by Ritch Duncan  — Peterson didn’t consider himself a murderer. He’d only killed the one woman, after all. He glanced down at his wife’s corpse, which was sprawled face down over the workbench of the gardener’s shed. They didn’t have a full time grounds-keeper, but had

by Kevin Maher  — (Editor's note: Reading on mobile? Rotate your phone for proper couplets.) When the sunlit day is over and moonbeams come a’humming, I prepare myself for slumber, but dread what may be coming. My bedroom is cloaked in shadow as a nervousness doth rise, I

by Dan McCoy  — After the apple man came, things were good for a while.  John was his name, and though I was only a hairsbreadth from ten years when he passed through town, I remember him well. His great grey beard hid a mouth in constant motion with affable monologues.

by Ritch Duncan  — “Hi, I’m Ritch Duncan, writing to welcome you to Deathbed, a new, weekly, online publication and newsletter presenting original horror stories from comedy writers, officially launching on Monday, September 29th, 2025. But before we invite you to creak open the cellar door and take your first

Some of the stories published on Deathbed are spooky and funny. Some are scary and gross. Most are in between. So how can you, gentle reader, know what to expect from a horror story written by a comedy writer? BEHOLD, the Deathbed Clown-o-Meter! Thanks to the idea and artwork of