Horror
The Cinder’s Weight
The hearth has stopped its singing.white-ribbed and glowing with a soft, pulsing ache. I am watching the last flame— a tiny, blue-tongued ghost licking the underside of a charred knot. It is fragile, a translucent ribbon fraying against the weight of the coming dark. There is a specific silence that lives here For hours, it was a roar of gold and defiance, consuming the dry cedar of our history, the splinters of every word we ever threw into the heat to keep the room alive. But the wood is spent now. The logs have collapsed into a skeletal geography,
By Awa Nyassiabout a month ago in Fiction
Day 7: Flood...a what? . Content Warning.
Assesment: Not being volunteer number one feels slightly desspointingly promising. When Cornman Ron asked what happened to the last ones, of course only learning that after, while I took hold of the approved recorder, he was shrugged off with a pat on his back. I folded a notebook in half to keep in my cargo pants for the experience journal Wolfman Patrick called necessary. That’s where it stayed, whether I gave a damn about what was happening here or not. I used previous recordings to get to where the last guy left off, sounding familiar as hell, to get a sense of what I was expecting. What curse would get me, what sacrifice would do me in? I don't know any more, and I used to like that.
By Willem Indigoabout a month ago in Fiction
The Silent Patient: A Voice Buried in Shadows... AI-Generated.
The first time I saw her, she was sitting in the corner of the psychiatric ward, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes fixed on something invisible beyond the barred window. Alicia Berenson had not spoken a single word since the night she shot her husband.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Fiction
On The Moors
My dear reader, have you ever come across this situation? You had spent a little time at a pub with a friend. Both of you had a hearty meal together and some good drinks. Then when you leave the pub goers give you cryptic warnings about what to do when you do. Such as not going on the moors and sticking to the path.
By Raphael Fontenelleabout a month ago in Fiction
Update: The Concession Stand Calls
UPDATE: The phone rang today… but this time, it wasn’t just the boy on the line. So, I wasn’t planning on updating because, honestly, I thought people would call BS, but a bunch of you asked for more details. And then something happened today that I can’t keep to myself.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
Borrowed Face:. AI-Generated.
I first observed her on the train. She sat across from me, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on the window as if the city rushing past was more important than the people inside. At first glance, she seemed ordinary—dark hair, pale skin, a tired expression. But then she turned, and my breath caught.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Fiction
