thriller

Transmission
For Belle's 'On the Street' Challenge: Report of Pilot, Captain Y. M. Raughtel: This might be my final report. I seem to have landed in the most barren patch of nothing imaginable. There is nothing but desert as far as the mind can conceive. And I think that my mind is losing its ability to see and hear what is real and what I've only imagined. Am I really alone out here?
By Kendall Defoe 2 months ago in Fiction
THE ASHMOOR LEGACY
The condensation from that single, desperate word—RUN—was gone. It faded from the glass, but not from our minds. It felt like we’d all breathed in a shard of ice. The pretense of civility, the polite fiction that we were just a dysfunctional family sorting out an inheritance, shattered. We weren't rivals anymore. We were rats in our ancestor's maze.
By Wellova 2 months ago in Fiction
The Spirit Box (9). Content Warning.
Chapter 9: Home Grown Terrorists I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Al Kapa-kai, a new group, had managed to blow up a building in downtown Los Angeles.
By Alex H Mittelman 2 months ago in Fiction
The Spirit Box (8). Content Warning.
Chapter 8: The woman I used to call my wife. “You know, Emily, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm impressed," I said, leaning against the wall of Emily's cubicle. "Trying to be a better person takes morals, and I’m honestly surprised you've got 'em. You’re usually so unscrupulous!"
By Alex H Mittelman 2 months ago in Fiction
The Child Who Spoke to the Moon Every Night
Every night, after the world had gone quiet and the house was asleep, Elara would climb onto the old chair by her window. She would press her forehead against the cool glass and look up. Her friend was always there.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
THE ASHMOOR LEGACY (Part 2)
Start writing...Dawn didn't break; it leaked. A pale, sickly grey light infiltrated the floor-to-ceiling windows, feeling greasy and cold. It did little to dispel the shadows that clung like dark mould to the sharp, brutalist corners of Ashmoor Hall. The house, by day, felt even more oppressive—a silent, concrete tomb waiting for night to fall again.
By Wellova 2 months ago in Fiction
THE ASHMOOR LEGACY
The summons didn't arrive with a black wax seal or heavy, cream-colored stationery. It landed in Liam’s inbox like a digital shard of ice: a terse, legal email from a firm in Zurich.
By Wellova 3 months ago in Fiction
The Moon and the Burning Forest
The world was ending in orange and ash. The ancient forest of Elmswood, a kingdom of oak and pine that had stood for a thousand years, was screaming. A careless spark from a forgotten campfire had become a ravenous beast, consuming everything in its path. The air was a solid, hot wall of smoke, and the roar of the flames was the only sound, a hungry, relentless god.
By Habibullah3 months ago in Fiction
The Diminishing
I have long suspected there exists thresholds not fashioned by human hands—passages that wait with the poise of something ancient and expectant. What I found was not a hallway but an omen disguised as one. At first, I thought myself lost, or dreaming, yet reason bent beneath what I saw. Whatever force guided me—vision or damnation—led me to a corridor secreted within the ordinary world like a thorn beneath velvet.
By SUEDE the poet3 months ago in Fiction
The Spirit Box (7). Content Warning.
Chapter 7: Governors Wife I leaned back in my chair, sipping my coffee as I scanned the morning headlines on my phone. The phone on my desk rang, giving me a slight headache and mild ringing in my ear, and I picked it up.
By Alex H Mittelman 3 months ago in Fiction
The Call of the Minaret
The early sun had just started to rise from behind the house tops of Medina when Bilal woke up. The air was still cool and heavy with the smell of sand and date palms. For a moment, he listened to the faint sounds of the city waking -- the distant bleating of goats, the clatter of water pots and the quiet hum of life returning after the silence of the night.
By Nusuki3 months ago in Fiction
Every Shadow Lies
The rain had a rhythm that night — a slow, steady tapping against the windows of the Blackmoor Institute. It was the kind of rain that made secrets feel heavier, as if the sky itself was trying to drown them. Inside, the corridors were dimly lit, the lights flickering like dying stars. Dr. Elara Voss walked quickly, her heels echoing against the linoleum floor, each step like a countdown to something she couldn’t yet name.
By Miss Maryam3 months ago in Fiction