These 12 Awesomely Scary Short Stories Will Terrify You
We always enjoy a good short, scary story. These horrifying short stories from Reddit will absolutely make you shudder. Read them in the middle of the night if you dare.
Jeremy knew his wife Gail was having an affair. The only information he’d discovered about the man she was seeing was his last name, Chamberlain, and he didn’t really care to know anything else about him. The marriage was over and he and Gail were merely going through the motions.
Clues started to appear that Gail’s relationship was turning sour. Her face betrayed bruises and she was making and taking frantic calls at all hours. Jeremy kept his distance from the drama in her life, feeling that whatever problems she was having she brought on herself.
Then Gail disappeared. Jeremy came home from his office to find the house empty, which wasn’t unusual, but when Gail didn’t return for two days, he started to become concerned. She hadn’t packed any clothes for a trip. No note or text. Another 24 hours and he’d call the police.
The following morning, Jeremy was driving to work when the flashing lights of a police cruiser burst on behind him. Agitated, he pulled over and lowered the window for a burly, grim officer.
“Morning. I pulled you over because I noticed your trunk had popped open.”
“Come back and take a look, sir.”
Jeremy got out and followed the cop to the rear of the car where the trunk was indeed open and to his shock, inside was the bloody, lifeless body of Gail in a fetal position. Cuffed and dazed, Jeremy leaned against the cruiser as the cop called it in.
“This is Officer Chamberlain, requesting back up and an ambulance.”
“We had a cancellation, so if you’re both up for it, we can take you out for $50. But we have to leave now.”
The honeymooning couple glanced at each other, glossy eyed and adventure filled by the sheer thought of swimming with sharks.
They quickly agreed, seduced by the cheap price and spontaneity of the offer.
Within the hour, they were fifteen miles out to sea, nothing but rippling blue in every direction. Clambering into tight wet suits and, later, the cage itself, the two were all smiles, if a little jittery.
The men aboard helped them get situated, all the while baiting the crystal waters. Dorsal fins emerged above the waves, dozens migrating toward the scent of blood. As the frenzy commenced, the cage lowered beneath the surface. Their view was incredible: up close and personal with beasts as long as their boat. Tearing into the bait with ease, they watched their gnashing teeth in awe.
Soon, they felt a jolt in their cage, then panic as the doors began to reel back. In seconds, the cage was wide open, immediately catching the feasting creature’s attentions.
Above the water, the men rifled through the couple’s bags, stuffing bills and valuables into their pockets before dumping the rest.
They hardly noticed as the clear water surrounding their boat brightened with large splotches of vermillion.
Best Friend Ever
My little sister Candice has a best friend. Y’know, one of those imaginary ones. She’s a pretty smart seven-year-old, so at the time I thought she’d be over that phase by now. I mean, she’s been proclaiming the existence of her friend since she was three.
She’s always talking about how amazing the friend is. A while ago when I asked her about the friend, she told me he was as tall as a room and quiet as a mouse. She nagged at me then, telling me that he listened to her a lot better than I did.
It was so annoying.
One night, a robber broke in while I was making a midnight snack, our parents stuck in traffic and not home yet. Candice was with me and she clung to my leg as the robber approached us with a gun.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I quickly drew Candice up in my arms and held her with my back to the guy, pleading with him to not hurt us. I could feel tears running down my face as I held Candice.
For some reason, the robber stopped approaching us.
After I moment, I stopped holding on to Candice so tightly and looked at her face. She was staring up really high at the open door to the dining room. I glanced over at it and saw nothing.
When I turned to the robber, trying to see what he wanted, I saw that he was looking over there, too.
The robber paled, his whole body suddenly wracked with shivers. He dropped his gun and ran away.
As I lay here still awake, I wait for the scalpel to slice through my skin, but the doctors just continue to stare at me and converse. I want to ask them when the surgery will begin, but don’t want to rush preparation. The doctor began to talk after a few moments of silence and poking around.
“Severe lacerations to the neck, face, and chest.”
I sat up and the doctors face went pale. I’m not in a hospital. I’m in a morgue.
I Wear My Sunglasses At Night
Tap tap tap….that’s my cane helping me get around the city. Through the hustle and bustle, the night screams around me in this great maze I call home. I try to remember where the garbage cans and the light poles are so I don’t bump into them. I have to be careful. My shades are super dark so my light sensitive eyes will not be exposed to the environment. Finally I am at my apartment.
I begrudgingly fiddle with my keys and resist the urge to just put the key in the lock as I have no idea who is watching me.
Inside I check to make sure that my heavy duty curtains are still securely hammered to the walls and that my carpet is pushed all the way to the door so no sound or light can escape.
After checking and double checking that all safe guards are in place, I remove my shades; turn the lights and TV on low.
It is tough pretending to be blind, but I’ve found that as long as the monsters think I can’t see them they don’t bother me.
Barry’s in a mood again. I start making dinner while the kids play out in the puddle-filled backyard. It always brings peace of mind when I can watch them out the kitchen window.
“Dinner’s ready”, I yell out. “Sarah and Dylan, take your shoes off please, I don’t want mud dragged through the house again”. I feel like I repeat this request day after day.
As we eat, I ask the kids about school, while Barry barely acknowledges us and just gobbles down his food. “Barry, did you hear how well Sarah did at her sports day?” I ask hoping he’ll listen. Barry stares up at me, sighs loudly, takes his dinner to the lounge and turns on the TV.
Sarah looks hurt but manages to tell me about coming 3rd in the 100m sprint. I tell her I’m proud of her, then ask them to eat up before I clear the plates. They never eat much anymore, they used to love the food I made. Maybe I need to make something more interestimg! I tell the kids to get ready for bed while I clean the dishes and prepare the next days’ lunches.
Barry silently steps in to help, and eventually says “I think you need to see someone, this can’t go on.”
Great, this conversation again. Barry thinks I’m losing my mind.
“It’s been 4 years”, he says, “pretending they’re here isn’t going to bring them back”. I disagree. They’re already back.
How else would there be muddy footprints in the hallway every night?
Under the Covers
You hear your child screaming “Mommy there someone in my bedroom! Turn the lights on!” Of course you come to your kid’s bedroom, turn the lights on and find no boogeyman, no monsters, no creatures.
Children and adults alike have adapted to fearing the dark. Why? Well its something called fear of the unknown. We as people fear what we cannot see, what we cannot feel, what we do not know. We do not know what might come at us nor could we see what really lies in the dark.
So why are kids more afraid of the dark then adults? The answer? Maturity. But adults should know that the dark is the only blanket between fiction and the truth and without the dark, you wouldn’t be able to hide, nor will you tell yourself that its just imagination because seeing is believing.
Now you hear your child screaming again about the same boogeyman in his room. You go to your same routine telling your child, who is now under the covers, that there is no such thing as monsters. Then you turn on the lights to find there are no monsters, no creatures, nobody under the covers.
My wife has been blind for a while now. I think it was roughly three years ago that she was diagnosed with severe glaucoma. There was very little that could be done to help slow her descent into darkness. All I could do was comfort her.
“Listen, Honey,” I said one night, laying in bed. “For as long as you can’t see, I will close my eyes so we can get through this together.”
She argued, said it was stupid, even. But I could tell that she was comforted.
I have kept my promise. We learned how to deal with the abyss, live with it. Together. I never opened my eyes. Not when she laughed and I wanted to see her smile. Not when I sang to her at night. Not when we made love. Not even after the screaming, and later when she stopped talking to me.
She still loves me, even now that she’s mute and blind. I can feel it. I can almost feel that beautiful smile radiating from her. Barely catch the scent of her perfume and shampoo. I just want to see her, one last time.
I awoke in the morning next to her with my eyes closed (I trained myself to do this) and decided it was time to take just a peek.
I opened my eyes very slowly. It was so bright. My vision was completely blurred at first, just various colors. Then, my blood ran cold. What I saw was the most vile, revolting thing I could ever possibly imagine: no one.
Three years ago, human births stopped.
It took awhile for the world to notice. When we did, concern quickly turned to sadness, then despair.
Attempts were made to deduce the cause. When they failed, we tried to work around the problem.
Artificial insemination techniques failed. After time, the world seemed to quietly accept its fate. Of course there was civil unrest, some rioting, but humans are adaptive after all.
Six months ago, everything changed. Things seemed to turn around. In days, thousands of women were reporting positive pregnancy tests. Overwhelming joy turned to confusion, then panic, when we realized it wasn’t just sexually active women. Millions, then hundreds of millions of women of child-bearing age started showing pregnancy symptoms.
Tests to figure out what was happening fueled our fear. Blood tests made no sense. Sonograms wouldn’t show pictures. Attempted abortions causes sudden, violent deaths. Reports varied, involving terms like ‘explosive’, ‘catastrophic’, ‘psychotic violence’.
Attempting to quell terror, it was decided that a live, televised, cesarean section would be performed on a volunteer. In human history, this broadcast had the largest number of worldwide viewers.
The operation started routinely. Minutes into the procedure, when the doctor made the incision into the uterus, chaos erupted.
Something dark sprang from that poor woman, lunging at the doctors. The camera crew lost composure; the scene becoming jerky, disjointed. We saw shadows, heard screams. Finally the feed was shut off.
As we stared at static, I looked at my wife. Her eyes betrayed her fear. I opened my mouth to speak, but she gasped, hands dropping to her swollen belly.
She looked up, teary-eyed.
“Oh God….I felt it kick.”
Mary had a little lamb
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go.
She brought her lamb to school one day;
The kids let out loud jeers.
The children took her lamb away
And Mary choked on tears.
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was red with blood.
She took its little body home
And swore she’d hurt them good.
Mary knew that lambsblood called
Things ancient, hidden, and deep.
As Mary painted signs of old,
Never did she weep.
Mary had a little lamb;
It made her something scary.
Now I dare you, look in a mirror
And whisper “bloody Mary.”
Little Tommy was the first found:the schoolyard bully, pushed out of a three story window in the same sort of fashion that he pushed down those smaller than him every day.
Laura was next.She never stopped whining about not having the newest toy, the prettiest clothes. She got her final wish in a way, upon receiving a precious pearl necklace,though you could say it fit a bit too tightly around her neck.
Soon John was found,the boy who always refused to do his homework, and disrespected teachers.They found him laying on the classroom floor, his fingers now stubs,”I will listen” written 500 times in his own blood on the chalkboard. Shortly after came Maria. She always refused to share; always wanted more.She was found pressed to death under masses of toys.
For the homes of children who weren’t exactly nice, only screams and tears filled the air Christmas morning.
There simply wasn’t enough coal to go around this year.
“Jared Wilson, 22, attempted suicide, attempt one.”
The words scrolled up the teleprompter, which were now heard by millions of people around the world. The first device allowing coma patients to communicate to the outside world. It had always been theorized that they were receptive of outside noises, but for the first time ever, they were able to communicate in return.
The countdown began, and the tension in the room weighed on every breath. We were nervous… the world was nervous. The timer hit 0, the power was turned on, and for a moment there was silence.
Then it started, a high pitched wailing noise. It was agonizing to listen to. I yelled out to the attendant to kill the power, but he was unable to hear me. The technical difficulties overlay was put on the television broadcasts, and the machine was immediately silenced.
Jared remained still, almost as if simply asleep.
Technicians flooded to the machine, each vocalizing their theories on what had gone wrong. A few agreed that it was an audio issue, one said it was an error with the software… but one engineer remained silent. He was visibly shaken after running the software diagnostic, and we soon learned why.
“He… it’s… the machine is working fine. Jared… that was screaming. Jared was screaming.”