Utkarsh_Raj001

Nyctophobia: Fear of Darkness

What do you see when the lights go out?

In Nyctophobia: Fear of Darkness, step into a world where shadows move on their own, silence hums with whispers, and the dark isn't empty—it's alive. Inspired by the disturbing brilliance of Junji Ito and the slow-burning dread of PTSD Radio, this collection of horror short stories drags you deep into the blackest corners of the human mind.

Each tale explores the primal fear of darkness—both outside and within. From cursed objects that whisper when the sun sets, to forgotten rooms that don’t exist in the daylight, and bodies that remember what the mind forgets—these stories will make you question what’s real once the lights go out.

But be warned: some fears don’t fade with the morning light.

Sometimes, darkness follows.

Nyctophobia: Fear of Darkness

Most people don't notice Platform 13.

It's hidden in a corner of the city's oldest train station—

just a rusted gate and a cracked bench covered in moss.

But sometimes, when the fog rolls in thick

the gate creaks open, and the sound of an old train horn cuts the silence.

Rule 1: The train never appears unless you're lost, in every sense.

No job, no home, no one left to call.

It knows the desperate. It welcomes them.

They say the train is black as pitch,

its windows smeared with handprints—inside and out.

No conductor. No lights. Just seats. Dozens of them. All facing forward.

"Don't speak to the ones without faces."

"Don't leave your seat when the lights go out."

"Whatever you do… don't fall asleep."

Time stretches thin, like skin over bone.

Outside the windows, things crawl.

Sometimes you see a version of yourself standing in the dark, smiling.

Sometimes you see your own funeral.

Stop 1: A tunnel filled with flickering TV screens. They show your worst moments. Replayed. Reversed. Distorted.

Passengers scream. Some claw at their faces.

Stop 2: A city built upside down. People hang from the streets, eyes sewn shut, laughing without sound.

If you look too long, your reflection starts walking away from you.

Stop 3: A field of bodies. All asleep. All breathing.

You hear something whisper from beneath your seat:

> "You don't belong among the living anymore."

Some passengers change the longer they ride.

And by the time they reach the final stop,

they've forgotten their name, their past, their humanity.

What happens if you stay too long?

Something that waits for the next lost soul.

Only a promise scratched into the wall behind the bench: