Short Story

Beneath the Winter Moon
The snow fell softly, a steady rhythm of silence blanketing the small town of Evergreen Hollow. The streetlights cast an amber glow over cobblestone streets, where the first few carolers of the evening bundled tightly in scarves and woolen hats. Their laughter echoed, cutting through the crisp, cold air as they trudged from house to house, their voices weaving harmonies of comfort and cheer.
By Ashley D. Gilyard2 years ago in Fiction
Black Friday
There’s something deeply unsettling about Fridays that fall on the 13th of the month. And no, I’m not talking about that fleeting moment of dread when you realize payday is still a week away. I mean the real chill, the one that creeps into your bones, triggered by whispers of bad luck and ancient curses. Black Friday—no, not the shopping frenzy kind—is a day steeped in superstition, a cauldron of dark myths and strange tales.
By Billys Zafeiridis 2 years ago in Fiction
Dark Night of the Soul
It was a dark moonless night. Dell Perry sat easy in his saddle on the far edge of town. Heavy rain had settled in for the evening. The clouds had come out of nowhere at the end of a hot summer day. "It's not letting up," he thought. "Better get this done with."
By Scott A. Gese2 years ago in Fiction
The Mental Health Impact of Social Media
Currently, social networking makes us closer than ever; on the other hand, it has subtle effects on the mental state of the individual. Studies have also established that overreliance on social networks such as Instagram, Facebook Facebook, and Twitter has a negative impact on anxiety, depression, and self-esteem. This often arises from the so-called ‘comparison’ where a user feels like they are a failure compared to the image superimposed on the site. Also, because many notifications bombard us hourly, users may get stressed and consumed, granting little time to the development of interpersonal relationships.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing2 years ago in Fiction
My Secret Girlfriend
Chapter 1: **A Love Built on Promises** Hi, my name is Eric, and this is my story—a story about love, commitment, and the choices we make when faced with temptation. I’m a 34-year-old engineer living in sunny California, and I’ve spent most of my life searching for a place to belong. Growing up in an orphanage taught me a lot about love, or rather the lack of it. But when I met Lisa, everything changed.
By Mustary Islam2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers of Dow Hill
The mist rolled over the sleepy town of Kurseong, curling around the narrow paths of Dow Hill like ghostly fingers. The pine forests that encircled the hill whispered secrets to the wind, their shadows stretching like dark tendrils across the ground. Locals spoke in hushed tones about the hauntings of Dow Hill, a place where the living and the dead shared uneasy company.
By Pritam2 years ago in Fiction
The Curse of Bhangarh Fort
On a moonless night in Rajasthan, a chilling wind swept through the ruins of Bhangarh Fort, carrying whispers of an ancient curse. The crumbling walls, steeped in eerie silence, stood as a haunting reminder of a once-thriving kingdom brought to ruin by greed, lust, and black magic.
By Pritam2 years ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Thread
The fog rolled in thick, draping the small coastal town of Blackwater in an eerie shroud. The air was laced with a salty chill, and the faint hum of waves against jagged rocks echoed in the distance. Detective Clara Reeves stood on the pier, staring at the letter in her hand. It was scrawled in a hurried script, smudged as if written in desperation. Blackwater was no stranger to oddities, but in the past two weeks, five people had disappeared without a trace. There were no witnesses, no signs of struggle—just an abandoned item at the last known location. A scarf, a wallet, a book, and now, a letter. The connection between the victims eluded Clara, but this cryptic note was her first clue. That evening, Clara sat in her dimly lit office, her mind racing. The town's archives yielded little about "the Thread," save for a few local myths about a cursed tapestry that supposedly depicted the history of Blackwater. Legend had it that those who unraveled its mysteries disappeared, swallowed by its dark origins. As Clara dug deeper, she found whispers of a secret society called "The Weavers." Decades ago, the group was rumored to have practiced occult rituals tied to the tapestry. The group disbanded after several members vanished during a ritual gone wrong. The case had been closed as a tragic accident, but Clara wasn’t so sure. The next day, Clara received an anonymous tip directing her to an abandoned lighthouse at the edge of town. The building loomed over the cliffs, its windows shattered, and its walls weathered by years of neglect. Inside, she found a hidden room filled with strange symbols etched into the walls and a threadbare map pinned to a corkboard. At the center of the map was the word *"Sanctum"* circled in red. Suddenly, a faint creak echoed through the lighthouse. Clara turned, her flashlight casting long shadows. She wasn’t alone. "Detective Reeves," a voice drawled from the darkness. A man emerged, his face obscured by a hood. "You're getting too close." Clara reached for her gun, but before she could draw, the man tossed a small, glowing object toward her. A blinding flash filled the room, and when she opened her eyes, he was gone. Determined not to be intimidated, Clara followed the map to an underground cavern hidden beneath the cliffs. The Sanctum, as it turned out, was a chamber filled with looms, each one tangled with threads of different colors. At the center stood a massive tapestry, its surface shifting like ripples on water. As she approached, the faces of the missing victims appeared on the fabric, their mouths open in silent screams. A sudden gust of wind slammed the chamber doors shut, and the tapestry began to glow. Threads unraveled, snaking through the air toward Clara. She dodged, her heart pounding, but one thread wrapped around her wrist, pulling her closer. A voice emanated from the tapestry, deep and otherworldly. "You seek the truth, but the Thread takes what it must." Clara grabbed a nearby lantern and hurled it at the tapestry. Flames erupted, consuming the fabric. The chamber shook violently, and the faces on the tapestry let out ghostly wails before vanishing into the smoke. When Clara stumbled out of the cavern, dawn was breaking over Blackwater. The missing victims were found wandering the town, dazed but alive. None of them remembered where they had been, only that they had felt trapped in a dream. Clara burned the map and the remaining threads from the Sanctum. The disappearances stopped, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the tapestry’s influence lingered, waiting for someone else to unravel its secrets. As she left Blackwater, Clara noticed a small, frayed thread clinging to her coat sleeve.
By Pritam2 years ago in Fiction
Falling into the Sun. Top Story - December 2024. Content Warning.
I’ve been falling towards the sun for some time now. I passed through Mercury’s orbit a few days back, and the heat is building now. My shining casket still protects me from the worst, but not for long. Sentenced to die for wanting to help others come to their end. The irony is not lost on me. There’s not enough room in this sphere to lose it.
By Sean A.2 years ago in Fiction
The Invisible Man
People love gore, as long as it's happening to someone else. For the first time, Sandy resented her followers. Daily, more of them were siding with Karl on this issue, while she, Sandy, was still furious at him. She thought her husband was sick, and needed psychiatric help. They thought he was funny. And clever. Quirky. They'd nicknamed him "Tim". The Invisible Man, see? The man they never saw. It added to his mystique.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Finding Tom. Top Story - December 2024.
Running into the kitchen, Joel glanced around. ‘Hey Mom, where’s Tom? I can’t find him anywhere.” Distracted, his mother replied, “Don’t worry about Tom dear. Go out and play.” Wiping her flour dusted hands on her apron, she went back to pounding on the dough.
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Fiction
Fig gets some "Me Time"
Fig and I had talked after lunch about Anya and Mario and the temporary living arrangements. I was worried about Fig, trying to show her that she wasn't alone because I knew how heavy the current situation was. She was surprising me though. Usually, she'd be ranting and raving like an emotionally distraught drama queen --- but she wasn't. It was like she had put her "proverbial cross" in some hidden vault, and was wearing a necklace with a graceful swan charm instead.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Fiction