thriller

Too Dark. Content Warning.
The cabin was only one room. There was a fireplace in one corner with two wooden chairs that looked about a hundred years old. There was a table and chairs in the opposite corner. They also looked like they would fall apart if the wind blew. There was a door Jessica assumed was the back door, given the size of the cabin, opposite the front. Beside it, there was the map on the back wall and a small table in front of it with the lit candle on it. Will had placed other candles he’d found in the windows and on the table and mantle. The place was pretty well lit.
By Raine Fielderabout a year ago in Fiction
The Frozen War: Rise of the Walking Dead
--- In the heart of the north, far beyond the reach of sun-scorched empires, lay the great IceLandia — a kingdom carved from frost, fire, and unshakable loyalty. For over a thousand years, its people had known nothing but peace and unity. Glaciers guarded their borders. The sky sang with auroras. And beneath it all stood the Frozen Guard — 100,000 elite warriors dressed in ancient armor, their blades forged from blue flame and steel.
By Engr. Mansoor Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The House at the Edge of Cedar Lane . AI-Generated.
I. The Sad House Everyone in the neighborhood called it the Sad House. It sat crookedly at the end of Cedar Lane, cloaked in ivy and shaded by two giant oaks that looked like they were mourning something ancient. Its shutters hung lopsided, one of them missing entirely, and no matter the weather, a veil of silence wrapped around it tighter than any storm.
By Money Talks, I Writeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Green Rebellion
In a world choked by smog, where city skies glowed an eerie orange and rivers ran thick with waste, a whisper of hope stirred in the unlikeliest of places—a small, forgotten playground on the edge of a sprawling metropolis. The year was 2045, and the Earth groaned under the weight of pollution. Factories belched black clouds, and plastic littered every corner of the planet. But in that rusty playground, under a gnarled old tree, a group of children discovered something extraordinary: a secret that would spark The Green Rebellion.
By Abid about a year ago in Fiction
Grandma’s Chest of Stories
After Grandma passed away, the house sank into an unfamiliar silence. Without her, every corner felt hollow, as if even the walls missed her warmth. She wasn’t just a grandmother—she was a storyteller, a healer, and the heartbeat of our home.
By M.Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
Inside the Mind of a Dream Traveler
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to control your dreams? To walk through strange lands, speak with unknown beings, or even fly through glowing skies… all while knowing you’re asleep?
By Abid about a year ago in Fiction
Episode 2: We Gave the Order, and Then the Screaming Started
They dropped us in at 0600. That’s how it started. Grey sky. No wind. Dead silence that stuck to your skin like old sweat.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
Seeking For Hidden Gold, Diamond Treasure
-- Seeki Once, there lived a kind and honest man who had accumulated a treasure of gold and diamonds over his lifetime. This treasure was not meant for luxury or pride—it was a gift for his children, a safeguard for their future. He hoped it would help them survive during difficult times and support them even in their old age. He and his children were known in their village for their honesty, generosity, and good character.
By Engr. Mansoor Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
Nowhere Girl. Content Warning.
It was a blistering July afternoon, and the Walmart parking lot shimmered with heatwaves. I had just finished loading groceries into the trunk of my car. I always park far out, away from the clustered chaos near the entrance. Less traffic, less noise, fewer eyes. That’s how I like it.
By Shai Andersonabout a year ago in Fiction
The First Step Outside The House, After Leaving Many Footprints Inside The Home
The little boy sat curled up in a corner of the wooden house. Whenever his eyes gazed at the golden, radiant rays of the sun filtering through the white snow outside, a tremor stirred within his tiny heart. He would shrink further into the corner, closing his eyes, trying to hide himself. He would cover his eyes with both hands. But when the golden rays touched his shivering body, the warmth brought him such relief that he slowly removed his hands from his eyes. And when he opened them, he found his body wrapped in that golden light. His eyes sparkled with wonder. He peeked out the window, and as far as his eyes could see, there was only a white sheet of snow. Far off on the horizon, a glowing yellow orb deepened his awe. Gusts of wind bathed his face in icy waves, and he would leap back into the corner, pressing himself against the walls. His brown hair fell across his cheeks, and his eyes were sunken and weary. His eyelids blinked slowly, as if trying to absorb every visible thing. His cheeks were hollow, his intestines shriveled from hunger, and his skin had turned cold and pale. He wore a thick woolen overcoat that had become too small for him. His fingers rarely emerged from the coat’s pockets. He breathed within the wooden walls where life was very cold. Silence reigned, especially at night when darkness seeped in with the cold winds. Then, the lone window would beckon to him. He spent nearly all his time standing by it, gazing at the white land outside. His eyes would freeze in place, and he would stand motionless. The land beyond was far more beautiful than where he was. Only three faces floated in his memories. He wasn’t familiar with two of them, but the creature that didn’t match those faces had lingered around him for a long time. For the past two days, he was surrounded by wooden walls, with the vast white land outside staring back at him. The emptiness in his stomach grew, his lips dried, his breath slowed, and his eyes became still. His skin clung to his bones like a fine silk sheet. Something stirred within him, pulling him toward the door, where faint light peeked through the cracks, as if calling him out. Gathering all his strength, he tried to stand. He stumbled and fell, tried again, and finally, leaning against the wall, he moved toward the door. His footsteps stirred something in the house he had never felt before. He placed his hand on the door and pushed it outward. As the door opened, the bright light outside rushed in, covering all the darkness. His eyes remained still. The cold air mingled with his breath and entered his body. A shiver ran down his spine. His trembling hands tried to hold the door. Then his gaze fell on a white figure lying on the snow-covered land. He stepped outside for the first time. It was a familiar face, a fox. Still and silent. Snow had nearly covered her entire body. Ice had formed on her white fur. Eyes were open, filled with fatigue and stillness. There was no movement in the body. Nearby, some fruits were scattered, perhaps she had tried to enter the house. The little boy’s gaze lingered on it. His fingers gently rustled on the fox’s frozen fur. And the dust over his small treasure of memories was swept away. The fox used to come to that house once every two or three days, leaving some fruit for him before leaving. This had been happening since the time he came into that house. One cold morning, when the fox saw him for the first time, he had cried so much that his voice was hoarse; even his sobs were tearing through his throat. The fox had seen him hanging halfway out of the door of a wrecked car, the hand of the woman lying beside him still holding on to him. Next to the woman lay an unconscious man. Except for the little boy, none of the three showed any movement. The little boy was quiet then. As the fox’s steps slowly moved towards him, she gently held him in her mouth and pulled him out. Then she sniffed the bodies of the man and woman, and turned back from there. The little boy remained seated outside the car, his gaze fixed only on it. A little while later, she returned again, and dragging him over the snow, brought him into that house. Since that day, the little boy has never gone outside again. That world, too, was beautiful, one he no longer belonged to. The fox would bring him crabapples, wild berries. When the emptiness of his stomach and his shriveled intestines began to cry out, his hands would instinctively reach for the fruits. The fox would sit with him for hours inside that home. He would stare at her; in the fox’s eyes floated a deep, peaceful aura. She would gaze at him fixedly. The silence between them was profoundly deep. She wandered most of the time in the wild snowy area, but whenever she came to the house, she brought enough to keep the little boy alive. Touching the fox’s stiff body brought no response. He stood up. For a moment, his longing eyes looked at the fruits scattered near the fox. Then he turned back and went inside. The door remained open. He staggered back to the same corner, curled up, and rested his head on his knees, sitting silently. Her numerous footprints still glimmered, trapped between the thin layers of snow on the floor. Her presence still lingered, as if she were still there, silently watching him. Suddenly, the sound of breaking ice echoed. Fierce winds slammed against the house’s walls, as if trying to carry it away. Thick layers of snow fell from above, like someone gently folding a silky blanket. Within moments, a new, gleaming sheet of snow spread across the ground. Everything became silent. Where the house once stood, there was now only an empire of white land, and spread over it was a glow of cold snowy fog.
By Karan w. about a year ago in Fiction
7 Men Survive in a Horror, Dark Bungalow
Chapter 1: The Breakdown The rain lashed hard against the forest road as the old bus groaned to a stop. The driver muttered a curse—engine dead. Seven passengers, all strangers, stepped into the storm. None of them knew where they were, except that they were far from help. Amid the trees, they saw it—a crumbling colonial bungalow, cloaked in vines and shadow. Its iron gate creaked as they pushed it open. They had no other choice.
By Engr. Mansoor Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
Dead Air
Night One - The graveyard shift at WZUR 89.9 FM was supposed to be dead... three hours of indie rock, stoner metal, and half-baked conspiracy rants for whoever couldn’t sleep in central Illinois. Danny Rourke liked it that way.
By Veil of Shadowsabout a year ago in Fiction