thriller
[Theater Reddit] The Vanishing Guest
I work the closing shift at a medium-sized theater in my hometown — nothing fancy, nothing haunted (at least, that’s what I thought). I’m mostly on concessions, which means I deal with the usual late-night weirdos: teens trying to sneak into R-rated stuff, couples who think no one can see them making out behind the Icee machine, that kind of thing.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
[Theater Reddit] Update: The Vanishing Guest
Didn’t think I’d be posting again, but something happened last night that I can’t shake. For the past week, the register’s been quiet — no tickets, no midnight receipts. I figured whatever glitch was happening finally stopped. I even joked with the janitor that our “ghost customer” must’ve found a better theater.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
Roll Them Bones
Willy is a character from a couple of other short stories I've written. He's a modern day "hedge wizard". For you non-uber nerds, that's a self taught wizard who can perform basic spells, brew potions, and make scrolls. He lives in modern-day New Orleans and uses his abilities and most of all his tendency to be more lucky than prepared to help people. He's not quite a private detective like Harry Dresden. That would require a level of study and dedication he's not always capable of. But he has a good heart.
By Scott Roche2 months ago in Fiction
Day 3: Gossip in the Religious Routine. Content Warning.
I can only compare the 02:19 wake-up call to a boot camp built right into your childhood treehouse. Having a tank's echo was the real blistering fire finger poker to my headache. Bunked near Ron, I followed him toward the howling echo octaves bolstering of a dying bat squeal out of the bellend that rang deeper and lower the closer you were by the inch. Their solution to this explains the why on the journaling exercise, demented spirits or not, it’s smarter to have pen and paper in this damp, hovering humidity cesspit of body odors before the raid.
By Willem Indigo2 months ago in Fiction
Day:2 Ded Moone Camp Facility. Content Warning.
I was told to get a feel on my own. That’s what I get for asking a question after midnight. Dark and wet, I could appreciate the existance of a trail to the rear of the island, the hike through the brush, the single slip i'd be from disappearing in the drink for a gulp. Sleeping comes whenever the hell it wants, but it eventually skews me back toward the night shift with everyone else here, so far. It’s those brief moments of sunlight in the late evening when I've caught a rare dose of nap. This night ended at the bar on the stool. I never thought it would be this comfortable all those times I was prevented from indulging in the act by the sheer ridiculousness of the look as it was the movie staple of the down trotted fuck-up. The Voice, it—I am literally dying for this shit, so excuse the fucking bias I may share as I bring this up, but to keep with my journaling immersion technique from Wolfman Patrick, i have to be cautious aboout said—context.
By Willem Indigo2 months ago in Fiction
A Patrol in the Woods
Sometimes, life’s problems can’t be solved with a glass slipper. Sometimes, you need a Nightingale. Or so our billboards proudly stated at every inn, city gate, and causeway that saw any sort of hoof traffic. Matter of fact, I came up with that slogan based on a previous assignment involving a sexual deviant and a very impractical piece of footgear, but you’d never know it considering the distinct lack of royalty checks my pigeons have brought me.
By Stephen A. Roddewig2 months ago in Fiction
✨ The Boy Who Remembered a Life He Never Lived
At first, it felt like any ordinary dream — blurry, soft, melting away the moment I opened my eyes. But something was different. Something stayed with me. The color of the sky. The smell of roses. The faint sound of a girl laughing.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
