Fan Fiction
The Forgotten Room
I had lived in my grandmother’s old house for six months before I gathered the courage to open the room at the end of the hallway. Every night I walked past it. Every morning I ignored it. The door was always closed, the key always cold, and the air around it always heavier than the rest of the house. My grandmother used to call it “the room that sleeps.” I never asked why. I never wanted to know.
By Kashif Wazir10 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of the Orchard
Elara didn’t believe in magic. She believed in deeds, in ledgers, and in the stubborn, overgrown apple orchard she had just inherited from a reclusive great-uncle. The house was a time capsule, the barn a leaning monument to neglect. But it was the land that called to her, a fresh start after her life in the city had turned to dust.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
The Memory Keeper's Map
The quilt was Elara’s inheritance, a heavy, beautiful weight passed down from her grandmother, Eleanor. It wasn't just a blanket; it was a tapestry of their family. Eleanor, a renowned baker, hadn't used patterns from a book. She’d used scraps from their lives. There was a square from Elara’s mother’s first-day-of-school dress, a swatch from her grandfather’s favorite woolen vest, and even a piece of the floral apron Eleanor always wore.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
Clearance
Thursday came with a familiar pulse. The buses rolled through their route. Children waited at the corner with their collars raised while frost shifted under the first steps across the grass. The bakery warmed before sunrise and emptied by midday. Teenagers crossed the park and carried their noise through the cold air. Leaves broke under their feet. Main Street held its usual pace. A man worked holiday lights onto the post office. The city crew filled a pothole. Mrs. Alvarez swept her doorway and said her daughter earned her license. I told her it was good news and kept going.
By Fatal Serendipity10 months ago in Fiction
⚖️ The Trial of Nothing at All 🕳️
The summons arrived like a bad omen. Folded into a crisp white envelope, slipped under Rowan’s apartment door sometime between the dawn traffic and the neighbor’s dog barking at ghosts. The paper was heavy, official, the kind that made your stomach flip even before you read a single word. At the top, in blocky lettering that looked far too confident in itself, were the words:
By Karl Jackson10 months ago in Fiction
The King and the Swift One
Deep in the heart of a vast green forest lived a mighty lion named Arion. His golden mane glowed like fire under the sun, and his roar echoed for miles. All the creatures feared him—not merely because he was strong, but because he believed that fear was the only way a king could rule. Arion walked with pride, believing that no animal dared to stand equal to him. On the opposite side of the forest lived a young deer named Elian. He was fast, graceful, and alert, but he was also extremely fearful. From childhood he had heard stories: “The lion spares no one. Never cross his path.” And so Elian avoided every place where the lion’s scent lingered. One summer, a terrible drought struck the forest. Rivers shrank into dusty paths, ponds turned into cracked earth, and even the shade of trees felt hot enough to burn. Soon, only one shallow water pool remained—a small muddy spot that every creature had to share. Elian approached the pool one afternoon, exhausted and trembling from thirst. Just as he lowered his head to drink, the bushes rustled behind him. His heart raced. When he looked up, there stood Arion, the mighty lion himself. His presence was overwhelming. His eyes were sharp, his steps slow and commanding.
By darus sahil10 months ago in Fiction
The Observer Effect
Dr. Aris Thorne’s mission was one of pure, academic observation. Her destination: a Neolithic settlement in Northern Europe, 3000 BCE. The date: the Autumn Equinox. Her goal: to finally document the undisrupted "Rite of Balance," a ceremony where ancient druids were said to harmonize the dying sun with the coming dark, ensuring a mild winter. It was the holy grail of temporal anthropology.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
The Whispering Heart
No one knew how old the Great Oak was, or who had first discovered its secret. The tree stood at the heart of the woods, a gnarled giant with a hollow in its trunk so large a child could crawl inside. But it wasn't empty. It was a library. Not for books, but for feelings. They called it the Whispering Heart.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
