Horror
The Last Garden on Earth
The world had forgotten what green looked like. Cities were made of metal and ash, skies were silver with dust, and oceans were mirrors of poison. For thirty years, humanity had lived under domes that filtered air and light — a sterile cage built to protect them from the wasteland they had created.
By Muhammad zahoor4 months ago in Fiction
The Knock at Room 9
The first knock came just after midnight — three slow, deliberate taps against the door, patient and almost polite. Agnes Miller opened her eyes. A thin strip of light spilled beneath the door, but the sound hadn’t come from the hallway. It was closer, as if the room itself had exhaled. She turned toward the nightstand, where her worn Bible and silver rosary rested. The beads trembled faintly, catching the moonlight that slipped through the blinds.
By Carolina Borges4 months ago in Fiction
Little School of Horrors
Knock, knock knock! No one had knocked on my door for eight years. Now, the rapping is loud, insistent. Its echo stirs my desolate corridors. I used to hear laughter. And shouting, and whispers too. I comforted occasional weeping in a quiet corner, and I sheltered little people from rain. I was their ship that sailed them to a future of letters, numbers, creativity; I was a conduit for friendships, connections, and finished projects.
By Teresa Renton4 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 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 Knock of Drowned Men
The lighthouse on Blackthorn Isle stood like a sentinel against the endless Atlantic, its beam slicing through the fog-shrouded night every twenty seconds. Elias had tended it for twelve years, ever since the maritime authority shipped him out here to escape the clamor of the mainland. The island was a speck of jagged rock, no bigger than a football field, lashed by waves that crashed eternally against the cliffs below. No trees, no soil for gardens—just the tower, the keeper's cottage, and the relentless roar of the sea. Seagulls wheeled overhead by day, their cries a mocking chorus, but at night, the world fell silent save for the water's thunderous heartbeat.
By Diane Foster4 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
