Fan Fiction
Never Do These Six Things on Your First Date
The late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the glass windows of Bean & Brew Café, painting golden streaks across the wooden tables. The café hummed with quiet chatter—the rustling of newspapers, the hiss of the espresso machine, the occasional laughter drifting from nearby tables.
By noor ul amin12 months ago in Fiction
The House Where Time Waited
Elena had always loved old houses. She said they had memories etched into their walls, that the floors whispered secrets if you walked barefoot long enough. So when the listing appeared—an abandoned Victorian on the edge of town, overgrown with ivy and sitting heavy under the shade of centuries-old oaks—she knew she had to see it. The realtor warned her it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Crumbling foundations, leaking roof, strange drafts,” he muttered, fumbling with the ring of keys. But Elena only smiled. “Strange drafts are just the house breathing,” she said. Inside, dust clothed every surface like forgotten silk. Chandeliers sagged from the ceilings, their crystals clouded with grime. Portraits of long-dead strangers stared down from peeling wallpaper. Yet beneath the decay, Elena swore she felt something alive—like the house was waiting for her. Her fiancé, Daniel, hated it instantly. “This place feels wrong,” he said, keeping close to the door. “I can’t even explain it. It’s like someone’s watching us.” Elena laughed, but her laughter rang hollow in the cavernous foyer. “That’s the charm, Dan. It’s supposed to feel like history is watching.” They left that day without signing anything. But that night, Elena dreamed of the house. She dreamed of walking its dark corridors, her fingers brushing against wallpaper that pulsed warm under her touch, like skin. She dreamed of a locked door at the end of the upstairs hallway, its brass knob glinting like an eye. She woke with her heart racing—and a certainty that she had to go back. --- The second visit was different. The sun hid behind clouds, and the air inside felt cooler, heavier, like the house knew she’d returned. Daniel refused to go further than the front room, but Elena wandered deeper, her footsteps stirring motes of gold in the dim light. She felt pulled—not toward the grand staircase, not toward the wide ballroom—but toward the upstairs hall. She stopped at the end of it. The door from her dream was there, its brass knob gleaming despite the dust. She tried it. Locked, just as before. “Elena?” Daniel’s voice echoed faintly from below. “Coming,” she called, though she wasn’t ready to leave. She pressed her ear to the wood. For a heartbeat, maybe two, she swore she heard something on the other side. A whisper. A sigh. Or maybe just the house breathing again. --- The dreams grew stronger. Every night, Elena walked the house in her sleep. Every night, she came to that door. And every night, she felt something on the other side—something patient. Something waiting. Daniel noticed the change in her. She grew pale, distracted, restless when she wasn’t near the house. “It’s an obsession,” he said, gripping her hand. “You don’t eat, you barely sleep, and when you do you dream of that place. Please, El. Forget it.” But she couldn’t. It was as though the house had chosen her. --- On the seventh night, a storm raged. Wind clawed at the windows, rain slashed across the streets. Yet Elena drove through it, back to the house. Daniel tried to stop her, but her voice was not her own when she said, “It’s calling me. Don’t you hear it?” Lightning cracked as she stood once more before the door. Her hands shook, but she reached into her pocket. She didn’t remember taking the old brass key, but there it was. Cold. Heavy. Waiting. The lock turned with a sound like a sigh. Inside was a room untouched by dust or decay. Candles burned though no one had lit them. The wallpaper shimmered gold, and a faint melody filled the air—a lullaby she half-remembered from childhood. At the center stood a mirror. Her reflection stepped forward before she did. It smiled, though she did not. And then it spoke, though her lips remained still. “Finally.” Elena stumbled back, heart pounding. “Who are you?” “I am you,” the reflection whispered. “The part of you the world has tried to bury. The part that knows love deeper than fear, life stronger than death. You unlocked me.” The mirror trembled. Cracks spread across its surface, light spilling out like molten gold. “Elena!” Daniel’s voice came from behind her, frantic. “Get away from it!” But she couldn’t move. The light wrapped around her like warm arms, like home. For the first time, she felt whole. The glass shattered. -- Daniel found her lying on the floor, her eyes closed, her lips curved in the faintest smile. He shook her, called her name, but she did not wake. The candles burned lower. The house grew still again, as though satisfied. And yet, when he caught his own reflection in the broken shards of the mirror, his breath caught in his throat. Elena was there—smiling at him from the glass, alive, radiant. She raised a hand as if to touch his cheek. Then the shards went dark. --- The house still stands at the edge of town, ivy crawling higher with each passing year. People say you can hear whispers if you walk past at night. Some say it’s the wind. Others say it’s Elena, still waiting behind the mirror. And sometimes, just sometimes, if the moonlight hits the broken window just right—you’ll see her watching.
By Aizaz Arshad12 months ago in Fiction
The Midnight Key.
An unexpected knock at the door jolted Clara from her evening reverie. She wasn’t expecting anyone—her apartment was usually quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional honk of a car outside. She frowned, lifting herself from the couch. That knock had been deliberate, firm, and oddly precise, as if the knocker had known exactly how to reach her.
By Muhammad Ilyas12 months ago in Fiction
Your Life In An Anthro's World
For a while, no one said anything. They just sat there, staring at you. The silence stretched on, becoming unnervingly long and awkward. Finally, the lion spoke. You couldn’t get over his sheer size—he was all muscle, wrapped in denim jeans and a red t-shirt.
By Dom Warden12 months ago in Fiction
The Upcycled Dream
Elara’s workshop was a sanctuary for forgotten things. In jars lined her shelves, glowing with soft, melancholic light, were the memories people no longer wanted: the sting of a childhood failure, the ghost of a lost lover’s touch, the vague shape of a ambition never pursued. They were the emotional detritus of a city called Aethel, and Elara was its upcycler.
By Habibullah12 months ago in Fiction
Two Friends, One Enemy
Ali and Bilal were best friends since childhood. They lived in the same small village, studied in the same school, and even shared their toys when they were little. Their bond was strong, and everyone in the village admired their friendship.
By Muhammad yar12 months ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Shadows. AI-Generated.
The Harper House was not just an abandoned building; it was a wound that refused to heal. Perched at the edge of Blackwood Forest, its broken windows stared out like hollow eyes, daring anyone to meet their gaze. The townsfolk of Raven’s Hollow had long since stopped going near it. They spoke of strange lights, whispers in the night, and missing travelers. Some said the house was cursed. Others claimed it was alive. For Emma and her three friends—Mark, Sarah, and Dylan—it was nothing more than an irresistible mystery. College students hungry for thrills, they armed themselves with flashlights, a camera, and bravado, determined to spend a single night inside the infamous house. They set out just after dusk. Fog rolled thick through the forest, swallowing the path in a silvery haze. Branches cracked underfoot, and somewhere far away an owl screamed, but the closer they came to Harper House, the quieter the world grew. By the time the house appeared through the mist, the forest itself seemed to be holding its breath. The house was a skeletal silhouette, its roof sagging, vines clawing up its walls like veins. The front door was crooked, one hinge snapped, yet it remained strangely shut as though it had been waiting for them. Mark forced a laugh. “Well, here it is. Doesn’t look too scary.” Emma frowned. “It’s not even windy, but… do you hear that?” A low sound drifted out from the house. At first it seemed like wind moving through cracks, but as they drew closer, it became unmistakably human—a murmur, like someone whispering behind a wall. They exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them turned back. Mark pushed the door. It opened with a groan that echoed far too long for the size of the hall. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of mold and rust. The walls were streaked with dark stains that might have been water—or something else. Their flashlights wavered, beams cutting through dust that swirled like restless spirits. “Creepy, but it’s just an old house,” Dylan said. He raised his camera, filming. “Let’s make this epic.” They moved deeper. Every step echoed strangely, bouncing off the walls like whispers mocking their presence. In the parlor, a cracked mirror stood against the wall. Its surface was warped, black spots spreading across the glass. Emma froze when she saw her reflection. She was smiling—except she wasn’t. Her real lips were pressed tight, but in the mirror her mouth curled upward in a slow, malicious grin. “Guys…” she whispered. When she turned, her friends were gone. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She called their names, but her voice sounded muffled, as if the air itself swallowed the sound. From the darkness, whispers slithered, low and urgent, a hundred voices speaking at once in a language she couldn’t understand. Mark appeared suddenly at the end of the hallway, eyes wide with terror. “Emma! Don’t listen to it! The house—it feeds—” His voice broke as his body convulsed violently. Something unseen yanked him backward, his fingernails scraping bloody lines into the floor before the dark swallowed him whole. Emma staggered back, her flashlight clattering to the ground. The whispers grew louder, pressing against her skull, almost clear now: “Stay… stay with us… forever…” She ran, stumbling through endless hallways that twisted in impossible ways. Doors opened into the same rooms, staircases spiraled into black voids. Sarah appeared briefly, but her eyes were bottomless pits, her mouth opening too wide as she whispered, “It’s too late.” Emma bolted down into the basement, the air growing colder with each step. Her breath smoked in the dark. When her flashlight flickered on again, she saw them—dozens of faces pressed into the walls, pale and distorted, eyes wide with despair. Their lips moved in unison, whispering. Her scream tore through the silence, but the house swallowed it whole. Hands shot out from the dirt floor, clawing at her ankles. She thrashed, kicking, but more hands emerged, pulling, dragging her down. The faces on the walls twisted into grotesque smiles. A deep voice rose above the whispers, ancient and cruel: “You are ours now.” The floor split open beneath her. Emma’s last glimpse was of her friends—Sarah, Dylan, Mark—all standing in the shadows, their faces blank, their mouths whispering in harmony with the house. Then the darkness claimed her. When morning came, Harper House stood quiet, a ruin once more. To those who passed, it was only broken wood and stone, lifeless and empty. Yet inside, if one listened closely, a new voice joined the chorus of whispers. Emma’s voice. Soft. Endless. The house had been patient. It would be patient again. For it always whispered, and it always waited. ---
By Abdullah Jan12 months ago in Fiction
Your Life In An Anthro's World
Your vision blurred as you stared at the moon through the shattered skylight you had fallen through. After a few moments, your surroundings sharpened into focus. You were disoriented and unsure of where you were, but then, like a flood, the events of the chase came rushing back. The fire escape, the rooftop, and then, the fall. You glanced down. You were sprawled across a crumpled store shelf. Miraculously, you weren’t seriously injured—just cuts and bruises, but even though they were shallow, they stung all the same.
By Dom Warden12 months ago in Fiction
Your Life In An Anthro's World
Oh, my head,” you grunt as you sit up. Looking around, you find yourself in what looks to be New York City. You immediately begin to wonder how you got there, but as you observe your surroundings, it quickly becomes clear that this isn’t the NYC you know. The inhabitants of the city aren’t human—they’re humanoid animals.
By Dom Warden12 months ago in Fiction
