Horror

[Theater Reddit] The Back Row of Theater 6 Is Never Empty
Posted by u/UsherInTheDark – 2 months ago So I work night shift at a small-town movie theater. We close around 1 a.m. after the last show, and it’s my job to do the final sweep: check all theaters, shut down the projectors, make sure no one’s left behind. I’ve been doing this for three years now — mostly alone, because no one else wants to stay that late.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
The Film That Never Ends
Posted by u/ProjectionGuy94 – 4 months ago I’ve been a projectionist for a decade. Old-school — real film, not digital. I’ve worked in the same small-town theater since I was 23. There’s something peaceful about it: the hum of the machines, the rhythmic clatter of reels spinning, the flicker of light through celluloid. It’s like the heartbeat of the building.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
Carols of the Damned
The Saint Cecilia Choir had seen better days. Once the pride of the town, their performances now drew only a handful of listeners. The director, Margaret Hensley, a once-renowned soprano, refused to let the choir fade into obscurity. “We just need something special,” she insisted. “Something that will remind people why they loved us.”
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
Glass Winter | Chapter VIII
Under torchlight Palina could see all the layered veins of blue and green beneath the thin pearly skin of her hand. She brushed snow kernels off the surface of the ground surrounding the grease cradle, one of the many burning in the commune, and collected the powder into a tusk, which she handed to a builder making his way to the edge of the camp. The others remained to pocket the rest while Palina donned a mitten and proceeded to the cold corner, far from any flame.
By Andrei Babaninabout a month ago in Fiction
Saint Nicholas' Last Ride
The snow fell in ashen flakes, the sky above a perpetual gray that mirrored the despair of the world below. In the year 2147, Christmas was a relic, outlawed decades earlier by the Council of Unity. Declared a source of division and greed, the holiday and its traditions were erased from history books. But whispers of rebellion persisted—quiet murmurs of a time when people gathered, when joy and giving weren’t crimes.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
Gift of Wrath
The holiday party was in full swing, with laughter and the hum of festive music filling the air. Emily, the office manager, had outdone herself this year. A crackling fire, garlands draped across every surface, and a massive Christmas tree glittering with golden ornaments dominated the room. In the corner, the Secret Santa table overflowed with wrapped gifts.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
Every Night, the Same Man Stands at My Window. AI-Generated.
I used to think the human mind could explain anything—shadows, sounds, the strange ways the night shifts when everyone is asleep. But that was before the man at my window began to return. Before his presence became a routine. Before fear and curiosity tangled so tightly inside me that I couldn’t separate them anymore.
By Muhammad Reyazabout a month ago in Fiction
The Night the Stars Forgot Their Names. AI-Generated.
On the night the stars forgot their names, Rayan was the only person awake on the rooftop. He stood there with a mug of warm chai, expecting the usual comforting view—the stitched blanket of constellations he had admired since childhood. But tonight, the sky felt strangely empty.
By shakir hamid2 months ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #4
Yongkang walked out of the cinema. The afternoon sun beat down on the street, heat shimmering faintly on the flagstones. The air was dry and thick.
By Water&Well&Page2 months ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #3
The pharmacy was closed for the night. His mother was busy in the kitchen, and the shop lights were dim, leaving a faint, lingering scent of medicinal herbs on the counter.
By Water&Well&Page2 months ago in Fiction
The Gospel of Gumption
The assignment from her editor was a footnote, a punishment for having annoyed a major advertiser. “Go to Gumption, Vermont,” the email read. “Cover their ‘Fall Furnival.’ Yes, with a ‘U.’ File 500 words on the quirky local color. Try not to poison the well.”
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Door in the Dark Hallway
There was a hallway in the old ancestral house where I grew up, a narrow corridor that always felt colder than the rest of the building. Even as a child, I sensed something uneasy about it, though no one ever warned me away from it. I would pass by with a book or a cup of tea, distracted by life, yet my eyes always wandered to the very end of that dimly lit passage. There, half lost in shadow, stood a door that looked as though it belonged to another century. Dust coated it so thickly that it seemed carved from the wall itself.
By Anas Khan2 months ago in Fiction