Humor
The Old River Road
The Old River Road: A Journey into Darkness Old River Road had always been a place of fear after nightfall. The rumors never stopped—whispers about kidnappings, strange disappearances, and something sinister lurking in the dark. The silence of the road was suffocating, like it swallowed up all sound. It was as if anyone brave—or foolish—enough to walk it would be at the mercy of something far worse than they could imagine. That evening, around 8 pm, Tommy and I were making our way home. Our friend Thomas had begged us to stay the night at his house, advising us to leave in the morning for our safety. "It’s safer," he had warned, but Tommy was quick to dismiss his advice, insisting that we’d be fine. We had walked that road countless times before. Still, as we stepped into the darkness, a sense of unease gnawed at me, one I couldn’t shake. The road stretched out in front of us, flanked by half-finished buildings and thick, looming bushes. I had walked this path many times, but tonight felt different. It wasn’t just the deepening night—it was the air. It felt too still, too heavy, as though the world itself was holding its breath. "Quiet, isn’t it?" Tommy’s voice broke through the silence, but there was a sharpness in it I hadn’t heard before. I nodded, though I didn’t say anything. We kept walking, our footsteps echoing in the stillness. The further we went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as if the road itself was alive, squeezing tighter with each step. Suddenly, from the bushes, a faint rustling sound broke through the silence. My heart skipped a beat. "Did you hear that?" I asked, glancing nervously at Tommy. He smirked, a strange and unsettling grin. "Relax," he said with a calmness that felt too forced. "It’s just the wind." But I wasn’t so sure. Something was off tonight—something more dangerous than the tales of the road could explain. My eyes flickered toward the dark windows of the unfinished buildings. They seemed to be watching, waiting. "Maybe Thomas was right," I muttered under my breath. Tommy chuckled lowly. "He’s always overreacting," he said, his smile widening. But there was something colder about that smile, something unsettling. A chill ran down my spine. I quickened my pace, eager to get home, but the rustling returned, louder this time, closer, like someone—or something—was watching us. I froze. "Tommy, did you hear that?" He stopped, but instead of looking concerned, his face turned dark. His eyes glinted with an expression I couldn’t quite place. "It’s time you knew the truth," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper. "What do you mean?" My heart raced, dread creeping up my throat. Tommy turned fully to face me now, his earlier smirk replaced by something far colder, far more calculated. "This road isn’t dangerous because of the rumors, or the kidnappings, or the disappearances," he said slowly. "It’s dangerous because I made it that way." I stared at him, speechless. "What are you talking about?" "I control this road," he said, his voice chillingly calm. "The disappearances, the fear, the stories—they all started with me. This road is my domain. My playground." I stumbled backward, my mind struggling to comprehend his words. "That’s impossible." "Oh, but it’s not," Tommy said, taking a step closer. His eyes gleamed with something dark. "You’ve passed through here many times, but tonight is different. Tonight, you’re not just passing through." Panic surged within me. "What do you mean? Why—?" Before I could finish, the air around us seemed to change. It grew colder, darker. Shadows crawled out from the bushes, twisting unnaturally, as if they were responding to Tommy’s every word. My breath caught in my throat. "You see," Tommy continued, his voice smooth and steady, "the road answers to me. It takes whatever I want it to take and lets go of whatever I choose. It’s been mine for years. I’m the reason no one comes here after dark." I took another step back, my legs trembling beneath me. "Why are you telling me this?" Tommy’s smile was icy, and it sent a wave of terror through me. "Because tonight, I’m done hiding. And, unfortunately for you, you’re not leaving." The shadows around us pulsed with his words, closing in like a living, breathing entity. I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The darkness closed in on me, and the last thing I saw was Tommy’s cold, victorious smile. He had been the real danger all along. The road had never just been a road. It was Tommy’s. And tonight, it had claimed me too.
By Muhammad Waseem 2 years ago in Fiction
Worth More Than A Halfpence
Hajime perched on the castle parapet. Above him were two hawks; as soon as he took flight they would be upon him, and he would be a small lunch for one of them. He had to move, and quickly: He could hear guards coming up the stairs and they had been ordered to kill anything they found, especially sparrows. He chuckled to himself: I sort of asked for that one. Someone had seen him enter the treasure vault as a teenage boy and exit as a sparrow. Bloody Shapers Guild should have remained secret; now they were looking for us shifters everywhere. He had snatched the ruby; now he just had to escape.
By Jamais Jochim2 years ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Queen: The First Chronicle
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Pandemonium ensued. "It is an ill omen!" the people cried, wailing and wringing their hands in fear. And quite rightly, as never mind the superstitious implications of sinister powers at work and things being awry in the world, made manifest in nature's reversal, the river's flow change posed problems, as it was a practical nightmare.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
She married the Ghost
It was a misty autumn evening in the town of Willowbrook, a place where ancient legends hung in the air like otherworldly whispers. Clara Evans has always been a dreamer who believed more in stories than the mundane routines of life. She loved mystery novels, old folklore and stories about the supernatural. Little did she know that her life would soon become a story that would be whispered about for generations. Mysterious stranger Clara recently moved into an old Victorian house left to her by a distant aunt she barely knew. The house had a special charm—a grand staircase that creaked with every step, stained-glass windows that filtered the sunlight into brilliant colors, and a garden overgrown with wild roses. As she settled in, strange things began to happen. Footsteps echoed through the empty corridors at midnight, faint laughter came from rooms she had yet to explore, and occasionally the scent of rose and musk wafted through the air with no clear source. One evening, as she sat reading by candlelight, she heard a soft knock at the door. She opened it to find a man standing there, bathed in the dim glow of her candle. He had a sharp, handsome face with piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold centuries of secrets. "Good evening, Miss Evans," he greeted her with a slight bow. “I'm Christopher Sterling. I hope I'm not disturbing you?" Clara was taken aback, but something about him was strangely familiar, as if they knew each other from another time. “I… uh… No, not at all,” she stammered. "Please come in." Christopher's voice held charm when they spoke, even though he didn't say much about himself. But there was something terrifying about him. He never seemed to blink and the air around him was always cold no matter how warm the room was. Still, Clara found herself captivated by his presence, feeling as if she were in the presence of a prince from an ancient tale. Unexpected romance The days turned into weeks and Clara grew fond of Christopher's visits. He appeared out of nowhere, often late at night, and just as quickly disappeared without a trace. They shared stories and dreams and she felt herself falling in love with this mysterious man. Despite his ghostly nature, she couldn't help but wish he was real. She had never known such intense feelings. Then one night, in the light of the full moon, Christopher knelt before her and took her hand. "Clara," he said softly, "I've come to love you more than I can say." But my existence is bound to this house; I can never leave it.” Clara felt her heart skip a beat. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not like you, Clara," he replied with a look full of sadness. “I am a spirit, trapped between worlds, cursed to roam this house forever. My love for you is pure, but it cannot change who I am.” Despite his confession, Clara found herself saying, “Then marry me, Christopher. If I can't be with anyone else, let me be yours, even if it's just in this house." An unforgettable wedding The next evening, Clara and Christopher exchanged vows in a candlelit room filled with shadows. She wore her aunt's vintage lace dress and he appeared in a dark suit that seemed to have been woven from the night itself. There were no guests, only whispers of the past that filled the air. As she took his hand, she felt a chill seep into her skin, yet her heart burned with a strange happiness. The night was perfect and they spent hours dancing and laughing like they had all the time in the world. The Climax: The Curse Unleashed But with the dawn came the consequence of their forbidden union. The clock struck midnight and the house suddenly began to shake. The walls groaned and a ghostly voice echoed from deep inside the house. "No one can break the curse," it hissed, sending a chill down Clara's spine. Christopher paled. “Clara, I… I should have told you. This house has long been cursed by a vengeful spirit, and no living soul can remain here without being consumed by its wrath.” "Here we go!" Clara cried out and grabbed his arm. But Christopher shook his head sadly. "I cannot, Clara. My spirit is bound to this house." Clara tried to hold him close in a rush of emotion, but he began to fade away, his form becoming translucent. “You have to go before it's too late love. I'd rather last eternity alone than see you hurt,” he whispered in a barely audible voice. With tears streaming down her face, Clara ran out of the house and felt his cold grip loosen as she made it to the outside world. Conclusion: The Memory Lingers Clara returned to the house the next morning, but there was no sign of Christopher. The rooms were empty, as if the life had been drained from them. She searched every corner, calling his name, but there was only silence. Finally, Clara left Willowbrook, carrying with her the memory of her ghostly love. She never married and people often whispered about a strange woman who once married a ghost. Some called her crazy, others pitied her. But Clara knew the truth—she loved deeply, even if it was for a brief, haunting moment. A few years later, a young couple moved into the old Victorian house. Sometime late at night they heard soft footsteps and faint laughter and the scent of rose and musk filled the air. They thought it was the wind or maybe a trick of the mind. But Clara knew Christopher was still there waiting for her, forever bound to the house they once shared.
By Muhammad Waseem 2 years ago in Fiction
It doesn't even call itself a warrior
Zyrrak watched as the shuttle touched down on the landing pad. As a Xenopsychologist he had been tasked with studying the footage of a colony from some new primitive species that had been discovered. Though primitive was relative, these creatures had achieved spaceflight and even some basic form of FTL but compared to the Qrixol Empire primitive was still an apt description. The chance to study a new species was rare, and to have one’s name attached to a new slave species even more so as most species weren’t even worthy of that honour.
By sagar dhital2 years ago in Fiction
Shattered Hearts
Teá Gardner had always known her feelings for Seto Kaiba were a long shot. He was cold, calculating, and often seemed too distant for anyone to reach. But there was something about him, a spark beneath that icy exterior, that drew her in. She couldn’t shake the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on.
By The Kind Quill2 years ago in Fiction
"Three Comrades" by Erich Maria Remarque
A student answers a literature exam question: Erich, Maria, and Remarque are legendary co-authors who made a tremendous contribution to the world literature. Their novel "Three Comrades" is an autobiographical work that tells us about how this brilliant creative triumvirate came to be. Historians claim that both Erich and Remarque were simultaneously deeply in love with Maria. Thus, in addition to their collaborative writing, the authors were involved in a love triangle. Perhaps it is precisely because of their personal entanglement that the works of Remarque, Erich, and Maria are filled with profound insights into human nature and life wisdom.
By Lana V Lynx2 years ago in Fiction
