Mystery
It lives in my head...
"Let's play a game!... I spy something brown and smelly with two eyes and no sense of humor... Tick-tock... Do you give up? It's the piece of shit hiding from us! We know you're in here. Come out come out wherever you are and take your medicine like a bad boy should. I promise it won't hurt. Who am I kidding, I've never been a great liar. That sour taste just won't go away."
By Lamar Wiggins2 years ago in Fiction
Beware of Foxes. Runner-up in 3:00 AM Challenge. Top Story - June 2024.
Night. Moonlight. The sound of padded paws on soft, pale grass. A skulk of foxes, wagging their tails like friendly puppies, emerges from the brush. They come right up to me, as if we've met before.
By PK Colleran2 years ago in Fiction
The Buried Truth
When Grandma died, we were all summoned home for her burial. Despite being 21 years old, I had never met her. My dad had always kept us, his children, away from his mother, a decision that had mystified us for years. I am the only daughter among six siblings, with two older and three younger brothers. Our curiosity about Grandma was persistent. While we frequently visited our maternal grandmother, who lived further away, we were never allowed to see our paternal grandmother, who lived in a nearby city. Our mother eventually revealed that ever since Dad's father died, he had avoided his mother, refusing to visit her or allow us to. She offered no further details, leaving us to speculate. Just as my siblings and I were planning a secret trip to see Grandma, one of our uncles called. I watched my dad answer the phone and hang up, his demeanor unchanged. That night, he gathered us all to announce, without a hint of emotion, that Grandma had died. He informed us we would be attending the burial the following week, spending five days away. Our regret was immediate—we had never met her while she was alive. Arriving at Grandma’s mansion the following week, we were stunned by its grandeur. The street was even named after our grandfather. It was evident that our grandparents had been affluent. I couldn’t understand why Dad had distanced himself from such a privileged background to live a modest life elsewhere. In the large compound, we saw our cousins playing together. We had little relationship with them, as Dad had kept us away from his family. Our arrival felt like an intrusion; all eyes were on us, the family of the estranged son. That evening, we were assigned rooms. I shared a room with Rose, a cousin who had visited us once before with her father, who had tried unsuccessfully to persuade Dad to visit Grandma. For the first time, I saw pictures of my grandparents. They were old photos, and I regretted never knowing Grandma before she passed away. As I lay in bed, I overheard Dad’s siblings confronting him about his long absence and sudden return. The argument was heated, but Dad’s attempts to defend himself were futile. He eventually stormed out, slamming the door. Rose, startled by the noise, revealed she was also awake. As the house quieted, I finally fell asleep, only to find myself in a vivid dream. I was outside the mansion, watching a younger version of my dad with his parents. They had just argued, and Dad had urged them to sleep and discuss things in the morning. Suddenly, a scream pierced the night. Rushing to their room, I saw Grandma holding a knife, bloodied, over Grandpa’s lifeless body. Dad accused her of murder, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Grandma, shocked and confused, denied it, but the sight of her favorite knife in her hand told a different story. Dad packed his bags and left, leaving her devastated. Rose’s call woke me. It was morning, and the sun was already high. The dream haunted me, but I kept it to myself. The next night, the dream repeated. This time, Grandma begged me to believe she hadn’t killed her husband, her eyes filled with tears. I awoke, terrified, and unable to sleep for the rest of the night. The next morning, I confided in Dad. He listened, visibly shaken, and asked me to seek more information if the dream recurred. That night, despite my fear, I fell asleep quickly. The dream returned. Remembering Dad’s request, I asked Grandma what happened after Dad left the room. She wept, then pointed towards a passage. I followed and saw a masked figure fleeing. Catching up, I unmasked him—it was Dad. He confessed, saying he had been drunk and didn’t remember killing his father. Grandma, who knew the truth, had kept silent all these years. I awoke in confusion. The dream suggested Dad had unwittingly killed his own father, a secret he had buried deep. After breakfast, I told Dad about the latest dream. He broke down, finally acknowledging the truth he had long suppressed. He asked me to forget it, and it was the last time I had the dream. At Grandma’s burial, Dad, usually stoic, was the most emotional. His grief was raw, surprising everyone but me. I realized he had finally confronted the buried truth, a secret Grandma had taken to her grave. Now, it was my burden to carry, a hidden truth that would remain with me forever.
By Oluwatosin Tade2 years ago in Fiction
THE SALTLESS HEART
A SALTLESS HEART A Tale of Love and Betrayal In the small town of Havenbrook, everyone knew each other, and secrets were hard to keep. Nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, the town had a quiet charm. But on one cold morning, the town's tranquility was shattered by an unusual discovery.
By deborah agha2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Banana Split
The Last Banana Split D. A. Ratliff My grandmother’s voice echoed as I raced on foot, chasing a car thief along a residential sidewalk. Gram told me to be thankful for something each day. In her honor, I gave thanks that this was a cool February morning in New Orleans and not a hot, humid July morning and kept running.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
The Echoes of Elysium . Content Warning.
Every night, just as the world outside her window succumbed to the quiet embrace of darkness, Emily found herself transported to Elysium, a dreamscape both beguiling and terrifying. It began subtly enough—a soft whisper in her ear, a cool breeze that carried her into a realm of vibrant colors and ethereal beauty. Elysium was a paradise of endless meadows, crystalline rivers, and skies that shifted between hues of pink and gold. But lurking beneath this paradise was a sinister presence, an ominous feeling that grew stronger with each visit. Emily first noticed the dream on her 30th birthday. After blowing out the candles and making a wish for clarity in her turbulent life, she retired to bed. That night, she stepped into Elysium for the first time. She walked through fields of lavender that reached up to her waist, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years. The scent of blooming flowers and the sound of birds singing created a symphony of tranquility. But in the distance, just beyond the horizon, dark clouds loomed, crackling with unseen energy. The recurring dream became a fixture in Emily's life. Night after night, she returned to Elysium, each time venturing a bit further. By day, she was a paralegal in a bustling city, her life a routine of paperwork and muted gray office spaces. By night, she was an explorer in a land of dreams, her senses alive with the wonders of an otherworldly paradise. Yet, the joy of discovery was always marred by the encroaching darkness. Each night, as she wandered through Elysium, she would come across symbols that seemed both familiar and enigmatic. A broken clock with its hands perpetually stuck at midnight. A tree with branches that curled into the shape of a heart, its leaves rustling with secrets. A mirror that reflected not her own image, but a shadowy figure watching her from afar. These symbols haunted her waking hours, as she tried to decipher their meanings and the message they carried. Emily’s daytime reality began to blur with her nighttime journeys. She would catch herself doodling the symbols in the margins of legal documents or spacing out during meetings, her mind wandering back to the fields of lavender and the ominous horizon. Her friends and colleagues noticed the change in her, commenting on her distant gaze and distracted demeanor. She tried to explain the dreams, but how could she convey the intensity and reality of Elysium to those who had never experienced it? Driven by a need to understand, Emily turned to dream analysis. She read books, attended workshops, and even consulted a therapist specializing in lucid dreaming. The broken clock, she learned, symbolized a feeling of being stuck, of time standing still in some aspect of her life. The heart-shaped tree represented a yearning for love and connection, something she had been missing since her last relationship ended abruptly. The shadowy figure in the mirror, however, remained a mystery, its presence both comforting and unsettling. One night, determined to confront the shadowy figure, Emily ventured deeper into Elysium than ever before. The fields gave way to a dense forest, the trees towering above her, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that blocked out the shifting sky. She followed a path lined with the symbols from her dreams, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. At the center of the forest, she found a clearing. In the middle stood an ancient oak tree, its trunk massive and gnarled with age. Before it, the shadowy figure awaited. As she approached, the figure became clearer, its features sharpening into a reflection of herself. Emily gasped as she realized she was staring into her own eyes, but this version of herself was different—stronger, more confident, unburdened by the doubts and fears that plagued her waking life. The shadow-self spoke, her voice a blend of Emily’s and something otherworldly. “You seek answers, but you already hold them within you. Elysium is not just a dream; it is a mirror of your soul. The darkness you fear is the part of yourself you have yet to embrace.” Tears welled in Emily’s eyes as she felt the truth of the words. She had spent so long running from her fears, her insecurities, that she had never taken the time to confront them. The recurring dream was her mind’s way of urging her to face her inner darkness and find balance. With a newfound resolve, Emily reached out and touched the shadow-self’s hand. The moment their fingers met, a surge of energy flowed through her, and the dreamscape of Elysium began to change. The dark clouds receded, the forest filled with light, and the symbols that had once puzzled her now glowed with clarity. She understood their meanings, not just intellectually, but deep within her being. When Emily awoke the next morning, she felt different. The weight that had hung over her for years was gone, replaced by a sense of purpose and peace. She took a deep breath, savoring the crisp morning air, and smiled. The symbols from her dreams no longer haunted her; they guided her. In the days that followed, Emily made significant changes in her life. She pursued her passion for painting, capturing the beauty and mystery of Elysium on canvas. She reconnected with old friends and opened herself up to new relationships. She even began to enjoy her work again, finding meaning in the details she had once overlooked. The recurring dream of Elysium still visited her, but it was no longer a source of fear. It had become a place of reflection and growth, a reminder that the answers she sought were always within her. And as she continued to navigate the delicate balance between light and darkness, Emily knew she was on a path to true self-discovery, guided by the echoes of her dreams.
By Dabasish Pal2 years ago in Fiction
To Dream is to Forget. Content Warning.
"I've dreamed a lot. I'm tired now from dreaming, but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake." - Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Self-Inflicted Fear
Work had been hectic! My whole body was weighed down by exhaustion and hunger as I lazily unlocked the door without calling on my next-door neighbor, Felix, to say 'hi' as I usually would. He must have heard the jingling sound from the bunch of keys as I unlocked my door. The monotonous buzz of office life, mixed with the heavy traffic I had driven through, drained me completely that evening. All I craved was good food and peaceful sleep. Fortunately, I had stored up enough food over the weekend in my small fridge. I hurried to the kitchen, walking as fast as my legs could carry me to microwave some rice. I savored each bite as it filled the gnawing void in my stomach. I could sense the worms in my stomach dancing, excited to be fed at last.
By Oluwatosin Tade2 years ago in Fiction
Behind the Mask
VANCE It was half-past ten when he saw her, this gorgeous woman with a stark air of mystery. Foreign in every way, it almost seemed strange to see her in the city. Not the soft strange like the pistachio and lavender scented candle you’re gifted on your birthday, but the hard kind of strange that made every eye divert in its direction and linger. She wore an oversized hoodie and a ‘black lives matter’ mask to hide her face, but he could still see her freckled cheeks and chuck hazel eyes from his vantage point. The brown heels of her black boots sent echoes across the pavement. The sound waves caught his attention, but her allure drew him in. He continued to watch her as he stood outside smoking a cigarette near the Waffle House on Canal Street. His eyes never wavered as she darted across traffic causing a Black Mazda to slam on their brakes and honk their horn in a long rhythmic screech highlighting their annoyance. The mystery woman didn’t look backward, her attention focused on the Broad Streetcar coming in the near distance. He took a long drag on the end of his cigarette and wondered what a woman like that would be doing out this late in an unfamiliar city alone. So, he decided to follow her.
By Brandie Goff2 years ago in Fiction
The Book and The Lamp. Content Warning.
Neil envied people who say they love sleep. Those who say they see it as a refuge where they can rest and renew safely. For Neil, sleep was never safe. It had always been a noisy, chaotic place. When he was younger, he was plagued with nightmares. For a while, thanks to lousy sleeping patterns that involved staying awake as long as he possibly could and waking up earlier than he should. The dreams he remembered were scarce these days. Until the book and the lamp started haunting him.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Fear on Film: Analyzing What Makes Horror So Scary
Horror films have a unique ability to captivate, terrify, and leave lasting impressions on audiences. But what is it about these films that makes them so effective at scaring us? Let's dive into the psychology and mechanics behind the fear on film and uncover what truly makes horror so scary.
By Alex Romanenko2 years ago in Fiction
