Short Story

The Mammy Whisperer. Top Story - August 2025.
Charms adorned the clogs next to her bed. The bonnet already topped her head, and after her slumber, Kalisha Himmers did not remove it. Her skin looked like shea butter. At five foot even, two hundred forty pounds, she had donned a black Makaveli T-shirt size three X. Blue, gray, and white pajama bottoms with dolphins wrapped her backside. She peered in the mirror and shrugged. Kalisha then put on her clogs.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Fiction
The Best Party Ever
"I'm so excited," I said out loud, pushing the last thumb tack into place. Dozens of curled, multi-color streamers danced against the ceiling, the breeze from the window moving them to and fro.
By Maddy Newtabout a year ago in Fiction
Below Pressure(SCP-015)
Dan Mulrooney, fifty years old with thirty of those in the pipes, sat hunched in his rusted van outside the assigned job: a boarded-up, five-story brick corpse of a building tucked deep in ███████'s decaying industrial zone.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
Hanging
At first, I thought, was just hungover, or still drunk. I felt... funny. I opened my eyes and She was standing over me. Ready to give a lecture, no doubt. I mean, she arranged the whole thing, but that's her whole M.O. Get upset about things she had no need or right to get upset about. My tongue felt like a rug, too big for the space it had been shoehorned into. Thick and dry and furry. Ugh. Even though it was the last thing I had an inclination to do, I felt my mouth rearrange into a smile. Auto response? An evolutionary one? Head off the inevitable attack. It makes sense, right? Why else would I be grinning at her like a massive idiot? Her voice seemed to get to me through a thick fog. I had to concentrate hard to make out the actual words, and I really couldn't be bothered to do that. She'd ask questions, though, just to make sure I'd been listening, so maybe I should try. Ugh. Just how much had l had to drink last night? Didi have anything else? I must have. That must be what this is. Maybe someone spiked my drink. You know. For a laugh. I wanted to shake away the fuzzy feeling hanging around my head, but I couldn't do it. Panicking, positive the interrogation would begin any moment, I tried to snap my focus back on Her. There was no lecture. Only concern, and coffee, and "I'll be right back" with a side of "do you want some eggs?" I didn't. I couldn't think of anything worse. Having to go down into the bright kitchen and eat food. Even thinking about the smell was making me nauseous. So why were my feet swinging over the edge of the bed? She was tidying up, but she wasn't tutting or rolling her eyes while she did it. There was something furtive, almost embarassed about her movements. Like I was a guest and she hadn't had time to vacuum. In any case, much as this attitude was a welcome change of pace, I still wanted to snap at her to piss off and leave me alone, The strangest thing... It was like someone had snipped at all the nerves and things that connected my brain to my mouth. It flapped up and down, but I had no say in what was going on. She steered me to the kitchen, as if I hadn't lived here as long as she had. Served up eggs, which made me feel like I wanted to heave, just like I knew they would... But I didn't heave. I watched my hands move, watched them cut up my food and bring it to my face. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but I had no part in that either. Something else was in charge of my body. Moving my limbs, commanding my stomach. What was going on? What was wrong with me? How long was it going to last?
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Diary of a Girl Who Never Spoke
In the small coastal town of Whisper Bay, where the fog always lingered over the cliffs as if hiding secrets of its own, lived a girl named Ava Rose. At sixteen, she had already become something of a mystery. She hadn’t spoken a word in five years not since the stormy night her parents’ fishing boat disappeared without a trace.
By Muzamil khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Blowing The Top Off
Run! I have to get out of here! Did I get my pills? Oh and Andreas’ puffer. Wait! I still need to get all our documents! Britney rushed upstairs and nearly tripped on the last step before rummaging through her office to get all her identification and important documents. She quickly glanced through the window, where she could already see the plumes of smoke rising from Mount Baker. A sense of dread fell over her, as she realized her life was quickly transforming into a nightmare.
By Jesse Leungabout a year ago in Fiction
Hot Plate. Content Warning.
“In culture news, one of Chicago’s Michelin Star restaurants was stripped of its star after multiple complaints and health violations.”
By Desirae Anayaabout a year ago in Fiction
A Pact Made in Smoke and Silence
The photo in the murky water was too distorted to confirm what Soren suspected already—but he knew. He knew the moment the call came, the moment the words "he almost didn't make it" reached his ears. Some things didn't need confirmation; they hung like smoke in the chest, thick, unavoidable to breathe out.
By Finallenabout a year ago in Fiction
"The Passenger Who Wasn’t There"
It was raining the night it happened, one of those slow, steady rains that makes the road shine like black glass. I was driving home from work, tired, half-listening to the radio when I saw her.
By ETS_Storyabout a year ago in Fiction
Nara's Opus
The absent shapes and strengthens. 🎵 🎶 🎼 🎹 🎵 🎶 🎼 🎹 🎵 🎶 🎼 🎹 🎵 🎶 🎼 🎹 🎵 🎶 🎼 🎹 Young Nara poised her fingers over the keys, ready to launch into a version of Beethoven's Ode to Joy that was distinctly hers—modern, upbeat, unconventional--very impatient.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Linabout a year ago in Fiction
He Wrote a Thousand Love Letters, But One Saved Her Life
I never thought paper could hold someone’s soul. But it did. At least, his paper did. His letters did. His name was Arman. Mine is Elora.
By MD Hamim Islamabout a year ago in Fiction
Blanket
Purple, plush, silky soft, and with star-studded embroidery, Michelle snuggles in bed with her beloved blanket. Midway through her mother’s bedtime story, Michelle quickly gives in to sleep, heavy eyelids no longer able to stay open. After a quick kiss on the forehead and a tuck, all is quiet for most of the night until the clock strikes twelve. That’s when the nightlights in the room suddenly flicker at the sounds of low growls rumbling from the closet. Its door slowly creaks open with a chilling breeze, alerting Michelle awake. Wide-eyed, she watches an elongated hand outstretch from the shadows of the dark closet. The monstrous claws grip the corner of the door and open it wider.
By Terrance D Watersabout a year ago in Fiction