already gone.
“A glass a day, keeps me forever young!” -the Chateau Patriarch boasted.
Santé! We toast. The Wine, was potent like fire. My legs, felt like Pudding. I was out, cold.
I awoke to being buried below the century old vines. “You’ll be a fine vintage”.
Thousand Roots, began their feast .
Who is tha-?
No. I did not just see that. This is not happening.
Just turn back over in bed. Deep breaths. That’s it.
It’s just you. No one else is home. It’s the middle of the night.
So it’s impossible. There is no old woman in the rocking chair.
I swirl my wine around the edges of the glass. My date smiles charmingly, his warm eyes meet mine.
“I’m glad I came over tonight. Honestly, I never do this type of thing.”
“I bet.”
My eyelids fall heavy. Very heavy.
I go to take another sip.
Is that…white powder?
“BREAKING NEWS: SWOT Forces surround home of the Half-Hooked Killer!” The television cuts to a shot of a quaint house with pink paneling.
“Wow. Almost looks like our house, right?” Silence.
“Honey?” I call out.
I turn around. My husband’s eyes are wide, his face drained of color.
Bang!
“FREEZE!”
Hey, you. Yes, you.
You don’t know it yet, but you’re already infected. Our experiment was airborne.
It begins with a small headache. You’ll probably think nothing of it. Maybe you’ll take an aspirin.
It won’t help.
The nightmares come next, then the uncontrollable rage.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
“There’s no time like tomorrow,” Cap said with his feet on his desk. “It’ll wait.”
“Murder, Cap… sounds pretty urgent.”
Cap sighed. “Tomorrow, I said. It’s just the blacks again.”
Two blocks away, a mother cried and no sirens came. He was 8 years old. Michael was his name.
The old mirror whispered my name each night, promising secrets. Curiosity won. I touched its surface, and my reflection grinned—then stepped out. Now, I’m trapped in the glass, watching as it wears my face, living my life. It smiles, but I scream, unheard, as darkness closes in around me.
The old house at the end of the street held too strong an allure to resist. Screams, shouts, sounds of torment and agony awoke me from my restless slumber each night — though my wife and children claimed to have never heard a peep.
I went to investigate. I never returned.
I look at myself in the mirror, tears rolling down my cheeks. I can’t help but grin, seeing my reflection look so miserable. The more she stares, struggles, the more desperate she is, well, the easier it will be for me to take her place on the other side. (51)
The homeless man closed his eyes. Nobody believed in the faceless men, but he saw them, always. Watching, waiting. He’d accepted it, and now he was alone. As they loomed closer, the man cried. But before a tear could fall, he dropped into a puddle of his own blood.
John saw an image of himself in an unimaginable pose. The images of him being tortured flooded in from this unknown number, he began to regret the memory termination he had accepted. He attempted to recall, but all he could focus on was the blood pooling out of his mouth.