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Dark Descent Microhorror
Each month, we drop one eerie image.
Writers turn it into nightmares.
Below are this month’s entries.
Read them carefully.
The one that lingers — the one that unsettles — is the one that deserves your vote.
The top three stories will be chosen for publication in the Dark Descent monthly magazine.
This is where the shadows take shape.
And where you decide which ones survive.
Each month opens on the 1st. Submit your story before the 25th. Then the community decides. Voting closes on the final day.
October 2026
The Blueprint of the Void
Ghazifa Bashir
The residence did not groan; it calculated.
Occupying the archaic property on the city’s periphery, one anticipated the standard litany of domestic hauntings: settling timber, phantom footfalls, a recalcitrant latch. Instead, the dwelling presented an architecture of terrifying, absolute precision. The shadows were the first anomaly. During late afternoon, when solar radiation should have cast elongated, distorted silhouettes across the parquet, the darkness fell in rigid, perfect rectangles. It neither stretched nor softened at the edges. The absence of light lay against the walls like matte black tape, mathematically aligned with the window frames.
An unsettling acoustic vacuum permeated the halls. The structure swallowed sound with predatory efficiency. A dropped spoon did not clatter; the noise was absorbed into the ether. A laugh was extinguished the moment it departed the throat. The atmosphere felt densely packed with an invisible, sound-dampening wool, a deliberate suffocation of auditory life.
The true malevolence, however, resided in the spatial configuration. The corridors were narrow—not sufficiently to induce immediate panic, but enough to demand a physical contortion. One was forced to turn the shoulders, to inhale deeply, to navigate the space without ever brushing another body. It was a brutalist design engineered to prevent intimacy. Out of a desperate need to assert rational thought, a measurement was taken. Thirty-six inches. Every single hallway, identical to the millimeter.
The realization crystallized that this was not a domicile, but an instrument. A relentless machine constructed to breed isolation. Last night, the structural silence fractured. Waking in the stagnant air, a figure was discerned standing at the foot of the bed, transfixed by the wallpaper. It was not the pattern that held the gaze, but the space through it. The question of what was wrong met with a chilling inertia. When the voice finally fractured the quiet, it was flat, entirely devoid of its usual warmth.
"I can hear the lines," the whisper came.
The inquiry for clarification was met with a chilling reply. "The lines of the blueprint," the figure stated, eyes still boring into the plaster. "They are still being drafted. The structure is actively assembling itself. We are merely standing in the negative space where the walls have not yet been filled."
The figure turned. The face was a smooth, featureless void. No anger, no terror. Just an absence. The geometry had consumed the features, erasing the individual as efficiently as it had erased the sound.
A frantic retreat toward the front door was initiated. The brass handle was exactly where it should have been, but the grip revealed the truth. The portal was an illusion. The dwelling was not a shelter; it was a two-dimensional schematic. And the draftsman was still holding the pencil. This testimony is being etched into the wall with fireplace charcoal. The sound of graphite scratching against the ceiling is growing louder. The lines are converging to close the room.
October 2026
The Naught Candles
Andini Aulia Rahma
The echoes of Mother’s screams and Father’s harsh shouts still burned in my ears, bouncing back and forth like hurling hot coals. I sprinted through the dense trees that afternoon. The dried tears on my cheeks felt sticky and itchy, mingling with the ragged breaths that scorched my chest. I just wanted to run as far away as possible from a home that felt like it was about to collapse.
My steps ground to a halt at the edge of a lake. The place was silent, eerily calm. The water was not clear; it was a thick, dark green, heavy, and slightly black—I was certain it was exceedingly deep. A sudden, pungent reek of raw paint oil, rot, and kerosene filled the air, so overpowering that my stomach churned with intense nausea.
In the middle of the viscous water, a tiny, decayed wooden boat floated. A girl in a white gown sat with her back turned to me.
I knew very well how dangerous this lake was; Mother had told me it harbored deep underwater abysses. Panic overpowered my distress.
"Hey! Come back here! This lake is dangerous!" I yelled, my voice raspy.
The girl did not turn around. But Mother had once warned me that this lake was haunted by predatory spirits that lured frantic children only to drown them. Damn it.
Without me realizing, my vision gradually distorted into a severe nightmare. The world around me seemed re-drawn using thick, expired crayons that were greasy and filthy. The tree trunks warped crudely, melting like hot wax. Hundreds of giant geckos with bright polka-dotted skin burst from the bark, skittering rapidly to blanket the ground with a sickening, slick hiss.
Three candles at the bow of the girl's boat flickered pale, swaying without a single gust of wind.
One.
The first candle went out. The girl slowly turned her head backward, her body remaining still with her back to me. I screamed hysterically when I saw her face—there were no eyes or nose, only a gaping mouth spewing squirming gecko tails.
Two.
The second candle died. The ground beneath me transformed into a smelly, sticky powder, sucking my legs down to my knees. Dozens of geckos slithered up inside my pants, clinging cold against my skin. I tried to scream, but my throat was clogged with warm wax. Nausea exploded in my chest, making my head spin as if trapped in a candy mixer.
Three.
The final candle extinguished.
The boat was suddenly right in front of me. Slick, colorful, paint-smeared hands reached out from beneath the vessel, clutching my neck and chest. The faceless spectre leaned her head close, whispering cold words that sealed my fate.
She whispered that I would now drown with her in the abyss below. I desperately wanted to struggle and scream, truly.
An unnatural, freezing sensation spread as my body was violently dragged down into the disgusting liquid. My breath choked out, replaced by a sticky mass and a slick hiss filling my chest to suffocation.
I don't want to go in, I don't want to fall, I don't want to be taken by this girl, Father, Mother, anyone, please save me.
October 2026
The Inside Face
Timur Tekfi
The first shaving came away with a silver filling in it. I held it to the lantern beside my toolbox.
“Careful with that blade,” said the woman on the stairs.
Her front door caught on the frame. She wanted it shut before the trick-or-treaters came. Two hundred pounds, cash. Enough to stop the van being repossessed.
I suggested a replacement.
“My husband made this one.”
Wet leaves blew across the threshold. A candle burned inside a pumpkin with one eye lower than the other. I put the filling on the step and adjusted my plane.
The next shaving was pink. It wound around my finger and tightened. I had to peel it off.
“Just that edge,” the woman said. “Leave the inside face alone.”
The door had six panels. Beneath the varnish on the lowest, the grain gathered in small whorls. I laid my thumb against one. The print was bigger than mine.
I put the plane in my box.
“Four hundred,” she said.
“No.”
A dry click came from the wood.
I looked up. In the panel above the letterbox, two knots had opened. Below them, a mouth worked beneath the varnish.
“Please.”
The woman gripped the banister. “Arthur?”
His eyes turned towards her. The silver filling lay beside my boot.
I reached for my phone.
“No time,” she said.
His mouth opened again. I saw the dark pit in a back tooth. The grain was creeping across his eyes.
“Get me out.”
I put the phone on the step and took a hammer and punch from my box. I would knock out the hinge pins and lay the door flat.
“Can you steady it?” I asked her.
She held up her bent fingers.
I braced my shoulder against the panel and pressed it back against the frame to hold it still. This time the wood gave.
The latch caught.
For a moment I smelled fresh sawdust. Then my shoulder flattened. My ribs drew apart, stretching between the jambs. The hammer struck the flagstones.
A man fell backwards into the hall.
He had no clothes. The varnish on his chest split as he breathed. She knelt beside him, rubbing his hands.
“Thirty-one years,” she said.
He got to his feet, feeling his cheeks.
I tried to give him my wife’s number.
He put a finger to his lips.
Children called from the gate.
Arthur reached for the handle.
Every part of me tried to stay shut.
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🖤 The votes are in! A huge thank you to everyone who entered our latest Dark Descent Picture Prompt Competition, and to everyone who took the time to read the stories and vote.
Congratulations to our three winning authors:
🥇 Warden’s Watch — CJ Hooper
🥈 Mass Transit — Nicholas Waller
🥉 Scarecrows Never Blink — M A Kelly
Thank you to every writer who entered. It’s always a pleasure seeing how many completely different stories can come from a single image. 🖤
August Picture Comp winners
Congrats to this round’s winners.
The Last Laugh by Tasarla Romaney
Laughter In The Rain by Earnest Gadjo
Coming of Age by David L. Repsher
Those three are going in Dark Descent. There were plenty of strong entries besides these, so don’t take it to heart if yours didn’t land this time.
September’s image is live here if you want another crack at it: https://www.darkholmepublishing.uk/darkdescentcompetitionsubmit
🩸 THIS MONTH’S TOP 3 🩸
Huge congratulations to the three stories our readers chose this month:
• The Beginning of a Legend – Christopher Hooper
• Obscurity – P. Ran
• The Gypsy’s Kiss / Kill – Earnest Gadjo
You didn’t just rise to the top… you helped us reach a brand-new milestone.
Over 300 reader votes this month — a first for us!
Thank you to every reader who took the time to vote and support these dark, twisted tales. You made this possible.
This months picture prompt is now live
The shadows are watching… and they’re impressed. 👁️
Over 100 reader votes already!
We've officially passed 100 votes in this month's Picture Prompt Competition, and there's still plenty of time left to have your say.
A huge thank you to everyone who submitted a story, took the time to read the entries and cast a vote. Every vote helps decide which writers will be published in the next issue of Dark Descent.
Voting is still open, and with the top stories so close, every vote really could make the difference.
One week down... and we've already had over 50 votes! Thank you, everyone! 🖤
@ELRavrhurst. Excellent addition. My family are from Somerset, I’m even there now on holiday, so this was timely. A great entry!
Wow... what a month June has been! 🎉
We received 11 incredible entries, and together you cast over 90 votes to decide this month's favourites. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read the stories and support our writers. Your enthusiasm is what makes this competition so much fun each month.
A huge congratulations to our Top 3 voted stories:
🖤 We Were Waiting — Tasarla Romaney
🖤 The 4 — P. Ran
🖤 Between the Chapel and the Town — CJ Hooper
Congratulations to all three authors, and thank you once again to everyone who entered.
📖 This month's image prompt is now live! If you're ready to write your next horror story, head over and submit your entry here:
Enter the Competition
We can't wait to see what nightmares you come up with next. 🖋️
Hope I slipped my story in as a newbie to the DarkHolme community. First-ever attempt at flash fiction :)
@Daniel Hollister, I really enjoyed Witch's Wood, not just for the apotropaia (these crop up often in my day job), but for the writing too. Neat, well written, prose is a joy to read, while delivering chills at the same time. Thank you.
Congratulations to Mays Winners :)
Congratulations to April's winners 😊
These are all so good. I'd like to vote for The Clearing, but it's not included in the list of choices.
The Clearing is brill. Nice one, Emma-Louise Smith
@secretgeek excellent stuff! Really enjoyed this, and the graphic too. Very well done!
I hope I didn't miss the deadline. I see more stories above than are listed in the vote choices :)
With working on my dark fantasy, I didn't think I'd have time to join in the fun this month. But a picture full of zombies was just too good to pass up. Glad to be a part again.
Been one heck of a month here, but I'm happy to have a story submitted for this! Looking forward to reading everyone else's story! Also, where would you put the story's title in the submission? I just threw it as the first line of the story, but I noticed some were hanging above the author's name.
Really enjoyed this one Tina! Unnatural angles that didn’t seem possible in a car park are a great nod to non Euclidian town planning!
Every month feels different. New image, new stories, new reactions.
Everyone takes something different from them, and that’s part of what makes this space interesting.
Whatever it stirred up for you — whether it lingered, unsettled, or surprised you — this is where it goes.
😀
Kerry