Fantasy
Threshold. Runner-Up in A Knock at the Door Challenge.
Every night at 3:03, my door remembers a hand that isn’t there. The first time, I sat up in bed convinced I’d dreamed it. The second time, the sound was so exact that I reached for my phone before my eyes opened, thumb finding the clock in the dark. 3:03. One knock. Not a rattle or tick of old pipes, not the sloppy stutter of someone stumbling down the hall. A single, patient knock. As if the night had put a finger to its lips and then tapped once to say hush, listen.
By Aspen Noble4 months ago in Fiction
Death pays a visit
Josh was startled awake by a noise, and he looked up at his clock and saw that it was 2:46 AM. He looked around in the dark, but couldn't see or hear anything, so he shrugged it off and tried to fall back asleep. A few seconds later, he heard a knock at the door, three times. It was a slow, deliberate knock that was forceful and loud. He wasn't sure if he should get up and check who was knocking at his door at this time of night, but then a few seconds later, he heard the three knocks again, this time even louder. Josh got out of bed, grabbed his housecoat, and walked to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw a tall figure, standing well over six feet tall, who resembled a skeleton in a long, dark robe, holding a scythe, and smoke was surrounding the figure. The figure looked like the Grim Reaper. Josh immediately thought this was probably his friend Pete trying to scare him, as it was now the morning of Sunday, November 2, and Pete must have been at a Halloween party and was heading home. Pete was the only person he knew who was that tall.
By Roy Tsukishima4 months ago in Fiction
Sources of Love
Love — a word so simple, yet so vast that no definition can truly contain it. It’s something we all seek, something we all give, and something that shapes the very core of who we are. But love isn’t only found in romance or grand gestures. It exists in a thousand quiet forms — in kindness, in sacrifice, in the gentle spaces between words.
By Engr Bilal4 months ago in Fiction
Echoes of Solace
The knock came just after midnight. Three sharp, deliberate ramps that echoed through the apartment like a warning. I froze, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, heart hammering. No one should be here. Not at this hour. Not in my building.
By Marlowe Solace4 months ago in Fiction
The League of the Jaguar . Honorable Mention in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
Elias shifted restlessly on the blanket-covered pallet that served as a bed. The incessant itch of mosquito bites woke him again. Had sleep not been so elusive, he might not have heard the faint noise from the direction of the building’s entrance. It was a muffled cry of fear that stopped abruptly.
By Natalie Demoss4 months ago in Fiction
The Wrong Address
The house had been settled for hours. The fridge hummed peacefully as I finished cleaning up the kitchen and preparing to settle in. The streetlight in the cul-de-sac made the living room floor glow softly in it's pale light. I brought my book to the living room, tucking myself in under a soft blanket. Inside the hush of rustling pages as I opened my book, the whole night felt careful, like a child holding a glass of water filled to the brim, trying not to spill a drop.
By Autumn Stew4 months ago in Fiction
The Bracken Will Wither
What happens when the looking eye notices you? That was a question Donald Finnegan asked himself as he was transfixed, bent over the door to the old cellar of the bar, where a saline-dripping, large iris looked from side to side before focusing on him. Salt crusted the handle as a thin layer of sea mist rose from under the door. As he knew full well the door led to nothing but an old, unused storeroom and then the thick back wall of the bar, he put it down to the whisky. He fell backwards, turned away, and ignored it. Daft bastard.
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Fiction
My Bones Pick Up the Signal
My Bones Pick Up the Signal By: Abdul Muhammad The silence had teeth. It was a cold, gnawing thing that bit at the edges of Elara’s consciousness the moment she turned out the light. For three years, since the Great Unraveling of her life—a divorce, a funeral, a quiet shattering—sleep had become a foreign country she could no longer visa into. Pills left her groggy and haunted. Meditation was a cruel joke. The only thing that worked was the static.
By Abdul Muhammad 4 months ago in Fiction
