Home » Halloween » Horror Story

Horror Story

Tuesday, July 29th 2025. | Halloween

short horror stories chill bones youth incorporated

The old Victorian house stood silhouetted against the bruised twilight sky, its gabled roof and darkened windows like the eyes of a watchful predator. Locals whispered about it, calling it Blackwood Manor, and claiming it was cursed, haunted by the vengeful spirit of Silas Blackwood, a man who’d met a gruesome end within its walls a century ago. I, of course, dismissed it as superstitious nonsense. I was a paranormal investigator, and I dealt in facts, in evidence, not in campfire tales.

My name is Dr. Alistair Finch, and I’ve dedicated my life to debunking myths and exposing charlatans. Blackwood Manor, with its rich history of purported spectral activity, was simply too tempting to ignore. I’d equipped myself with the latest technology: EMF readers, thermal cameras, digital voice recorders – everything necessary to either prove or disprove the claims of a haunting. I’d even hired a local assistant, a young man named Daniel, who, despite his skepticism, had agreed to help me navigate the sprawling property.

The front door creaked open with a mournful groan, the hinges protesting after decades of disuse. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight that pierced through the boarded-up windows. The air inside was thick with the scent of decay and something else…something indefinably metallic, like old blood. Daniel nervously trailed behind me as I began my investigation, moving from room to room, meticulously recording every anomaly, every unexplained sound.

The initial readings were unremarkable. Minor EMF fluctuations, likely due to faulty wiring, and a general chill that could be attributed to the building’s poor insulation. But as we ascended the grand, winding staircase to the second floor, things started to change. The EMF readings spiked erratically, and a bone-chilling draft swept through the hallway, extinguishing the flame of my gas lantern, plunging us into darkness.

“Did you feel that?” Daniel whispered, his voice trembling. “That…cold.”

I relit the lantern, dismissing his fear with a forced chuckle. “Just a draft, Daniel. Relax.” But even I could feel the prickle of unease on the back of my neck.

We continued our investigation, focusing on Silas Blackwood’s former study. It was a room steeped in oppressive silence, the air heavy with a sense of profound sadness. I set up my digital voice recorder, hoping to capture any potential EVPs (electronic voice phenomena). For hours, we sat in silence, listening for any sign of the supernatural. Nothing. Disappointed, I was about to pack up when Daniel suddenly gasped.

“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing to the far corner of the room. “Behind you!”

I turned, my heart pounding in my chest. In the dim light, I could make out a shadowy figure coalescing near the bookshelf. It was tall and gaunt, its features indistinct, but its presence undeniable. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the air crackled with static electricity.

Fear, raw and primal, gripped me. This was not a trick of the light, not a product of my overactive imagination. This was something real, something malevolent. I stumbled backward, my hand instinctively reaching for my EMF reader. The device went haywire, its needle spinning wildly off the scale.

The figure began to move, slowly gliding towards us. Its form grew clearer, and I could now discern the details of its decaying face, the hollow sockets of its eyes, the gaunt, skeletal hands outstretched as if reaching for us.

“Silas Blackwood,” I whispered, the name escaping my lips like a prayer. The figure seemed to react to the sound of its name, its spectral eyes fixing on me with an intensity that made my blood run cold.

Daniel screamed and fled the room, his terrified cries echoing through the empty house. I was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. The figure continued to advance, its spectral hand reaching out to touch me. As its icy fingers brushed against my skin, I felt a wave of overwhelming dread wash over me, a sensation of pure, unadulterated terror.

Suddenly, the figure lunged, its decaying face inches from mine. A guttural growl escaped its throat, a sound that seemed to emanate not from its vocal cords, but from the depths of hell itself. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable. But then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure vanished.

I opened my eyes, gasping for breath. The room was silent, the temperature had returned to normal, and the EMF readings were back to baseline. I was alone. Trembling, I stumbled out of the study and made my way back down the stairs, desperate to escape the horrors of Blackwood Manor.

I found Daniel waiting for me outside, his face pale and drawn. Without a word, we got into the car and drove away, leaving Blackwood Manor and its terrifying secrets behind us.

I never published my findings. The experience shook me to my core, forcing me to question everything I thought I knew about the world. I still consider myself a scientist, a seeker of truth, but I now understand that there are some truths that are best left undisturbed, some doors that are best left unopened. And Blackwood Manor, with its haunted halls and vengeful spirit, is a place I will never return to.