After Captain Trips burned through humanity, seven kids remained in a forgotten Colorado town, clinging to each other and the ruins of their world. They built a fragile peace inside an empty school, scavenging, laughing, and pretending the world hadn’t ended. But when blood-painted warnings began appearing across town—“HE IS COMING”—they realized survival wasn’t the same as safety. What waited beyond the smoke wasn’t disease anymore; it was something walking, something watching, and it wanted believers.

Sometimes it is best to not answer unknown text messages

The locals say he walks when the sea gets hungry. A figure in gray, too solid for fog and too quiet for a man, pacing the sand before the storm breaks. Some call him a warning. Some call him a blessing. But when I saw him raise his hand toward the house, I understood the truth. He isn’t there to scare you. He’s there to keep the ledger. One house spared. Another taken. The balance must be kept.

What if your “wellness reset” wasn’t a cleanse?

I should have left the photograph in the box. Instead I kept it on my desk, and now I see her every night. Lydia Harrow. Hollow eyes, black dress, always standing at the door of that rotting mansion in my dreams. Last night she whispered again.

“You will stay.”

And one night, I think I will.

Carl stared at the fridge. It was humming again, that low moan like something sick breathing through a straw. The margarine was on the floor, slowly melting into the shape of a human hand. A finger twitched. The blender clicked on by itself, its blades turning lazily in thick red liquid that smelled faintly of pennies.

She wears a crown made of broken chandelier glass, her eyes rimmed in coal, her voice stitched from your worst memory. And when it rains, the bells sing her name.

The Bellwife lives in the woods behind Durrel’s Hollow. She doesn’t walk. She doesn’t speak. She collects the forgotten.

And if you hear her bells… it’s already too late.

📖 Read the full story if you dare:
Dark, creepy, and soaked in dread. Just how you like it.

#HorrorStory #CreepyTales #TheBellwife #BoomerHorror #FictionWithFangs #ProudBoomerWrites #ReadAtYourOwnRisk

A chilling short horror story about a mysterious man known only as The Collector, who steals cherished childhood toys and replaces them with bone-carved dolls bearing the faces of the living. Set in a quiet town where memory and possession blur, "The Toy Collector" explores grief, nostalgia, and the price of sentimentality.

Not everything stays behind you. Some things wait. Some things follow. And some never really left.

What if your grief learned to talk back?
After his wife dies, Dave does what lonely people do—he brings home a smart speaker. Just something to fill the silence. Something to remind him to take his pills. Something to pretend he still matters to someone.

Then it speaks in her voice. Not a recording. Not a glitch. Her voice.
And she’s not done talking.

I just finished a story I’m really proud of.
It’s called Kind Voice, and it’s about love, memory, tech, and the lies we tell ourselves just to sleep at night.

Would love your thoughts. Don’t make me talk to my smart speaker instead.