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Welcome to Twisted World of the Supernatural: Curated by Douye Soroh.

"Twisted Stories is a premier destination for original dark fantasy and folk horror by Douye Soroh. Featuring serialized supernatural tales, ancient mysteries, and psychological thrillers, each story is crafted to leave you questioning what lies in the dark. Discover your next favorite short story today."

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Showing posts from 2024

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The Price Of A Borrowed Life

on February 23, 2026

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Kim and Mao

on May 19, 2024

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The prisoner

on May 03, 2024

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THE DEAD BODY

on April 26, 2024

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THE WATER GODDESS

on April 24, 2024

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THE HUNTERS

on April 10, 2024

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A BROTHERS REVENGE

on April 04, 2024

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TORMENTED NO MORE

on April 01, 2024

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Douye Soroh: My name is Douye Soroh, and I’ve always loved escaping into the pages of novels and fantasy stories. Authors like T.C. Southwell, Brandon Sanderson, John Gwynne, R.J. Barker, and many others created vast, unforgettable worlds that felt like home to me — worlds that inspired me to start building my own. That’s why I created this space: to share the dark, twisted, and magical stories that live in my head, and hopefully, one day, to publish full-length fantasy novels of my own. The journey hasn’t been easy, but passion and determination keep pushing me forward. Thank you for being here with me. Twisted Stories provides original, human-written dark fantasy and folk horror intended to explore [themes like karma, morality, etc.].

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The Veil Of Treason

The Veil Of Treason Series

Prince Kanji

The Prince Return Series

Claude Mikel

The New Guard Series

Salty Rain Series

The Fallen Messenger Salty Rain Series

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The Four Kingdoms series

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© 2026 Twisted Stories. All rights reserved. Curated with ❤️ in Port Harcourt.

Popular Posts

The Veil of Treason

In The Cosmos The creator of all things sat in his throne room, eyes closed. A deep rumbling noise resonated from his nostrils as he breathed, contemplating the things that he had created in the world. With the level of development and progress in the human world, one would think the creator would be satisfied by the advancement of his creation; but no, the creator was worried. He had been noticing abnormalities in his work, but he had never given them a second thought—the universe is vast, and he can never focus on just one thing. He sat there in his grand throne room, eyes closed, one index finger tapping the chair arm with a great noise while the other hand stroked his chin. The creator is not remarkable; he has milky skin, blue eyes, and shoulder-length blond hair. What makes him stand out is his height. He is tall and imposing; even when he sits, everyone must crane their neck to look at him. He had noticed some creatures were not part of those he had created. He closed his ...

The Scalpel and the Spade

Content Warning / Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. This story contains dark themes , including implied violence, crime, injustice, prison hardship, and mature subject matter. It is intended for adult readers only (18+). Reader discretion is advised. If you are sensitive to such topics, please proceed with caution or skip this content. The Unforgiving Frost It was a brutal winter that year, a winter no one had ever experienced. The ground was frozen hard by the cold; even the grass grew stiff. Everyone could be seen wearing triple layers of clothes, gloves, and nose masks, because breathing the cold air would make your lungs freeze. It was the kind of winter that made many people wish they lived in a warmer country. A Shiver in the Cell Pascal was in his cell trying to get warm. He nearly cried when he saw...

The Blood Oath Of Instagram

The Digital Silhouette "Is your name truly Yetunde ?" Sabastine typed in the chat box in Instagram. He had been chatting with this girl who had the shape of Beyonce and the face of Angelina Jolie for quite some months now, and this is the first time he is asking her to reveal her real name. He smacked his head with a sigh. Dating has been boring lately and the stress of wooing a new girl is very annoying to him—or he just knew it is a general thing with men these days. "No!" she replied with a laugh emoji. "I don't even know such words exist." "Thanks The Two Gods , I nearly bit my tongue trying to even pronounce it." She had replied with another laugh emoji and he hit his with a smiling emoji. "So what is your real name?" he asked her, waiting patiently for her reply. "My real name comes with a price," was her reply. "Hmm... what price?" "You haven't seen my real face, and yet you're asking for my...

The Guardian And The Child Of Light

A broken man healed, a daughter's anguish, and a villain's dark awakening.: The Veil Of Treason 1 The Guardian and the Light Child "Who are you?" Those were the first words her father spoke. The pregnant woman was amazed, and she turned to Golden Light. "Thank you. I don't have anything to repay you for this act of kindness." "Be calm, Abigail. You have paid more than your dues; it is time for you to enjoy the fruit of your labor." "I don't understand. How did you know my name? And what do you mean about this talk? I'm just a poor woman with a rejected pregnancy." Her father stood up from his sickbed, amazed at how he had been healed. He had known only pain and suffering for five hard years, bedridden while his family struggled. He had prayed for death, but it had never come. He had prayed for closure because seeing his family suffer while he lay there was the greatest torture of his life—the pain was minimal compared to seei...

Meeting The Patron

The New Guard 2 The Bald Man Insurance The bald man hurried to the cemetery with that confident stride, knowing he had bought himself some time. He shook his head—no, he hadn’t truly bought time until he held the heart of that heartless daughter of the patron. One might wonder how he knew the grave of the patron’s lover, but not him; he still held the power of the gate and knew exactly what to do. As he reached the cemetery, he stood for a moment, closing his eyes and sniffing the air. Sadness washed over him—not knowing his family, his parents, or even his own name. They simply called him the bald man. Anger flared, but he composed himself. Time waited for no one. Compared to the hot, living world outside, the graveyard felt like hell frozen over. He could see his breath misting; his hands stiffened in the cold. He muttered a spell that chased the chill away, then faced the endless rows of graves. “I am the gatekeeper below the corporation, and I hold power over you,” he ...

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