Stories (419)
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Crimson Sky
The night I fractured, the sky bled crimson, its scarlet tears sinking into the earth like the lifeblood of some ancient beast, whose death was written in the stars. Beyond my window, the world twisted, contorted—grotesque hues bleeding into one another like the dying scream of a wounded animal. The dusk itself seemed to have been strangled, suffocated by invisible hands that dragged it deeper into some fathomless void. Inside me, a storm raged, a tempest unholy and ravenous, gnawing at the fragile sinews of my sanity. Shadows slithered up the walls, not merely moving, but living—tearing at the very fabric of reality, whispering tongues ancient and forgotten. My heartbeat thundered like a death knell, and in its rhythm, I felt the undoing of everything I had struggled to preserve.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin10 months ago in Psyche
Embers of Mayfair
There’s a suffocating stillness that clings to Mayfair Nursing Home, a place that feels like it’s already been forgotten before the last breath escapes. Its long corridors echo with the hushed murmurs of residents too old to leave, and too forgotten to be missed. No one ever notices how the walls seem to press in a little too tight, how the air feels too thick, too stagnant. No one ever noticed the fire waiting.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Horror
The Curse of the Lost Scribe- Chapter 2: The Whispering Ink
Elias should have run. Every rational instinct screamed for him to abandon the cursed parchment, to leave the study and never return. But his body betrayed him. His breath hitched. His fingers trembled at his sides.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Horror
THE COFFEE INCIDENT OF WALLY BUMBLESNOOT
It started, as most disasters do, with a simple cup of coffee. Wally Bumblesnoot, a man whose greatest life achievement was once winning an argument with a parrot, just wanted his morning caffeine. He wasn’t asking for much—just a hot, comforting mug of wake-up juice.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Humor
Lessons on writing In the Name of God
Original Excerpt: The church smelled of rotting wood and something deeper—something old, wet, and sour, like the breath of a thing that had been asleep too long. Father Guiseppie stood at the altar, hands clasped, whispering words to himself, though no one else was there to hear. The stained glass behind him flickered with the storm outside, flashes of red and blue staining his skin, turning his face into something both divine and grotesque. He knew what was coming. He had seen it before. The walls remembered. The floor remembered. Soon, so would he.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Critique
The Curse of the Lost Scribe
Marianne Fawkes had ink in her veins. The quill in her hand quivered, poised above the empty parchment that stubbornly refused to be filled. Her father, a scribe of the old ways, had cautioned her: some stories should never be written.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Horror
A Love Beyond War
April 3, 2005 Somewhere Near Fallujah, Iraq My Sweet Emma, By the time you read this, I will be gone. I don’t know how to write this. I have tried a thousand times, but each time, my hands shake, and my chest tightens with the weight of everything I want to say. There aren’t enough words, not in this language, not in this world, to tell you how much I love you—to explain how much of me belongs to you, how much of me will die with you when your time comes.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in History
You should be Studied
Warning! This story is based on true events It started the night my mother died. I had been at her bedside, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath sterile hospital sheets, her lips moving without sound. The machines hummed their mechanical dirge, counting down the final beats of her life. And in the cold fluorescence of the ICU, I saw it.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Confessions
