Rashid khan
Bio
Writer of stories where reality meets the unknown.
I turn ordinary moments into haunting, unforgettable tales.
Here to leave you with words that echo long after reading.
Stories (5)
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Ghost in the Group Chat. AI-Generated.
Ghost in the Group Chat The notification tone pinged just as the group chat fell into one of its usual awkward silences. For the past year, the five of them—Maya, Chris, Jordan, Leah, and Sam—had struggled to keep the thread alive. The group used to be constant noise: memes, late-night rants, pictures of half-eaten pizza. But ever since Alex’s accident, the chat felt like a hollow shell of what it once was.
By Rashid khan4 months ago in Horror
If My Dreams Had a Soundtrack. AI-Generated.
If My Dreams Had a Soundtrack When I wake, silence greets me first. It’s never complete silence, of course—the faint hum of the fan, the distant thud of a neighbor closing a door, my own breath rising and falling. But compared to the night world I just left, it feels empty, like the orchestra has suddenly walked out of the pit. My dreams always carry music, though I can’t say if it’s something I invent or something borrowed. If my dreams had a soundtrack, I think it would be stitched together from all the half-forgotten songs of my life, reassembled into something that knows me better than I know myself.
By Rashid khan4 months ago in Poets
The Day My Reflection Talked Back. AI-Generated.
The Day My Reflection Talked Back The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower, yet I lingered in front of it, tracing meaningless circles in the condensation. I wasn’t really looking at myself—just at the blurred outline of someone who looked like me, someone who had lately felt like a stranger.
By Rashid khan4 months ago in Fiction
The Last Broadcast. AI-Generated.
The Last Broadcast The night shift was the loneliest shift in the city. By the time the clock struck midnight, the streets outside were empty, save for the hum of streetlamps and the distant moan of the wind. Inside Station WPRX, only one light burned: the studio booth of Midnight Letters, a radio show hosted by a man who called himself Solomon Grey.
By Rashid khan5 months ago in Fiction
The Library That Eats Memories. AI-Generated.
The Library That Eats Memories The storm had driven her off course. Amelia was not supposed to be here—half-drenched, her umbrella useless, trudging through an alley that felt older than the city itself. She was searching for shelter when she noticed it: a crooked wooden door wedged between two forgotten brick buildings. Above it, the faded sign read: The Library of Echoes.
By Rashid khan5 months ago in Fiction
