Short Story

Null Hypothesis . Winner in A Knock at the Door Challenge. Content Warning.
Boom! He stops— stops peeling his skin and lets his head swivel in the lonesome dark, towards the noise. It came from the varied wall, directly below the pale green dot. But the dot is still as always, it has always been there and it has never moved-- the dot is constant and eternal.
By Sam Spinelli12 months ago in Fiction
The Ride Home. Top Story - October 2025.
YouTube Audio Version I put the top down for the ride home. I wanted to hear the engine rev up, shift gears, and rev up again. I wanted to see the tree’s branches swaying with the wind as I rode under them. I wanted to feel the cool air swirl around the car and chill the back of my neck. I wanted to smell the leaves burning. But, most of all, I wanted to clear my mind and think about what Frank had told me at work.
By Steve Lance12 months ago in Fiction
The Lost Cellar
Dr. Nathan Kim had once believed medicine was a calling. Now, seventeen years after he took the Hippocratic Oath, it felt more like a slow descent into debt and burnout.
By Tony Martello12 months ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse Lantern Witch of Saltwater Coven
“Sea Witch!” “Sea Witch!” “Sea Witch!” “Be damned to the darkest depths of hell.” A gavel sounded. It was much hollower than usual. The rain collected in the basin of the old trees’ trunk. The leaves had turned brown and dropped dead to the Earth. The vibration of the virtuous rapping travelled up through the branches and snaked down the very ropes that would hang several accused sea-witches that month.
By K.H. Obergfoll12 months ago in Fiction
Short Story: 'The Man Who Dreamed About Butterflies'. AI-Generated.
Introduction This story is for anyone who has loved deeply and lost gently. It’s for those who see signs in the quiet, who hear whispers in scripture, and who believe that transformation is real. Inspired by the Psalms and the sacred hush of grief, this is Elijah’s journey—and perhaps yours too.🦋
By Margaret Minnicks12 months ago in Fiction
Home of the Free
The knocks came after dinner. Three raps at the front door: abrasive, aggressive, authoritative. Glen Finch put down the footrest of his recliner and stood from its familiar comfort. His middle school-aged twins looked up to him with widened eyes. He held his hand out calmly, shushing them.
By Ashley Lima12 months ago in Fiction
Short Story: 'The Mirror That Refused to Reflect'. AI-Generated.
Introduction Some stories arrive not to entertain, but to awaken. This one is for those who have given much and forgotten how much they’ve given. It is a reminder that legacy is not loud—it is layered, luminous, and often hidden in the lives of others. May this story reflect what your mirror cannot.
By Margaret Minnicks12 months ago in Fiction
It's Now 3:34
He will remember forever, it was exactly 3:34 When, out of nowhere, came a knock at the door One that rumbled the house and rattled him to his core
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden12 months 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 & Writing12 months ago in Fiction
Ouija Knocks Back
The first night the board came out, the house was a jar with its lid twisted loose. We’d eaten cereal on the couch because Mom couldn’t bring herself to dirty a pan, then washed the bowls while our feet slid on the linoleum where the dishwasher had once dripped. Dad would have fixed the leak without YouTube, without a manual, just a wrench and that chuckle that warmed the kitchen more than steam. The month after the funeral, the maintenance man replaced the gasket and offered condolences like a coupon. The leak stopped, but the kitchen was still cold.
By Cadma12 months ago in Fiction
Dichotomy
4:03 am I couldn't get an Uber home So, this is what it's like the walk ⎯ without much shame. May be just a fistful. The stark florescent bus lights
By Smaranda Domosaru12 months ago in Fiction
Sights of Blackness
Waves crashed when Esther Posey saw the door. No one else populated that Rehoboth Beach, Delaware stretch of sand at this time early in the morning. The sun peeked over the land. The upright beckoned her. With sunkissed skin and a blue and gold sundress to match, she walked through the sand, sandals in hand. A growing sense of dread washed over her as she approached the door jamb. The door stood closed. She inspected the area. Nothing hindered her. Fingertips floated over the surface of the door. Smooth to the touch, she communed with the painted door.
By Skyler Saunders12 months ago in Fiction