Short Story
The Room That Waited
In a quaint little town, in the misty, rolling hills of Ireland, stood a vast castle-like home. It looked like a mashup of medieval and Victorian-era architecture. The greystone was covered in creeping vines, and the archways and windows were adorned with Victorian-era carvings.
By Carolyn Patton10 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Heard the Shadows
In a quiet valley far from busy cities, there stood a kingdom famous for its beauty but troubled by a strange mystery. Every night, the villagers claimed they heard whispers near the mountains. Some said it was wind. Others said it was the voice of spirits. No one really knew. The king often tried to investigate, but his advisors dismissed everything as superstition.
By Salman Writes10 months ago in Fiction
The King and the Madman
In ancient times, a kind-hearted king ruled over a small kingdom. He meant well, but he wasn’t very wise. This made him restless, because he was always searching for intelligent and capable people who could help his kingdom grow and protect it from enemies. His current advisors only gave long speeches, took their salaries, and offered nothing useful. Their empty suggestions frustrated him.
By Salman Writes10 months ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Attic
I never liked the attic. Even as a child, I felt its weight from below. The narrow stairs creaked when you walked on them, and the door at the top looked older than the house itself. My parents never went up there. Sometimes I heard faint noises scratches, whispers, or maybe just the wind but the room remained a mystery.
By Kashif Wazir10 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 18
Chapter 18 (Chapters 16-18 mainly deal with Sara Bloom Leveling up, choosing a Class, and updating their Character Sheet... Repeatedly. Since scanning through Stats and sheets are not everyone's choice of a good time, these two chapters are kept purposefully short., and can be skipped over if they are not your cup of tea.)
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)10 months ago in Fiction
Silent Walls
I had always known about the room at the end of the hall. My father never spoke of it, and my mother never mentioned it. Even the house seemed to avoid it the light never quite reached the hallway, and the floorboards groaned less near that door. When I was a child, I tried to peek inside, but the door was always locked, the key always missing. Over the years, I stopped asking. Over the years, the room became invisible.
By Kashif Wazir10 months ago in Fiction
The Thursday Murder Society
The "Wellspring Oaks Retirement Village Thursday Book Club" had, for years, been a sedate affair dedicated to gentle historical fiction and benign bestsellers. That changed when sharp-tongued, former literature professor Martha took over as moderator. She introduced them to Dark Academia.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room
I had lived in my grandmother’s old house for six months before I gathered the courage to open the room at the end of the hallway. Every night I walked past it. Every morning I ignored it. The door was always closed, the key always cold, and the air around it always heavier than the rest of the house. My grandmother used to call it “the room that sleeps.” I never asked why. I never wanted to know.
By Kashif Wazir10 months ago in Fiction
CHRISTMASSY. Content Warning.
“Santa, Baby” pumped through the speakers. Though muffled, the notes still rang out through the air. Heavy wooden doors blocked the sound from emitting fully in the space. Then, the doors swung wide open. The sound, crystalline, punctured from a tiny frame. Her voice reverberated nevertheless. She wore a skimpy little elf outfit. Trimmed in red and wearing a skintight gold leotard, Healitha Vanguard shimmied and swayed her way through the song. With absolute confidence and a bit of verve, she used her four foot eleven inch tall self against the six foot three inch tall man relaxed in a huge, comfy leather chair the color of cognac. Men in double-breasted suits and tuxedos chomped on cigars and sipped Scotch. They applauded when Healitha had finished singing.
By Skyler Saunders10 months ago in Fiction
The Victor
Almost there! Dropping back a gear, the engine growls as we labour up the final climb. Stomach knotting, jaw clenching, my hands lock around the leather encased steering wheel. Strains of classical music crescendo as we crest the rise and there it is! In all its glory. Unchanged since that last visit. Exactly as I left it. Indelibly etched in my memory. A gasp escapes from the passenger seat. Always the same… the reaction, the place.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶10 months ago in Fiction
