Winter Gothic Horror Short Stories

A blizzard rages outside a cavernous Winnipeg warehouse. Inside, the air grows unnaturally frigid as an architect is lured into a forgotten space where the silence is broken only by a ghostly hum and the oppressive, crushing cold.

The oppressive silence of a vast, frozen lake in Northwestern Ontario at dusk. The air is sharp with the scent of pine and impending snow, and the only light comes from the fading sun painting the ice in shades of bruised purple and gray.

A remote cabin in the dead of a Canadian winter. The landscape is buried under a relentless, wind-driven snowstorm, erasing all landmarks and muffling all sound except for a chorus of unsettling whispers that seem to ride the gales.

The Trans-Canada Highway dissolves into a maelstrom of white. Wind shrieks across the asphalt, burying everything in a thick, suffocating blanket of snow under a starless, iron-grey sky. The only sound is the storm.