Are you brave enough to face your deepest fears? Bella Darkwood is back with Shivers volume 2, a bone-chilling collection of horror stories that will leave you breathless. From cosmic horror to body horror, from tales of deep sea terror to supernatu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was a cold, gloomy evening in the heart of the Victorian era when Mr. and Mrs. Grimshaw arrived at the dilapidated house they had purchased. They were a hopeful couple, eager to transform the decaying structure into their dream home. Unbeknownst to them, their new abode held a dark past, a past that would soon imprison them in a chilling nightmare.
The house sat atop a hill, a desolate figure that loomed over the village below. Its windows were cracked, the paint faded and peeling, giving it an air of eerie desolation.
As they entered, a musty odor filled the air, the scent of time long forgotten. Yet, the couple pressed onward, fueled by their ambition and oblivious to the ominous presence that awaited them.
The work began with zeal as the Grimshaws set about repairing the neglected abode. Each day, as the daylight faded, they would retire to their quarters exhausted, the house creaking and groaning through the night. Shadows darted in the corners of their vision, whispers played upon the wind, but they dismissed them as mere tricks of their imagination.
One night, as the moon shone brightly outside their bedroom window, Mr. Grimshaw awakened to an unsettling sound. It was a rhythmic tapping, growing louder and more insistent with each passing second.
He nudged his wife awake, concern etched upon his face. "Mary, do you hear that?" he whispered.
She stirred, her eyes heavy with sleep. "What is it, dear?"
"The tapping, Mary. It's coming from outside," he replied, pulling the curtains aside to peer into the darkness.
As their eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, they saw it. A figure stood at the edge of the garden, its hunched silhouette illuminated by the pale glow. It was gaunt, its eyes hollow and filled with malice. A shiver ran down their spines, freezing them in place.
"Who... who are you?" Mr. Grimshaw stammered, his voice quivering with fear.
The spectre gave no response, but the tapping grew louder, more forceful. It seemed to resonate through the very core of their being. Panic overtook them, and without a second thought, they fled their room, seeking refuge in the safety of the village inn.
The following day, as they gathered their belongings and prepared to flee, a neighbor approached them. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, aware of the tales that clung to the old house like a specter’s shadow. "You know, the previous owners... they disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Nobody ever found out what happened to them."
Mrs. Grimshaw gasped, clutching her husband's arm for support. "Do you mean... are you saying the house is haunted?"
The neighbor nodded gravely. "Haunted, cursed, call it what you will. But be warned, strange happenings have plagued that house for centuries. The spectre that dwells within its walls is hideous, its wrath unrelenting. Tread carefully if you dare to venture back."
They heeded the neighbor's warning, vowing never to set foot in that house again. The spectre's presence lingered in their memories, a constant reminder of the darkness they had disturbed. And from that day forth, the house remained a forsaken, haunted place, its secrets buried within its crumbling walls.
But whispers carried on the wind, tales whispered in hushed tones, warning those who dared to set foot on that hill that the spectre still lurks, waiting for its next victim.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
