Classic and Contemporary Stories
We love Horror Stories! We’ve been collecting these new and old horror stories for years, and I”m so happy to bring them to you. Some of our authors are new. Some of our authors are established, and some of our authors are long dead.
I was born with a birthmark that looked like a bruised flower. It trailed along the left side of my face, from hairline to where neck and shoulder met. I grew accustomed to open stares, sidelong glances, and children being chastised for pointing.
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Three elderly women stood huddled in a corner of the funeral home, whispering and glaring at the deceased’s wife.
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Today is the worst day I have ever experienced. But it’s not over yet. It’s not going to end for thousands of seconds. Thousands of raw, grating seconds. I know, I’m the one with the problem. Not you. You have coping mechanisms. Your brain has worked out that to experience every second of every day would quickly lead to
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The freaks are out again tonight. I hear them howling. I hear branches cracking off trees. There were out last night, too. It has been warm and heat draws them to the streets. It’s been like this since the war, or since the raids, but really it started with the slave ships.
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It was dark, and the party was going to start on the other side of the freshly-plowed south pasture anytime. Bob impatiently stomped through the damp earth toward the Thompson Farm.
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In her dream, she sat motionless on the couch and watched the T.V., turned to mute. She couldn’t have told you what was on. She wondered what he was doing at this moment.
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Richard woke to the sound of the screen door slamming. Confused, he turned to check the clock. 3:17 am it blinked at him, before going dark. A knot of anxiety cramped his stomach. He knew something was wrong.
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The decrepit vehicle creeped along the side road, it’s hypnotic tinny tune warped “Turkey in the Straw” into an echoed mess across the wooded landscape.
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The East River’s dark surface rippled in blurry color from the reflections of the anonymous apartment towers and the light-crowned Chrysler Building straight ahead, its spire bright under the chilly spring night
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I’m standing in the desolate lunar surface. Before me is the planet Earth, behind me is the blackness of space. In the silence, in the cold, I’m reminded of growing up in Montrose, Colorado.
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