Short Story
Shadow
SHADOW Dalea Sultana Horror Fiction Two hands suddenly emerged from my stomach. I was terrified. Please come quickly. Rehana Begum pleaded in a tearful voice. The incident took place in March 2023. Rahim had set up a small fabric shop in Gazipur. Due to business demands, he couldn't visit home often. His wife, Rehana Begum, was six months pregnant. With Eid approaching, if he went home during this busy season, it would be disastrous for his business. However, it was hard to understand what was troubling his wife. They had consulted several religious healers and traditional doctors before. Rehana often had disturbing dreams at night and would suffer severe body pain the following day. Although there hadn’t been any significant incidents since she became pregnant, today’s event made him anxious. He promised to come home but was unsure how he would manage it. Lost in thought, Rahim drifted into a deep sleep.
By DALEA SULTANA2 years ago in Fiction
Emergence from the Obscene
The blistering sensation of melted flesh should have been the first indication. And the heaviness of eyelids plastered with some sort of unidentifiable muck had to be wiped from my face even as I sat upright in the midst of the black sand with strange orange rippling all throughout it.
By Sai Marie Johnson2 years ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker's Secret: Unveiling the Mystique of Eldridge's Timeless Craftsman
In the quaint town of Eldridge, "The Timekeeper’s Haven" stood as both a shop and a sanctuary of time. It was home to one of the town’s most mysterious figures—Benjamin Rook, a third-generation clockmaker. Benjamin was renowned for his exceptional craftsmanship, creating clocks that never lost time, even under the most adverse conditions. But beyond the precision of his work, there was something unusual about his clocks that captured the imagination of the townsfolk.
By Adeshola Motunrayo2 years ago in Fiction
The Secret Beneath the Lighthouse
The town of Cliffside had always been known for its picturesque harbor and the iconic lighthouse that stood sentinel over the rocky shore. But to those who knew the town’s history, the lighthouse was more than just a beacon—it was a vessel of hidden secrets.
By Aamina tariq2 years ago in Fiction
Epic Beginnings
**Name:** **Tempus** **Origin Story:** In the heart of the sprawling metropolis of Chrona, where time itself seemed to dictate every aspect of life, Dr. Marcus Wells was a brilliant yet reclusive physicist obsessed with unraveling the mysteries of time. During a groundbreaking experiment to harness temporal energy, an unforeseen accident exposed Marcus to a concentrated burst of chronotons, subatomic particles that govern the flow of time. The explosion should have killed him, but instead, it granted him the power to manipulate time itself.
By Naila Sajjad2 years ago in Fiction
A Chance Encounter
In the heart of a bustling city, amidst the rhythmic clatter of everyday life, stood an unassuming bookstore nestled between a café and a florist. It was one of those quaint places, where the scent of old paper and fresh ink hung in the air, a refuge for book lovers and dreamers alike. The bookstore had an understated charm, with its wooden shelves that groaned under the weight of stories, both well-loved and waiting to be discovered. Lena had always been a dreamer. A writer by passion, she spent her days weaving words into tales of distant lands and impossible loves. She frequented the bookstore often, seeking inspiration among its dusty corners and forgotten volumes. On this particular afternoon, she sought solace from a world that felt a little too heavy, finding comfort in the familiar creak of the door as she stepped inside. As Lena browsed the aisles, her fingers grazing the spines of countless novels, she found herself drawn to the poetry section, a corner she rarely explored. There, perched on a stool, was a man deeply engrossed in a book. He had tousled brown hair that fell into his eyes and a look of concentration that made him seem oblivious to the world around him. Lena hesitated for a moment, not wanting to disturb his solitude. But something about him captivated her, a magnetic pull that she couldn't quite explain. She reached for a book on the shelf, trying to focus on the words before her, but her eyes kept drifting back to him. The man suddenly looked up, and their eyes met. It was as if time slowed, and the busy world outside the bookstore faded away. Lena felt a jolt, a spark that ignited something deep within her. His eyes were a striking shade of blue, warm and inviting, and in that brief moment, they held an unspoken promise of something extraordinary. "Hi," he said, his voice as gentle as the rustle of pages. "I didn't mean to stare, but I couldn't help noticing you." Lena's heart skipped a beat. She was not one for love at first sight—such things were the stuff of her stories, not real life. Yet here she was, standing in a bookstore, feeling as if she had known this man her entire life. "Hi," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "I was just… browsing." "Me too," he said, closing his book and setting it aside. "But I think I've found something far more interesting." Lena blushed, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "Oh? And what might that be?" "You," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She laughed softly, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "I'm not sure what to say to that." "Maybe start with your name?" he suggested, his smile widening. "Lena," she said. "And yours?" "Jack," he replied, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Lena." She shook his hand, and the touch of his skin against hers sent a thrill through her. It was strange, how comfortable she felt with him, as if they were old friends reconnecting after a long time apart. "So, Lena," Jack said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Do you come here often?" She grinned. "Only when I need to escape reality for a bit." "And what are you escaping from today?" "Everything," she admitted. "But maybe now I'm just trying to escape from being predictable." Jack chuckled. "Well, in that case, how about I make it unpredictable? Would you like to grab a coffee with me? There's a café just next door." Lena hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment. She had never been one to take risks, to follow her heart on a whim. But something told her that this was different, that Jack was different. "Why not?" she said, surprising herself with her own boldness. They left the bookstore together, stepping into the warm afternoon sunlight. The city seemed a little less daunting with Jack by her side, and as they walked to the café, they talked about everything and nothing—books, life, dreams, and the serendipity of their meeting. Over coffee, their connection deepened. Jack was a traveler, an artist who saw the world in colors and shapes. He spoke of far-off places he had visited, of people he had met, and Lena found herself captivated by his stories. She shared her own dreams, her love of writing, and the characters who lived in her imagination. Hours passed in what felt like minutes, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the city, Lena realized that she was no longer escaping reality. She was living in a moment that felt more real than anything she had ever experienced. As they left the café, Jack turned to her, his expression soft and earnest. "Lena, I know this is sudden, but I feel like I've known you forever. This might sound crazy, but… do you believe in love at first sight?" Lena's heart raced. The question hung in the air between them, laden with the weight of possibility. She had always been a skeptic, someone who believed that love took time, that it was built on shared experiences and gradual understanding. But standing there with Jack, she found herself questioning everything she thought she knew. "Maybe," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe it's just the beginning of something beautiful." Jack smiled, and in that moment, Lena knew that whatever it was they had found, it was real. It was the kind of love that didn't need to be explained, the kind that defied logic and reason. It was a love that had bloomed in an instant, but one that she knew would grow and deepen with time. "Let's find out together," Jack said, taking her hand in his. And so, under the fading light of the city, they walked hand in hand, two souls who had found each other in the most unexpected of places. It was a beginning neither of them had anticipated, but one they were both willing to embrace. For in that chance encounter, they had discovered a love that was as timeless as the stories they both cherished—a love that had begun at first sight and would last a lifetime.
By Isaac Ampofo2 years ago in Fiction
{The 1 experience of (dinner) in "haunted place" with family }
**The Haunted Dinner: A Family's Night to Remember** It was a crisp autumn evening when our family gathered at the old Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town. The house, once the grand estate of a wealthy merchant, had been abandoned for decades, its windows boarded up, and its garden overgrown. The place was notorious for its haunted reputation, with locals whispering about strange noises, flickering lights, and ghostly apparitions. Despite the rumors, my aunt insisted we spend a night there for a family reunion dinner. She claimed it would be an unforgettable experience, one that would bring us all closer together. As we approached the mansion, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds. The house loomed before us, its dark silhouette outlined against the blood-red sky. My younger cousins clung to their parents, their eyes wide with fear. Even the adults seemed uneasy, exchanging nervous glances as we made our way up the creaking steps to the front door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of dust and decay. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the wooden floorboards groaned underfoot. The flickering candlelight from the dining room cast eerie shadows on the walls, making it seem as though the house itself was alive, watching our every move. Dinner was served in the grand dining hall, a vast room with a high ceiling and a long, ornate table that could seat twenty. My aunt had gone all out, preparing a feast fit for a king. There were roast meats, vegetables, and desserts of every kind. But as we took our seats, a strange chill settled over the room, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The meal began uneventfully enough. We chatted and laughed, trying to shake off the unsettling atmosphere. But as the evening wore on, strange things started to happen. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, and the lights flickered ominously. My uncle, always the skeptic, joked about the ghost stories, but his laughter was cut short when his wine glass shattered in his hand, sending shards of glass flying across the table. Everyone froze, staring at the spot where the glass had been. Then, without warning, the chandelier above us began to sway, its crystals tinkling like wind chimes. The doors slammed shut, trapping us inside. Panic set in as we realized we were not alone in the house. Suddenly, a low moan echoed through the room, followed by the sound of footsteps. We all turned towards the source of the noise, our hearts pounding in our chests. There, at the far end of the table, stood a figure—a woman dressed in tattered, old-fashioned clothing, her face pale and gaunt. She glided towards us, her eyes locked onto my aunt. "You should not have come here," the woman whispered, her voice hollow and distant. "This house is cursed, and now, so are you." Terrified, we watched as the ghostly figure raised her hand, pointing directly at my aunt. The room grew colder still, and the walls seemed to close in around us. My aunt, pale and trembling, clutched her chest as if struggling to breathe. The rest of us could do nothing but watch in horror as the apparition continued to approach. Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, the candles suddenly flared to life, filling the room with a warm, golden light. The ghostly figure recoiled, as though the light was burning her, and with a final, anguished scream, she vanished into thin air. The doors burst open, and we all scrambled to leave the mansion as quickly as possible. Outside, the night air was cold and refreshing, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere inside the house. We didn't stop running until we reached the safety of our cars, vowing never to return. As we drove away, I glanced back at the mansion. It stood silent and dark, as if nothing had happened. But I knew better. We had encountered something beyond our understanding, something that would haunt our memories forever. That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that we had been spared, but only just. The haunted mansion had claimed many souls over the years, and it had almost claimed ours. It was a night none of us would ever forget—a night when the line between the living and the dead was blurred, and the past refused to stay buried.
By Karl Nicken 2 years ago in Fiction
