Spring Gothic Horror Short Stories

The flight was canceled, the battery was dead, and the hallway was five feet longer than before.

The root didn't just grow. It moved. It twisted around the white tulip and snapped it in half.

The cops called it a mistake. But random crossfire didn't arrange itself into words you couldn't read.

The ink bled down the velvet walls, smelling of cheap musk and the heavy rot of thirty years.

The radio spat a burst of white noise, followed by a voice Ella hadn’t heard since the funeral.

The spring thaw did not bring life to the valley. It only uncovered what the snow had killed.

Yuri stares at a screen until his eyes bleed. Outside, the spring mud holds a secret that moves.