Fan Fiction
The Haunted Village of Dusun Hilang – Indonesia’s Greatest Mystery
The Horror of the Lost Village: Indonesia’s Darkest Mystery Introduction Indonesia, a land rich in culture, myths, and history, has many legends of supernatural occurrences. Among these, one stands out as the most terrifying mystery of all time—the tale of Dusun Hilang, or “The Lost Village.” This is not just folklore; it is a story that has haunted generations, leaving behind unanswered questions, eerie ruins, and inexplicable events.
By Say the truth 2 years ago in Fiction
In a world where Earth is dead and only machines remain, can love still survive? . AI-Generated.
The Silence After The Earth is dead. Cities lie buried under ice, oceans churn in eternal twilight, and the sun looms like a dying ember. Humanity’s legacy? A satellite named I am (Steven Yeun), orbiting as a digital tombstone, and a weather buoy, Me (Kristen Stewart), adrift in a frozen sea. Their voices—bleeps and chirps—are the only sounds in a universe stripped of life. But in this emptiness, a love story begins, one that transcends time, bodies, and the very definition of existence .
By The Last Love2 years ago in Fiction
What Happened To Milla Blake’s Real-Life Inspiration After Apple Cider Vinegar
Milla Blake, the enigmatic protagonist of the bestselling novel Apple Cider Vinegar, captivated readers with her resilience, intelligence, and the raw emotional depth of her story. But what many fans don’t realize is that Milla Blake wasn’t entirely a work of fiction. The novel’s author, Eliza Hart, has often hinted that Milla was inspired by a real person—a woman whose life bore eerie similarities to the novel’s central character.
By Ilsa Sophia2 years ago in Fiction
The Silent Carnival: A Lullaby of Shadows and Teeth (chapter one-seven)
Chapter One The Veil of Twilight Where yesterday there had been just mist and woods, the carnival suddenly appeared as a jagged silhouette at the edge of Hollow's Brook, resembling a scar on the horizon. With her motor coughing into silence, Evelyn parked her rust-eaten automobile at the gravel road's mouth. The villagers had steered clear of her inquiries, their gazes darting to the forest as though the trees might listen in. After polishing the same spot on the counter for a whole minute, the gas station attendant murmured, "Don't go there after sundown." "It isn't intended for living people."
By Francis Royce 2 years ago in Fiction
A Bitter Pour
Miss Jacqueline Malone didn’t wait for service. Service waited for her. She strolled into the first bar of the evening—The Sparrow, a neighborhood staple—like she owned it, tossing her designer bag onto the counter and snapping her fingers for attention. The staff recognized her immediately. How could they not? She had once given The Sparrow glowing reviews, boosting their status in the local scene to 4 stars. But tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn’t in a generous mood. Her follower numbers weren’t trending as high as they used to, and she knew there was always another fresher, prettier influencer waiting to take her place. She needed engagement, and what got more clicks than a takedown?
By Xine Segalas2 years ago in Fiction
Love: The Silent Symphony of the Soul. AI-Generated.
Love: The Silent Symphony of the Soul" Love is not a grand gesture. It isn’t the roses on Valentine’s Day, the fireworks, or the fairy-tale promises whispered under a full moon. Love is quieter than that. It’s the ache in your chest when you watch someone walk away, the warmth of a hand that fits perfectly in yours on a chaotic Monday morning, and the way your heart still races when they say your name after a thousand repetitions.
By The Last Love2 years ago in Fiction
Through the Labyrinth to the Spire
Chapter 1: The Whispering Map The discovery began with a whisper. Elena sat cross-legged on the attic floor, surrounded by forgotten relics of another time. Sunlight filtered through the single, grimy window, illuminating the dust swirling like tiny golden fireflies in the air. The attic smelled of aged wood and moth-eaten fabric—a perfume of the past that clung to her clothes and filled her lungs. Cleaning out the attic on a Saturday wasn't how she had envisioned her weekend, but her grandmother's request had left little room for refusal.
By LASZLO SLEZAK2 years ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Borrowed Time
"The Girl Who Borrowed Time" She ordered a croissant and a black coffee when she first entered my café, and then she gave me a piece of blood-stained paper. It said, "The man in the trench coat is not here for the espresso, so don't serve him."
By Francis Royce 2 years ago in Fiction
