Arts + Entertainment
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Jack the Ripper: The Silence That Never Left...
London, 1888... At night, the city did not sleep; it thinned. Gas lamps cast weak halos that failed to reach the corners of the streets. Sound behaved strangely in Whitechapel. Footsteps overlapped. Voices blurred. A single cry could vanish into brick and fog before it fully formed. Thousands of people moved through the same narrow corridors each evening, close enough to brush past one another, distant enough to remain unknown.
By Veil of Shadowsabout 6 hours ago in Horror
Echoes After Midnight
The porch light flickered at 10:32 PM when Lena first noticed it. Not a full failure—just a hesitation, like a breath caught mid-thought. She watched it from the kitchen window, coffee cooling in her hands, wondering if it was the bulb or something heavier settling into the house.
By Anie Libanabout 7 hours ago in Poets
