#thriller

​Sara and Tom scrambled through the castle corridors, hoping to find Roy. They checked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Tom spotted Roy between two suits of armor-huddled, trembling, and paralyzed with fear. ​"Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. ​"I... I... I saw her..." ​"Who did you see?" ​"The Mourner... I mean, the ghost of the Mourner. She was gliding down the hallway, "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. ​"I... I... I saw her..."

My cousin told me it happened in a very small village in Mexico, the one our grandfather grew up in. Late one night, a young man was leaving a friend's home. Despite the late hour, he insisted that he could walk home. After all, his own abode was only a mile away. Stepping out into the quiet streets, he started his journey. Breathing in the humid summer air, listening to the buzz of the street lamps mixed with the crickets and his own footsteps on the gravel ground.

​Sorrow Hill is a place shrouded in mystery. Tourists from all over England and the far corners of the world flock to the castle hill, drawn by the legend of a ghost that appears at the stroke of midnight. They hear screams, wailing, and the desperate sobbing of a woman. Some claim to have seen a figure dressed in a long, black mourning gown, gliding through the castle corridors. Fans of fortresses, spirits, and dark tales stand in long queues at the ticket office, eager for a glimpse of the…

(Inspired by the Dyatlov Pass Incident) The wind started howling before midnight. At first, it was just another sound in the endless white silence of the mountains. The nine hikers had heard worse. They were trained, experienced—people who didn’t panic easily. Inside the tent, frost clung to the fabric like a second skin. Someone laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. Another adjusted their boots. Then— It came.

(Inspired by the The Zodiac Killer) The letter arrived on a quiet morning. Plain envelope. No return address. Inside, a message—neatly written, almost calm. “I like killing people because it is so much fun.” The newsroom fell silent. At first, they thought it was a prank. Until the police confirmed it. The details in the letter… only the killer could know. He didn’t stop there. More letters came. Each one colder than the last. Each one playing a game.

it all started on one day when i was in my room casually reading my story book " TERRIBLE DAY OF NIGHTS " then my mom called me from downstairs ''hey honey , come down your dinner is waiting for you mainly don't be late or else your dinner will get cool down so better come fast as you can " . I went downstairs and saw my mom and dad looking at me weirdly i asked them " why are you looking at me like im a ghost ?" , but they just nodded no nervously as i came to eat near dining table they…

The trip was fun. From what we could remember at least. Olivia and I had made the weekend trip down to St. Augustine, Florida with her younger brother John. The four hour drive from Albany, Georgia to one of America’s oldest cities was long and boring. The four-lane highways we traveled along were barren and isolated, surrounded by nothing but miles of impenetrable forest save for the occasional shithole rest stop.

The first thing you notice isn't the cold or the smell of damp concrete it’s the silence. When you finally blink your eyes open, the world is a blur of grey shadows and a single, flickering lightbulb hanging from a low ceiling. Your wrists ache, and when you try to reach for your phone, the heavy rattle of a steel chain snaps you into a cold reality. You aren't in your bedroom. You’re in a basement clean, organized, but windowless. There’s a plate of your favorite food sitting on a small wooden…

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…

1934 was a different time. Not just in Savannah, Georgia but in America. We didn't have many luxuries back then. Or much optimism, for that matter. Not when we were in the midst of The Great Depression.

“Hey Zsolt, you wanna hit?” Claud said. “Hit?” “Yeah, a hit of Red Sunshine?” he asked. “Red Shoeshine?” “No, ya’ dummy, Red Sunshine.”

By WedgeOverPotato

By WedgeOverPotato "What do you seek? What do you hear? What do you fear? For fate is, my Witherin, inevitable to your undying likeness. That man's biggest creation is more of a brute than man itself. That we all clasp our hands together and prance around for mercy till the undying showers us with the pleasure of death, for it is we, whom shall not die." Witherin. For it is we, whom shall not die.

The moment the air dropped, everything went haywire. It felt like the room got smaller by the second as people dragged in empty breaths. A woman in diamonds tried to fan herself with a napkin and started crying when it ripped. The man beside her, in a bright velvet suit, clawed at his shirt until all the buttons flew off.

Honestly, I liked the drive. It was the scenic route and those beautiful country roads were part of the reason why I didn’t mind the commute. Driving became an escape for me. Cathartic even.

Tap, tap, tap… Tap, tap. Silence... tap.

The sidewalk had a way of holding onto things, not objects or anything a person could reach down and pick up, but something far heavier and far more stubborn, something that clung beneath the surface of cracked concrete and refused to fade no matter how much time tried to grind it away, and it stretched through that forgotten part of the city like a scar that had never healed, uneven and silent and wrong in a way that people could feel without ever understanding, which was why most avoided it…

I didn’t want to leave Miller County High School. I didn’t want to leave my friends and essentially leave my whole social life in Colquitt, Georgia behind. My stepdad got a new job in Columbus, Georgia. I guess the pay was great, the new house amazing. So naturally my mom talked my younger brother Jimmy and I into the move. She had a new job as a middle school secretary already lined up too so neither my brother nor I had a choice really.

From the moment I closed my eyes to the accident I had gotten myself into, I knew that it would never be the same ever again. Never would I have guessed though, that I would survive pretty much unharmed. Well... that's still a bit of an understatement. My arms and legs work the way they're supposed to. But my mind... not so much anymore. I've started to see things. The world and the people have changed since the moment I woke up. It's almost as if I've entered another world entirely.

"Vincent, I got a job for you!" someone shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. "For me!? Can't you give it to someone else!?" "They asked for you, it seems to be one of your clients!" "Damn it, I want to go on vacation for once." His colleagues started to laugh. "That's the downside of being famous in the business" yelled one of them over the showers noise.