Series
File 1: Lydia – The Vanity Mother
Hey, everyone. As the spooky month of October approaches in 2025, I decided to do a countdown of my favorite creepy and disturbing theories I have about ghosts from the Nintendo game Luigi’s Mansion. I know I jumped the gun on this, and it is now late into October, but hey, I live for the creeps and scares.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
TUS NUA - ch 35
TUS NUA – ch 35 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) Mia looked around and realized that between Finola, Dara, and Tauri, Tus Nua was under control. Or at least until the next crisis. And yet, something seemed to be nagging at her intuition. “Can’t put my finger on it,” she thought.
By Margaret Brennanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Prayer of Rahim
There’s a small village at the edge of nowhere — the kind of place where time moves slowly, and people remember everything. That’s where Rahim lived. He wasn’t always sick. Once, he was the strongest man in the village — the kind who carried bricks all day and still helped his neighbors fix their roofs before sunset. People used to call him “Bhai Rahim — the man with a heart bigger than his hands.” But life has a strange way of testing the kindest souls. A few years ago, an illness crept into Rahim’s body. At first, it was just pain — something he could hide behind his smile. Then came the swelling, the weakness, the nights of burning fever. Doctors called it incurable. Rahim just called it “Allah’s test.” His house was small — two rooms and a wooden door that always creaked. Every morning, before the sun climbed over the rooftops, he would spread his prayer mat and whisper the same words: >Ya Allah… give me patience, not comfort. Give me strength, not ease.” The neighbors would hear his voice through the thin walls. Some pitied him. Others just shook their heads and said, “He won’t live long.” But Rahim always smiled when he heard that. “I’ve already lived longer than despair,” he’d say softly. -- One cloudy afternoon, a traveler named Saeed arrived in the village. He wasn’t looking for Rahim — he was just passing through, tired and lonely, searching for something he couldn’t name. Someone at the tea stall told him about “the sick man who prays for others.” Curious, Saeed went to find him. When he reached Rahim’s home, the sight stopped him cold. Rahim was sitting on a thin mattress by the door. His body looked fragile, but his eyes — those eyes had light. He wasn’t praying for healing; he was praying for gratitude. Saeed sat quietly beside him. Neither spoke for a while. The sound of their breathing filled the silence between prayers. Finally, Rahim opened his eyes and smiled. “Brother, you look troubled,” he said softly. Saeed’s eyes were wet. “I came to see you, but now I don’t know what to say. I feel helpless.” Rahim chuckled faintly — a dry, gentle sound. “Don’t be. Pain is not always a punishment. Sometimes it’s a reminder… that we still belong to Him.” -Saeed took out a bundle of money, hands trembling. “Please, take this,” he said. “Use it for medicine, for care… for anything.” Rahim looked at it for a moment, then closed Saeed’s hand around it again. “Brother, money can fix a body, but not a heart. And my heart is fine.” Saeed couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. “What can I do then?” he asked. “Pray with me,” Rahim whispered. “That’s all I ever need.” So they sat together — two strangers who suddenly felt like brothers. Their hands lifted, voices low but full of meaning. “Ya Allah, forgive us when we forget to be grateful. Forgive us when we fear pain more than we fear losing faith. And when we suffer, let us remember — You never test without purpose.” The air grew still. Even the birds seemed to listen. Saeed could feel the weight of those words settle deep inside his chest. Rahim’s hands slowly dropped to his lap. His eyes stayed open, but something changed — a softness came over him. He whispered one last time, barely audible: “Tell the world… I wasn’t waiting for death. I was waiting to meet the One who gave me life.” And then, silence. Complete, peaceful silence. The azaan began to echo from the nearby mosque. Saeed sat there, motionless, tears falling one by one. He wasn’t crying out of pity anymore — he was crying because he’d just seen what faith truly looked like. Before leaving, he looked around the little courtyard. There was no wealth, no comfort, no sign of healing. Yet somehow, Rahim had everything Saeed had been searching for — peace. When Saeed walked back to the main road, the evening light touched the village roofs. He whispered to himself: "He healed me, even as he was dying.” And from that day on, wherever Saeed went, he carried Rahim’s prayer in his heart — a prayer that wasn’t just about pain or faith, but about finding light in the darkest corners of life. Moral / Reflection: Some people leave this world without fame or fortune, but they leave behind something far greater — a lesson that faith can turn suffering into strength, and sorrow into peace.
By Vocal Member about a year ago in Fiction
The Holy American Empire
The air in Panama City hung heavy with humidity and unease. The skyline glittered just beyond the tinted windows of the presidential palace, but inside, beneath the sterile glow of the conference hall lights, the atmosphere was taut with fear.
By Logan M. Snyderabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes of Solace
The knock came just after midnight. Three sharp, deliberate ramps that echoed through the apartment like a warning. I froze, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, heart hammering. No one should be here. Not at this hour. Not in my building.
By Marlowe Solaceabout a year ago in Fiction
The Bracken Will Wither
What happens when the looking eye notices you? That was a question Donald Finnegan asked himself as he was transfixed, bent over the door to the old cellar of the bar, where a saline-dripping, large iris looked from side to side before focusing on him. Salt crusted the handle as a thin layer of sea mist rose from under the door. As he knew full well the door led to nothing but an old, unused storeroom and then the thick back wall of the bar, he put it down to the whisky. He fell backwards, turned away, and ignored it. Daft bastard.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
The Holy American Empire
The chamber of the United Nations stood silent. Delegates from every corner of the globe filled the room, their expressions taut with unease. The air itself seemed to bend under the weight of anticipation. At the center, under the seal of the world, the man who had shattered it rose from his chair.
By Logan M. Snyderabout a year ago in Fiction
Three Knocks in the French Quarter
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! A pounding at the door cut through the dim and quiet café at the corner of Decatur Street like a rusted knife. The lights were low with the CLOSED sign facing outward, but in a few hours, the café would be bustling with regulars and tourists alike. Margaux Lumiere was grateful her café dreams were a success, but these quiet moments baking pastries in the kitchen were the ones she cherished most. She had been humming along to the soft sounds of Edith Piaf as she rolled out the laminated dough for her famous croissants.
By All’s Fair in Love & Writingabout a year ago in Fiction
