Horror
Cold Moon High
The year was 1987 and Nikki Barnes was walking to school. She clutched a book to her boobs she wished she had. Her blue eyes shone like wet marbles. Her red hair shimmered with a sheen so brilliant it could blind passersby. She wobbled a bit while she walked. She could smell wet leaves as she walked. Orange leaves clung to her tennis shoes.
By DJ Robbins3 months ago in Fiction
Something keeps calling the front desk asking for Room 112
I work night shifts at a mid-tier hotel — you know, the kind that sits right off the interstate and smells like coffee, carpet cleaner, and lost hope. My shifts are 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., which basically means I babysit an empty lobby and listen to the building breathe.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
[FINAL UPDATE] The night clerk who posted about Room 112 is gone.
Hey, I work at the same hotel as the guy who wrote those posts about the phone calls asking for Room 112. I wasn’t sure if I should post this here, but I found something last night that I can’t stop thinking about.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
Every night I take the elevator to the basement… even though we don’t have one
Hey everyone. I work nights at a mid-range hotel off the highway. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, quiet, and usually empty after midnight. I’m the night porter — basically, I clean up the lobby, restock towels, handle laundry, and do any random maintenance jobs that come up.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
The cameras don’t catch who’s walking the halls at night.
(Posted by u/NightShiftWatcher – r/TrueOffMyChest) I work night security at a mid-range hotel in Colorado. It’s one of those places that’s been remodeled a dozen times but still somehow feels old — too many corners that don’t line up, too many flickering lights that maintenance “can’t find a reason for.”
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
Before You Delete This Message
The message sat unsent in her phone, glowing faintly in the dark. “Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry…” Her thumb hovered over the send button, trembling. The cursor blinked like a heartbeat. She stared at the screen, thinking of everything she could have said, everything she should have said before it all fell apart.
By Muhammad Kashif 3 months ago in Fiction
My Dead Best Friend Won't Stop Texting Me
Three years ago my best friend Jessica Moore died in a car crash. We were supposed to go to this graduation party together but she never picked me up. Next morning I found out she'd wrapped her car around a tree on Highway 9. The cops said she fell asleep at the wheel.
By Maxim Dudko3 months ago in Fiction
Transmission
For Belle's 'On the Street' Challenge: Report of Pilot, Captain Y. M. Raughtel: This might be my final report. I seem to have landed in the most barren patch of nothing imaginable. There is nothing but desert as far as the mind can conceive. And I think that my mind is losing its ability to see and hear what is real and what I've only imagined. Am I really alone out here?
By Kendall Defoe 3 months ago in Fiction
