Fiction

Mary had a little lamb . Content Warning.
Mary wandered for hours, the cold biting at her skin, but the world no longer followed rules she understood. The village looked the same from a distance—but up close, the houses were different. Windows boarded from the inside. Doors covered in old, brittle runes. No sounds. No voices.
By E. hasan2 years ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 7
Research becomes exciting when you’re close to a discovery. The words sounded good in the head of Jonas Quinn, an archaeologist working on his doctorate. As he filled in for the professor, he struggled to figure out how to turn from student to lecturer. It wasn’t part of his plan to teach, not at this point in his life. Jonas wanted to be in the field, finding artifacts and researching their history. The world of an archaeologist sounded fun, even exciting, but he’d only been on two digs during his years at the university and had yet to find anything important.
By Jason Morton2 years ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 107
Portfolios all aligned. Entrepreneur Paul saw his earnings increase once he landed another deal. He smiled. The warmth of his smirk gave him life. He sat in the back of his Goulding and typed up various documents pertaining to his vast collections of corporations and LLCs and 501 (c) (3) organizations. With flair, he collected all of the data on the tablet he cradled like a newborn.
By Skyler Saunders2 years ago in Chapters
Ashes of the Drowned Part 3
The relic whispered in the dark. It hadn’t stopped since Elira touched it. The conch—once dormant, sealed in sea-crystal and warded runes—now pulsed with a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat. A slow, wet thrum, felt more in the bones than heard in the air. When Elira closed her eyes, she could feel the sea breathing inside her skull. And sometimes, the whispers became words.
By Richard Bailey2 years ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 106
Loreen returned to the Wilmington Private Library. She looked around and felt a chill go through her body. By perusing the sections, she found that there existed no Latin American literature. Incensed, she returned to Dagger.
By Skyler Saunders2 years ago in Chapters
The Deal
Ravi sat on the old wooden bench near the village tea shop. The sun was high in the sky, and sweat ran down his face. His shirt stuck to his back. It was summer, and the heat was worse than usual. But it was not just the weather that made Ravi uncomfortable — he had a big decision to make, and it was troubling his heart.
By Tahir khan2 years ago in Chapters
Opportunities for Comedians in the Social Media Era
The social media age has had a profound impact on every aspect of the entertainment industry. The ways that people consume content have been drastically transformed. For better or for worse, the comedy industry is no exception to this trend. After the rise and fall of famous comedy hubs and comedy clubs in the United States, the opportunities for unknown but talented comedians are limited because the performers either do not have the chance to perform there or do not have their comedic touches. Moreover, the average rating of traditional comedy TV programs has also been sharply declining. Let’s discuss about comedian profession in this blog with Dan Nainan Comedian in this blog.
By Dan Nainan2 years ago in Chapters
Ashes of the Drowned Part 2
The water was ice-cold, and it didn’t feel natural. Vaelin and Elira trudged through the southern quarter of Nareth, where the map she recovered had marked something hidden beneath the streets. Mossy stonework arched over their heads in crumbling remnants of coastal architecture—half-drowned, half-forgotten.
By Richard Bailey2 years ago in Chapters
Never Open That Door – Not What You Know But Who You Know
This is part II of this story. Part I can be found here: Gabby, the budding journalist, has a problem; she can never let things just be. She always has to know the answer.
By Calvin London2 years ago in Chapters
Mary had a little lamb . Content Warning.
Mary awoke to silence. She didn’t know how long she had been asleep—or if she had ever truly woken at all. Time felt warped, stretched thin like old wool. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar: rough wooden beams dark with age. A candle flickered somewhere nearby, casting shadows that danced like silent specters on the walls. Her limbs were heavy. Her mouth dry. But she was alive. Sebastian was the first thing she saw when she turned her head. Sitting at the edge of the room, motionless. Watching. As always. “Where… am I?” she whispered, throat raw. “You’re home,” he said gently. His voice, once a comfort, now sent a chill down her spine. “You were sick. But I’ve been taken care of you.” She nodded, too weak to question further. He nuzzled her hand with false affection, and for a fleeting moment, Mary felt the warmth of familiarity. But then, in the quiet, she heard something else. Whispers. Faint. From the floorboards below. She tried to sit up, but her body refused. Her mind, however, began to unravel the knots. There were flashes—fragments of a forest clearing, a red cloak, blood on snow. A woman screaming. A voice, too deep to belong to any lamb, whispering: “She doesn’t need to know.” Mary began to weep, quietly. And Sebastian pressed closer, as if comforting her. But she noticed something. The smell. Not of earth or hay. Not of farm life or woodsmoke. It was the coppery scent of blood. Mary’s gaze drifted across the room. In the corner, beneath a cloth, was something lumpy. A shape she couldn’t define. She blinked hard, and when she opened her eyes again, the cloth was gone. Empty space. No trace. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. That’s what Sebastian told her. “You’re remembering things that didn’t happen,” he said calmly, almost pitying. “Trauma creates shadows. I’m here to keep them away.” She nodded, trying to believe him. But every night, when the candle burned low and the shadows grew long, the whispers returned. And they weren’t in her head. They came from beneath the floor. Days passed—though time had no meaning. She regained enough strength to move, to sit, to explore the house under Sebastian’s watchful eye. Everything looked normal. But it wasn’t. There were scratches on the windowsills—symbols she didn’t recognize. Mirrors had been removed, replaced with panes of smoked glass. The clocks all ticked in unison, but never changed time. And in the kitchen drawer, beneath old cutlery, she found a torn piece of paper with two words scrawled in frantic ink: “DON’T TRUST HIM.” That night, Mary waited until Sebastian slept. Or pretended to. She crept to the cellar door. It was locked, but the key was under the rug—almost as if he wanted her to find it. She descended into the dark, heart pounding, breaths slowing .Each step creaked like a scream. At the bottom, she found the altar. Empty. The walls were covered in charcoal drawings. Spirals. Eyes. Images of her—hundreds of them. But in each one, her face was missing. Scratched out violently. Then she saw the newest drawing, still drying. Her. Standing in front of the chapel. But something… was behind her. Tall, horned. A shadow with eyes like burning coals. She dropped the drawing, heart racing. “Mary.” Sebastian’s voice. Behind her. She turned, but he wasn’t there. Just the candle beside the altar. Flickering. Then—movement. From the walls. They breathed. The wood, the dirt—it pulsed like something alive. A slow, rhythmic thumping. Like a heartbeat. Mary ran. Up the stairs, through the house, out into the snow-slicked field. The cold tore at her skin, but she didn’t care. She had to get away—just to see the world, the sky, something real. And she did. She looked up. And saw the stars. But they were wrong. Not constellations—but runes. Symbols. Watching her. Rearranging. She fell to her knees, clutching her head. And in the distance, somewhere deep within the woods… The chapel bell rang again. To be continued…
By E. hasan2 years ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 105
Fascinder snorted. He looked at the tariffs on the table sent down by the federal government. A nasty grin curled around his face. This is what he waited for in life. He shot out of his chair like a rusty spring popping out of a mattress. With his own plans, he outlined the possibilities of a truly fascist State.
By Skyler Saunders2 years ago in Chapters
We Both Were Introverts
He and I had been neighbors for a couple of weeks, and we had only exchanged a few hellos. One day, my cat decided to use his garden as a litter box. He, as an introvert, did not confront me directly. He simply left a courteous message on my porch, with a smiley face drawn at the end. I answered by cleaning his garden at night, so I wouldn’t have to face him.
By Ha Le Sa2 years ago in Chapters