thriller
The Spirit Box (8). Content Warning.
Chapter 8: The woman I used to call my wife. “You know, Emily, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm impressed," I said, leaning against the wall of Emily's cubicle. "Trying to be a better person takes morals, and I’m honestly surprised you've got 'em. You’re usually so unscrupulous!"
By Alex H Mittelman 12 months ago in Fiction
The Moon and the Burning Forest
The world was ending in orange and ash. The ancient forest of Elmswood, a kingdom of oak and pine that had stood for a thousand years, was screaming. A careless spark from a forgotten campfire had become a ravenous beast, consuming everything in its path. The air was a solid, hot wall of smoke, and the roar of the flames was the only sound, a hungry, relentless god.
By Habibullah12 months ago in Fiction
The Diminishing
I have long suspected there exists thresholds not fashioned by human hands—passages that wait with the poise of something ancient and expectant. What I found was not a hallway but an omen disguised as one. At first, I thought myself lost, or dreaming, yet reason bent beneath what I saw. Whatever force guided me—vision or damnation—led me to a corridor secreted within the ordinary world like a thorn beneath velvet.
By SUEDE the poet12 months ago in Fiction
The Spirit Box (7). Content Warning.
Chapter 7: Governors Wife I leaned back in my chair, sipping my coffee as I scanned the morning headlines on my phone. The phone on my desk rang, giving me a slight headache and mild ringing in my ear, and I picked it up.
By Alex H Mittelman 12 months ago in Fiction
Every Shadow Lies
The rain had a rhythm that night — a slow, steady tapping against the windows of the Blackmoor Institute. It was the kind of rain that made secrets feel heavier, as if the sky itself was trying to drown them. Inside, the corridors were dimly lit, the lights flickering like dying stars. Dr. Elara Voss walked quickly, her heels echoing against the linoleum floor, each step like a countdown to something she couldn’t yet name.
By Miss Maryam12 months ago in Fiction
The Siren of Vanavara
The shack stood out among the snowy forest. Its rotting wooden panels and chipped roof tiles gave way to its dilapidated state. My boots crunched in the thick white powder around me as I drew closer to the door. The windows have been long since boarded up and are caked with dirt. There is no seeing through them to what lies inside. Many people have speculated to the horrors that were locked within those four leaning walls. My mind kept to the idea that it was simply an old shack meant to serve as some sort of a halfway house during travel, or even a temporary lodge for a hunter.
By Gunnar Anderson12 months ago in Fiction
