Short Story
Her Last Room. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge. Top Story - December 2025.
I stand face-to-frontal with this latched door. Somehow, its hold over me is more than the sum of my cerebral parts. The door senses my hesitancy to move beyond it, to cross a threshold, to clasp its cold handle as a first steppingstone. They say the maiden stage of grief is the hardest part.
By Edward Swafford10 months ago in Fiction
The Closed Door
"You let your residednts and your co-workers down." Stepping out of the office, I gave in to my hurt and humiliation. Suppressed tears started to trickle down my cheeks. My hands, which I managed to keep still while I was subjected to my supervisor's tirade, started shaking. Why could I make her not see that it wasn't my intention not to let anyone down? All I wanted was to be spared the hurtful criticism of my colleagues for one night.
By Margaret Draper10 months ago in Fiction
The Lost Room
The wall felt smooth as Alex ran his hands along it. The room was not as it should have been, and yet nothing seemed out of place. The bookshelves were dusty, but no lever on any of them. It was said that the lady of the manor would disappear, and no one could find her spot. It was said that she hid some valuable items from her own family for safety. Yet Alex looked around the ornate room with the plaster ceiling and vibrant wallpaper. It was an old house that no one seemed to find the secret room. Alex looked at the beauty of the room, and yet it lay empty for so long. The walls were smooth, and there was no secret opening. It was a mystery that so many failed to find. The room was a puzzle box that Alex was going to test. The puzzle was the entrance point, and there was no indication yet.
By Sarah Danaher10 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 21
Chapter 21 Sara continued her ever downward trek through tunnels and caverns. Her path was silent, as nothing lived in these tunnels but the Greatworms. And she had not run into a Greatworm in some time. The caverns she had last traveled through looked like a Greatworm had made it’s nest there, but the worm itself was long gone.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)10 months ago in Fiction
Goldfish. Content Warning.
4 pm Miss Lucy and Dr. Singh are letting me visit my house tonight! Normally I get to go home for twelve hours on holidays, and an aide comes with me to monitor my equipment, but today is different. It’s not a holiday, it’s not my birthday, it’s not even the weekend— but I’m going home! Mommy says Lily will be home too even though she goes to college in Iowa. She’s coming home just for me for my special visit. And Daddy says we’re getting my favorite food ever which is Chinese takeout from The Golden Dragon. I never get to eat Chinese in the hospital. The cafeteria is okay… they have ice cream all the time and pizza usually, but never Chinese. I don’t know why. Mommy says to pack my favorite jammies and my stuffed gorilla Nala because tonight, we’re staying up late in our jammies and watching my favorite movie! This is the best day ever.
By Mallory Chileski10 months ago in Fiction
A Message That Appeared on My Phone From the Future
It was a normal Thursday night—or at least, I thought it was. I was scrolling through my phone, half-watching a poorly made horror movie on YouTube, when something strange happened. My screen flickered for a split second, and a notification appeared. Only, it wasn’t from any app I recognized. “From: Unknown” Message: Don’t ignore this. Read carefully. I blinked. My heart skipped. Usually, unknown messages are spam. Or pranks. Or viruses. But this… felt different. Almost… urgent. Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped it. “You are about to make a mistake that will change everything. Stop. Do not go to sleep tonight. Follow the instructions in this message. Your future depends on it.” My first reaction? Laugh. Seriously. My “future depends on a text”? Maybe I was too tired, or maybe the YouTube movie was messing with my mind. But then… the phone buzzed again. “I know you’re laughing. But check the lock on your bedroom door. Now.” I froze. My bedroom door? I hadn’t locked it in months. With trembling fingers, I walked to the door and tried the knob. Locked. Firmly. I spun around. Nobody was there. My parents were asleep downstairs. My younger sister’s room was dark. My dog was snoring on the couch. I checked the phone. The message was gone. For a few minutes, I debated whether I was hallucinating. Sleep deprivation? Anxiety? A prank? But then… the phone buzzed again. “Open the drawer under your bed. You’ll find a black envelope. Inside: instructions.” I glanced under the bed. Heart hammering, I reached down. There it was—a black envelope, perfectly sealed. No note had been there before. No one in my family knew about it. With trembling hands, I opened it. Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a small USB drive. The paper had a single instruction written in neat, sharp handwriting: “Plug the USB into your computer. Follow the file named ‘NOW.’” I obeyed. My hands shook as I plugged the USB into my laptop. There was one file. No folder names. One file: NOW.exe I hesitated. My brain screamed not to. But my curiosity won. I double-clicked. The screen went black for a second, then flickered. A face appeared. Male. Older. But familiar. My own face. “Hello,” the face said, in my own voice. “I’m you. From… 7 years in the future. You have to listen carefully. Everything you know about your life is about to change. And it starts tonight.” I dropped the mouse. My heart raced so fast I thought I might pass out. “Who… what?” I stammered. “Listen,” the future me said. “Seven years from now, you make a decision that ruins everything. I don’t want to say too much—you’ll panic—but tonight, you have a chance to prevent it. There’s a key under your bookshelf. Take it. Go outside. You’ll know where to go. Trust me.” I laughed nervously. My future self? My phone? This had to be some prank… but the black envelope, the USB—everything pointed otherwise. I found the key. Old, rusty, with the initials “J.M.” etched on it. Who even owned a key like that? My hands shook as I opened the front door. The night was quiet. Too quiet. The air smelled faintly metallic. Then I saw it. A small hatch, hidden behind the garden bush I’d never noticed. The key fit perfectly. I turned it. A low creak echoed into the night. Inside was a tiny room. Strange machines hummed softly. Screens glowed with graphs and images of my neighborhood. Maps of streets, houses, even my room. On a chair was a note: “Do what you must. Every second counts.” I stepped inside. The room’s temperature dropped, but I kept going. On one table was a phone—my phone, but older. Messages were open. One from me, dated 7 years from now: “I’m sorry. I tried to warn you, but it’s too late.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. If this message had reached me tonight, I could prevent something catastrophic. But what? Then, the future me appeared again—no longer on screen, but standing there. Older, worn, exhausted. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t ignore the message. Trust yourself. Make the choice you’re scared to make. That’s all I can tell you.” Before I could ask anything else, he vanished. The machines powered down. The room disappeared. I was standing in my garden again. The phone buzzed one final time: “You did it. Or at least… you will.” I sat down on the grass, trying to calm my racing heart. My phone never buzzed again. The USB was gone. The envelope was gone. The hatch? Closed, invisible. And yet… I knew I hadn’t imagined any of it. Tonight, a message came from the future. And I realized: sometimes, the universe finds a way to give you a second chance—if you’re brave enough to take it.
By Muhammad Reyaz10 months ago in Fiction
True Peace for Soldiers
Old white men, they were, their bodies a rolling landscape of skin pulled tight and fallen loose. Pockmarked with moles and freckles, splotches of red, white, blue, and green, colors and shapes that hide behind the skin and fat of younger men. When they smiled, their eyes would become lost in the wrinkles and cracks of their brow.
By Devang Vashistha10 months ago in Fiction
Don't Tell Him. Top Story - December 2025. Content Warning.
“I took my gun and vanished...” - The Partisan, as sung by Leonard Cohen -0- Dear mom, I’m sorry that you have to hear about my going in any way but from my own lips. If I had waited to tell you, if I had waited until you awoke, you might have talked me out of it. Talked some sense into my damned fool head, made me stay at home. Stay where I would be warm and safe and fed.
By Alexander McEvoy10 months ago in Fiction
