If You’re Itching For Strange Macabre And Gorey Short Horror Stories May I Recommend This Anthology

If you haven’t heard of it, the Clown in a Cornfield movie comes out this May!

I’ve mentioned Adam Cesare before. This YA slasher trilogy is my all-time favorite book series. Seriously, if you haven’t read it already, I recommend checking it out. And there’s high hopes for a fourth book next year.

Favorite book is currently book 2, which takes place during Halloween. Makes it the perfect October read.

stood over a deepfryer and my head fell off. im screaming ah ah ah ah

This is a veryyyy short story I wrote probably a decade ago that might’ve been a good contender for r/shortscarystories if it was any good.

A Ticket

When John called me in this morning, I already knew why. A new case. That's what detective's do. They solve cases. Non-detectives can't even go near the crime scene.

It was a murder case. For the average person, this is some scary stuff. But with years of experience, you get used to it.

Everybody knows what a detective gets to do. It's like owning a ticket to investigate a crimes scene. Of course, it's all for work, and no play. But there is another advantage.

No one suspects the detective.

I managed to buy a whole heap of vintage horror paperbacks a few days ago to add to my collection!

I'm so excited to own The Fungus!

Here’s a really unique take on snuff films called I’m Never Shooting Another Snuff Film. Definitely darker than some of the other stuff you find on r/nosleep.

I Think Someone’s Watching Me Through the TV Reflection

I don’t know if anyone will believe me, and honestly, I don’t care anymore. I need to get this out somewhere.

I live alone in a small apartment. Nothing fancy—tiny kitchen, creaky floors, TV across from the couch, the usual. I’ve always liked having the TV on in the background. Static noise helps with the silence. Until last week.

It started with the reflection.

I was watching something late at night, the room mostly dark except for the flickering screen. I paused the episode to grab a snack. As I stood up, I saw it in the TV’s black screen—a shape. Behind me. In the hallway.

I spun around. Nothing. Just my coat hanging off a chair. I laughed it off. I really did.

But then the texts started.

Unknown Number:

do you always watch alone?

I blocked it. Of course I blocked it. But new numbers kept texting. Different ones. Always a little too specific.

Unknown Number:

the reflection likes you. you shouldn’t turn off the screen tonight.

I started unplugging the TV at night. But then the whispers began.

It’s not like they’re in the apartment. It’s like they’re in the silence. Behind the white noise. I turn off the fridge and they get louder. I leave the TV unplugged and the air feels heavier.

Last night, I gave in. I plugged the TV back in, just to see if it would stop.

And the screen was already on.

Static.

Except, it’s not random static. There’s a face in it. Barely visible, like it’s pressing against the glass from the other side. I swear it moved when I looked closer.

I’m not sleeping anymore.

If this is some prank, I don’t care. If this is real—I don’t know what it wants.

But if I go missing, check the reflection.

Everyone knows that actions speak louder than words.

Yet, for some reason, my English teacher gave me an F when I mimed my essay instead of writing it.

The Whistle

It was 11:30 in the morning, and the school grounds were quieter than usual. Most students had already shuffled inside for class, but Sky and Talia lingered outside, taking their time with lazy footsteps and casual conversation.

“So that’s what happened yesterday,” Sky said, finishing her story with a sigh.

Talia snorted. “Sounds stupid.”

“That’s because it was stupid.”

A small hum escaped Talia’s throat in agreement. She let her arms swing at her sides, eyes drifting across the empty school yard. Then her expression shifted—just slightly—as something else came to mind.

“Oh, have you heard about that new creepypasta character?”

Sky raised an eyebrow. “Creepypasta? No. What character?”

“They call him The Mimic,” Talia said, eyes bright with the kind of curiosity that always danced around horror stories. “Apparently he can shape-shift. Like, into anything. People, objects, whatever.”

Sky tilted her head. “Okay, that’s actually kinda cool. How do people even know he exists?”

Talia looked around for a moment before answering, her voice dropping just a bit. “Some people said they saw him changing shape before they were attacked. But there’s something else—right before he strikes, they say you hear this weird, creepy whistling.”

They both stopped walking, instinctively scanning the area. The breeze blew gently across the field, ruffling leaves and whispering through the trees, but other than that, there was nothing unusual.

“Well,” Sky said, trying to shake off the chill that had snuck up her spine, “that’s cool, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Talia murmured, already turning toward the school. “We should head inside.”

Sky nodded and followed for a few steps—then cursed under her breath when she felt something loose. Her shoe was untied.

She crouched down to fix it, fingers fumbling with the laces. Just as she tightened the last knot, a soft, eerie whistling drifted through the air behind her.

Faint. Slow. Almost playful.

Sky froze.

She stood up slowly, heart thudding in her chest. “Talia?” she called, trying to laugh it off, her voice cracking just a little. “If that’s you messing with me, you’re not funny.”

She rounded the corner toward the front entrance of the school—then stopped dead in her tracks.

Talia was lying on the pavement. Her limbs were limp, her eyes open but unblinking. She didn’t move.

Sky staggered back a step, panic bubbling up in her throat. “Talia?”

Behind her, something creaked.

The bench she had passed moments ago began to shift, its shape warping in unnatural, sickening ways. Metal bent like clay. The wooden slats stretched and split, folding in on themselves.

And then the thing stood up.

No longer a bench. No longer anything human.

It grinned at her with too many teeth. And began to whistle.

Sky didn’t scream. She couldn’t. The sound stole the breath right from her lungs.

All she could do was run.

Sort of reminds me a bit of We Came to Welcome You by Vincent Tirado and The September House by Carissa Orlando.

The walls are bleeding

My most recent short horror story.

Word count: 724

Trigger warning: Blood (who would have guessed)

It was just half an hour when it happened.

I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup.

Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning.

I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.

So what's a better time than now?

I walked towards one of the walls that was facing away from the windows, took a chair to stand on and placed my fingers over the paper's exterior.

It was a strange sensation, is this really paper? I thought to myself.

I hesitated.

Lowering my hands again and just stared for a moment.

Then other thoughts started to convince me to continue: This must be some kind of fancy wallpaper I don't know about. Fancy, but ugly, that explains the texture. I should remove it.

No, it needs to be removed!

Again I raised my hands and started by putting my fingers in between the wall and the wall at a place where it was already slightly loose.

Suddenly I noticed that I was touching something wet and sticky. Something of which I was certain that it couldn't be glue.

I swiftly retrieved my hand only to find the tips of my fingers to be soaked crimson red.

There's no doubt about it...

It's blood.

I immediately got down from the chair and ran towards the phone.

I need to call the police! Was the only thought running through my head.

Dialling the number, it luckily didn't take long for someone to pick up. I told them about the situation and that it was making me fear for my safety. I was told to wait by the door and open it for them.

A little later the doorbell finally rang, I felt a bit underwhelmed when I saw that they had sent just a single officer to check in on me.

Had they thought me mad?

"Good morning sir, Please show me what you found." He greeted me.

I took the man into my living room and showed him the spot.

"Good God..." He murmured.

He reached for his walkie-talkie and pressed a button.

"This is officer Green... Send to the bleeding house alert. I'm in need of backup. Over."

Some white noise left the small object, but nothing audible.

"This is officer Green. Does anyone copy. Over." He seemed to be slightly panicking.

Drip...

Drip...

I heard something coming down from upstairs and it didn't sound very good.

"Sir, I got to check something real quick." I said to the officer, though I don't believe he heard me at all. He seemed to be caught up in the buzzing of his communication device.

I ran up the stairs.

The dripping seemed to come from the bathroom.

Opening the door I found something horrifying.

Instead of water, blood was dripping out of the faucet.

Slowly filling up the tub with the dark coloured liquid.

I tried closing the faucet, but it only got worse.

Blood started pouring out.

I left again quickly, closing the door thoroughly behind me, trying to forget about what I had just seen and proceeded to my bedroom.

This wasn't in any way better.

I felt cold when I stepped into a lukewarm puddle of the sticky substance.

It was coming down from the walls, dripping, colouring and messing with all the furniture in it.

Entering the small hallway again, the walls had taken a colour of dark red as well.

Careful not to slip, I made my way back downstairs again.

"Sir, have you reached your colleagues yet?" I frantically ask the officer standing facing the wall quietly.

Something is wrong though.

Something about him seems so much different than how he was before.

The air around him...

In his hands he's holding a big piece of wallpaper and he's covered in blood.

Without looking my way, he starts talking.

"Perhaps this is its way of cleansing itself."

His voice sounds different too.

"What the hell do you mean?!"

"Usually when a wound is bleeding, it is in a way cleaning itself. The bigger the wound, the less chance of infection. The dirt will be washed away by the blood itself."

I feel anger and panic boiling up in my body: "Are you trying to say that I'm the cause of this?!"

For a moment there's silence, but then he shrugs.

"Nah, I wouldn't know that."