HearthMen

Joined October 2025

46 stories

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#fiction #thrillier #stories #tragedy #suspense #lifereality

Stories (46)

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The Prison That Didn’t Release Its Dead
Chapter 1: The Sentence Eternal Blackridge Maximum Security Facility, perched on the barren cliffs of northern Maine, had a reputation whispered among inmates across the country: once you entered, you never truly left. Not even in death.
By HearthMen4 days ago in Fiction
Blackridge: Cellblock Silence
Chapter 1: The Scream That Wasn’t Blackridge Penitentiary sat like a concrete scar on the frozen hills of northern Connecticut, its walls gray and unyielding under the January 2026 sky. Maximum security, supermax wing—Cellblock D, where the worst of the worst were kept in permanent isolation. No visitors, no yard time, no sound but the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional clang of a tray slot.
By HearthMen4 days ago in Fiction
The Distance Between Our Hands
Chapter 1: The Uncrossable Inches In the dim glow of the Eldridge Hollow train station, on a fog-chilled evening in January 2026, Nora Vale waited on platform 3 for the 7:42 to Boston. She was 31, coat buttoned to the throat, scarf wound twice around her neck, gloved hands buried deep in her pockets. The platform was nearly empty—just an elderly couple sharing a thermos and a teenage boy with headphones. And him.
By HearthMen6 days ago in Writers
This Is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things
Exhibit A through Z: A Comprehensive Inventory of My Personal Chaos My name is Lila Wren, and I have come to terms with a painful truth: nice things and I are simply not compatible. Below, presented in alphabetical order for dramatic effect (and because my therapist says structure helps), is the evidence.
By HearthMen6 days ago in Humor
I Tried to Be Mature—It Didn’t Take
Let me begin with a confession: I am thirty-four years old, gainfully employed, pay my taxes on time (mostly), and own a blender I have used exactly twice. By all outward measures, I am an adult. And yet, certain childhood reflexes cling to me like glitter after a craft project—impossible to fully remove, sparkling at the worst possible moments.
By HearthMen6 days ago in Humor
My Accidentally Dramatic Trip to the Post Office
It was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday afternoon in December 2025—December 28, to be exact—and I had one simple mission: mail a package containing my grandmother’s antique teacup to my cousin in Oregon. Nothing dramatic. Nothing cinematic. Just a quick trip to the Eldridge Hollow Post Office, a squat brick building that smells faintly of paper dust and regret.
By HearthMen12 days ago in Humor
How I Learned Not to Trust Animals with Alibis
Chapter 1: The Perfect Witness My name is Detective Harlan Voss, and I've spent twenty years chasing killers in the foggy streets of Eldridge Hollow. I've seen liars twist truths into knots, spouses swear eternal love while hiding bloodstained gloves, and mob bosses with alibis tighter than a noose. But nothing prepared me for the case that taught me the hardest lesson: never trust animals with alibis.
By HearthMen12 days ago in Petlife
“The Piece I Never Thought Anyone Would Read”
I wrote it on the night I decided to die. Not a note (those are for other people). This was longer. A full confession in a cheap spiral notebook I bought from the petrol station at 2 a.m. because the house was too quiet and the rope was already knotted.
By HearthMenabout a month ago in Writers
“Where the Rain Went Silent”
Havenmoss never stopped raining. Not once in ninety-four years. Old folk said the clouds were grieving and had forgotten how to finish a sentence.
By HearthMenabout a month ago in Fiction
The Last Door I Never Opened
The house on Calder Row was demolished in 2009. I watched the wrecking ball myself, stood behind the safety tape like a mourner at a funeral I wasn’t invited to.
By HearthMenabout a month ago in Fiction
When the Lantern Flickered
We called her Lighthouse Lil. Every night at 9:17 sharp, the old woman walked the cliff path with the same brass lantern, raised it three times toward the sea, then turned back to her cottage.
By HearthMenabout a month ago in Fiction
“Midnight on Cedar Bridge”
The first time I saw Cedar Bridge, I was seventeen and running. It was 2:14 a.m., July 1998. My dad’s pickup was out of petrol, my lip was split, and the only thing louder than the crickets was the shouting still echoing behind me.
By HearthMenabout a month ago in Fiction