Fantasy
Space and Time. Content Warning.
Time I just wanted to explore the world. See its beauty, relish the experience of discovery; at least, a discovery new to me. But even that seemed to be a tall order. As soon as I received my apprenticeship honors from the village leader, my dear mother was bewitched as she ventured to the mountains. They told me not a single person has ever awakened from a bewitchment, that after twelve years, the souls of those bewitched will be snuffed as tribute to the gods. They told me this was divine retribution. That this was fate, and if not for her going up to the mountains to pray to her false deities, she would still be alive. But she was alive…
By bemnet zelalemabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
The Man Who Survived 76 Days Lost at Sea: A True Story of Survival. AI-Generated.
The Man Who Survived 76 Days Lost at Sea: A True Story of Survival The ocean can be beautiful, peaceful, and endless. But when you are lost in it—completely alone—it becomes something else entirely.
By Baseer Shaheen about 7 hours ago in Fiction
Echoes of Resistance
The streets of Bristol were alive that day, though not with the usual hum of buses and chatter, but with the heavy pulse of voices that demanded to be heard. I had not intended to join the protest—I came to observe, to write, to bear witness—but once I stepped into the swell of people, the energy was impossible to ignore. The banners waved above heads, each one a story, a demand, a prayer. The scent of rain-soaked asphalt mixed with the faint tang of chalk from hastily scrawled messages, leaving the air electric.
By imtiazalamabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
Gorgon's Purgatory. Content Warning.
A tingling sensation fills my head. A deep pressure builds into agonizing pain as the serpents swallow their midnight meal. They move their jaws in synchronized contractions, forcing the bodies of mice down their gullets. The mice wiggle within the snakes for what feels like an eternity, brushing the scaly, cold skin in a ballet of torture.
By Tas The Artist about 11 hours ago in Fiction
The Chosen; Chapter 6
I sit in our camp space glowering into the fire. We had been traveling for two days without any incidents. It was unsettling. Ahriman had known where we were. He had come after us and now nothing. Amara saw it as a sign that we had gotten away from him successfully, that we were now in the clear for the moment. To me, it felt more like we were in the eye of the storm.
By Katarzyna Crevana day ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Secret. AI-Generated.
It was a rainy evening when Ayan first stumbled upon the little shop at the end of Maple Street. The sign read simply, “The Clockmaker”, in faded golden letters. Most people in town ignored it, dismissing it as another forgotten relic of the past. But something about the warm glow from its windows drew him closer, as if the shop itself was calling him. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and old paper. Rows of clocks lined the walls—grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, pocket watches—all ticking in perfect harmony. Behind a cluttered counter stood an elderly man with silver hair, his eyes twinkling beneath thick spectacles. “Welcome,” the man said softly. “I’ve been expecting you.” Ayan froze. “Expecting me?” he asked, unsure whether to feel alarmed or amused. The clockmaker smiled. “Yes. Some gifts find their way to the right person. Come closer.” Hesitant, Ayan stepped forward. On the counter lay a small, intricately carved box, no larger than a loaf of bread. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. The carvings shifted subtly, almost like they were alive, telling stories of unknown lands and faces that seemed familiar yet unplaceable. “This,” the clockmaker said, “is not an ordinary box. It reveals what you need to see most, but only when the time is right.” Ayan reached out to touch it. The moment his fingers brushed the wood, the world around him blurred. The clocks stopped ticking, the rain outside ceased, and the room disappeared. He was somewhere else—a misty forest, dimly lit by a silver moon. A voice echoed softly: “The path you seek lies within. Choose carefully, for every choice carries a consequence.” Ayan blinked. Before him appeared two paths: one paved with golden leaves that shimmered even in the night, the other a dark, winding trail overgrown with roots and shadows. His heart raced. Something told him the golden path was tempting but perhaps misleading, while the dark path held a mystery he wasn’t yet ready to understand. He stepped onto the golden path first. The air smelled sweet, like honey and spring flowers. In the distance, he saw a small village. Children laughed and ran through cobblestone streets. Music floated from a tavern. It was perfect, serene… almost too perfect. And then he noticed the villagers’ faces. Blank. Empty eyes staring forward, smiling without joy. A shiver ran down his spine. Everything was beautiful, yet lifeless. He turned to leave, but the path had vanished. The golden leaves crumbled into dust under his feet. Panic surged through him. He ran, calling out, until the ground beneath him gave way. He fell into darkness. When he awoke, he was standing at the beginning of the dark path. The forest was silent, shadows stretching like fingers. Mist clung to the twisted trees, and somewhere in the distance, he could hear faint whispers—some pleading, some laughing, some crying. “Don’t be afraid,” a soft voice said again. He turned to see the clockmaker standing beside him, older somehow, as if the forest had aged him. “This path is harder, yes. But it shows truth.” Ayan took a deep breath and began walking. The shadows seemed to move around him, forming shapes: a little girl chasing a paper kite, an old man carving a wooden boat, a woman painting a window sill. Each scene shimmered like a memory—not his, but something close to it. A strange familiarity stirred inside him. At the heart of the forest, he found a lake so still it mirrored the sky perfectly. Floating above the water was a tiny key, glowing faintly. The clockmaker’s voice echoed again: “The key unlocks the box. But remember, what you unlock changes you forever.” Ayan reached out. The moment his fingers touched the key, a burst of light enveloped him. He was back in the shop, the clocks ticking once more. The box on the counter had opened. Inside lay a small, folded letter, written in a hand he didn’t recognize but somehow knew. “Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the choice to face what lies within. The life you seek is not in perfect beauty or fleeting pleasure—it is in truth, in every shadow you fear, in every joy you earn. Your journey begins now.” The clockmaker nodded. “Now you know. Every choice you make creates your story. Remember that, and never fear the dark, for it teaches what the light cannot.” Ayan left the shop that night with the box tucked under his arm. The rain had stopped, and the streets shimmered under the soft glow of lamps. But more importantly, something inside him had shifted. He understood that life was not about avoiding shadows, but learning to walk through them. And somewhere, deep in the ticking of the city’s clocks, he felt the whisper again: “Your story has just begun.”
By Zuzain Muhammada day ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pass Mystery: The Night Nine Hikers Ran Into the Darkness. AI-Generated.
In the winter of 1959, a group of nine university students decided to attempt a difficult expedition through a remote mountain range deep in northern Russia. The leader of the group was Arman Karev, a calm and experienced hiker known among his friends for planning tough but exciting adventures. Joining him were his close friends: Leonid Petrov, Sasha Morov, Nikolai Varenko, Yuri Sokol, Viktor Belin, Irina Volkova, Tania Orlov, and Mira Petrenko. All of them were skilled hikers. Some had already completed several winter expeditions before. None of them were beginners, and they knew exactly how dangerous the mountains could be in February. Still, adventure called them. They began their journey at the end of January, carrying heavy backpacks, cameras, journals, and enough supplies to survive the brutal cold. Their goal was to cross the frozen mountain pass and return home with stories of challenge and victory. During the first days of the expedition, everything seemed normal. Photos later recovered from their cameras showed the group laughing, walking through deep snow, and setting up camp under the pale winter sky. They looked happy, confident, and completely unaware of the mystery their journey would become. But after they failed to return on the scheduled date, worry began to spread. Days turned into weeks. Finally, search teams were organized to look for the missing hikers. When rescuers reached the area where the group was believed to have camped, they quickly found something strange. The tent was still there. But something about it felt wrong. The fabric of the tent had been cut open from the inside. Experienced hikers would never destroy their own shelter in the middle of a snowstorm unless something forced them to escape immediately. Outside the tent, the snow told a silent story. Footprints led away from the campsite. But the rescuers noticed something terrifying. Some footprints appeared to belong to people who were barefoot or wearing only socks. In temperatures far below freezing, leaving shelter without boots or coats would be almost certain death. The tracks continued down the slope toward a dark forest about a kilometer away. When searchers followed the trail, they discovered the first two bodies beneath a tall cedar tree. It was Yuri Sokol and Leonid Petrov. Near them were the remains of a small fire, as if they had desperately tried to warm themselves before the cold became too much. Between the tree and the abandoned campsite, three more bodies were found: Arman Karev, Sasha Morov, and Nikolai Varenko. Their positions suggested something heartbreaking. It looked as if they had been trying to crawl back to the tent before collapsing in the snow. Weeks later, after heavy snow began to melt, the remaining four hikers were discovered inside a nearby ravine. What investigators saw next made the mystery even darker. Irina Volkova had a fractured skull. Viktor Belin had several broken ribs. Mira Petrenko was missing her tongue. And Tania Orlov had severe internal injuries that looked similar to those caused by a powerful collision. Yet strangely, there were almost no external wounds. Even more confusing, there were no signs that anyone else had been present. No other footprints. No evidence of an attack. Some of the hikers’ clothing was later reported to have unusual radiation traces, adding another layer of mystery to the case. Over time, theories began to appear everywhere. Some believed a sudden avalanche might have terrified the group. Others suggested secret military tests happening in the mountains that night. A few locals even claimed they had seen strange glowing lights in the sky during the same period. But none of the explanations fully answered the biggest question. Why would nine trained hikers suddenly panic so badly that they cut open their tent and run into the freezing darkness? Years later, the case file was quietly closed with a strange explanation. Officials simply stated that the hikers died due to “an unknown and overwhelming force.” The mountain pass where the tragedy happened was later renamed Frozen Pass in memory of the lost hikers. Even today, hikers who visit the area say the place feels unusually quiet. The wind moves slowly through the snow-covered slopes, and the forest stands dark and still beneath the mountains. Some visitors say that standing there at night feels unsettling—almost as if the mountain is hiding something. Something that happened long ago. Something no one has ever fully understood. And perhaps never will.
By Baseer Shaheen 2 days ago in Fiction
