Horror
The Shadow at My Door
It came in the blizzard. A dark, twisted thing, shambling in the freezing cold and right to our door. All the lights had been out—not just ours mind you, but ALL the lights—for a time I had long lost track of but that did not stop it from clawing its way right up the driveway to rest at the foot of the stairs and stare right inside—like it knew we were there. But it could not. No, it could not possibly have known.
By C.A. McKinney5 years ago in Fiction
The Fifth Day On
“The Four Day War happened enough months ago that I’ve lost count of how long it’s been. Four days was all it had taken though, and humanity was done. They came from the skies with such fury casting fire so pure many thought it was the rapture. Their ships blotted out the sun, casting shadows over landscapes filled with the terrified apex predators of the planet. Big dumb apes that thought they were so in control of the world around them. In just one moment that all changed. No one is quite sure what they wanted, or what they took, they were here and gone too quickly
By Jesse Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Lost In a Dream
++-+---ello? Can you hear me? Are you listening? This story is not about me. It isn’t about you. It just keeps going. Unfolding with no end in sight. Broken in places. You see many of us just keep unraveling as life goes on with no idea where things will end up. Seeking purpose in whatever place we find comfort in, for a moment, maybe even a lifetime?
By Spencer Lane5 years ago in Fiction
Balancing Catherine
1. The storm is growing near. We feel the inert and stagnant air grow more and more silent. She complains about the temperature in the room so we go outside, but it is just as hot. We hear nothing except for the coquis and the occasional burst of shooting stars. She always spots them up above, pointing vividly to the skies. I always miss the phenomenon. I always miss the ghosts that Catherine sees at night in our new house. I don't believe in ghosts, much less in her, but the more adamant she becomes, the more I start to believe her. But I will only reach out my skepticism as far as her pretty, quixotic mouth would lead. The storm has started. She wants to go back inside because the winds are beginning to howl. I tell her not to be afraid. She thinks I'm talking about her ghosts. Under the approaching deluge, she simply says that nothing will ever be the same. I never believe in what she says.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
Gobby Blank
The deer blind was like a cocoon. Gobby's limbs ached with stiffness, but she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. One more would come by soon, she knew it. They were far too predictable. She reached for the biscuit in her pocket only to realize she’d crushed it somehow, and now she had a pocket full of crumbs. She tried balling the crumbs together in her fist to no avail. The next thing she knew, she was eating the crumbs from her hand like a rat. It made her think of her mother, who didn’t have teeth. She couldn’t have rat-mouthed these biscuit crumbs.
By CAROLE S TURNER5 years ago in Fiction
The Left Behinds
June 26th, Year Unknown. Country Unknown. Place Unknown. ‘I don’t know how long I have been walking for, nor do I know why I travelled in this direction. All that I have with me is my worn down backpack, a dodgy memory and a rusty heart shaped locket that I have carried with me for as long as I can remember. What I do know, is that I need to take shelter, hunker down, so that they can’t chase me. Who is they? I hear you ask. I couldn’t tell you. All I know is they have been relentlessly chasing me for three nights now and I need some sleep.
By Joey Shabadoo5 years ago in Fiction
A Forager's Peril
Her legs burned as she raced through the trees, lungs gasping for breath, every muscle in her body begging her to stop. But to stop was to die so she pushed forward. Nothing like danger nipping at your heels to get in a good workout. Not that she’d recommend this regime to anyone.
By Emma Brown5 years ago in Fiction
The End
1 year Post Diary, It’s been a year…365 days of complete chaos filled with sleepless nights and hungry days. People have come and gone but we always end up alone. Just you, me, and mom’s locket. Gods, how have I kept that locket safe all this time? Such a simple piece- just a golden heart no bigger than my fingernail but in times like this could be the cause of my own death.
By Nicole Smith5 years ago in Fiction
foothills
He’d been in the mountains for two years. His territory was somewhere in the foothills of the Pyrenees and he moved his camp a few miles once or twice a month. When he first arrived he had intended to keep moving south west into Spain but avoiding the coasts meant he’d kept inland and higher in the mountains, even when the winters were harshest. The cold never bothered him in the same way as the heat and the dry.
By Laurie Barraclough5 years ago in Fiction
The Asylum
During the month of June in 2020, five employees of an environmental consulting company arrived in [REDACTED] to complete a series of bat surveys on a property with numerous condemned buildings. Bat surveys are conducted 30 minutes prior to sunset and one hour after for a total survey time of 90 minutes. According to the protocols for species at risk bats by the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestry, suitable weather means low wind, no precipitation, and temperatures above 10 degrees Celsius. In 1876 the site was called the [REDACTED] Asylum for Idiots. The following logs a series of unusual phenomena that each employee experienced and later recounted to their fellow coworkers.
By Kelsey Reich5 years ago in Fiction
