Microfiction
Arrival
"I had no idea this was here," Bethan says in wonder. "No," Dave says. He likes this space, liked this space. Now, it's going to hold memories of too many bad things. He won't want to come back much in future. He is scanning the area to see if anyone else is here but it is just them, him and Bethan.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
To Honour The Spiral Goddess
Introduction Angie Livingstone is an amazing artist and has provided me with inspiration for many of my stories. To be honest, I look at her work, and think this could keep me going for six months, and she still keeps producing amazing artwork, which you can get from her Etsy store.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 2 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
Thorn
Thorn D. A. Ratliff Marnie hesitated on the path, wondering if she was walking into an Agatha Christie novel. The quaintness of the cottage at the end of the flower-laden walkway was overwhelming. She sucked in a deep breath and, pulling her luggage behind her, continued to the doorway.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Accusation. Top Story - November 2024.
Dave and Bethan walked in the direction of the quarry, Bethan letting Dave lead. "I don't know how you can think that I killed her, Bethan." Dave acknowledged to himself that he's not a great man but he's still reeling from Bethan's accusation.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
The Enchanted Book: A Gateway to Another World
Alex’s journey through a realm of mysteries and riddles, where he learns that the way home lies within himself One night, as "Alex" was walking through the dark forest, he stumbled upon an old, dusty book decorated with glowing golden engravings. Its pages were filled with mysterious symbols in a language he had never seen before. The symbols moved slowly, as if the book were alive. Intrigued by its strange appearance, Alex decided to take it home.
By Tamer saleh2 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
The Gossip
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. What was left of it at least. Could I even call it a river, it looks not much more than a creek within a canyon carved from the monstrous force it once was. But enough of that, that was the bi product of what had been. Dry season after dry season, water becoming sparse, food running low, and tempers high within the walls of the city, let alone the villages about it. The people, they blame her, the queen that is. They say it is her fault the gods have not blessed us with rain, that they do not fill our rivers and lakes, that they do not water our lands and our crops. Maybe they are right... if you believe such things that is.
By Kyle William2 years ago in Fiction
