Horror
The Clockmaker’s Secret
The Clockmaker’s Secret The town of Brindlewick was famous for two things: its cobblestone streets that seemed to twist and curl like the spine of an old book, and the little clock shop tucked away on a corner near the square. The shop was owned by Master Alder, an old clockmaker with spectacles so thick they made his eyes appear like moons. Children whispered rumors about him—how he could stop time, how he spoke to his clocks, and how his shop never seemed dusty despite his never being seen with a broom.
By MUHAMMAD AIZAZ4 months ago in Fiction
The Train That Never Arrived
The train station had been closed for almost three decades. Timetables were corroded into the walls, their figures faded into illegible stains. Benches for waiting were tough, dry, graffiti scrawled on the backs of them as if writings to nobody.
By Alexander Mind4 months ago in Fiction
Between Two Worlds
Last week I bought this mirror at a garage sale. It was only two dollars. And since I have gotten it, I’ve deeply regretted it. Since I’ve put it up in my bedroom it hasn’t shown me my actual reflection. This has only shown me a different version of myself each time I look into it.
By Raphael Fontenelle4 months ago in Fiction
Echoes of a Forgotten City
Echoes of a Forgotten City The city once glowed with culture, art, and the laughter of children. Its streets carried the footprints of generations, and its walls echoed with stories older than memory. But when the war came, the city that once sang was reduced to whispers of smoke and broken stone.
By Wings of Time 4 months ago in Fiction
Carnival Carney
The Midway Amusement Park in Willow Creek, Ohio, was a relic of better days, its rusted roller coasters and faded carnival tents glowing under LED lights that promised more than they delivered. It was 2027, and the world was drunk on tech—self-driving cars, neural implants, and whispers of AI that could think faster than God. But here, in this forgotten corner of America, the air still smelled of popcorn and desperation.
By Theodore Homuth4 months ago in Fiction
THE QUIET WAY OF MEN: I. Content Warning.
The boy was born in smoke. His mother died in childbirth beneath a collapsed lean-to in the Carolina backwoods, snow still caught in her hair. The ground was too frozen to bury her, so his father burned the body with a bundle of sage and never said her name again. He wrapped the boy in hides and walked east without a word.
By Brandon Brasson4 months ago in Fiction
You and that Rascally Rabbit. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
You’re born in a rural hometown, in the backroom of a mom and pop hardware store because your mother’s water broke three weeks early while they were shopping for a new hammer because your dad needed, he just needed, that new hammer because he couldn’t get the baby room finished just right.
By Amos Glade4 months ago in Fiction
