Fantasy

Fate's Magical Mishap
Reverse to Part Two Reverse to Part One THREE When I was a child, I loved Gatherings. Unlike the rituals and holiday celebrations, Gatherings meant the entire clan. No one was worried about following the correct steps that had been handed down for more generations than anyone could count. No one stood on ceremony (except with the elders because the last thing anyone wanted to do was piss off an elder) and the relaxed atmosphere allowed different groups to interact. Everything was relaxed, including the dress code, so I wasn’t out of place in my peasant blouse and jeans.
By Reb Kreylingabout a year ago in Fiction
Fate's Magical Mishap
Reverse to Part One TWO The test had settled to the back of my mind while I was at work, but I had to pass it before I would be allowed to claim my familiar. I had intended to practice before I had to prove myself in front of the elders, but I arrived home from work to find my mother in a tizzy as she raced around with her hair half done. I barely had time to change into my white dress before my mother was hurrying me out to the car. As we drove to the grove, I hurriedly brushed and braided my hair. At least I didn’t have to do the intricate braids my mother had her hair bound into; mine was a simple single braid.
By Reb Kreylingabout a year ago in Fiction
The Town Where No One Remembers Yesterday
The Town Where No One Remembers Yesterday When time resets, trust no one. The first thing that struck Ethan Cross when he arrived in Bellwick was the silence. Not the peaceful kind, but a hollow quiet that seemed to swallow every sound. The quaint town, with its cobblestone streets and perfectly trimmed hedges, looked like a picture frozen in time. Yet something was off. The people smiled too easily, their eyes too vacant, as if the spark of recognition had been snuffed out long ago.
By Farooq Hashmiabout a year ago in Fiction
Griefhouse. Content Warning.
Griefhouse Marla didn’t know why the house called her. On a rainy evening, it appeared at the edge of the road, dark and half-hidden by mist and overgrown hedges. She had passed it countless times, always curious, always turning away. That day, something in her chest tightened — a pull she could not resist. The front door swung open before she reached it. No lock, no key, only a heavy sigh of air that seemed almost alive. Inside, the hall stretched unnaturally, lined with peeling wallpaper and faded portraits that watched her. Her own reflection appeared in a tarnished mirror, pale and uncertain, a ghost of herself she barely recognized. --- I. The First Room The first room smelled of damp paper and smoke. Dust motes floated in the weak light from a cracked chandelier. A chair faced the fireplace, unlit. On the mantle, a photograph of a child she once knew — her younger sister, gone ten years ago — stared back. As Marla reached for the photo, the room shifted. The chair turned slowly toward her, its shadow stretching unnaturally across the floor. A whisper rose from the walls: “You left me.” Her throat closed. She fell to her knees. The room responded, walls contracting, ceilings lowering, pressing against the hollow in her chest. She remembered the argument with her sister the morning she left town, the words that had struck like knives, the silence that followed. The house forced her to see. ---
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Light
You ever notice how the worst nights don’t announce themselves? There’s no storm rolling in, no strange phone call, no flicker of the lights. Sometimes it starts with something so ordinary, you don’t even give it a second thought.
By Zidaneabout a year ago in Fiction
Fate’s Magical Mishap
Thank you so much to my support team, Liz and Betsy. Betsy read this more times than I think she’s read anything I’ve written and offered helpful hints along the way. Liz has always been suppotive of me and continues.
By Reb Kreylingabout a year ago in Fiction
Afterimage
It was morning again, his old bones hurt a bit more day after day, and for some reason, he was every day more and more hungry, and he needed to drink tea more frequently, but none of that was important.
By Saelly Fiorela Silva Lizarragaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Piano on the Cliff
Delicate notes from a misplaced piano echoed down the quiet forest pathway. It’s haunting tone drew one footstep after another from the lone hiker on this late evening trail. The grass crunched beneath each of his heavy boot falls. It was the only other sound that danced between the trees, the harsh impact of his boots, and the slow reverb of those piano keys.
By Connieabout a year ago in Fiction
A Calming Sleep Story: The Night Train to Transylvania
The Journey Begins It was a quiet night when the train station, tucked away in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains, began to glow under the silver moonlight. The platform stood almost deserted, except for a few travelers holding their coats tighter against the gentle night breeze. The clock above the station slowly ticked toward midnight, and soon, the sound of steel wheels whispered through the valley. The night train to Transylvania had arrived. Its arrival was soft, not loud or hurried like daytime trains. Instead, it moved with a rhythm that seemed almost alive, humming like a lullaby meant to calm tired souls. Its carriages gleamed faintly under the stars, their windows glowing with warm, golden light. You stepped onto the platform, your footsteps echoing gently as though the earth itself was guiding you toward the journey. The conductor, an elderly man with kind eyes and a voice that seemed to carry the wisdom of centuries, tipped his hat and welcomed you. “Welcome aboard,” he said softly. “This train doesn’t just take you to Transylvania—it takes you to rest.” And so, you stepped inside. --- Inside the Night Train The interior of the train was unlike any you had ever seen. Plush velvet seats, deep shades of burgundy and forest green, lined the carriage. The lamps glowed dimly, spreading a soft amber light, just bright enough to make the world feel safe but quiet enough to invite sleep. You found a seat by the window. Outside, the mountains stretched endlessly, painted with silver moonlight. Pines swayed slowly in the wind, and faraway villages twinkled with tiny candle-like lights. The rhythmic sound of the train wheels clicking on the track began to sync with your heartbeat—slow, steady, comforting. A soft chime echoed through the carriage. It wasn’t an announcement, but rather a gentle tone, almost like wind chimes swaying in the night. Then came the aroma—lavender and chamomile drifting through the air, soothing every restless thought. A lady in a long flowing dress walked by, offering tea in small porcelain cups. The steam curled upward like smoke from a dream. “Chamomile, with honey,” she whispered. “To help your journey.” You held the cup between your hands, feeling its warmth travel into your body. As you sipped, the sweetness melted into your senses, and your eyes grew heavier, calmer, softer. --- The Passing Villages The train rolled past ancient villages where time seemed to stand still. You watched from the window as cobblestone streets appeared in the moonlight, old houses with slanted roofs, and church towers with bells that swayed silently against the wind. At one station, only a black cat sat waiting on the platform, its green eyes glowing softly as it watched the train pass by. At another, an old violinist played a tune so quiet that it reached the train as if carried by the night air. The melody was slow, like a cradle song, echoing long after the station faded into the distance. The world outside became slower, as though every village, every hill, every whispering forest was inviting you to leave your worries behind. --- Through the Carpathian Mountains As the train entered the deeper mountains, mist rose between the trees. The forests were thick, their shadows dark and mysterious, but not frightening—rather, they felt protective, like ancient guardians watching over travelers of the night. The train’s steady rhythm guided you further into a dreamlike state. Outside the window, you thought you saw figures carved into the mist—dancers swirling in silence, shadows bowing and fading, and lights that moved like floating lanterns. Perhaps they were tricks of the fog, or perhaps the mountains themselves were telling their timeless stories. The conductor walked by again. “We are entering the quiet hours now,” he said softly. His words were like silk, and every syllable seemed to slow your breath. The lights in the carriage dimmed further. Only the glow of the moon and stars filtered through the window now. The sound of the wheels on the tracks became your lullaby, and soon, you could feel your body sinking deeper into the seat, surrendering to rest. --- A Dream Within the Journey You weren’t sure when exactly you drifted into a dream. Perhaps it was when the mist thickened, or when the violin melody returned in the distance. You found yourself walking through a forest bathed in silver light. Fireflies hovered like tiny lanterns, lighting your path. The air was cool and smelled of pine, and every step felt lighter, as though gravity had softened. You followed the path until it opened into a clearing. There, you saw the train again, waiting silently, but now it stood on tracks that seemed to float in the sky. The stars shimmered like diamonds, and the moon was close enough to touch. Someone called your name—not loudly, not frighteningly, but gently, like a parent calling a child back home. You turned, and there was no one. Only the endless night, beautiful and infinite, inviting you to let go. And then, slowly, the forest faded, and you found yourself back in the train seat, still holding the warmth of chamomile tea in your hands. --- Arrival in Transylvania The conductor returned once more as the train slowed. His voice was barely above a whisper. “We’ve arrived,” he said. Outside the window, the sky was turning pale with dawn. The mountains glowed with the first light of morning, their shadows retreating as golden rays touched their peaks. Villages awoke slowly—chimneys released soft curls of smoke, and distant roosters greeted the day. You stepped off the train, the wooden platform warm beneath your feet despite the cool morning air. The town was calm, peaceful, wrapped in the embrace of history and nature. And though you had reached Transylvania, you realized the true journey was not to this place, but to the rest you had found within yourself. The night train had carried you not only across mountains and valleys but into a space of deep stillness. And as you walked toward the waking village, the words of the conductor lingered in your heart: “Some trains take you places. Others take you to peace.”
By Umar Farooqabout a year ago in Fiction
The Follower
🌿 A short story born from this art… His name was Julian, but he hadn’t felt like Julian in years. He was a construct of light and shadow, of carefully chosen filters and captions that screamed authenticity while being meticulously artificial. His life wasn’t lived; it was curated, broadcasted, and judged by the blue glow of a million tiny screens.
By Prompted Beautyabout a year ago in Fiction
Mind Game
I don't exactly know why or how it happened, but I completely lost my mind. I quit my job as a chef to care for my mother, who had dementia. Maybe that's part of why it happened. She had long since forgotten that she used to call me Bumblebee, for the "Bea" in Beatrice. In fact, she didn't remember me at all. Every day, she thought I was an intruder, even when I showed her pictures of us in happier times.
By Julie Lacksonenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Letter
On a rainy evening in a small Afghan village, the old postman, Rahim, carried a single envelope in his worn-out leather bag. For forty years, he had delivered countless letters—some carrying joy, others heavy with grief. But today’s letter felt different. It was addressed to a name that had long been forgotten in the village: “Amina.”
By Usman Ghaniabout a year ago in Fiction