Series

Jill Manor, Part II: Reclamation
The rain pelted over the grassy cliff in sick and twisted drops of icy doubt. It did not fall calmly or with an ounce of love. It hung in the air, cold, deafening, and eternal, like a shroud of impending death blurring the lines between earth and sky the way her kisses melted his being and pulled him back through time to a place he had never been, but couldn’t leave. Not even in death.
By K.H. Obergfoll5 months ago in Fiction
The Town Where Nobody Ages
The Town That Shouldn't Exist I first heard about Blackridge from a retired journalist who refused to discuss it on record. We were sitting in a quiet café when he mentioned a town hidden deep within the mountains, a place that didn't appear on most maps and rarely welcomed outsiders. According to him, the town had remained unchanged for more than seventy years. Buildings never seemed to deteriorate. Businesses stayed open under the same owners. Most disturbing of all, nobody who lived there appeared to grow older.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
The Locked Room With No Exit
The Room Nobody Could Explain The first reports sounded impossible. A man named Victor Hale was found trapped inside a room with no doors, no windows, and no visible exit. The room itself was discovered beneath an abandoned hotel scheduled for demolition on the outskirts of the city. Construction workers had accidentally broken through a hidden wall and uncovered a chamber that wasn't shown on any blueprint. At first, everyone assumed it was some forgotten storage space. Then they found Victor sitting alone in the center of the room, terrified and dehydrated.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
A Diary That Predicts Murders Before They Happen
The Strange Purchase I never intended to buy the diary. On a rainy afternoon, I wandered into a small antique shop tucked away in one of the oldest parts of the city. The place smelled of dust, old paper, and forgotten stories. Shelves were crowded with items that looked as though they hadn't been touched in decades. While browsing, I noticed a black leather diary resting inside a locked glass cabinet. Unlike everything around it, the diary seemed oddly preserved. Its cover was smooth, its pages appeared untouched, and a silver symbol was engraved on the front. The shop owner sold it to me for almost nothing. Looking back, I often wonder whether he knew exactly what he was getting rid of.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
A Diary That Predicts Murders Before They Happen
The Diary in the Antique Shop I found the diary on a rainy Saturday afternoon while exploring a forgotten antique shop hidden between two abandoned buildings. The store was cluttered with dusty furniture, old clocks, and shelves packed with items that looked untouched for decades. I wasn't searching for anything specific until I noticed a black leather-bound diary resting alone inside a glass cabinet. Its cover was plain except for a single silver symbol engraved in the center. Something about it felt strangely out of place. Curious, I purchased it for twenty dollars and took it home.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
A New Face. Top Story - June 2026.
Everyone’s smiling at me, but they all have tears in their eyes. They’re trying not to let on that they’re scared shitless. Why? Is it supposed to make me feel better? It’s not working. I feel sick. Maybe that’s just the motion of the trolley, the ceiling whooshing past above me.
By L.C. Schäfer5 months ago in Fiction
People Started Receiving a Score Above Their Heads
The Numbers Appear Nobody knew exactly when it began. One ordinary Monday morning, people around the world woke up and discovered glowing numbers floating above their heads. The numbers hovered several inches above each person, visible to everyone but impossible to touch. They appeared in every country simultaneously, regardless of age, wealth, or social status. Some people had scores in the hundreds. Others had scores in the thousands. News channels interrupted regular broadcasts within minutes as confusion spread across the globe. Scientists searched for explanations while social media exploded with photographs and videos. Yet no one could explain what the numbers meant.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
The Ghosts of a Forgotten Town Part 2
That’s about when everyone’s nightmares started. No, I mean, real nightmares. None of us could articulate them, but it felt like doom was hanging over the town. You know those things they show on videos, those tidal waves? That point where it’s hovering over some sleepy seaside town, poised to strike, but the slide hasn’t started yet, there’s no downhill momentum. Yet.
By Meredith Harmon5 months ago in Fiction
The Rescue
Henry clutched the boy to his chest, as he made his way down the staircases with Roy, who was ahead of him. This plan actually worked out for the three of them, and he didn't know what the hell to expect once they got out of here. Even if they make it through the hotel, the one thing they did not discuss was how they were going to get off the island in the first place.
By Emy Quinn5 months ago in Fiction
A Better Way
"If you look far enough back," the boy said, selecting each word like a stone picked to wound, "you'll see that the distance you walk home from your office every evening amounts to nothing gained for me. You grow tired, perhaps, but for me, the very act of scrambling after people, begging, is what confirms I am still alive." ‎ ‎Mr. Hayes said nothing. He walked the same path every evening, from office to home, through this settlement, past the mountains of garbage beside which some patch of earth had been scraped clean and called a football ground. He spent considerable time here most days, watching clusters of boys play. ‎ ‎"You could find something better than this," Mr. Hayes said, without looking at him. "Better than begging. Sell something, anything. Without the grovelling." ‎ ‎"I could sell something?" Ethan asked, with a curiosity that surprised even himself. Mr. Hayes had never given him anything beyond a handful of coins. A piece of advice was something altogether new. "But what?" ‎ ‎A little further along, Mr. Hayes settled into his usual spot and fixed his gaze on the boys playing ahead. Ethan sat beside him. ‎ ‎"I've never seen you play," Mr. Hayes said. "Do you?" ‎ ‎"You know why they play?" Ethan replied, watching the field. "Because they believe, they genuinely believe, that one day they'll appear in a stadium full of people watching them. So for them, this is practice." ‎ ‎"And for you?" Mr. Hayes murmured. ‎ ‎"Nothing." ‎ ‎"What can you do?" ‎ ‎"Aside from what I'm already doing, hardly anything, I suppose." ‎ ‎Both remained silent for a while. Mr. Hayes handed Ethan whatever food remained from his day. The boy ate without hesitation. Across the ground, one of the playing boys glanced over, stared for a moment, then turned back to the game. ‎ ‎"You were saying that I could sell something?" Ethan asked, still eating. ‎ ‎"Yes, of course. You could be a salesman." ‎ ‎"A salesman??" The boy laughed. ‎ ‎"I think you'd do better at it than at anything else," Mr. Hayes said. ‎ ‎He lit a cigarette, took one slow drag, and passed it sideways to Ethan, which was, in truth, one of the principal reasons Ethan kept close to him at all. ‎ ‎"What am I supposed to sell?" he asked. ‎ ‎"Poison," said Mr. Hayes, with a quiet smile. ‎ ‎He reached into his bag and produced a small white packet, pressing it into Ethan's hand. "Anyone will take this from you. Easier than selling groceries." ‎ ‎He rose and walked away. ‎ ‎Ethan turned the white packet over and over in his fingers, examining it carefully. He trusted Mr. Hayes. And sheltered within the shadow of that trust, he allowed himself to think, perhaps this was it. Perhaps what he had been handed was a white packet of hope.
By Karan w. 5 months ago in Fiction
The Ghosts of a Forgotten Town Part 1
We were eating at the back of the diner when it all started. And by “diner,” I mean the six tables in the back of the grocer’s. You can even shop, pay for your ingredients, and hand them off to the cook, and she’ll whip something up for you. It’s a nice change from your own cooking, or your Ma’s cooking. Or, in the McAllister’s case, your Da’s cooking.
By Meredith Harmon5 months ago in Fiction
First day
Celine kept her arm around me while she lead me down the long hallway. After a minute or so she opened a door to the right. Leading the way inside I saw a sewing machine, fabric, boxes with clothes, and a wooden room divider against the wall. "I'll need to take your measurements and it would be best without the blanket", Celine said. Shocked I flinched at the thought of removing the blanket.
By Lucy Torralba5 months ago in Fiction