Anas Khan

Joined December 2025

14 stories

Stories (14)

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He Only Asked for a Name
The rain was relentless that night. Thunder cracked the sky open again and again, and the road ahead shimmered under the headlights like a black mirror. Zayan drove alone, far from the city, his GPS blinking uselessly before going completely dead. His phone showed No Service.
By Anas Khan22 days ago in Fiction
The House That Copies You
Far away from the busy city, hidden between silent mountains and thick trees, stood an abandoned mansion no one dared to visit after sunset. The locals never spoke about it openly. When they did, their voices dropped to whispers. They said the house was not empty. It watched. It listened. And most terrifying of all, it remembered people.
By Anas Khan23 days ago in Fiction
The Man Who Lived Inside His Words
In the oldest part of the city, where broken streetlights flickered like tired stars and silence felt heavier than noise, there lived a young poet named Ayaan. His world was small—one narrow room with peeling paint, a wooden table, and a window that looked down at a restless street. But inside that small room existed entire universes, created by ink, pain, and unspoken emotions.
By Anas Khan25 days ago in Poets
The Voice That Comes Only at Night
Every night at 12:47 a.m., Arman woke up. Not from a nightmare. Not from a sound. From a voice. It was faint at first, like a breath trapped inside the walls.
By Anas Khan27 days ago in Fiction
The Living Machine Within
Ali had always wondered how the human body worked so perfectly without ever stopping. How did the heart know when to beat faster? How did the lungs never forget to breathe? One night, while studying human physiology late into the evening, Ali fell asleep on his book—and his curiosity carried him into an unforgettable dream.
By Anas Khan29 days ago in Humans
The Last Light
The night carried a thin layer of moisture, as if the rain still trembled behind the clouds. On the edge of the old town stood a worn-out house whose window lamps often extinguished on their own. But tonight… tonight a strange and vivid light gleamed from within.
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Poets
The Last Shadow
It had been raining over the city all night. The muddy streets were filled with water, still as deep mirrors, reflecting the trembling glow of flickering streetlights. Ali stood by the window, breathing in the cold air. Something felt different today—his heartbeat whispered that something was coming, something that would echo for years to come.
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Humans
Silent Poetry
The night was slowly settling over the quiet city. A soft breeze touched the empty streets as a young man sat on an old sidewalk, a notebook in his hand and a trembling pen between his fingers. His name was Rehan—the poet everyone called “The Silent Writer.”
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Poets
The House at Blackwater Bend
The road to Blackwater Bend was always empty after sunset—local people said the forest swallowed sound after dark. Avery didn’t believe in such things, but after four hours of driving through endless pines, even she felt the weight of something watching from between the trees.
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Horror
The Last Door in the Dark Hallway
There was a hallway in the old ancestral house where I grew up, a narrow corridor that always felt colder than the rest of the building. Even as a child, I sensed something uneasy about it, though no one ever warned me away from it. I would pass by with a book or a cup of tea, distracted by life, yet my eyes always wandered to the very end of that dimly lit passage. There, half lost in shadow, stood a door that looked as though it belonged to another century. Dust coated it so thickly that it seemed carved from the wall itself.
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Fiction
The Door at the End of the Hall
The corridor light flickered again just as I stepped into the hallway, casting a sickly yellow glow across the faded wallpaper. Every evening, I walked past the long stretch of that hallway, careful never to let my eyes linger on the last door—the one sitting alone in the dark, covered in enough dust to blend into the walls around it.
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Horror
The Roots That Brought Me Back to Life
The Roots That Brought Me Back to Life When I was a child, my grandmother used to say: “Roots don’t show, but they carry the weight of everything.”
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Motivation