Psychological

The Weight of Silence
The Weight of Silence The dock creaked under Elena’s weight – literally, it had creaked for years now, along with almost every other thing in this place. Her bare feet swayed over that water, back and forth like she was five again, like time hadn’t worked its magic.
By BHUMIabout a month ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #5
Night had fallen. The streetlights outside the window cast a hazy, yellow glow. The air in the pharmacy was permeated with the faint scent of herbs.
By Water&Well&Pageabout a month ago in Fiction
The Night the Stars Forgot Their Names. AI-Generated.
On the night the stars forgot their names, Rayan was the only person awake on the rooftop. He stood there with a mug of warm chai, expecting the usual comforting view—the stitched blanket of constellations he had admired since childhood. But tonight, the sky felt strangely empty.
By shakir hamidabout a month ago in Fiction
When Darkness Taught Me to See
The Night Everything Went Black I still remember the exact moment the world went dark. Not just the physical dark—the kind that creeps into a room when the power goes out—but the emotional one. The kind that settles into your chest quietly, like it has every right to stay there.
By Fazal Hadi2 months ago in Fiction
Ghosts of Summer Rain
The Memory That Wouldn’t Leave Some moments stay with you long after you think you’ve moved on. Not because they haunt you in a frightening way, but because they whisper—softly, constantly—like rain hitting a window on a quiet afternoon.
By Fazal Hadi2 months ago in Fiction
The Door I Didn’t Mean to Open
I had only been back in my mother’s house for two days when the quiet started getting under my skin. Old houses always have sounds: settling beams, groaning pipes, the occasional thud you try to rationalize as “probably nothing.” I grew up with those sounds. I should’ve felt comforted by them. But grief changes the meaning of familiar things. Suddenly, everything feels like it’s trying to tell you something you’re not ready to hear.
By Maziku Shabani2 months ago in Fiction
A Breath Before Dusk
It was late in the afternoon on a Friday. I was working on my desk as usual. The sunset was beautifully warm of cinnamon and orange, bleeding into everything—my desk, the papers, even my hands. The cool air smelled of the dried English lavender I didn't trim away on my porch—I let them wither exactly where they were growing, a good specimen for my observation.
By Une Femme2 months ago in Fiction
Remember Me. Content Warning.
“E se io muoio da partigiano...” Translated: “And if I die as a partisan...” - Bella Ciao, Italian anti-fascist song -0-
By Alexander McEvoy2 months ago in Fiction
The bench in the square
The Bench in the Square There was this old bench. It was made of weathered wood with exposed nails, and the varnish was cracked and faded. It was located smack dab in the middle of the city square near a kiosk and directly across the street from the school. Nobody seemed to pay attention to it. Not even me.
By BHUMI2 months ago in Fiction
The Crimson Frequency
The rain in Hollow Creek didn't wash things clean; it only seemed to press the grime deeper into the pavement, sealing the town’s secrets under a slick, reflective varnish. Detective Elias Thorne watched the rhythmic sweep of his windshield wipers, the rubber blades groaning against the glass like a dying breath. He had been driving for six hours, leaving the cacophony of the city behind for this forgotten stretch of the Pacific Northwest, a place where the towering pines grew so thick they choked out the daylight long before sunset. The case file on the passenger seat was thin—painfully thin given the severity of the crime—but the photographs spilled halfway out, revealing glimpses of a nightmare that shouldn't exist outside of Victorian horror literature or dark web conspiracy forums.
By Wellova 2 months ago in Fiction
The last time I ever heard rain hit tin. Content Warning.
“The Last Time I Ever Heard Rain Hit Tin” That first drop landed on the roof like a marble on a cookie sheet. It wasn’t loud; it simply was — there. Then the sky cracked and poured out all of its contents.
By BHUMI2 months ago in Fiction
There Was Something Crawling Under My Bed
The Night Everything Changed I was twelve years old the first time I heard it— a soft rustling sound coming from the dark space beneath my bed.
By Fazal Hadi2 months ago in Fiction