Horror

Burnt Bridges
Far beyond the drunken stupor, through the haze of ashy gloom, the faint rhythmic beats penetrated the air. They came quick at first and then slowed to a short adagio. A muffled crackling, a competing polyrhythm with the low bass. The thick air burned the nostrils with each breath in, the peppered air instantly rejected by the lungs--a type of fumes not quite accustomed to. A soft cough, trying hard to clear for a proper breath but none came.
By Sabrina6 months ago in Chapters
YARCS: Rockin’ Demons Backward
INT. DARK BASEMENT STUDIO – NIGHT Dust swirls through beams of colored light. A glowing skull — YARCS — sits on a speaker stack, LEDs flickering in time to an unseen beat. Sniffy, the rat, pokes his head out from a rack of tangled audio cables.
By Mark Stigers 6 months ago in Chapters
The Secret Code of Mona Lisa: Unraveling the Hidden Mysteries Behind Leonardo da Vinci’s Masterpiece
More than five centuries ago, a man painted a portrait of a woman that would go on to become the most iconic artwork in history. The man was Leonardo da Vinci—artist, engineer, inventor, and visionary. The painting: Mona Lisa. While many admire it for its enigmatic smile and artistic mastery, the Mona Lisa is far more than just a beautiful painting. It is a puzzle—one layered with hidden meanings, mysterious symbols, and secret knowledge that may have been too dangerous to express openly at the time.
By Taimoor Khan6 months ago in Chapters
The Mandelbrot Blot
The Mandelwish Effect A Sniffy Story ⸻ [Scene: Yarcs’ Lair – lit only by candlelight and a glowing thermal printer.]
By Mark Stigers 6 months ago in Chapters
One Moment, Please.
“One Moment, Please.” Part One A Robot Can Dream, Can’t He? Scritch-scritch-KERTHUNK . Scritch-scritch-KERTHUNK. A loose assemblage of stones could be heard grating against the sidewalk as they josteled one another within a small brown burlap bag roughly the size you use to bring 10 lbs of potatoes home in. The bag was cinched shut with a length of twine that had been knotted approximately a quarter of the way down from the opening. Eighteen inches away was another knot securing the twine to Naoki’s titanium right leg. To be clear, it wasn’t just his right leg that was titanium , practically his entire body was, save for his eyes, which were a combination of bullet proof glass and optical nerve circuitry for his HUD projection. See, Naoki was a robot, and he was about to kill himself. Kind of. True to his namesake, Naoki had always been steadfast and outwardly stoic. As the personal bodyguard for a lavishly wealthy family with two daughters, this had been absolutely required. Inwardly however, he possessed a flair for the theatrical, held a quiet appreciation for an occasional display of the melodramatic. It had been this inward affinity that first drew him to the idea of his death playing out in such a manner. And that’s really what all of this was anyway. A one man play he was putting on for himself. He was trudging uphill towards the Golden Gate Bridge where he intended to leap with his burlap anchor of stones and plunge to the bottom of the Golden Gate Strait and drown. And while yes, there were the recently constructed nets running the length of the bridge on both sides, constructed to deter precisely this type of act, they would hardly be a deterrent, he could easily leap past them, he was a robot, after all. And while also, yes, he couldn’t actually drown, and the weight of his 350lb titanium body rendered the burlap bag of stones completely unnecessary, it would all make for a Good Show. Just this one time, just once he was willing to indulge himself in a bit of theatrical escapism. Naoki was highly skilled in an array of martial arts disciplines as well as being a Samurai Master. He had been designed and engineered specifically as elite protection for extremely high-end clientele. He had been with his employer from the time they learned they were expecting twins and until the twins were off to college and his employer retired to travel the world with his wife. With his services no longer being needed Naoki had spent the last ten months and change participating in tournament-style exhibitions designed as showcases for potential clients whose wealth, substantial as it may be, limited their personal security options to the older Gens of models, such as himself. Naoki had no plans for future employment, telling any interested potentials that he would “review the details of the assignment as submitted to the exhibition organizers.” The exhibitions were simply a way of determining when the time was right for The Show. He had decided, without rhyme or reason, as even robots are wont to do from time to time, that when his Kitana blade had dulled to the point of being useless, that that would be that. So yesterday, when the few remaining granules of sand had dropped and completed the peak at the bottom of the hourglass, so to speak, they brought with them not melancholy but an almost jubilant sense of whimsy. It had arrived at last, Showtime. He had drawn no real attention during his trek, a robot walking amongst the pedestrians was hardly an uncommon or even particularly interesting sight, even one with a bag of stones dragging behind him. Just as he was leaning face first over the railing, preparing himself to leap up and over, beyond the deterrent nets, he heard a voice directed to him. “Excuse me, sir, one moment, please.” Leaning back from the railing and straightening himself he looked to his right and met the fascinating gaze of a short black woman, early-fifties perhaps, in a SFPD uniform marching towards him in an authoritative no-nonsense stride. What held him rapt so, was that even at a distance of thirty feet she managed to simultaneously convey a bitter disdain for walls having the audacity to be so flat and genuine disappointment there wasn’t one in her current line of sight. Naoki was by equal turns fascinated and envious. Not in a million years could he hope to emote with such proficiency. A nearly complete lack of discernable facial features placed him at somewhat of an unfair disadvantage. When she approached, Naoki noted her badge read “C. Higgins.” Even with the deterrent nets, the bridge was still routinely patrolled by officers on foot. Upon approaching Naoki she said to him “you are not going over that railing. Man, woman, robot, I don’t care. You are not doing this on my watch.” He was about to speak, to try and explain he wasn’t actually trying to kill himself, to try to explain about The Show. Before he could begin to speak she continued. “Not when my shift is five minutes from being over, and sure as Hell not on my 30th Wedding Anniversary.” As she continued to speak the sternness of her voice softened, “I’m sorry, it’s just, I lost husband, and with today being our Anniversary & all..." She paused for a few moments, took a deep breath, then continued. "It’s been ten years now, and I know they say time heals everything, and in a way, I suppose it does, but what they don’t tell you is even scar tissue can feel pretty raw sometimes.” “Can I ask what happened?” Naoki said. “We had been married for eighteen wonderful years, sure, we had our ups and downs, as you do, but we never went to sleep angry, not even once. At his physical that year Stephen’s doctor discovered the cancer. Prostate, but it was caught very early and his chances were good, really good. And the doctors were right, he started treatment right away and in just under a year he was given a clean bill of health. Fit as a fiddle, they said. She could sense Naoki’s puzzlement. Not because of any discernable facial expression, (due to the aforementioned disadvantage) but because Naoki had discovered over time that that confused head-tilt your dog gives you when they come sliding across the kitchen floor all excited only to discover you wiping green bean water, or tuna oil or whatever on your pant leg, works pretty well for robots, too. She knew Naoki realized there was a year unaccounted for in her timeline. She continued “while he was in treatment, we hoped and prayed for the best, but knew it would be foolish not to be prepared for the worst. We knew he might not make it. We accepted it, made our peace with it. Then, when he got the all-clear from the doctors, we were, of course, overjoyed. We went from cherishing every day like it was his last to cherishing the fact we had our future together again. So, as people do, our lives started getting back to normal. But that also meant, as people do, we stopped being prepared for the worst. I remember the day Gellar came by the house like it was yesterday. This was just a little over a year after Stephen getting his health back.”
By Sabrina6 months ago in Chapters
Sack of Bones. Top Story - July 2025.
I can’t tell if the yowling’s for the dead or the heat. It’s cicada hiss and lawn mower growl hot—so hot, it’s disrespectful. But as Dad shovels dirt over Papa, I’m cold. I can't cry, and it feels like sin.
By Sabrina6 months ago in Chapters
Yarcs and the Pulse Jet
Sniffy and the Butane Jet Yarcs was building a pulse jet in the yard. It ran on butane camping cylinders and pure ego. The frame was mostly scrap metal, coat hangers, and melted plastic.
By Mark Stigers 6 months ago in Chapters
A Sniffy Trifecta
⸻ “Sniffy and the Battery That Screamed” (A tale of temptation, betrayal, and terrible chemistry) Sniffy the rat had seen many horrors in his short, jittery life.
By Mark Stigers 6 months ago in Chapters
🌫 Dream Logic and Sonic Fog: How Dark Ambient Disorients the Mind Into Meaning . AI-Generated.
Dreams don’t make sense—but somehow they matter. A forest becomes a stairwell. A face becomes your childhood home. You wake up not remembering what happened, but knowing something happened.
By Yokai Circle6 months ago in Chapters
A Wound Deeper Than Blood
Without caring for the blood seeping from his wound, Zaron kept driving along the routes Noor guided him through, steeling himself for what was to come. “Stop here, Zaar—look, that’s my house!” Noor, excited to see her home again, pointed outside when she saw him lost in thought behind the wheel. Coming to his senses, Zaron hit the brakes. “Noor, listen to me…” he called out as he saw her opening the door to step out. “Yes? What is it?” She paused and turned back toward him. “Please take care of yourself, and tell your family everything honestly. I’ll be right here—if anything goes wrong, just call me,” Zaron said, the worry in his heart showing through despite her bright smile. “No, you go! Your family must be worried too. I’ll handle it—I’ll tell them everything myself. My Baba is very kind. When he finds out how those horrible men tried to scare me, just watch how he’ll deal with them,” Noor replied determinedly. She stepped out, rang the bell by the gate, and Zaron parked the car at the side and got out too. “Zaar, I told you—go home. I’ll tell them myself,” Noor reassured him again when she saw him walking toward her. “No, I’ll tell your family everything myself and leave only when I know you’re safe with them,” Zaron said firmly as the gate opened. “Aunty! When did you get here?” Noor chirped as she hugged the woman who stood there, stunned. “Where’s Mama? I know she must be so worried!” Noor stepped away and called inside for Naila Begum. “My Noor, my child…” Hearing her voice, Naila Begum and Raza came rushing out of a room, arms wide open to hug her—but froze when they saw Mr. Zaheer standing between them. “Baba…” Noor ran to him, burying her face in his chest as tears fell freely. “Baba, those men were horrible. They killed the driver uncle and shot Zaar too. They tried to take me away but Zaar saved me. He took me to the jungle. I was so scared—I missed you and Mama so much. I knew you’d be worried but…” Her voice faltered as she lifted her head and wiped her nose with her dupatta. “But Zaar fainted because he’d been shot and I didn’t know what to do. I prayed to Allah and then an uncle helped us and took us to his home…” Noor glanced at everyone’s silent faces, then stepped away from Mr. Zaheer to go to her mother. Naila Begum was torn between relief and fear at her husband’s cold expression. “Mama, please don’t cry—I’m home now, and I’m safe,” Noor said, wiping her mother’s tears as she pulled her into a hug. But Naila Begum couldn’t hold back her sobs. “Mama, please don’t cry or I’ll cry too,” Noor whispered, trying to hold back her own tears. She reached for Raza’s hand and pulled him close—he looked terrified. “Baba, please don’t…” Noor gasped as Mr. Zaheer pulled out a gun from his pocket. Raza dropped Noor’s hand and grabbed his father, but Mr. Zaheer shoved him aside onto a sofa and turned the gun toward Noor. “After disgracing my honor and spending the night with a strange man, did you really think I’d forgive you? I’m not one of those shameless fathers who hide their daughter’s sins!” Mr. Zaheer hissed through clenched teeth. He fired, but Zaron arrived just in time, deflecting his aim—the bullet hit the ceiling instead.
By 🇲 🇮 🇳 🇩 🇺 🇳 🇫 🇴 🇱 🇩 🇪 🇩 6 months ago in Chapters
🌌 Music for Spaces That Don’t Exist: Soundtracking Imaginary Worlds . AI-Generated.
There’s music for parties. Music for breakups. Music for long drives, chill Sundays, heartbreak recoveries. But what about music for worlds that aren’t real?
By The Yume Collective6 months ago in Chapters
The Beast
It was 1850... India. Some far away part of Punjab. There was a big jungle and near that, some green farms. And there, like touching the sky, stood Ratan Singh’s palace. From far it looked royal—big golden towers shining in sunlight. But when you go near, those walls... they was hiding some dark stuff. Pain. Cruelty.
By Usama6 months ago in Chapters