Fiction
The Umbrella Census
The woman in the grey coat did not open the umbrella. That was the part that stuck. It was a Tuesday evening at the ferry terminal, the kind of drizzle that makes Auckland feel like a city built inside a dishwasher. A black compact umbrella sat on the bench next to me, left there by a man in boat shoes who had hurried off the moment the rain eased. Standard procedure. The rain stops, you forget what you're holding, your hand opens and you walk faster without it. I have done it fourteen times.
By Gautam Atmakuri2 days ago in Chapters
The Halloween Hangup
Thunk. Jane closed her trunk over her midnight Gotham City display for the community trunk-or-treat and picked stray lint off her black sweats. Then she looked around the parking lot at other young and old families closing up their trunks too.
By Eileen Davis3 days ago in Chapters
Who's the real Monster?
Feeling some tension ease out of my shoulders. Inhaled deeply I looked up to see a completely cloudless sky. Perfect. Walking to the edge of the building I took a good look at the island. The sun has begun to set. I wonder how long I've been up here I thought.
By Lucy Torralba7 days ago in Chapters
An Arboreal Nightmare
Introduction This is an almost frightening illustration by Arthur Rackham, shared by The Enchanted Booklet on Facebook. The full explanation can be found in the link, but the words on the picture are from a Somerset folk poem/
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 11 days ago in Chapters
Stitch: The Lore of Sara Foxgrave
The gray autumn chill settled deep into the Foxgrave woods, turning the leaves to brittle rust and giving Sara a perfect excuse to stay out of the lake water. She did not have time for distractions anyway. Halloween was a week away, and around her place, October 31st was treated with the kind of frantic, obsessive reverence most people saved for Christmas.
By Syl De'Vil11 days ago in Chapters
Chronicles of MoonWhisper Glenn
The Chronicles of Moonwhisper Glenn Chapter 1: Moonwhisper Glenn Moonwhisper Glenn woke before anyone else. It always did. The first hints of sunlight slipped over the hills and scattered across the morning dew, turning every blade of grass into a tiny mirror. The whole field shimmered as through it were remembering a dream. Verdensong began its gentle hum. It moved quietly through the Glenn, through the swaying grass, and sleepy trees, until at last it reached the little cottage and nestled among them.
By Atarah Stone12 days ago in Chapters
