Historical
The Maple Key
It began with a perfect day. The kind of autumn day that exists mostly in memory: the air was crisp, the sun was a gentle gold, and the maple trees in the park were a blazing cathedral of scarlet and orange. For Leo, a man whose life had become a grey blur of commutes and deadlines, it was a glimpse of heaven. As he sat on his favorite bench, a single, perfect, crimson maple key spiraled down and landed in his palm. He felt a jolt, a strange, static charge, and then… the world dissolved.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
America's Unsung and Unseen Occult Operatives
America’s Unsung and Unseen Occult Operatives: The Moonwatchers By: Liam Einhorn You’ve likely heard the stories of the brave souls storming the beaches of Normandy. You may have even heard of the famed Code Talkers, immortalized by Hollywood in the film Windtalkers. My pursuit into the supernatural sides of history—the ones the powers that be don’t acknowledge—led me to a dank basement, smelling of mildew and secrets. There, I learned of a group you haven’t heard of… a secret unit of the US military kept confidential even in whispers.
By Tales from a Madman2 months ago in Fiction
Thrice Damned
I drove my horses like a man possessed. We would be able to escape if the good Lord was with us. The wagon bounced and jolted over the rutted track through the prairie. I could help the compulsion to look back through the tunnel created by the wagon’s cover.
By Scott Roche2 months ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Canyon. AI-Generated.
Evelyn Hart tightened her jacket against the biting wind as she stared into the canyon below. The rocks stretched in jagged formations, shadows shifting with the last light of the day. She and her two companions, Marcus and Lila, had planned a short hike, but now the trail ahead looked like a labyrinth carved by time and wind. The sky was turning a bruised purple, and the air smelled of dust, wet stone, and something faintly metallic.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction
The Shadows and the Chaos
I pulled the hood down, trying to cover my face and sink back into the shadows as the carriage entered the market square. If he saw me, he’d force me to spend the day with him. No amount of faux charm would change my opinion of this bastard. A day by his side would be the equivalent to a year in the dungeon.
By KA Stefana 2 months ago in Fiction
Fate in Flora: A Historical Fiction
‘Mud, I knew it.’ Cold, thick, and sticky, the boots sank as she stood, making it difficult to move. ‘I need to get moving,’ she whispered to herself. She had to make it to town, else she would have no defense against her father. Her frizzy hair was falling out of her sun bonnet as she was trying to move her thin body quickly through the woods. She shifted out of the mud and onto the road. “He has to still be at the house.” She had about a thirty-minute head start, not enough to slow down.
By Kelly White-Bateman: Historically ADHD2 months ago in Fiction
When Stars Forget to Shine
When Stars Forget to Shine When the Universe Starts Counting Our Lives in Light Dr. Aanya Mehra had always believed the universe was a grand equation complex, beautiful, but ultimately explainable. As one of India’s leading astrophysicists, she spent her nights at the Himalayan Sky Observatory, where the stars felt close enough to touch. But on a cold November night, as she stared into the velvet dark, she saw something that defied science.
By Farooq Hashmi2 months ago in Fiction
Whispers of Winter Light
The night lay still beneath a soft blanket of snow, each flake a whisper from the heavens. The forest was hushed, the air so crisp it seemed to chime when the wind brushed through the frost-laden trees. Amid the silver silence stood a small wooden cabin, its windows glowing softly like two golden eyes against the indigo sky. Beside it, a single lantern glowed warmly on the snow, casting an amber halo that shimmered like hope itself. Inside the cabin, Emma sat near the window with a cup of steaming cocoa in her hands. She watched the light outside, a simple lantern she had placed earlier in memory of her grandfather, who had built the cabin decades ago. He always said that light was a promise — a small, glowing reminder that warmth could exist even in the coldest of places. Every year, on the first heavy snow of winter, Emma returned to the cabin. It was her sanctuary — a place untouched by time, where memories of laughter, stories, and the comforting scent of pine logs still lingered in the air. Outside, the forest stretched endlessly, cloaked in quiet beauty. The trees bowed under the weight of snow, their branches sparkling under the starlit sky. The North Star gleamed high above, a constant companion to the light below. As she gazed out, Emma thought about how her grandfather used to tell her stories by the fire. “The world may freeze, little one,” he would say with a twinkle in his eye, “but hearts like ours carry the flame.” His words had guided her through life — through challenges, losses, and new beginnings. The light, he said, was not just a symbol, but a way of living: to bring warmth, kindness, and courage into a world that sometimes felt cold. Tonight, that light seemed to glow brighter. Perhaps it was the stillness of the night, or perhaps it was the feeling of being home again after so long. Emma took a deep breath, feeling the quiet peace settle in her heart. She stepped outside, her boots sinking into the fresh snow with a soft crunch. The lantern’s flame flickered gently as she approached, its glow reflecting in her eyes. She knelt beside it, brushing off a light layer of snow from its glass top. “Grandpa,” she whispered, “I made it back.” Her voice trembled, not from the cold, but from the rush of memories flooding her heart. “You were right. Even in the darkest times, there’s always light.” The wind stirred gently through the trees, carrying a faint whisper — or maybe it was her imagination — that sounded like a sigh of contentment. She smiled, standing up and looking toward the horizon where the first hints of dawn began to soften the sky. A pale golden hue mingled with the deep blue, and the stars slowly faded into the morning light. The lantern’s glow blended with the rising sun, two lights meeting — one human, one heavenly. Emma knew she wouldn’t be alone, not really. The warmth she carried was more than memory; it was legacy — the same light her grandfather once carried, now passed on through her. She turned back toward the cabin, where the fire still crackled in the hearth. The little home glowed like a beacon in the midst of winter’s stillness, its windows radiating welcome to any soul lost in the snow. That night, and every night after, the lantern would continue to burn outside her cabin — a soft promise that even the coldest season cannot dim the light within. Visitors who passed through the forest in later years often spoke of that single glowing lantern, how it stood unwavering through every storm, a quiet guide for those seeking warmth or direction. And though Emma would one day be gone, her light — like her grandfather’s before her — would remain. For in every winter’s heart lies a spark waiting to shine, a whisper of warmth that says: Even in the deepest snow, love keeps the world aglow.
By Muhammad Saad 2 months ago in Fiction
