The Hallowed Masks
In the small, fog-shrouded town of Dunwich, nestled deep within the ancient forests of New England, a community theatre troupe named The Hallowed Masks had gained a reputation for captivating, if somewhat eerie, performances. The aged, creaking theatre stood alone, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached out like spectral fingers in the twilight. Its maroon velvet curtains, tattered with age, had borne witness to countless tales of tragedy and triumph.
The Pigeon's Coup
In the quiet town of Larksburrow, a gentle breeze swirled through the streets like the ghost of a waltz, carrying whispers of a change in the air. Martha DeWitt walked along the cobblestone, her feet tapping a syncopated rhythm that echoed against the brick facades of the quaint shops. The sun, a perfect orb of molten gold, seeped into the crevices of the cobblestone streets, staining the earth in warm hues.
The Keeper of the Dark Carousel
In the town of Raventon, at the edge of a forgotten forest, the once-beloved Ravenwood Amusement Park lay rotting under a blanket of fog. The park, now a decaying husk of its former self, was known only to a handful of melancholic employees. The rusted rides and crumbling attractions stood as tombstones for happier days, whispering secrets of laughter long gone.
The Spirit of the Hourglass
It was a dark and stormy night, and the wind howled through the old, abandoned house. The paint peeled off the walls, and the wooden floors creaked under the weight of even the smallest creature. The house had been empty for years, its secrets hidden away from the world, waiting to be uncovered.
Watch Out For The Quiet Ones
In the seaside town of Haven’s Crest, where the clapboard houses were painted in hues of sea glass and the air perpetually tasted of salt, something was stirring. The first mime arrived without fanfare, his face painted white, and his black and white attire stark against the pastel backdrop of the town. That morning, he had perched on a bench in the main square, hands poised as if holding a teacup, sipping the air in silence.
- Top Story - April 2023
The Bad HarvestTop Story - April 2023
The sun beat down mercilessly on the dystopian landscape outside the Godfrey Medical Center, the air thick with the stench of pollution and decay. Inside the sterile halls of the facility, however, the atmosphere was one of hope and anticipation.
The Living Storm
The air crackled with electricity, a palpable tension that seemed to set every nerve on edge. A ferocious gale ripped through the dense foliage, causing the trees to bend and snap like matchsticks in a child's hand - but this was no ordinary storm.
The Dreamer’s Key
I had always been an avid dreamer, but it wasn’t until that fateful night that my life changed forever. The rain pattered softly against the windows of my small art studio in Somnopolis. I remember the scent of oil paints mingling with the aroma of my freshly brewed coffee as I brushed vibrant colors onto the canvas before me. Exhausted, I finally succumbed to the sweet embrace of sleep.
The Diplomat and the Polar Bear
The day the ice spoke, whispering secrets into the frigid air, was the day I recognized that either I had gone mad or the world had beaten me to it. As I trudged through the Arctic wasteland, the wind’s haunting dirge was punctuated by the faintest murmurs emanating from the frozen ground beneath my weary feet. I crouched, pressing my gloved hand to the ice, my ears straining to grasp a shard of the conversation. I shuddered, not solely due to the cold, and drew my hand back. My breath formed dense clouds as it met the biting air. This Arctic assignment was mutating me, gnawing away at my sanity just as the encroaching polar night swallowed the daylight.
All These Melted Dreams
The bell above the door jangled like a drunken tambourine as another sweaty soul stumbled into Uncle Freezy’s Ice Cream Parlor, seeking refuge from the oppressive Sandusky summer. The sun blazed overhead, smothering everything in its merciless heat. I stood behind the counter, my aching arms scooping globs of frozen concoctions for the desperate town folk who shuffled through like lost souls in purgatory.
The Sacrifice of Bloodstorm
In the quaint coastal town of Redwood Bay, the Christmas season was in full swing. Strings of twinkling lights adorned the main street, and the sound of carolers filled the crisp December air. But as the blood-red snow began to blanket the town, a sinister pall settled over the once-festive atmosphere.
Rolling Bones in the Tenderloin
I remember the night it all went down, the night my life changed forever. The alley was a dark, twisted scar in the heart of the Tenderloin, the kind of place you only ventured into if you had nothing left to lose. I’d been down on my luck for so long, it felt like I’d been living there forever. But that night, something was different. The tension hung in the air, thicker than the smog that choked the city, and as the dice clattered onto the makeshift table, I knew I was about to roll my way straight into hell.