#horror stories

[seeminglydark]

She puts the RAGE in aveRAGE 💋

[whereserpentswalk]

Somewhere out there within the dark woods of somewhere or another, in days some time past, there was a town. And that town worshipped one god, and that god was a hole.

Yes, a massive hole, at the center of their town. Deep and dark, perhaps leading all the way down to oblivion. Some people said the god lived at the bottom of the hole, others said that the god was the hole itself, or even the shadows that lay within. They had no temples, no alters, only the hole. And the hole of the hole demanded things of them. It was hungry, strangely hungry. It did not have sacfices, it demanded tribute. Taxes in a way. People would scrounge up what little money they had for the hole, and the hole promised back that it would give them good things in return.

There were those who warned them of the hole. The cryptids of the dark forest, and the occultists and demon hunters, and even the deep ones that lay in the dark ocean and the scaled men of the forgotten ruins. But the townsfolk didn't listen, the hole made them feel good. It felt good to give it money. And even though they never exactly saw how the hole must have been helping them. How could it not be helping them if they had given it so much. And soon the hole banished all supernatural things but itself, and the people said the hole was making them safe.

And soon the hole was bigger. What was once the size of a well had grown to being big enough to consume a house. And soon the town changed, the hole began to be its center, the entire town shifted so that all public life was around the hole. And soon those who didn't like the hole, or who questioned it, where seen as evil or strange people, greedy for not wanting to give the hole their money, they were seen as selfish and entitled, entitled to all the hole's benefits without paying their share. It was a tragedy when someone grew up to move out of the town and not follow the hole.

And soon the hole had more and more demands. And everyone listened as it grew larger and larger. Soon it didn't want money, it wanted things too, televisions, automobiles, books, family relics, grandma's ashes, works of art, perhaps even beloved pets. And it became taboo not just to question it, but to feel sad when you lost something to the hole. You couldn't say you missed it, or replace it too soon, the hole wanted you to not have it, you were so obviously wrong to miss it. You didn't just have to give to the hole, you had to understand that it was improving your life.

There was a movement of young people, who wanted to get rid of the hole. But it was too late by then, they had no other gods, no other spirits or creatures, and the hole was as large as a city block. And either way, the town police belonged to the hole now, and they would kill for it, and they would die for it. Some young rebels moved away. But most found themselves not being able to give up their family, their freinds, and their safety to fight the hole. So for a time they pretended to like it, and when you do something, and say something for long enough it can become your truth, and soon enough those who pretended to live the hole truly did love it.

And soon there was no music or movies that the hole didn't approve of. Everyone followed the hole's rules. And everyone loved the hole so dearly and so brightly. They couldn't imagine a town without a hole. When they thought of other towns they imagined that they must have had holes too, and every idea of a place without it was sad and depressing. And as the hole was then a quarter of the size of the town, it was hungry, and demanded not just things but flesh. And people happily gave, it would be weird to not want to give. They gave eyes, ears, teeth, testicles, tounges, fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs. And they didn't miss their body parts at all. And when one day the hole demanded people jump in, and give their lives to it, they didn't mind or question at all, it didn't feel like death, and nobody missed that they weren't there.

And now, in the dark woods, there is a hole where a town used to be. It has eaten the entire the thing, every last inch and citizen of it. It is not satisfied. But it has grown all that it could. And one must wonder if the hole is lonely now, or if it knows that it has done all it ever hoped to.

[andahmer]

my old creepypasta sketches from 2019 🥀

[v-is-for-vore]

“They say that bumblebees shouldn’t be able…to fly”

- I love you AM. Sometimes.

[robsheridan]

Sisters of the Solstice. Sweden, 1975. Rumors swirled for centuries about a secretive community of women who harnessed the power of the Solstice for dark magic that granted them eternal life. Hushed whispers called them a coven of witches and warned of ritual sacrifice, cannibalism, walking dead, communications with the devil, and a bloodlust towards any man who would dare enter their territory… but was any of it true? By the 20th century, the Sisters had long been relegated to a dusty old myth, until photographer Sera Clairmont published these photos in her Spectagoria magazine.

Clairmont gave sparse details about her time with the Sisters of the Solstice, saying she was only given access to their rituals under a vow of secrecy. “These women have only ever asked for privacy,” she wrote, “and because they protect that fiercely, they are called evil. Are they practitioners of magick? Certainly. They give themselves to the earth, and the earth returns them to life. One cannot make such exchanges without sacrifice, but that is their way. Many generations ago, these women turned to the dark arts for protection when the world of men would offer them none. Men hurt them, so they adapted to survive. That the Sisters found the devil a safer bedfellow says more about men than it does about the Sisters. And as the soil grows their bodies anew, Midsommar after Midsommar, don’t be surprised if Mother Earth is taking notes. After all, who has a world of men hurt more than she?”

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NOTE: This is a work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

[enchantedbook]

'Viy' from Gogol's horror novella by Tatiana Kyrg

[comic-covers]

(1969)

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Body Horror and Internalized Misogyny

This post showed up in my "for you" feed, and I commented that 63% of people have internalized misogyny, to which two other people asked how being afraid of getting pregnant was misogynistic, so I thought I would explain.

First, the option that the majority of people voted on was this: Pregnancy "sounds like unreal terrifying body horror". Not just something scary or dangerous, but body horror. So lets talk about that first.

Body horror comes from taking something normal and natural about the body and twisting it. Putting teeth where there should not be teeth. Grafting dozens of arms onto every part of the body. Faces in odd places. Limbs bending the wrong direction. Think Dark Souls et al.

Now, one could try to describe normal bodily processes as horrifying, but I wouldn't call this body horror. Take puberty, and all the crazy things your body goes through during it, or describe exactly how each organ keeps you alive in detail. Or take "Skeletons", by Ray Bradbury. This is a horror story in which a man feels aches in his bones and becomes convinces that his skeleton--all skeletons--are some form of Other, some entity inside people that is trying to get out. He describes seeing his wife's skeleton peering out of her mouth each time she smiles, and seeing the shape of people's bones poking out just below the skin.

The thing about this story is that the skeleton is not actually what is horrifying, but rather the man's phobia of the skeleton. It's one of those stories where the protagonist is clearly not in his right mind. It only veers into body horror once the inhuman doctor that first stoked his fears into a phobia shows up and sucks the skeleton out of the man, leaving a gasping, jelly-like mass with nothing to hold it up.

Body horror inherently comes from something being unnatural, something a body is not supposed to have or be able to do.

If one were to view a racial trait, such as more or less body hair, darker or lighter skin, or the presence or absence of epicanthic folds as horrifying, we would call that person racist. If they viewed their own racial traits as horrifying, we wold call that internalized racism.

So now we can circle back to pregnancy. True, pregnancy can be dangerous and scary, and one's body goes through some pretty crazy changes during and after it, but it's also something that female bodies have evolved to be able to do. The potential to become pregnant--the specific gametes and organs and hormones--is literally what makes a body female, at least for placental mammals like humans. Pregnancy is a normal, natural, uniquely and definitively female biological process.

You don't have to want to get pregnant, and it's totally fine to be scared about being pregnant. But to treat it as something unnatural, or as the original poll said, as "unreal terrifying body horror" is to see the capabilities of the female body as somehow Other and alien and twisted. That is misogyny. When women view our own bodies this way, it's internalized misogyny.

[goodpointepodcasts]

Horror Writers! Science Fiction Writers! 'People Who Write Weird Speculative Shit and Dont Know What to Call It' Writers! We are now accepting story submissions for our upcoming Audio Fiction Anthology Series: SOMEONE JUST LIKE YOU

Check out the link below for more information.

[phantom-the-spookyboi]

Eyeless Jack

[marisashorror]

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.

[andahmer]

ok Idk if I like it or not 💀

The process took three days, I’ll post the rendering stages now

[v-is-for-vore]

{I. AM. AM.}

- wanted to design my own AM concept :}

[robsheridan]

From the pages of SPECTAGORIA magazine issue 6, 1974. Spectagoria was a renowned underground fashion photography magazine surrounded by rumor and mystery. Founded by iconoclastic photographer/filmmaker Sera Clairmont initially as a showcase of her own work, the publication drew controversy for its dark themes and morbid imagery, which often used beauty, sexuality, and fashion as a means to, in Clairmont’s words, “let speak the darkness that surrounds us from other worlds.”

Christian groups in the United States called for a ban of the magazine, with Jerry Falwell accusing Clairmont of being “a witch and a pornographer in league with the devil himself.” Clairmont dismissed the accusations as “just more blatant examples of the sexism and double-standards that led me to forge my own path in a male-dominated industry.” But the boycott drew scrutiny to the magazine’s photographs, which at times contained images that seemed impossible, even supernatural, in nature. Some wondered if Sera Clairmont was related to Seraphina Clairmont, the famous Manhattan mystic who “spoke to demons” and lived at the mysterious Zorovic Building at the turn of the 20th century, and was rumored to have been buried alive in the building’s 1913 destruction.

Sera Clairmont went into hiding in 1976, but continued to publish Spectagoria until the early 80s, growing stranger and darker with each issue, fueling even more speculation that otherworldly powers were behind it before its abrupt end. No one knew where it was being published from, nor where - or *how* - its photos were taken. Very few copies of each issue of Spectagoria were printed, and today only a handful of scattered pages have been located and scanned. I will continue to share more pages as I find them...

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NOTE: This is a work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

[gravemud]

Remember! The color blue is your friend!

[invisible-woe]

— from The Werewolf by Angela Carter