Tell a 50 - word horror story.

There was a forest known for disappearances. I ventured in. The trees seemed to watch me. As night fell, I saw a faint light. Following it, I came upon an abandoned cabin. Inside, a diary told of a cursed entity. Suddenly, a cold wind blew out my torch. In the dark, I felt a presence. It was icy cold. I screamed as sharp claws dug into my skin. The last thing I remember was being dragged deeper into the forest's darkness.

One night, I was alone in my old, creaky house. I heard a strange scratching at the window. When I peeked out, there was a pale face with hollow eyes staring back. I ran to my bedroom and locked the door. But then I saw a shadow seeping in from under the door. It slowly took the form of a hand, reaching for me. I screamed but no one could hear me. As it grabbed my ankle, I woke up. It was all a nightmare, or so I thought. But then I saw the scratches on my ankle.

Once upon a midnight dreary, I was alone in an old, creaking house. The wind howled outside like a banshee. I heard strange noises coming from the attic. With a trembling hand, I held my flashlight and climbed the rickety stairs. As I reached the attic, a cold gust blew out my light. In the pitch black, I felt a presence. Then, a pair of glowing eyes emerged. I tried to run, but something grabbed my ankle. I screamed, but no one could hear me. I was trapped in this nightmare, at the mercy of the unknown horror that lurked in the attic.

I opened the coffin. My face stared back.

Once upon a time, there was a word 'lonely'. It seemed to grow in the dark corners of a man's mind. Every time he thought of it, it became a living entity. It whispered to him at night, making him feel more and more isolated from the world. Eventually, the power of this single word drove him to the brink of madness.

I'm in the coffin.

The mirror showed no reflection.

The 12 - word horror story is 'I am dead. But still, I have to work.'. It could be about a person who was overworked to death in their lifetime. In a cruel corporate world, they pushed themselves so hard that it led to their demise. But now, as a spirit, they are still trapped in the cycle of work, perhaps haunted by the unfinished tasks or the pressure that never ceased even in death.

I'm alone. It's not me.

I woke in the dark. A cold hand touched my face. I saw a shadow. Then, silence. I never saw the morning again.