Short Story
The Chair That Wouldn’t Stay Still:. AI-Generated.
It started out as some thing small, something clean to push aside. every evening, just after midnight, the wooden chair inside the living room shifted. at the start, it become a faint scrape, the sound of its legs dragging slightly across the floor. The own family idea it was the wind damn the home windows, or possibly the vibrations of passing vehicles. but the chair stored moving.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
Forgotten. Top Story - November 2025. Content Warning.
I used to be one of those people who could sleep through a rock concert. About a month ago, I started waking every night between midnight and 2:00 with a sense of foreboding – sometimes outright fear. I didn’t dream, I just had feelings.
By Julie Lacksonen10 months ago in Fiction
Doctor's Orders
Donna was walking along past the same houses and shops she always walked past on her way home from work. She was in a good mood, as she had recently discovered she was due a promotion. Nothing was out of the ordinary until she was drawn rather magnetically towards a strange and uncanny door. What made it uncanny? She was unsure, but it felt decidedly "off." Not least of all because she had never seen it before.
By Paul Stewart10 months ago in Fiction
Complicit. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
Forsaken, I am but a memory — dilapidated, some say; laid to rest in history’s mausoleum. The dank air, my only companion. My entrance has forgotten the prelude of hands, the act of tactility — a spinster’s malediction.
By Paul Stewart10 months ago in Fiction
The Lost Season
Arthur’s Law was simple: a great photograph is not found, it is forged in the crucible of preparation. For Elara, a self-proclaimed "Leaf Peeper," this meant a military-grade itinerary. Her autumn pilgrimage to the Crimson Peaks was scheduled down to the minute: 5:47 AM sunrise at Eagle’s Point, 10:15 AM the golden glow on the Aspen Grove, 3:30 PM the fiery maples of Hemlock Ravine. She moved through the world with a tripod over her shoulder and a ticking clock in her head.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
Cold Storage
The houses on Old Tanner Drive were some of the oldest homes in the city. It seemed they really knew how to build back then. They survived the earthquake of 1922, the blizzard of 1935, and the hurricane of 1947. While these three disasters nearly decimated the town, the five houses on Old Tanner Drive remained completely unharmed—not even a shingle was lost.
By David E. Perry10 months ago in Fiction
The Last Class:. AI-Generated.
The Class room become unusually quiet that morning. The form of silence that presses in opposition to the partitions, heavy and unyielding, as if the air itself refuses to transport. college students shuffled in, their eyes darting in the direction of the clock, closer to each other, in the direction of me — however in no way in the direction of the blackboard.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
Tomorow's Song. AI-Generated.
The night time become stressed. Rain tapped against the window like a secret code, each drop echoing within the hole room. A unmarried candle burned at the table, its flame trembling as although it carried the burden of 1000 unanswered questions.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
Silent Sun:. AI-Generated.
The morning began like another inside the coastal town of Miran. Fishermen organized their nets, youngsters rushed to high school, and the elderly sat out of doors their houses sipping tea. yet, because the solar rose, something felt incorrect. Its glow turned into muted, light, as though wrapped in a veil. The townspeople squinted on the horizon, whispering to each other. The sun turned into there, however it become silent—its warm temperature absent, its brilliance stolen.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room
The Forgotten Room The first thing they take from you is your voice. “From now, until the end of the retreat,” the teacher says, “no speaking. No reading. No phones. No writing. No eye contact if you can avoid it. For ten days, you will live only with yourselves.”
By Lori Burchmann10 months ago in Fiction
Bleeding Tree
In the mornings, sunlight would enter my window at an angle that cast large shadows of toys on the floor. The long shadow arms of the action figures reminded me of orangutans. I didn’t see any shadows that day, because my dad didn’t wake me up at the usual time. In fact, he didn’t wake me up at all. Instead, my growling stomach did, and so I went looking for him. He’d been making me breakfast for the past two years since Mom got taken away. Sure, I was old enough to make my own, but his just tasted better.
By Melodramatic Maladies of the Mystical Mind10 months ago in Fiction
