Psychological
The House That Waits at the Edge of the Fog
1. The Arrival Elena had seen the house in her dreams long before she ever found it. It sat quietly at the edge of a fading forest, shrouded in fog that moved like breath across the hills. Windows like closed eyes. A door like a secret no one wanted to tell.
By Silas Blackwood7 months ago in Fiction
Last Night . AI-Generated.
It was just a regular Tuesday. Or at least, that’s how it looked. I had made dinner around 8:30 p.m. — just some roasted vegetables, a bit of garlic, oregano, and olive oil. Nothing fancy, just the kind of meal that feels like a quiet hug after a long day. I always find vegetables oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because growing up, my mom used to make this same dish when things felt heavy in the house. Simple food can feel like a memory you didn’t know you needed.
By Sherooz khan7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter
*The Last Letter* The attic smelled of dust and forgotten memories. Emma wiped her hands on her jeans as she pulled open the old cedar chest, its hinges groaning in protest. Inside lay a patchwork of her grandmother’s life—yellowed photographs, a lace wedding veil, a stack of letters tied with a frayed blue ribbon.
By Ziafat Ullah7 months ago in Fiction
The Second Bedroom
The dilapidated wooden house, with its secrets that lurk inside, waited silently as it continued to deteriorate. The thick kudzu vines and broken limbs from decaying trees shielded the house from being noticed where it sets on the deserted property. The path that led to the front door was overgrown with weeds and thorny rose bushes.
By Frankie Berry Wise7 months ago in Fiction
Episode 8: Paper Dog Tags
So everyone was already gone when Unit Twelve reached the supermarket. The roof had caved in. The shelves were burned. The cold cases hummed with nothing. The only sound was the clink of broken jars rolling gently under Marla’s boots. Once upon a time this place sold ice cream and aspirin and checkout-line horoscopes. Now it sold death in six aisles and a parking lot full of empty shoes.
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction
When Water Swallowed The Light
The house had been in the family for five generations. Built by hand on the banks of the Rappahannock, it stood tall and white, with weather-worn shutters and a wraparound porch that had seen more rocking chairs than most old Southern homes. The boards creaked like they remembered everything, and maybe they did.
By Ellie Hoovs7 months ago in Fiction
Elaine. Honorable Mention in Leave the Light On Challenge. Top Story - July 2025.
The kettle hissed long before she remembered to pour it. The sound had always comforted her. It was unconventional people used to say. Technology had moved on. But she had liked the ordinariness of the steam pouring upward into the air. It slowed down the process. Made tea a ritual. It had become part of their routine. But tonight, she barely registered the familiar noise. It just didn’t belong in the silence of the night. Felt out of place somehow. She set down the cups, placing them lightly on mismatched saucers. The clink of porcelain refocused her for a moment. Breathe.
By River and Celia in Underland 7 months ago in Fiction
The Never-Ending Midnight
The morning sun cast long shadows across Anchor's End's cobblestone streets as Finn Mercer leaned against the weathered brick wall of Gulliver's General Store, his dark eyes scanning the small crowd gathered around Mrs. Henderson's produce stand. At seventeen, he possessed the kind of easy charm that made people forget to count their change and the quick wit that turned every conversation into an opportunity. His unruly brown hair caught the coastal breeze, and his crooked smile suggested he knew something you didn't—which, more often than not, he did.
By Shane D. Spear7 months ago in Fiction
The Second Shift
The automatic doors whispered open like they knew her name. Five years had passed since Grace last walked through the main entrance of Coastal View Medical Center, but the scent hit her like muscle memory—bleach disinfectant, day-old coffee, and something sterile she could never quite name. It was all precisely the same, only she was different.
By Catherine Schaffer7 months ago in Fiction
