Historical

Renaissance Room
I was an old man by the time I returned to the house, long after the war had emptied its lungs and fallen quiet. The stairwell leaned as if age were a weight it could no longer disguise. Still, the shape of my childhood waited for me at the top floor, patient as only the past can be.
By Hyde Wunderli 4 months ago in Fiction
The Silence Between Thoughts
They say writers hear voices in their heads. But what if one of those voices starts hearing you? My name is Arham. I’ve been a writer for nine years — crime novels, mostly.
By Naimat ullah4 months ago in Fiction
THE HARVEST OF WHISPERS - PART
The silence of the advancing figures was more terrifying than any sound. They moved as one entity, a wall of grotesque masks and period costumes that now seemed less like disguises and more like stolen skins. Their hollow eyes, carved from wood, moulded from leather, or simply painted onto fabric, were fixed on Liam and Callum.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Night Shift
I crawled towards the faint yellow glow in the crack at the bottom of the door frame. I felt a warm liquid dripping from my brown and could smell the iron of my blood mixed with the must of damp laundry.
By Theresa M Hochstine4 months ago in Fiction
THE HARVEST OF WHISPERS
The ancient Yorkshire village of Blackwood Beck didn't celebrate Halloween; it performed it. For the outside world, it was the "UK's Most Authentic Halloween Experience," a tourist trap of plastic skeletons and overpriced pumpkin ale. But for Liam, a cynical London journalist sent to cover the festival, the authenticity felt... forced. It was in the way the locals' smiles didn't reach their eyes, and in the way they spoke of the "Harvest" with a capital 'H', a term that carried a weight far beyond simple trick-or-treating.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The House That Watched the Village. AI-Generated.
we used to talk about Fernley House as if it were a person. Not a building, not quite a ghost either, but something in between — as if the wind that moved across the moors each dusk stopped a while in its chimney to listen.
By Ishaq khan4 months ago in Fiction
Letters to the Future Tenant
Letters to the Future Tenant The first letter fell from the wall like a leaf. It was a pale yellow note, folded twice, the edges curled with age. Elise had been peeling away the faded floral wallpaper in her new apartment when it fluttered to the floor. She thought it was a scrap of old glue or a receipt left behind by the previous tenant. But then she saw her name written on it — Elise — in soft pencil, the letters slanted and neat.
By SHAYAN4 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Atlas — Part 10: The Shoreline That Breathes
The world ended quietly—without fire, without judgment—only silence. By the winter of 2026, every map server in the world began returning errors.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Atlas — Part 9: The Cartographer’s Echo
The night over Torrento was unnaturally silent. After the Gate 12 incident, the airport had been sealed for investigation. But rumors spread faster than official silence ever could — travelers spoke of lights moving beneath the runway, of whispers that came through the PA system in a language that wasn’t recorded in any archive.
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
Blood Roses & Broken Vows. AI-Generated.
Aisha worked at a little flower shop near the docks. Her world was simple — petals, perfume, and prayers. She believed every wound healed with time, every heart rebuilt with love.
By shakir hamid4 months ago in Fiction
The Window Everyone Forgets. AI-Generated.
When Rehan moved into the quiet hill cottage, he wasn’t looking for magic — only silence. After years of city noise, heartbreak, and a life that felt too heavy to carry, he wanted peace. The cottage was old, wrapped in moss and forgotten flowers. Locals told him it once belonged to a writer who disappeared without a trace.
By shakir hamid4 months ago in Fiction
When Tomorrow Remembers. AI-Generated.
Kabir believed life moved forward — one direction, one timeline, one destiny. Until he met Amara. She appeared in his life like a forgotten melody — familiar yet impossible.
By shakir hamid4 months ago in Fiction