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SUNS

Let's Write a Horror Story Together

Put your additions into the comments below! Don't be shy! All styles of writing are welcome!

 

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John wasn't much afraid of darkness as he was of coldness. And not the coldness of an ice cube, or snow— those ones stung or bit, which felt like a form of companionship, equivalent to a summer night. No, John was afraid of the coldness of an empty room, or his mother's eyes when his father would come home. That kind of coldness didn't bite, it settled, it filled you up, and John didn't want to be filled up like that.

 

When John met Brianne for the first time, what drew him to her first was the way that her hair glittered like the sun. She worked behind the counter, late evenings at the cafe he liked to write at. Under the yellowy hue of the pot lights, Brianne became everything that he dreamed of.

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Add yours below!

Comments 2

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LucyInTheWoodsSeptember 1, 2025
John was intrigued. Brianne stirred something in him, and he was curious to explore that feeling further. Late one night, John entered the cafe to see only Brianne alone within. He sipped on his coffee, staring at her from his seat as she was diligently counting money and about to pack up for the day. Sensing him, she looked up smiling. Under the cafe's warm yellow lights, John's heart went from skipping a beat to almost flatlining. Her face was a swirling mess of a caricature, the very stuff of nightmares. Every time it settled on an expression, it melted once again into a Picasso-meets-Van Gogh-starry-night mix of features, a shape-shifting face that kept stirring. John fainted.
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GulaDaddyAugust 28, 2025
The same yellow pot light grew brighter, drowning everything around it, including Brianne's petit frame, in its hue...A jolt of muscle spasm, John woke up. Complete darkness. Smell of moist earth. Suffocation. With all his might, John clawed at the soil above him instinctively. Just when he was certain that he was going to slip back to unconsciousness again, cold rain drops splattered on his face. John gulped at the fresh air like fish out of water. He exhaustingly pushed himself out of his "grave" and sat down beside it.</br></br>"That fucking bitch," John cursed under his breath, his hand feeling for the wound the shovel's impact left on the back of his head.