Random Horror Stories - 500

The first time Anna felt it, she thought it was just a strange mood, something in the air. That feeling of warmth in her chest, a rush of joy so strong it nearly made her heart skip. But it passed quickly, and she forgot about it until the next day, when it came back. That same warmth, that little spark of happiness, buzzing under her skin. She didn't even realize it was a problem at first.

She'd been at work, shuffling papers at the dull office, when it started. She'd laughed at some dumb joke a co-worker made, the kind of thing that barely registered most days. But then, it wouldn't stop. She couldn't stop laughing. She laughed until her stomach ached, her eyes watered, and her co-worker had backed away, a nervous look in his eyes.

"Anna, are you okay?"

She tried to calm herself, but the laughter bubbled out again, louder this time, for no reason at all. That was when she realized. The feeling wasn't just warmth; it was something else, something that made everything seem so funny—too funny. Too much.

She couldn't escape it. She tried to force it down, tried to get back to normal, but it clung to her. Her thoughts started to twist, shift. She kept thinking of the weirdest things, things that shouldn't make sense. The word "laugh" itself felt like it had a taste, like it was a tangible object she could hold. She couldn't stop thinking of it, saying it over and over in her mind, laughing at how strange it sounded.

That's when she realized: she wasn't the only one.

At lunch, she met her friend Carla. Anna noticed it on Carla's face before Carla spoke. Her expression was too bright, too wide. "Anna!" she said, and Anna winced. Carla's voice was too high-pitched, too cheery.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked, leaning in.

Carla just kept grinning, like she was trying to hold something back, but she couldn't. "You just have to try it. It's amazing," Carla said, and Anna noticed her hands were shaking slightly. But there was still that smile, stretching further than it should.

Try what? What was Carla talking about? Then, it hit Anna again, that feeling. She fought it, but it was like trying to keep a dam from bursting. The laughter welled up, and she couldn't stop it.

Carla giggled, too. Then it started spreading, like a disease. People around them joined in, laughing at nothing, their faces too animated, too alive with something wrong. The whole café filled with a collective uproar of shrill laughter that made Anna's skin crawl. It wasn't right. It felt unnatural. She could see it on their faces, this strange manic happiness. But they couldn't stop. None of them could.

As the days passed, Anna's world changed. The laughter wouldn't leave. She would wake up in the morning with a smile on her face, the corners of her mouth twitching as if the day itself were some sort of inside joke. She couldn't explain it, but she didn't want to. She didn't want to fight it anymore.

But then things got worse.

It wasn't the laughing that scared her, but the feeling. It started to stretch, to bleed into everything. She found herself at the grocery store, staring at a box of cereal, laughing for no reason at all. And then, she couldn't stop laughing. Her chest hurt from it. People around her stared, but no one said anything. They all seemed too caught up in their own joy, their own sickness.

She tried to call Carla. Her phone rang and rang until Carla picked up, her voice so high, so frenzied. "Anna!" Carla's voice shrieked through the receiver. "It's so good, you have to keep going! You'll feel so much better. Just let it out."

"Let what out?" Anna asked, but it was hard to think clearly. She kept hearing the word joy, and it felt wrong.

"You'll see," Carla giggled. "You'll see what happens when you let go. Let go, Anna."

It hit her then—something was happening. This wasn't just a weird feeling. It was spreading. The laughter, the overwhelming urge to smile, the glee—it was taking people over. It wasn't just a mood. It was a force. It twisted them. The people she knew were changing, becoming more. More cheerful. More eager. More alive. But it wasn't normal. It was... sick.

She tried to fight it. She tried so hard. But every time she thought she could break free, the urge to laugh would come again, stronger this time, pulling her back in. Every time she saw someone else smile, that twisted grin, her body would ache with the need to join them.

At night, she couldn't sleep. The walls around her felt too tight, closing in, and the laughter kept repeating in her mind. She dreamed of faces—thousands of them, smiling, laughing, eyes wide open, too wide. They wouldn't stop.

She had to get out of there. She had to escape.

But the world didn't let her. Everywhere she went, people were caught in it. The streets were full of them, faces glowing with an unnatural joy, eyes too bright, too fixed. There were no frowns, no whispers of doubt—just the constant buzz, that hum of glee that echoed in every corner of her life.

She tried to talk to people, tried to ask what was happening, but they just laughed. They didn't answer her questions. They didn't even care about questions. There was only one thing they cared about, and it was that feeling—that joy—that happiness that burned brighter and brighter. They couldn't stop, wouldn't stop.

It wasn't long before Anna realized that the laughter wasn't just strange—it was dangerous. It was consuming. It was slowly suffocating everything around her.

She tried to warn people, but it was no use. They just laughed harder, as though her panic was some kind of joke. Her voice, frantic and sharp, fell into the noise, drowned out by their glee. It didn't matter how loud she shouted. No one cared.

One night, Anna found herself standing in front of a mirror. She stared at her reflection. Her smile, her wide grin—it didn't look like her own anymore. She was someone else. Something else. And it felt good. The urge to laugh swelled inside her, forcing its way out, a burst of laughter that felt like it was tearing her chest apart.

It was happening to her, too.

She felt the last shred of herself slipping away. There was nothing to hold onto anymore. The walls of her mind crumbled. She had to laugh. She needed it. The pain of fighting it, the weight of trying to stop—it was unbearable.

But it didn't stop. It never stopped.

As the days passed, she felt her grip on reality loosen. Everything blurred. The world around her was filled with that sick, pulsating laughter, and she was drawn deeper into it. She knew there was no way out. She knew it was too late.

And then, one day, she found herself standing in a crowded street. People all around her, laughing, grinning, their eyes wide and glassy. She felt it—the call, the pull, the joy that surged through her. She tried to resist, but it was no use.

She couldn't stop.

Her mouth stretched open in a smile too wide to be human. She laughed until her throat burned, until her chest screamed for mercy, but there was no stopping it.

She collapsed, her body shuddering. But even as she hit the pavement, the laughter never stopped. Even as she gasped for air, it echoed in her mind, louder and louder. She laughed, not because it was funny, but because she couldn't not laugh. She laughed as the world around her swallowed her whole, her last breath a sound of pure madness.

She didn't die from the pain or the sickness—it was the joy. The glee. It killed her, just like it killed everyone else who'd been foolish enough to let it in.