Horror
Storm People
Someone who is truly a storm at heart has the most peculiar eyes. They’re grey and silvery like the eyes of many people, but there’s something else strange and wild behind them. Look too long, and you’ll swear you see dark, roaming clouds reflected in those eyes, not to mention a lightning flash or two. Their voices are low and melodious, like the rumbling of thunder or the crash of the ocean against the cliffs when the waves are especially treacherous — soothing, but unsettling at the same time.
By Shannon Hilson3 years ago in Fiction
Vanta black
Nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But the echo of the wailing is deafening. I hear it now even as I dream. The events plaguing me like a illness. Always scraping at the base of my skull. A parasite, threatening infestation.
By Tonietta graves 3 years ago in Fiction
The Despotic Vial
My thumb pressed the plunger down. Every inch of skin bubbled underneath as if my blood began to boil, as if my body tried to escape its leathery shell. The thought of Nandi crosses my mind for the umpteenth time to the point where I imagined her tiny, childlike smile appear. She is nine years old again, the innocent laughter of youth echoing between my ears as she hops and skips on the chalked pavement in front, stretching out her hand towards me. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes as I failed to grasp her hand, wincing at the thought of all the times I have let her down. The illusion persisted, no matter where I looked Nandi would remain in sight. She is older now; still bearing the signs of adolescence on her face. She glowers down at me as I collapse on the epoxy floor of our old apartment. Her mother stands in the threshold of the doorway, bags packed by the door, she grabs Nandi’s hand and drags her away. And just like that, she disappears again for one last time.
By Derrick L.3 years ago in Fiction
A Universe Removed
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But someone did. Or, some thing did. It heard us screaming out into the void for answers. It listened to us casting our calls out to see if we were alone in the vast emptiness of the universe and it decided to respond.
By Will Helgren/Ochal3 years ago in Fiction
The Silent Scream
by: Dennis R. Humphreys (the DreamWriter) Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. It took a deaf stowaway on a space shuttle, by the name of Sonia Lansing to prove otherwise. The sixteen year old insisted there were other ways to hear besides ears, and other ways to transmit sound. She made all the logical arguments but her teachers stood by the argument that sound was dependent on using molecules of air as a medium, to be heard. Regardless, she had her own ideas. She was stubborn about things, once an opinion or idea coalesced in her head.
By Dennis Humphreys3 years ago in Fiction
Into the Unknown
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I know my colleagues could not hear my voice but I know my clone could. I had been caught shoplifting from the local Staples and security was called. I was sent to a reform school and my parents were promised a reformed son after three months. I had not made strides during my time in reform school. No matter how many toilets I cleaned, or floors I mopped I was just a carefree teen. I did not care about wronging others. Little did I know that they were secretly cloning me. Every day we did personality tests and one night I was abducted and measured. That was my last night on Earth.
By Sid Aaron Hirji3 years ago in Fiction
Miro and Moch Dinas
Pain speared through the man’s head as he regained consciousness, rolling slowly onto his side. Waves of nausea threatened to make him sick when he opened his eyes as his vision shifted and spun. Limb by limb, he checked for other injuries, but only his head was wounded, with a slick, viscous substance dripping down from his ears.
By Eloise Robertson 3 years ago in Fiction
The Trolley Problem
There is a small coffee shop, on the edge of a rather large town. The shop was rather unexceptional, save for its half price mid-week madness special. It was the only time the, rather pricey, shop was ever truly busy. Today was not the middle of the week. As a consequence the expensive shop now had a few loyal patrons, along with the occasional passer bye. They stayed for shelter as they drank their coffee on this especially cold morning. One of these pedestrians was a smartly dressed business man, who looked down his nose at the quaint shop. But he was unwilling to lose the feeling in his fingers while he enjoyed one of his few remaining vices. Philip smiled at the pretty barista as he ordered his large latte, before remembering his most recent health kick and altered it to a skinny decaf. The barista let out an exasperated sigh as she threw out the half-finished drink, starting from the beginning with the slightly more convoluted order.
By Rupert Rowlingson 3 years ago in Fiction
The Cabin on Crying Hill
"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." Jacob and his team of paranormal investigators, who went by the name MIDWEST S.P.I.R.I.T, headed up to the old cabin that was located on Crying Hill. Crying Hill was an old, sacred Native American heritage site located in Mandan, North Dakota.
By Jamie Glanville3 years ago in Fiction
