Horror Stories of 100 Words
For the month of August 2026, these are the stories that intrigue us most.
* The Sharpness of Waking by Ani Bailey
​
* Now You See Her... by Craig This
​
* There's No Such Things As Ghosts by Kimberly Hallman
​
* The Debt by Jessica Fisher Riches
​
* Obayifo by Bill Cox
​
* Her Name Was Agatha by Kamran Connelly
​
* Take the Stranger's Hand by Markus Jay
​
* Sila's Doll Friend by Marie Elizabeth Thomas
​
* Greased Justice by Jon Hartless
​
* I Found You by T.E. Aydelott
The Sharpness of Waking
by
Ani Bailey
The knife plunged deeper.
Marsha awoke with lingering vestiges of the nightmare so vivid that she could feel the frigid blade of the knife.
But Caleb was beside her, asleep. Unmurdered.
Relieved, she made breakfast and put the knife back in the drawer.
Blood tattoos the wall like a red Rorschach.
Marsha clawed up from the nightmare, sure she smelled copper, felt the tackiness of blood.
Caleb snored gently. A guilty thief, she smuggled the knife into the kitchen, unseen.
She awoke with Caleb’s hands tight around her throat, and when she reached frantically under the mattress, the knife was not there.
​
​
​
​
Ani has been awarded a writers' residency at Monson Arts, New England, starting September 2026. Her manuscript received an award from the Dublin International Literature Festival and was shortlisted for the ‘I Am In Print’ Horror writing competition. Their short story ‘Father's Daughter’ was also shortlisted for the Kilter and Rammel ‘Open Water’ 2026 anthology. She lives in South London, and it was during her daily walk with her chocolate Labrador, Bear, by the Thames that a strange event occurred which inspired this microfiction story. www.shillingshocker.com
Now You See Her...
by
Craig This
They queued patiently. Although comingled, men went left and women right.
"Did you put the money in the passports?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she answered. "A hundred dollars, folded on the page to be stamped."
She held up two passports. The armed soldier motioned them forward.
He watched his wife and twelve-year-old daughter disappear behind a floor-length black curtain.
He handed over his passport.
"Missionary?" asked the agent.
"Yes."
"In God we trust," the agent said, returning it.
His wife and daughter did not reappear. He then noticed there were no women in the terminal.
​
Craig This, Ignatian Educator of Distinction, is Director of Institutional Research at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio. He holds a BA and MA in History, with a specialization in U.S. history. He has spent his academic career in institutional research and analytics. In addition to his IR work, he taught history as an adjunct instructor for over 20 years, including a course on Comic Books and American Culture. His scholarship examines American comic books as cultural texts, with particular attention to representations of trauma, disability, gender, nationalism, and historical memory.
There's No Such Things As Ghosts
by
Kimberly Hallman
There’s no such thing as ghosts, I tell myself as I creep through my dark house, my feet barely touching the wood floor.
There’s no such thing as ghosts, I repeat as I stare at the broken, bloody body at the bottom of the steps with the strangely familiar face.
There’s no such thing as ghosts, I chant, as I reach out to my husband, who is descending the stairs towards the body, though he doesn’t notice me.
There’s no such thing as ghosts, I cry, as my husband passes through my outreached transparent hand. But then, what am I?
​
​
Kimberly Hallman lives with her husband in suburban Pennsylvania. Hallman writes both short and long-form fiction in a variety of genres, but her favorites are science fiction and fantasy. Her work has been featured in Flash Fiction Magazine’s 101 Words and Bright Flash Literary Review. When she is not writing, Hallman can usually be found reading or crocheting.
The Debt
by
Jessica Fisher Riches
Each stitch, unpicked, left a slice in the witch’s skin. She stood naked before the mirror, dripping blade in hand, tiny slivers snaking down her side in a ruptured seam–from pate to patella–a long thin path of blood ending in a pool beside her torn, fallen shadow.
She’d expected to feel lighter without her silhouette, but its absence was heavy and cold as the depths of the lake.
In the mirror, the warlock smirked. “I’m waiting.”
Pick. Rip. Shaking, the witch gathered her shadow and handed it over.
And the warlock shoved her daughter back through the glass.
​
​
Jessica is a writer of speculative fiction. She has recently had stories accepted by Sybil Journal, The Write Launch, Gorgon's Gaze and Dragon Soul Press and her story "Golden Hour" won the Reedsy Weekly Prompt competition in July.
Obayifo
by
Bill Cox
I was distracted, feverish, thoughts tangled, that’s how the Obayifo got me.
It took the form of a man I recognised from Moyamba district, a trader in the markets there. He was big, glowing like a firefly. It was over in moments.
His teeth ripped into my jugular. With life seeping out of my body all I could hear was his slurping, like the hungriest beggar at the feast.
I saw myself from above, cradled in his arms. The spirits were calling me, but I paid the Obayifo one final curse before I left.
“Enjoy the Ebola, you vampiric bastard!”
​
​
Bill Cox lives in Aberdeen, Scotland with his family. Writing was a childhood sweetheart that he lost contact with after he left school, only to rekindle the romance in his fourth decade. He writes poetry and short fiction and his work can be found in various places, if you look hard enough.
Her Name Was Agatha
by
Kamran Connelly
As I sink my fangs into her carotid artery, I feel the warmth of her life, enter my mouth.
My desperate hunger satiated, I drop her limp corpse at the gates, and the wolves start to stir from within the compound.
I flee into the woods. Weak from a long hunger, I struggle.
The wolf pack and angered humans tracking my scent, close in and encircle me.
A man, I presume her father, steps forward, tearful.
He holds, then raises his bow. “This is for Agatha!”
Skewered against a tree, he moves in to decapitate me.
And his wolves, feast.
​
Kam’s short story DEATH BED INC has been accepted for publication by Twisted Dreams Press. Features in Hollowpoint Press’ inaugural issue of the “300 Project” & Wolfsinger Publications anthology “Voices for the Voiceless.” And is currently shopping around his debut novel, The Extinction Process. And his Vampire novella BLOOD BANK. Is published online at The Horror Tree, Trembling with Fear, Flash Phantoms, WitCraft, and T. Saunders publishing for his works of fiction. Has poetry featured in three anthologies, a novella featured in the Paul Cave Prize for literature.
Take the Stranger's Hand
by
Markus Jay
The dark stranger held out his hand "Come with me."
"I don’t want to; I like it here!"
I investigated his lifeless, soulless eyes. Fear washed over me.
I can't go with those I don't feel comfortable towards, I felt this stranger had a dark hole where a soul should be.
"You must come now."
​
In an uncontrollable impulse I took this stranger's bony withered hand. It felt cold.
​
"Before we go, I must ask you a question; "Am I—?"
He cut me off with his reply, "Yes you are."
I looked down and peered at my lifeless body.
​
​
Markus is an amateur writer writing for fun and to express himself. He finds his peaceful place when writing. His work can be found at short-story.me and on poetry soup. He also has work published in various local anthologies.
Sila's Doll Friend
by
Marie Elizabeth Thomas
Sila was four when she started finding them. A spirit board hidden in the attic. Tarot cards on the cracked shelf in her closet.
A doll stuck with pins soon became her best friend, and the spirit board spoke to her, made her feel less alone. They taught her numbers, letters, and words: smile, suffer. Giggle, die. The cards showed slice and dice and stab.
The doll perched atop her shoulder as, gripping her words, she tiptoed into her mother's room—her mother who always called her names. Sila smiled as the knife plunged and listened to her doll friend giggle.
​
​
Marie Elizabeth Thomas is a writer and poet living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work explores the intersection of religious trauma, mental illness, and the strangeness of stability. Her poem "Apples in Hell" was nominated by Apparition Lit for a Pushcart Prize. You can find her on her website, marieelizabeththomas.com.
Greased Justice
by
Jon Hartless
The medium breathed heavily. “I see an elderly man. His name is… Horace.”
“Horace!” cried Mrs Sinacre. “My husband?”
A querulous voice drifted over the table. “Yes, Doris, it’s me.”
“What’s it like in Heaven?”
“No idea. I’m not there.”
“But you were a pastor!”
“Yes, but you remember the church funds, and how I said God would forgive me?”
“Yes.”
“I was wrong. It’s very hot here. Can you send me some grease via the medium?”
“Why do you want grease?”
“Well, it won’t stop the demons doing what they’re doing, but it will make it a little easier…”
​
​
​
​
Jon Hartless was born in the 1970s and has spent much of his life in the Midlands and Worcestershire. His last series, a steampunk motor racing adventure examining the gulf between the rich and the poor, started with Full Throttle in 2017, continued with Rise of the Petrol Queen in 2019, Fall of the Petrol Queen in 2020, and concluded with The Death of Poppy Orpington in 2021. Jon has since completed a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of Gloucestershire, resulting in the satirical meta-novel Constructing Churchill, (2025), which examines the Establishment's use of cultural mythology to maintain control over society's perceptions and beliefs. He can be visited at: https://www.facebook.com/jonhartlessauthor/
I Found You
by
T.E. Aydelott
Lisa woke to breathing beside her.
​
She sat up, clutching Buttons, the rabbit Mom had sewn for her sixth birthday. The room was completely still.
​
Then Buttons inhaled.
​
Its stitched chest rose and fell against her arms.
​
She threw it against the wall and screamed, “Mom.”
​
A voice came from inside the toy.
​
“Don’t call her.”
​
Lisa raced toward the bedroom door.
​
Buttons watched her, its button eyes gleaming.
​
“Lisa,” it wheezed, “there is something inside me.”
​
The stitching along its belly began to split.
​
Two pale fingers pushed through the fabric.
​
Then something inside whispered softly,
​
“I found you.”
​
​T.E. is retired and enjoys writing science fiction and horror. Their work has previously appeared in Sci-Fi Shorts magazine.