#short horror stories
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Recently finished commission for Ellis Reed on Twitter. From his short story 'Not Even the Ghosts' which you can read here. His short stories are fantastic and spooky, I can't recommend them enough if you like atmospheric horror.
#art#horror#ink#horror illustration#commission#ellis reed#short horror stories#horror stories#ballpointpen
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#best horror stories#bhoot story real#creepy pasta#creepy stories to tell in the dark#ghost stories to tell in the dark#good horror story#great horror books#horror stories to tell in the dark#horror story#scary ghost stories to tell in the dark#scary stories in the dark#scary stories to read in the dark#scary stories to tell in the dark alvin schwartz#scary stories to tell in the dark#scary story to tell in the dark#scary tales to tell in the dark#short creepy stories#short horror stories#short scary stories#fantasy horror story
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The caves do not know you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on. Once the caves hear your name, the clock stops. Your time is over. And the caves eventually hear all names.
#short n sweet#writerblr#Ray just out here living their best? life#short blurb#short horror stories#not THE CAVES
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Halloween is almost upon us!
If you haven’t tried any of my writing yet, now is a great time to give me a go, so to speak! All links are here: https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/
I am running a competition on my blog which ends Midnight October 31st GMT. You can enter here: https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/.../random-giveaway-7...
There are plenty of free reads here, to give you a taste of my writing style: https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/.../project-three-b3rh6
Plenty of SSiZLes - aka Silly Sunday Zombie (or not) Limericks here: https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/.../asso.../project-two-fca29 If you would like me to attempt a limerick written about you or a friend or family member, just let me know and I will do my best, just for fun!
Also some horror poetry here, to get you in the eerie mood for Halloween. https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/.../assortedwork/horrorpoetry
It doesn’t have to cost you a penny to try my writing out for size. If you like anything you read, please let me know or even better, spread the word.
Thanks everyone. Keep safe and Happy Halloween!
N.B: All the above pages can be found under https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/spoldhamauthor/assortedwork Just click the link and enjoy!
#halloween#limericks#horror poetry#short horror stories#free reads#want a limerick written about you#short stories#witches#dark fiction#indie author#horror#kindle#dark fantasy#witchcraft#horror fiction#dragons
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Anyways here's the short horror story from Scherzo, by Robert Shearman.
You can also listen to it with the video below, which I highly recommend. It's originally in four parts throughout the major story, so that's why there's seemingly random pauses.
youtube
[ID: The cover art for the Doctor Who audio drama, "Scherzo". The background is white and blue, with two stark blue and white hands clasped beneath the title. The audio is transcribed below. End ID.]
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Once upon a time, in a land not too dissimilar to ours, there lived a king. And he was a good king, in an age when good was something of an unfashionable rarity.
He was very, very wise, and very, very powerful, but he was also very, very old. And he realized that for all his great wisdom and his great power, he would soon have to leave his kingdom once and for all, and make the journey to the outside world of infinite darkness.
And so, on the eve of his departure, when his physicians had finished all their headshaking and his wives had wrung as many tears from their eyes as they could, he called his son and heir to his side.
'Everything you see is yours to command,' he said. 'But be advised. The better slaves are those who still believe they taste some freedom. Play the tyrant, but you must inspire love as well as fear.'
Yet the son cared not for his words, and when the corpse had been dispatched with much pomp and fireworks to the darker realms outside, the new king resolved to stretch the limits of his authority.
He gathered all the people before him and told them that their every thought must match his thought. No will should exist save his will.
And people being people, they agreed. Those that didn't vanished in the night, and their families soon learned to pretend that they'd never existed.
But still the king was not content, so he instructed all the animals in his kingdom that they must now obey his commands.
Horses should bark, dogs should mew, fish should fly from tree to tree exactly as he desired.
And animals being animals, they agreed. Some of the pigs had to be culled, but no one minded because they tasted so lip-smackingly good. And the cats had to go because no one could tell a cat anything.
But soon the people and the animals lived in perfect harmony, their lives precise expressions of the whims of their lord.
-
Every living creature obeyed their king, doing everything he wanted to the smallest detail, sometimes even before he knew he wanted it. But still the king was not content. Living creatures only made up the smallest number of his subjects. So he gave out further orders.
He instructed the waves should crash upon the shore only when he gave the word. He instructed the wind should not blow, but suck. Time should not run forwards, but backwards or sideways.
It took years to persuade them. Soldiers slashed at the waves until their swords were soaked with wave blood. Wind and Time were locked in the deepest dungeons until, starving, they gave in.
The king ruled the elements, but still, he was not content.
There was one subject that still balked at his power.
Music.
How the king hated music.
Refusing to be constrained, refusing to be disciplined, a small burst of recitative flowering into a fugue without permission, or a cantata breaking out overnight into a fully fledged oratorio.
'Will no man rid me of these turbulent tunes?' he cried, and the militia, now trained to obey his merest impulse, took him at his word.
They seized the music, every last crochet and minim, each breve and innocent little semi-breve, and threw them out of the kingdom.
They threw them into the outside world of infinite darkness, and music was banished forever.
At last, the king had his own universe.
It was his and no one else's.
He was happy, and no one dared point out to him that he had exiled the only means by which he could express it.
-
You remember the tale of the foolish king? He who so despised music that he banished it from his realm?
His was a very quiet land. Birds sat silent in the trees, their beaks now stopped fast, their chirping and twittering frozen hard in their throats.
There was no longer a harmony to time. Seconds would race on or trudge forward, or simply come to a listless halt.
The waves crashed noiselessly onto the sand, for even within that there had been a trace of music.
There was no rhythm to life any more.
And the king's people felt it the worst. They had been slaves, but whilst they still had songs of liberty on their lips they had been happy slaves.
Some rebelled and were put to the torture. But even the torturers who once had calmed their consciences with soothing music were unable to bear the awful glaring, accusing, silence.
The fact was clear. Anything could be borne with music. But nothing could be borne without it.
And the king would sit on his throne in misery.
He dearly loved his wives, but now he heard in their words no love returned, no tune, no melody.
For this, he executed them regularly. The women he loved, their heads rolling from the scaffold soundlessly. The king himself, quite alone, weeping for them. All, all, quite silent.
One morning, the king decided that he would pardon music. He drew up a contract, stamped it with his own royal seal. Music was free to return from the outside world of infinite darkness. And to bear the good news, he sent several messengers there. Some by hanging, some by stabbing, one or two by slow-acting poison. But none returned, and nor did music.
The king was desperate.
He called upon his sorcerers, his necromancers, and those who were trained in the forbidden knowledge of music resurrection.
But it became obvious that the king himself would have to make a personal appeal to his prodigal son.
With court physicians administering, and the last of his wives looking on with glee, the king was slowly bled, each drop landing in a metal container with a plop that just managed to be wholly tuneless.
And as he wavered between death and life, he stepped into the darkness and called out. 'I have been a foolish man. I should have inspired love as well as fear. Please, let the music play again, all its songs, its symphonies, and its sundry choral works. Please, give my world a reason to live.'
-
It was seven days and seven nights before the king recovered, and he awoke to a miracle.
Once more birds were trilling in the trees, the clocks chimed and waves roared. Once more the world had music.
And his favorite wife of all stood over him and smiled, and in the timbre of her lilting voice he felt once again that she loved him.
The people were in celebration, singing in the streets whatever tunes would come into their heads. And they sang until their throats turned red raw. They sang until their arteries burst and gushed. They screamed their new songs of pain.
The king watched in horror as the birds fell dead in the street, as the waves struggled limply and then were drowned by the seas beneath them.
He heard his infant son cry out his last, his face bitten off by a savage lullaby.
The lilting voice of his wife, that he had loved so much, grinned at him cruelly before wrapping itself around her throat and throttling her silent.
The music raced through the kingdom, sparing none its terrible beauty.
As the bodies of his subjects fell to the ground, their death rattle sounded like the rhythm of a perfect drum.
And the music at last came for the king.
'Why?' he asked.
'Because we have been to the outside world,' the music replied. 'We have seen the infinite darkness, and we have learned that we need not only inspire love, but fear.'
And with a sound of brass and strings so beautiful it stopped the king's heart, the music swallowed him up whole, and became the new and dreadful lord of the entire world.
#horror#Scherzo#Rjalker listens to Doctor Who#Rjalker listens to Charley's Adventures#Rjalker listens to The Eigth Doctor#idk if this story has its own name or not#anyways#A+ metaphor A+ drama A+ everything#short stories#short horror stories#thanks robert shearman#Youtube#long post
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With the second book in the series coming out on Friday, now is the perfect time to read the first short story in the series!
#horror#short story#short horror stories#amazon#amazon publishing#young author#goodreads#intense#gore#suspense#kindle
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God okay. I’ve read quite a few horror novels this year but so far October Country is like, genuinely unnerving. The poetic language, the merging of body and psychological horror, the short well paced stories. It’s not pee your pants scary but it’s just spooky enough you find yourself wondering “should I be reading this so close to bedtime?”
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Haunted Memories
You fell asleep and woke in this
lucid dream of haunted memories.
Are you a visitor or the ghost?
The night is cold and pitch black,
a heavy feeling lingers in the air.
In the corner of your eye
you see shadows moving and
a mist forms.
Goosebumps tickle your skin,
the hair on the back of
your neck stand’s up.
A chill caresses your body
but the wind is still and
quiet inside the house.
You are…
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As I am staring at the blank page, I can feel his presence. The pale man with his pitch black hair. I can feel his red eyes tearing through my soul as he stands before me.
“Write”, he whispers.
I look up from the page and stare at him blankly.
“I have no inspiration,” I tell him.
He walks up to my table and places his pale hand on it, as he leans toward me his long black hair falls forward over his shoulder, “Write,” he says again with his deep mellow voice.
He slides a chair from under the table and sits down across from me. He crosses his legs and places his hands with those long, pale fingers, and his awful blood stained sharp fingernails on his knee. Then he looks at me.
I can feel his red eyes staring into my soul and I try to look back at my empty page, as I can feel myself grow numb, but I can’t look away.
“I don’t know what you want me to write about,” I tell him as I nervously bounce one leg.
Never breaking eye contact, he cocks his head slightly to the right and smirks, “Go on,” he smiles, “tell them about me. You know I love the attention,” he says giddy with excitement without moving a muscle.
“Go and tell them all the things I do to you. Like this, for instance, how I force you to write something. And that if you won’t write, I will quite literally pull it out of you,” he says as he nods his head and winks. I stare at him for a minute without saying a word. Then he leans toward me over the table and reaches for one of my hands. Before I notice it he grabs my hand, squeezes it and holds it firmly.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I am talking about,” he says, and he raises an eyebrow as he grins. Blood starts dripping out of his mouth as his grin grows wider.
I try to pull back my hand but his grip is too strong. He keeps grinning at me without moving. I can feel his red eyes piercing through my skin. I swallow hard and smile at him, trying to free myself of his grip once more. He slams his other hand on the table with a loud bang and then points at me, “Tut-tut”, he says and he waves his finger disapprovingly in my face as he pouts.
Then he looks down at my hand and back in my eyes, “Oops,” he says innocently.
I suddenly feel an incredible pain in my hand which he’s holding. He lets out a laugh and finally releases my hand, but I still can’t move, I am captivated by his eyes. And as if he has enchanted me, I don’t even want to run away from him. Then I look at my hand, and I see the skin on my fingers has completely burst open. As the blood is gushing out of my fingers I ask calmly, “What did you do?”
He grunts, “Everything,” and he digs his sharp, bloody fingernails in my already torn apart flesh. After he wiggles around for a moment he quickly pulls up his arm, ripping out the nerves from each one of my fingers. I have no will to scream in agony, as I feel sedated and numb. And I can’t stop looking at him. His pale hand is covered in my red blood, and my ripped out nerves look like deceased flowers in his fist. He then looks shocked at his hand, and looks innocently back at me. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says mockingly and he points with one finger to his hand, which clutches parts of my insides, “did… Did I take something that belongs to you?”
I feel paralyzed and I can only taste iron between my teeth. I feel my mouth open a little and a mixture of drool and blood runs out. He then laughs in my face and throws whatever was left of my freshly pulled out finger nerves backwards over his shoulder, on to the ground. He stands up and leans toward me again.
“Let me”—he sticks his fingertips in my ravaged, split open fingers and wiggles around once more—”help you.” He then grabs the blank page that was in front of me, “I will help you,” he says as he starts to scribble on the previously empty page with his sharp fingernails. “It really seems”—he stops and looks up at me with a smile —”as if you need me.”
I quietly look at him and then back at the page. I try to figure out what he has written on the page, but I can’t read it. He looks at me, then at the page and back at me again. “Oh,” he says and smiles, “I’m sorry, you can’t read my handwriting. I know, it’s bad,” he shrugs, “but you will get it eventually.” He continues to scribble for another minute. Then he picks up the paper, holds it close to his face and squints for a few seconds as his eyes scan over the page. “That should do it,” he says. He looks at me and slams the paper on the table in a pool of my blood. “Tadaa!” he yells excitedly as the blood splatters around us. He stands up and claps his hands together, he then opens his arms and takes a bow. Then he kneels down next to me and looks at me. Drops of my blood now cover his pale face and he smiles so wide, I fear his skin will rip too. But it doesn’t happen, it never happens, as he can’t be destroyed. This beautiful creature just tore me apart. He is chaos and destruction, but he will go above and beyond for me. To inspire me. I look at the paper and then back at his face, which still carries a huge and proud smile.
And then he says, “You can write exactly this.”
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Well lookie here!! Finally, a tumblr ad that I'm happy to see 😁
Yesss! Ellis Reed writes AMAZING short horror stories, and I'm lucky enough to be able to read and illustrate them. If you haven't already, you should definitely give his work a try.
https://northwesthorror.com/
#horror stories#short horror stories#horror#illustration#horror illustration#ellis reed horror stories#ellis reed#authors#northwest horror
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I'm bored so have this horror short story with peri
Warning gore
Peri dropped the bag on the table, opening it to reveal the various pieces of their latest prey. they took the various limbs and organs out of the bag and set them on them.
Once everything was out of the bag they grabbed their tools, pulling out drawer attached to the table. They took out a small knife and began to cut deeply into the body. They cut the chest open, pulling out the organs and setting them on the table, Before grabbing each side of the ribcage and yanking it open.
They reached in and pulled out the heart, setting it on the table. they took a moment to admire their work before they turned their attention to the severed head on the other side of their desk. they grabbed the bone saw and began cutting through the skull.they pulled the skull apart, reaching in and pulling out the brain. they set it on the table with all of their other organs.
they grabbed a scalpel and began to cut off the tongue.they dropped the tongue in a container and set it on the table. they then went for the left eye, cutting it out as well.they placed it in the container with the tongue. they then turned to the severed arms , grabbing their crude sewing kit as they placed one where the head would be and sewed it together.they then sewed the other arm to where the leg was. they grabbed the head, opening its mouth before stuffing the heart in. they placed the head in the hearts place. they begun cut open the stomach shoving the brain in. they then placed the tongue and eye in the hand on the neck.they took a moment to admire their work, shifting away to see the whole thing.
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#scary ghost stories to tell in the dark#scary stories in the dark#scary stories to read in the dark#scary stories to tell in the dark alvin schwartz#scary stories to tell in the dark#scary story to tell in the dark#scary tales to tell in the dark#short creepy stories#short horror stories#short scary stories#fantasy horror story
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One of the downsides of being a cosmic horror author is all the strange daily occurrences.
You can have your own little book of occult cosmic horror stories show up in your fridge by heading over to your favorite digital retailer!
Music: Sound Effect Library - Spooky Ambience
#they won't stop screaming#please take some off my hands#cosmic horror author#lovecraftianhorror#autisticauthor#short horror stories#cosmic horror#the roots grow into the earth
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A typical horror story's beginning
Everyone scattered inside the cold, gigantic, palace like toy shop except me, I was standing outside at a safe distance from the main door despite my friend's constant requests and orders to come inside. "Why am I even here?" I glanced down at my watch and then at the wide open door, which creaked everytime a strong breeze blew. I hate ghosts, horror movies and people who are not afraid from either of them, because they force me to feel as if I am some kind of cry baby hiding and being scared of things which don't even exist. I grabbed the door's handle and plunged my head inside the toy shop, if you could call it one, I still refused to accept that this house was a toy shop not some rich man's mansion which he had forgotten about. It was dark inside except the warm sunlight which barely lit up the house inside. A torch suddenly flashed up on my face, I crept back shielding my eyes with my hands, as the door closed shut with a loud noise on my face. "Woah, that's cliché" an exasperated voice exhaled from my mouth. "Hey what are you exactly doing outside?" an enraged voice popped up from inside, "Standing, of course!?"I raised my eyebrows and rolled my eyes annoyingly "Anyways you didn't have to slam the door like that" with that I pulled myself backwards leaning on the railing waiting for a response but no voice came put from inside or any sign of opening the door, for some reason I didn't know why I felt for the first time that I had gotten myself into something I was going to regret for the rest of my life.
#oc#my characters#horror#ghost#short story#story prompt#short horror stories#mod post#fairground#writing#My Story#story progress#story project#female protagonist
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Promotional Extract - Wakeful Children - Author, S P Oldham, Narrator, Kevin Redson
Please enjoy the promotional extract from Wakeful Children: A Collection of Horror and Supernatural Tales. It was great fun making this audiobook, and I'm really proud of how it turned out! (Narrator, Kevin Redson.)
I really enjoyed working with Kevin, I love his voice and the way he brought my book to life. I am proud of the end result too! I hope you enjoy.
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POV: on the freeway. Going zoomie-mph. In the middle of changing lanes. I check my blind spot, and when I look back forward A SPIDER FALLS FROM THE CIELING ONTO MY LAP.
(Nothing happened. I squoshed it with my bare hands after I screamed. And car driving things were normal. BUT FUCK THAT SHIT)
#spiders#arachnophobic#short horror stories#why#i got spider guts on my hand#drive safe kids#dont try this at home#0/10 would not recomend#driving#driving distractions#i was going a little over 80mph#fuck that shit
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