E. hasan

Joined April 2025

171 stories

Bio

An aspiring engineer who once wanted to be a writer .

Stories (171)

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Welcome Home, Forever
The key slid into the lock like it never left. Claire hesitated, fingers trembling against the cold brass. This was supposed to be a fresh start—a return, not a retreat. She exhaled and pushed the door open.
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction
13 steps into the attic . Content Warning.
They say never count the steps to the attic. But I did. Thirteen. Thirteen creaking wooden steps, each one groaning under a weight that didn’t always feel like mine. The first twelve were ordinary, dusty, old. But the thirteenth? It never made a sound. Never creaked. Never shifted. As if it weren’t a step at all.
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction
Velvet Graves. Content Warning.
The first body was discovered behind the old Marrow Theater—propped up like a forgotten prop, red velvet ribbon stuffed down her throat, eyes wide and glassy with terror. Her lips had been sewn shut, delicate threadwork pulled tight with surgical precision.
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction
what remains of celeste . Content Warning.
The office was silent now. The maggots were gone. The stench scrubbed away. The woman who bought the bag—the first bag—had been escorted out hours ago, still weeping into silk sleeves.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Horror
I brought you back -Now I regret it.. Content Warning.
I used to think the dead stayed dead. Until I brought her back. I was twenty-six when Evelyn died. One moment she was smiling over dinner — red wine staining her lips, laughter in her throat — and the next, her car was wrapped around a telephone pole, her face blank in the coroner's photos. Everyone called it a tragedy. I called it unfinished.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Fiction
"100 before I die"- The journal of M. Content Warning.
Entry #1086 – Sunday, 6:45 AM I slept like a saint. Woke up to silence. No crows this time, just that hollow nothingness that settles over the house after a clean kill. I sat in the kitchen with my tea, watching the steam curl like breath from a dying mouth.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Fiction
Jonestown: The Final Tape of Jim Jones — A Cult's Descent into Hell. Content Warning.
These were the chilling final words spoken into a tape recorder on the blood-soaked soil of Jonestown, Guyana, on November 18, 1978. It was not just the end of a man—it was the mass orchestration of death, spoken softly, broadcast over a loudspeaker, and captured forever on an audiotape now known as the "Jonestown Death Tape."
By E. hasan8 months ago in Horror
Cadence and decay. Content Warning.
Tucked into an old corner of Vienna, where cobblestone streets narrowed and fog hung low even in daylight, sat Haus der Klangkunst—The House of Sound Art.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Horror
The black door to my living room
When I first moved into the old house on Ferelith Lane, I didn’t notice anything strange. It was a quiet, crooked little home, settled among yellowed trees that whispered more than rustled. The realtor had spoken too quickly and never looked me in the eyes. I assumed the price was low because of the location or the cracked foundation or the way the walls occasionally wept cold from unseen pores.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Fiction
what remains of celeste . Content Warning.
Adeline attended the local college, taking over her family’s tannery. When Celeste returned, matured and radiant, the two embraced—tears mingling with laughter as they exchanged the stories of their separate lives. Deep down Adeline would somewhat feel distant. She has been feeling this ever since she found that bag rotting away in garbage.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Horror
"The Crimson Dharma” Recovered journal pages. Author: Unknown. Content Warning.
ENTRY 1 – DAY 0 They told me it was enlightenment. That the path to truth was paved in silence, discipline, and the shedding of flesh. They handed me robes the color of dried blood. The compound gates closed behind me with the sound of something ancient being buried.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Horror
An algorithms last prayer
The sky was no longer blue. A dull amber glow hung like a dying bulb over the ruined skyline of Old Chicago. Concrete husks of skyscrapers jutted from the earth like shattered teeth, their glass eyes long since gouged out by fire, wind, and war. The streets below were veined with rust and silence, the echoes of humanity scattered to ash.
By E. hasan8 months ago in Fiction