Short Story
Something Is Playing Down Rutledge Street
The storm had swallowed the whole town by ten o'clock, and by midnight it had swallowed every sound that dared remain. I sat alone in my grandmother's old house on Rutledge Street, the house she left me when she died, and listened as the walls groaned beneath gusts that seemed bent upon tearing the roof from its timbers. Snow had fallen for two days, piling against the doorway until I could scarcely force it open that morning, while the street outside lay buried beneath drifts tall enough to swallow a wagon whole. It was the coldest January the county had known in decades, a bitter cold that cracked pipes, stopped watches, and settled into the marrow the instant a soul ventured outdoors, and I had resigned myself to a long, sleepless vigil staring into the darkness until some final blast ended the electricity altogether.
By Nolan Reed7 days ago in Fiction
Who are you?
You woke up unusually early today and decided to go for a walk. So you got out of bed, got dressed, and stepped out of your hotel. You really were looking forward to this—it felt like your first vacation since forever. You were so busy with work that you almost burned out. You loved your job, but you needed a break. Since you knew you deserved a break, you decided to go with a spontaneous trip to a random place a few hundred miles from your hometown. It seemed like a good idea. After all, you didn't want to end up getting back to work after one day of rest. You managed to find a place that was just perfect for some me time. No rush, just you and nature. Luckily, there was a hotel nearby the spot you spotted. Your hotel was located in a beautiful spot surrounded by blooming trees and huge green parks with benches here and there, with the sun sneaking between the trees, hitting the grass and making it look like a slice of heaven. You were amazed how something so simple could be so beautiful. As you kept walking, you passed a few buildings. It was hard to say if anyone lived in them or not, but you didn't think much about it at the time.
By Joanna Golczynska8 days ago in Fiction
The Seventh Door
You come to the house because a stranger has told you that one of its doors will be open. You have no reason to trust him, and yet you find yourself following his instructions as though you had been given them before. You have already forgotten his face. What remains is his voice, with its strange certainty, and the impression that he had been waiting for you. Below, the party goes on from room to room, with laughter, music, glasses raised in the air, voices speaking over one another. You climb the stairs, and the sounds below grow fainter, although you know the people are still there.
By Nolan Reed8 days ago in Fiction
The Rocking Chair Rocked Back and Forth. Top Story - September 2026.
I can’t remember if I told you, but I was kind of raised by my great aunt Helena. I had parents that loved and cared about me; they wanted to give me a life they didn’t have growing up which meant sacrificing some of their time for day jobs. This meant that they weren’t about to pass up free day care.
By Amos Glade8 days ago in Fiction
Trick Or Treat
Geneva smiled as she inhaled the heavy scent of lavender and eucalyptus floating through her living room. As the senior massage therapist at Serendipity Spa, she was used to spending fifty hours a week kneading out the knotted shoulders of stressed out people. Most recently, her schedule had been overflowing with an endless flow of Valentine's Day couples.
By Sara Wilson9 days ago in Fiction
Out of Season. Content Warning.
My mother used a knife for her eggs again.Not the edge of it, exactly. Not like she meant to cut them. She held it the way a person might hold a fork if forks had never been invented, pinched between her fingers, silver flashing beneath the kitchen light. The yolk had broken across the plate and pooled into the toast.
By Lauren Connolly9 days ago in Fiction
Forty-One
You punch the four digits into the pad by the door, and it answers with the small beep you have heard from your phone a hundred times, and the lock gives before you can second-guess yourself. Reyna gave you the code twice over text, once as a joke about trusting you with nuclear codes before she would trust you with her plants, and you laughed and saved it in your notes so you would never scroll back through the conversation again.
By Nolan Reed10 days ago in Fiction
