thriller
The Mirror Draft. AI-Generated.
Ethan Ward was a literature professor at Hillcrest University — a quiet man who loved solitude more than social events. His students called him “The Ghost Teacher” because of how silently he moved through the halls. He wasn’t rude — just lost in thought, like someone living between two worlds.
By Ghanni malik3 months ago in Fiction
[UPDATE] I was the only one working the night shift… so who checked in Room 409?
Hey everyone, I didn’t expect my last post to blow up the way it did. I just needed to vent about something weird that happened at work, but apparently, it freaked a lot of people out.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
I was the only one working the night shift… so who checked in Room 409?
I’ve been working night shifts at a small roadside hotel for about two years now. It’s one of those places off the interstate that looks like it’s been “under renovation” since the ‘90s — faded carpets, buzzing neon vacancy sign, vending machines that still take quarters. It’s quiet most nights, which is exactly how I like it.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
His Freckle Too, Stayed Until Morning
I did not notice it before. That small freckle just beneath his left eye, the one the light always seems to find before I do. How many times have I seen his face and never really seen it? The mark itself is nothing special, really, a speck, a shadow of pigment the sun decided to keep for itself, yet tonight it feels like a secret I have finally been allowed to see.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 months ago in Fiction
The Elimination Service
The visitor should never have been allowed past the reception desk. Mr. Ferguson only received guests by prior appointment, except for those with matters of extreme importance. Ferguson was a man who valued time as gold. But his secretary, Miss Dale, was young and impressionable. The visitor — an elderly, dignified man dressed in an expensive suit and leaning on a cane — looked every bit the part of someone important. Assuming he must be, Miss Dale ushered him straight into Ferguson’s office.
By Izabella Johnson3 months ago in Fiction
Those Who Survived the Flames
On the narrow street beside the old store in the center of the village stood a grand house — the home of Sotimkhon, the respected elder of Khurmoli village. Sotimkhon was a tall, broad-shouldered man, always wearing a waistcoat, a doppi on his head, and leather slippers on his feet. At every wedding or community gathering, he was the one to lead the people — firm, wise, and commanding.
By Izabella Johnson3 months ago in Fiction
The Light Switch
The door slammed shut behind me, and the darkness swallowed everything whole. I hadn't meant to come inside. The old Caldwell house had been abandoned for thirty years, its windows like hollow eyes watching the neighborhood. But my phone had died mid-walk, and when the October rain started sheeting down, the partially open front door seemed like an invitation rather than a warning.
By Parsley Rose 3 months ago in Fiction
