Horror
Tea Time
Like every morning, Ester watched as trembling hands lifted the robin’s egg blue teapot and poured the amber liquid into a matching teacup. Louis’ hands were wrinkled, weathered, calloused from years of work. She still loved holding those hands across the small kitchen table as they talked. She remembered doing it for fifty years, the hands had changed but they felt the same. It was a good day when she could think back over the years. It was better in the mornings. The fog of sleep when she woke up lifted and she remembered his name, but in a couple hours it wasn’t guaranteed.
By Raine Fielderabout a month ago in Fiction
Where Do You Go When the Story Doesn’t End?
Sometimes stories end because the book is actually finished. Others abruptly stop because the reader has fallen asleep. But sometimes the story keeps going simply because it's developed a mind of its own, leaving you to keep turning the pages without noticing.
By Shannon Hilsonabout a month ago in Fiction
Vision of Amaya. Content Warning.
Amaya woke suddenly, the ice cold grip of early morning air ripping her out of a nightmare. All was quiet. The sun had not yet bathed the hills in its light. The birds were silent, waiting for the sunlight to reach across the world and warm their feathers. Dawn was still a couple hours away.
By Madison "Maddy" Newtonabout a month ago in Fiction
The Town That Forgot Tomorrow
Subtitle 1: Every morning in the town of Everfall began the same way. At exactly 7:00 a.m., the church bell rang once. At 7:05, the bakery doors opened, releasing the smell of warm bread into the foggy streets. At 7:10, children walked to school in neat lines, their shoes tapping in perfect rhythm against the pavement.
By Iazaz hussainabout a month ago in Fiction
Pastel Nightmare
The Johnsons were the quintessential suburban family. Laura, her husband Mark, and their two kids, Ellie and Ben, loved going all out for the holidays. Easter was no exception. Pastel-colored eggs, garlands, and bunny decorations adorned their home every year, but this time, Laura wanted to make it extra special.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
The Burrow
The Thompsons had planned their Easter weekend months in advance. A family camping trip seemed like the perfect escape from the monotony of suburbia, a chance to bond over s’mores and nature hikes. The secluded Maplewood Campground, nestled deep in the woods, promised tranquility and picturesque views. They had no idea what awaited them beneath the ground.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a month ago in Fiction
The Ghost on the Map: My 2,000-Mile Journey to a Paris That Isn’t There
If you type "Paris" into Google Maps, the algorithm will dutifully drop a pin on the City of Light. It will show you the winding Seine, the star-shaped sprawl of the Place de l’Étoile, and enough crêperies to feed a small army.
By George Evanabout a month ago in Fiction
No Signal
The first thing Lorelei noticed was the sound. Not silence — she had expected silence — but a roaring, ceaseless, all-consuming noise. The surf. It came from every direction, a white static that swallowed everything else, and for a long, disoriented moment she thought she had gone deaf and the world had filled the gap with its own voice.
By Parsley Rose about a month ago in Fiction
The Short Career of a Serial Killer
He was a happy man he really was, Fred had it all. A wonderful wife named Laura and two little girls - Megan and Pam. He was a nine to five man, working at the local cannery. They packed up vegetables and he even got cans to take home. Being a middle size town, the cannery was the center of it all. So each noon the big whistle would blow, announcing that lunchtime had arrived. It happened rather oddly, strangely I might say.
By Rasma Raistersabout a month ago in Fiction
A quiet reminder
It started with an advert in the back of the Tibley Chapter, the abundantly disappointing local newspaper for the small communities of Tibley, Wrenton and Barkley St Bennett’s. At the time nobody really paid a great deal of attention to it. It was small (at a cost of 25p per word there was a need for economy of communication) and unsurprising but ultimately it was so forgettable everybody did. For the reader’s benefit it is included here:
By Simon Curtisabout a month ago in Fiction
