thriller
To Dust
The world ended on a Wednesday. Not with fire or thunder or a sudden vanishing—just a quiet, almost polite collapse. The sun rose pale. The air tasted metallic. And the dust, fine as ash and soft as winter breath, drifted from the horizon like a slow-moving tide.
By Alexander Mind3 months ago in Fiction
The Night I Realized I Wasn’t Alone in My Own Mind
There are moments in life when reality doesn’t split cleanly down the middle—when the normal and the impossible blur together, and you’re left standing somewhere in the fog between them. That night, I didn’t just step into the fog. I drowned in it.
By Muhammad Reyaz3 months ago in Fiction
The Last Light in Room 217
I wasn’t supposed to notice the light in Room 217. The hallway of the old boarding house was usually a tunnel of darkness after midnight, lit only by a dying bulb that buzzed like an insect trapped behind glass. I’d lived there for eight months—long enough to memorize the limits of its shadows, the way the wallpaper peeled in places like tired skin, and the sighs the wooden floorboards made under my steps.
By tosarkastikomouegw 3 months ago in Fiction
SEASON 8 - Whispers from the Lantern: The Keeper's Lament
Chapter 15 The silence was a palpable thing, a heavy blanket that settled over the entire coast. Aris and his team stood in the now-calm lantern room, a profound sense of exhaustion washing over them. The Keeper was gone. The drowned were gone. The mournful lament was gone.
By Tales That Breathe at Night3 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room. Content Warning.
There's a room at the end of the hall that hasn't been open for almost 80 years. There was a time that this was the most used room. Now it goes unused. This was the most favoured room at one point. But now you don't even notice the door when you walk by.
By Jen Phillips3 months ago in Fiction
Going Undercover. Content Warning.
By 2019, I had been writing cartel stories for a dozen years yet I still wasn’t ready for what I heard. Marcos Reyes, a half-Dominican gun merchant out of Chicago, told me about it. He appeared at gun shows all over America as Marcos, but almost every narco in Mexico calls him El Fríto. What almost nobody knows is that he is actually Marcus Reed, a 38-year-old ATF agent who was living undercover for forty-five months.
By Scott Christenson🌴3 months ago in Fiction
To Dust. Top Story - December 2025. Content Warning.
Cassus stood before the locked and barred tomb. Twenty years before, he laid its inhabitants to rest. It was as tombs made by families of modest wealth tended to be: four columns supporting an angled roof festooned with griffins, unicorns, and humble men seeking their eternal forgiveness from the Crescent Sun. The bards would pack the tavern with that irony. Cassus laughed to himself and the effort turned to a rasping cough that made his knees buckle. He knew he’d receive no such forgiveness when they laid him to rest.
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Fiction
Dust and Static. Top Story - December 2025.
Just one more box. Frank thought to himself as he turned back into his childhood home. The loss of his parents was, on paper, a tragedy, a car crash that couldn't have been avoided, but in reality it was no real loss to him. It had been years since he'd spoken to them, and even longer since he'd seen them.
By Liam Storm3 months ago in Fiction
The Room that Remembered. Content Warning.
He woke on cold stone, cheek pressed against grit. A throb pulsed behind his eyes—deep, steady, like a slow hammer striking bone. When he tried to move, pain shot through his shoulders. His wrists were bound behind him with coarse rope, tight enough to bite.
By SUEDE the poet3 months ago in Fiction
The Room at the End of the Hall
(A son returns home after five years to open the room his father left behind. The door was closed out of grief, but what he discovers inside changes the way he sees love, loss, and family. This emotional story explores how memories can stay frozen in time, waiting for the courage to be unlocked again.)
By Salman Writes3 months ago in Fiction
The Night My Shadow Walked Away From Me
Some nights stay with you forever—not because something magical happened, but because something impossible did. The night my shadow walked away from me wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a trick of the light. It was the moment I realized that sometimes, the parts of ourselves we ignore the most eventually demand to be seen.
By Muhammad Reyaz3 months ago in Fiction
