Short Horror Stories You Can Read In 1 Minute For Bite-Sized Chills

We bought this run-down house, my boyfriend and I. While he started working on converting the kitchen into the main bedroom, I insisted on removing the old wallpaper. The previous owner papered every wall and ceiling in the house! It’s a lot of work to remove, but it feels so good to get rid of it. The best feeling is getting a long peel, like when your skin peels after a bad sunburn. I turned it into a game, on the hunt to rip the longest piece possible.

I noticed there was a person’s name and date under a corner section of paper in every room. I couldn’t help but investigate and Googled those names. What I discovered left me speechless. The names all belonged to missing people, and the dates matched the day of their disappearance! We notified the police, who sent the crime scene team. I overheard one of them say, “Yeah, it’s human.” Wait, what’s human? “Ma’am, where is all the material you removed? This isn’t wallpaper.”

A father went to say good night to his son, as it was routine since he knew his son would have trouble sleeping if he didn’t. It was a sort of silent tradition between them, one he never forgot to attend. The room was dimly lit by the lamp, but the father could clearly see there was something unusual about the kid tonight. He looked the same, just with a huge grin that drew from ear to ear.

“You okay, buddy?” he asked. The son nodded, still grinning, before saying, “Daddy, check for monsters under my bed.” The father chuckled and got on his knees to take a look. There, under the bed, was his son. His real son. Pale, trembling, and scared to death. He whispered, “Daddy, there’s someone on my bed.”

I stood there, watching as my future father-in-law held his precious daughter’s hand as he walked down the aisle. Tears in his eyes as the wedding march played in the background, reminding him that, in a matter of minutes, he would be witnessing me hold his daughter’s hand and slip a ring on her finger. He reached the altar, and I finally held her hand, grinning from ear to ear. I’d never been this happy before.

My bride’s father then got down on his knees and started begging. “I did what you asked. Just please, please give my daughter back to me.” I glared at him. He was ruining this beautiful moment. “Shut up. If you sit down and enjoy the wedding, maybe I’ll tell you where I’ve hidden the rest of her body.”

When I smiled in her direction, she didn’t smile back. There’s something really wrong with this mirror.

Every night, I relive burying my comrades from the war in my dreams. Not because of the night terrors, but for the scratches on my arms and dirt on the floor every time I wake up.

Mommy has the habit of going out every Saturday night, so Daddy and I always go get ice cream together after dinner, just the two of us. Around dinner time, I go to the kitchen to see what Daddy is cooking, but he’s not there. I saw a note on the counter that said Mommy and Uncle James were going somewhere together. I’m not sure, I don’t read that well.

I find Daddy in the garage. I shut the door behind me like I’m supposed to. Daddy is in the front seat, the car engine already turned on. It seems like we won’t be having dinner tonight, only ice cream. I get in the backseat behind him since I’m not a big boy yet. Daddy doesn’t answer when I say hello to him, maybe he can’t hear me over how loud the car is. I think I’ll take a nap on the way to the ice cream shop. I feel kinda sleepy.

A daughter was in her room, busy with homework, when she heard her mother call her name: dinner was ready! She jumped onto her feet and began making her way downstairs when suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed her and pulled her into the laundry room beside the staircase. She panicked before realizing it was her mother — unusually weepy, with bloodshot eyes. “Don’t go down there, honey. I heard it too.”

My four-year-old said he wished people didn’t have to knock to get in a house. I told him about doorbells, and he asked me if we could install one on his window.

It’s so dark here. I can’t even move, breathe, speak, or hear anything. If only I knew it would be this lonely, I would have asked to be cremated instead.

In 2026, the Messiah descended on Earth. She performed miracles and cured the sick. There was no doubt about her authenticity. Everyone believed her. Everyone revered her. Following this historical moment, known as the Age of Peace, everything suddenly changed. She warned us there were only a few spots left in heaven for the dead. That was natural: nobody had gone to hell during this age. People started to go hysteric. Everyone wanted a place in heaven. That’s when mass suicides started — the Messiah had assured us that taking your own life is not a sin if you died a devout man. It was literally a race to kill yourself before everyone else.

She was left on her own as humanity perished at their own hands. Grinning, she returned home to her throne of fire and flames and greeted her people with a nod of her demonic horns.

Last night I was rushed out of the house by a friend to catch the opening act at a local bar’s music night. A few drinks later, I realized I had lost my phone. I checked everywhere, even in the restrooms. Nothing. I ended up using my friend’s phone to call mine. The phone rang twice — someone picked up, giggled with a low and raspy voice, and hung up. I tried again, but nobody responded anymore. In the end, I gave up and headed home. I found my phone on the nightstand, right where I had left it.

I open the door to see a policeman who informs me that my husband died in a car crash. I turn my head to see my husband sitting at the table and eating the dinner I just served, grinning at me.

Every night, my brother and I used to knock on the wall separating our bedrooms. After I came back from his funeral, I could still hear the knocking.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” That’s what I heard just before the lightbulb shattered behind me.

It’s been 315 days since the outbreak, 187 days since I realized I might be the only survivor, and 3 days since the two of us found each other in the wreckage of the world and made me feel like everything was going to be okay again. After so long alone, I almost forgot that the first sign of infection is hallucinating imaginary people.

I don’t know why I looked up, but as soon as I did, I saw a man standing against my window. Forehead on the glass, still eyes, lipstick-red cartoonish smile. My wife was sleeping upstairs, our son in the crib. I couldn’t move a finger, frozen as I watched him past the glass. With his creepy smile still there, he put a hand up and slid it down the window, watching me with piercing eyes. I just stayed there, unable to move, feet still in the bushes I was pruning, looking into my house. He stood against my window.

Growing up with cats and dogs, I grew accustomed to being awakened by the sounds of scratching on my door. Now that I live alone, the sound is much more disturbing.

We felt proud as our daughter got on the bus to enjoy her first day of school. Our hearts dropped when the real school bus arrived two minutes later.

I aimed my gun at the sick bastard who murdered my wife. He cried so desperately, scared for what was to come. If only he had talked to me and tried to reason, maybe I could have spared him. But that was impossible. After all, he was born just a few minutes ago.

I was on my way to school when something in the woods caught my eye. I couldn’t get it back.