thriller
Imprisoned. Top Story - October 2025.
The sea, the sky, the stars, the sun; all look within reach, within the realms of possibilities. Like I can reach out with mine own hands, and pluck the glittering lights from the night sky. Or caress the gentle white lines of foam that scatter themselves across the vast endless sea.
By Liam Stormabout a year ago in Fiction
The hotel laundry has been running itself after midnight
I work laundry for a mid-range chain hotel — the kind with fake marble floors, “continental breakfast,” and carpets that smell faintly like wet dog no matter how often they’re shampooed. My shift’s usually 4 p.m. to 1 a.m., but I’m often the last one here. Nobody wants to be the person closing down the laundry room at night.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Mirror Draft. AI-Generated.
Ethan Ward was a literature professor at Hillcrest University — a quiet man who loved solitude more than social events. His students called him “The Ghost Teacher” because of how silently he moved through the halls. He wasn’t rude — just lost in thought, like someone living between two worlds.
By Ghanni malikabout a year ago in Fiction
[UPDATE] I was the only one working the night shift… so who checked in Room 409?
Hey everyone, I didn’t expect my last post to blow up the way it did. I just needed to vent about something weird that happened at work, but apparently, it freaked a lot of people out.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
I was the only one working the night shift… so who checked in Room 409?
I’ve been working night shifts at a small roadside hotel for about two years now. It’s one of those places off the interstate that looks like it’s been “under renovation” since the ‘90s — faded carpets, buzzing neon vacancy sign, vending machines that still take quarters. It’s quiet most nights, which is exactly how I like it.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
His Freckle Too, Stayed Until Morning
I did not notice it before. That small freckle just beneath his left eye, the one the light always seems to find before I do. How many times have I seen his face and never really seen it? The mark itself is nothing special, really, a speck, a shadow of pigment the sun decided to keep for itself, yet tonight it feels like a secret I have finally been allowed to see.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout a year ago in Fiction
The Elimination Service
The visitor should never have been allowed past the reception desk. Mr. Ferguson only received guests by prior appointment, except for those with matters of extreme importance. Ferguson was a man who valued time as gold. But his secretary, Miss Dale, was young and impressionable. The visitor — an elderly, dignified man dressed in an expensive suit and leaning on a cane — looked every bit the part of someone important. Assuming he must be, Miss Dale ushered him straight into Ferguson’s office.
By Izabella Johnsonabout a year ago in Fiction
