Thousands of free stories. Support your favorites when you're ready.
Showing stories tagged with #haunting Clear filter
Feather-light, Shades of grey, When they appear, I've naught to say. Waifs so thin, Morose and sad, And when they're gone, I feel so glad.
The old man made of mist Sits at the end Of the platform. The young girl in The wallpaper Lingers on the stairs. The dog with night-black fur Guards the road home.
"8, 7..." They began to panic, clinging to each other while looking hopelessly around the room for any help. There was none. "6. 5..." The voice with each number sounded more amused. More sadistic.
A light-diamond globule drips from green-skinned rosy flesh. A million screeches combine to form a cacophony of chirruping. This just doesn’t seem to entice me anymore.
I sit at my desk, doing homework. Searching on my computer. I can't wait to go to sleep, but that might be tommorrow. Or the next day. I think it's around midnight. I have no idea, really.
Hesitantly I open the gate With a creak and a squawk and a sigh Ivy covered with wrought iron curls There's more than meets the eye.
I slip I slide I'm hurt by some Judge me as you may.
In my corner I can come to no harm. They can't get me here, There's no cause for alarm, I can get on with my papers In front of the fire And it's hypnotic, fiery Dance admire. Lo.
Anyone who watches Doctor Who will know the rhyme Tick-Tock. I hate that Rhyme. Especially this one:- Tick-Tock goes the clock till river kills the doctor.
Come home, Alexandra Come home from the moor Your supper's long been waiting And there's darkness at the door.
The old woman's hand rose shaking, and pointed towards the shadows, "The exit there..." she mumbled slowly. "But you never go get out." she concluded, as though she had said it a million times.
#household #home From the age of seven until I reached ten, every summer I used to go and stay with my aunt and uncle for two weeks in a little seaside village called Thorpeness on the south coast.
My sister's 12th birthday party started out like any other birthday party. Friends and family were over to celebrate, presents were opened and cake was eaten.
Always speeding, never stopping to see. This is the human race, but not me. Glance up to the sky and suspended in the air, You will see whispers of cold despair.
She's there when I wake up. She's there again at night. She plays within the darkness. But she prefers the light. She paints a pretty picture. That gets inside my head. Sure that she'd still haunt me.
It is a cold rainy day in the village of Clipstone.
There was a young girl named Katja who lived with her mother and grandmother in a small town in Russia. One day, she was walking home from school. Somewhere along the way, she lost her gloves.
Mist swirls around my feet as I enter the clearing where we used to meet, It's colder now, more bleak, the air fills my nose with the freezing reek Of winter.
It happens when your alone in your room, for a brief moment all background noise fades away and you hear your named called out by your mother.
There's a pale girl in front of me. I don't know who she is but for some reason, I recognize her. She's beautiful. Then I wake up. It feels as if I had eaten barb wire. Must have caught a cold.
The study was a small, compact room, old fashioned, well furnished.
I sprinted all the way to the end of the bridge and turned my head. It was a quiet, cold night and piercing breezes were dancing around my body.
Firstly, hello.
Ordinary People Mathilda My head is absolutely killing me. I must have a migraine again. I shall call a servant to fetch me some aspirin. I've had a lot of migraines recently.