Salim Spark

07/12/2025

Good morning Horror Lovers

27/11/2025

20/11/2025

The Last House on Ashford Lane

On a fog-heavy October evening in a small New England town, a teenage boy named Evan Miller took a dare from his friends:
Spend one hour inside the abandoned house on Ashford Lane.

Locals said the house once belonged to a reclusive old man named Mr. Whitlock, who vanished twenty years earlier. Some claimed they still saw a figure standing in the upstairs window—long after the electricity was cut off.

Evan didn’t believe in ghosts.
Or so he thought.

He stepped inside, his flashlight flickering. The air was strangely cold, and the wooden floor groaned like something alive. When he entered the living room, he saw dusty picture frames still hanging on the wall—photos of a smiling family.

But every face had been scratched out.

Suddenly, a whisper drifted from upstairs:
You shouldn’t be here

Evan froze. His friends were outside—none of them would dare come in.
The whisper came again, clearer this time:
Get out… before he sees you.

His heartbeat hammered in his ears as he climbed the staircase despite the warning. At the top, he saw a door open by itself. Inside, the room was empty except for a rocking chair moving gently though there was no wind.

Then Evan noticed something:
A shadow on the wall.
A tall, thin figure—
but there was no one standing there to cast it.

The shadow slowly turned toward him.

Evan bolted downstairs, nearly tripping, and ran out of the house as the front door slammed shut behind him with unnatural force.

He didn’t stop running until he reached the streetlight, where his friends waited wide-eyed.

What happened? Did you see him? one asked.

Evan nodded, trembling.
I saw enough. And that house isn’t empty.

That night, Evan couldn’t sleep. Through his window, reflecting faintly in the glass, he saw that same tall shadow standing at the edge of his yard… as if it had followed him home.

14/11/2025

🕯️The Suburban Doorbell

It was 2:14 a.m.
The quiet suburban neighborhood was completely still—no wind, no cars, nothing.

Emily woke up to a soft chime from her Ring video doorbell:
Motion detected.

At this hour, that almost never happens.

She opened the live feed.

The long driveway appeared empty.
No person.
No animal.
Nothing.

Still, another alert popped up:
Motion detected… 2:16 a.m

This time, the video showed something new—
a small American flag–printed envelope lying on her welcome mat.

Emily frowned.
But no one walked up. So how did it get there?

She zoomed in.

On the envelope, in uneven handwriting, were the words:

WE SAW YOU

Her breath caught.
As she stared, the camera shook slightly—
but the video still showed no one standing there.

Suddenly a strange sound began playing through the doorbell feed…
a slow, eerie whisper:

Open the door, Emily

The whisper was close—way too close—
but the camera didn’t show anyone.

She dropped her phone in panic and turned on every light in the house.
Then she froze.

Through the frosted glass of the front door…
she saw a tall, unmoving silhouette.
A person.
Standing just inches away.

But the doorbell camera—
the one pointed right at that spot—
had shown no one.

Then the doorbell chimed again:

Ding dong… Ding dong… Ding dong…
distorted, like the sound was being bent.

Emily heard the whisper again,
this time directly from the other side of the door:
We’ve been here all along.

14/11/2025

THE MIDNIGHT GRAVE CALL

Every night at 3:07 a.m. five-year-old Rafi woke up and walked out of the house. His mother, Shyuli, thought it was sleepwalking—until she heard what he whispered each night before leaving:

Nanu… I’m coming.
His grandmother had been dead for three years.

One night, Shyuli decided to follow him.

The moon was dim, the air unnaturally cold. Rafi walked straight toward the old graveyard behind their village. As soon as he stepped inside, the wind stopped. Even the leaves froze in place, as if the entire world was holding its breath.

Rafi… come back, Shyuli whispered.

He didn’t respond. He turned toward her slowly—
and his eyes were pure white, blank like fog.

They’re waiting for me, Mama, he said in a voice too calm to belong to a child.

Who?

Rafi pointed at the far row of graves.

Shyuli’s heart stopped.

Tall, shadowy figures stood among the tombstones. Dozens of them. Perfectly still. Watching. Their faces hidden, their bodies thin like dried branches.

And when Rafi pointed, they all turned their heads toward her.

That night, Shyuli locked every door and held Rafi in her arms. But when the clock hit 3:07, the lights flickered, the windows rattled, and a whisper filled the room:

Bring him back

Cold air swirled. Rafi’s small hand lifted on its own, as though someone was pulling him.
And then—
a woman appeared in the corner of the room.

Floating.
Face pale.
Eyes hollow.

It was Shyuli’s mother.
But not alive.

Give… him… to… me.the ghost rasped.

Dark hands grew from the walls, reaching for Rafi, pulling him toward the window—toward the graveyard.

Shyuli screamed and wrapped her arms around her son.

You—can’t—have—him!

Her voice cracked the silence like thunder.
The shadows je**ed back.
Her mother’s ghost dissolved into smoke.
And the room fell still.

Rafi collapsed in her arms—breathing normally again.

For days, everything seemed peaceful.

But one night, as Shyuli tucked him into bed, Rafi looked up and whispered

Mama… Nanu said she’ll come again.
This time… she’s coming for you

14/11/2025

The Fisherman and the Mysterious Spirit

One bright afternoon, a humble fisherman named Rahim went to the river to fish. The sun shimmered on the water, and a soft breeze played with the leaves. Rahim found a quiet spot near a small hole by the riverbank and began his work.

One by one, he caught large, shining fish—each one bigger than the last. He smiled with joy and placed them carefully in a bucket beside him, thinking how his family would feast that evening.

As the day went on, Rahim felt tired but happy. He decided to take a short rest under a nearby tree. When he woke up and looked into his bucket, his eyes widened in shock—all the fish were gone!

He looked around. No one was there. Only the gentle rippling of the river broke the silence. Suddenly, a soft laugh echoed through the air. A swirl of mist rose from the water, forming the shape of a beautiful fairy—half human, half light.

Who are you? Rahim whispered, both frightened and amazed.

I am the Spirit of the River,” the fairy said gently. These fish belong to the water, and the water belongs to me. But I have seen your hard work and your good heart.

With a graceful wave of her hand, she made the river sparkle. In an instant, three golden fish leaped out of the water and landed at Rahim’s feet.

These fish will never spoil, said the fairy. Cook one whenever your family is hungry, and it will return to you again by morning.

Before Rahim could thank her, the spirit vanished into the river with a faint shimmer.

From that day on, Rahim never worried about hunger. Every night, he would thank the river and the mysterious fairy who blessed his life with kindness and magic.