Historias de Creepystory

In Elemental magic you can be one of four magic types; water, fire, earth, and air. The only problem is Violet is none of these things. Is she what they call a magic dud, or is she something rarer, more powerful, and more dangerous than anyone could have imagined!? Teasers, "Em, most girls sneak out for a boy, you sneak out for a unicorn." I began to cry as it reached for my face."No!" I screamed. "Please No!" I went to pull back the shower curtain, but some nagging thought in the back of my head stopped me. I didn't have a little brother, so why was there a little boy in my bathroom? I gulped and with shaking hands pulled back the shower curtain. "What!? How could that be!?" I yelled, and covered my hand with my mouth. Shouting wasn't such a good idea right at this moment. If someone heard us and came up here to investigate the noise we were making, they would find a boy and a girl, a bloody knife with both their finger prints on it, and a very very dead body. "Don't touch her!" he hissed and lunged at Henry. Running through the night wearing nothing but a flimsy hospital dress, while waving a dismembered hand in his hand, was a strangeness no regular person could hope to inspire to.

When Detective Elias Crowe returns to his hometown of Black Hollow after twenty years away, he expects to investigate a suspicious death-not reopen the wound that never healed. Dr. Leonard Hale is found dead beneath the balcony of Blackthorne Manor, his death ruled an accident. But Elias sees what others ignore: the scratched mirrors, the hidden passengers, the whispers inside the walls. As he digs deeper, Elias uncovers a web of secret experiments, buried evidence. and a vanished sister whose disappearance was never meant to be solved. With every suspect hiding something and the town determined to keep its past buried, Elias is forced to confront memories he doesn't trust and a truth that could destroy everything he believes. In a house built on lies, silence is the deadliest weapon. And some secrets are worth killing for. Updates every day/week. Follow for mystery, twists, and secrets.

Not all horrors are imagined. Some live next door. These are short standalone stories inspired by whispered fears, urban legends, and things we pretend do not happen.

My best friend disappeared three days ago... But his account stayed online. He started sending me messages. Warning me about something that had already entered my house. Now the town is quiet. And something is wearing our faces.

These are just short stories. I hope you enjoy them ❤️

Some things are best left unseen.

This is a log of all the strange & weird dreams that I remember having

WARNING: Even though this is Dandy's World fanfic, the stories in here contain scary/gross scenes (obviously). Reader discretion is advised! Eight creepy and crazy stories for lovers of spooks and scares, all told by the GardenView crew. This time, Sprout asked me to narrate after I told him about what happened last time. He agreed on one condition: That I don't let Vee call him "berry boy" if it ever becomes her turn to narrate. -- Credits to himek9 on Tumblr for the picture

"Welcome, mortal... do leave your sanity at the threshold." Before you lies a meticulously curated ossuary of human dread-a global registry of the things that haunt the periphery of our vision and the darkest corners of our collective subconscious. From the whispered rituals of the ancient world to the digital demons of the modern age, this Compendium serves as your guided tour through the geography of the nightmare. We spare no soul in our quest for the uncanny. Within these pages, you will encounter: The Ethereal & The Avenging: Seek the crimson reflection of Bloody Mary or the weeping specters that linger in the ruins of history. Maritime Mysteries: Walk the silent, salt-crusted decks of the SS Ourang Medan, where a crew was found frozen in a final, wordless paroxysm of absolute horror. Urban Legends & Modern Maladies: From the hooked-handed killers of lovers' lanes to the hitchhikers who vanish into the midnight mist. The Cryptid & The Corrupted: Track the clawed footprints of the Mothman, the Jersey Devil, and the insatiable hunger of the Wendigo. This archive is a living entity, and it hungers for more. I, your humble curator, have gathered much, but the darkness is vast. Have I overlooked a phantom that haunts your own doorstep? Is there a local legend from your ancestral soil that demands recognition? I implore you to leave your comments. If an urban legend has been missed or a particular monster deserves its moment in the moonlight, speak up. Your contributions are the lifeblood of this monument to the macabre. Enter freely, read by candlelight, and remember: To name the darkness is to claim power over it. But be warned... the darkness is listening.

In the fog‑choked town of Mirageton, reality is never as solid as it seems. A man is found dead behind a shop's glass door - frozen in terror, blood smeared beneath his hands. He's the latest victim in a string of killings, each body discovered in abject horror, as if they had seen - and fought - something impossible. Across town, Ian Hale is coming apart. Plagued by migraines, violent dreams, and a reflection that doesn't always move when he does, he knows one thing for certain: something inside him is wrong. Something watching. Waiting. He wants to run, to leave the rot of Mirageton behind. But the town won't release him. Not his father, who treats him like a debt to be collected; not his own fracturing mind; and certainly not Elaine - sharp, relentless, and the daughter of the lead detective. She's hunting the truth behind the murders. And Ian may be the only thread that leads to it. One wrong move won't just expose him. It will shatter his life, hers, and everyone's in between. As suspicion spreads, an old legend bleeds into waking life. Reflections linger. Glass remembers. And the line between monster and victim begins to crack. The horror in Mirageton isn't just what's hiding in the mirrors. It's what's looking back. ONC 2026 Prompt 76: Your reflection smiles before you do and then begins mimicking things you never did.

OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST 2026 ENTRY All that was left of him was one voicemail she couldn't delete. She wanted to keep it, just to remember his voice - but every time she pressed play, something changed. A different word. A car honking. A way-too-long pause between words. There were details that didn't belong. She was not sure if she was revealing the truth about his death... or if the message was leading her somewhere she didn't know she could go.

Countless murders occur... Who is responsible? Why does Adeline endure this ordeal alone-or is she truly alone? Who is her enemy, and who is not? Many questions swirl in her mind... Read to discover the answers.

It's about a night shift worker who's down on his luck and took a job at a shitty little dinner

Parfait Cookie is having a nice time while having her career dream, but then one day, her dream job has ended. She was banned from making music, getting a job with no hope of surviving. She's gone through severe mental illness and depression with despair, negativity, anger, and rage. What happens at the end is terrifying. Would you read this fan-fiction, filled of depression and despair? [Cookie Run characters including Parfait Cookie belong to Devsisters]

A simple farmer receives a horse from the gods, a man sells ice creams named after missing schoolkids, the demolition of a hotel brings an old horror to light, a wounded soldier finds the real enemy is in his own camp, a family inherits a peculiar rug, and a sinister golfer makes his opponents disappear. Short stories for fans of Stephen King, H.P. Lovecraft, Roald Dahl, M.R. James, Paul Jennings, Ray Bradbury, Ernest Hemingway, & Somerset Maugham.

Brought to the new family that was meant to love and accept her for her evil ways, the pure love for her only desire began to fade into a burning hatred that soiled her deepest roots, when he; Jeffery Woods, decided to exile her from the mansion, the only place she, Nina Hopkins, had left. She was left to herself in the woods, to succumb to hunger. But there was someone, someone who was also kicked from the place he called home.

In every corner of the world, from the fog-drenched moors to the depths of forgotten jungles, there are stories whispered in the dark about creatures that defy reason-beings that belong neither to myth nor to science. They call them the cryptids, the legends, the unclassified shapes that slip through our nightmares and leave behind only footprints, shadows, and fear. Somewhere in the Himalayas, travelers still speak of a giant covered in white fur-the Yeti-whose mournful calls echo through the frozen valleys. In the Louisiana bayous, under the haunting glow of the moon, locals swear that the Rougarou prowls the swamps, its glowing eyes watching from the reeds. On the misty surface of Loch Ness, ripples disturb the stillness, as if something ancient and enormous moves beneath-a creature that has eluded cameras and logic for nearly a century. In the forests of the Pacific Northwest, branches snap in the dead of night and hunters speak in hushed voices about Bigfoot, the giant that walks upright and disappears between the trees like smoke. From the deserts of Mongolia where a crimson serpent called the Death Worm kills with a spark of electricity, to the waters of Japan where ghostly shapes drag fishermen into the abyss, humanity has always lived side by side with the unexplained. These tales have survived because somewhere deep down, people know that truth often hides in the places we're too afraid to look. Maybe these creatures are echoes of an ancient world that refuses to die, or maybe they are something far older-beings that watch us, testing the boundaries between myth and reality. Whatever they are, they remind us that the world is not as known or safe as we pretend it to be, and that somewhere beyond the reach of science, the unknown still breathes.

1. First part. It was around 9-12 pm, I (Deep, age-24) was returning home on my bike after an urgent task. The road went through a graveyard. The road was very winding and it was dark, so I couldn't figure out the path. So, I suddenly stopped my bike near the crossroads of the graveyard, and saw an elderly person carrying a bundle of straw on his head. I went to him and asked for directions to my destination. He pointed to the left, I went that way without saying anything. After 25-30 minutes of riding through the woods, I found myself back at the same spot. The man was still standing there in the same position. I thought maybe he didn't understand me, so I asked again. He pointed again, and this time too, I ended up back at the same place. This happened almost 4-5 times. Now I was sweating and couldn't speak. Then what happened next, you'll be shocked to hear..........

The glass doesn't just reflect. It watches. It's a prickle on my skin, a cold weight in the air. Even with my back turned I can feel it: a steady, unblinking gaze from coming from the mirror across the room. I tell myself it is just the shadows. I tell myself the room in the in the reflection is identical to mine. But every time I snap my eyes open in the dark to check the sensation is always the same - a heart-stopping certainty that it was already looking at me first. Nothing has moved. Nothing has changed. Yet everything is wrong.

Horror mystery short story