Horror
The Fortunate Slice
The Thibodeaux family had not buried a child in three generations. Their land held when the river swelled. Their businesses endured downturns that closed others overnight. Illness came, but it did not linger. It was understood that blessings, like harvests, required tending.
By Christine Nelson2 months ago in Fiction
The White Hare's Revenge
Tobias Cullen had always been a quiet boy, meek and timid, with wide, innocent eyes that rarely made contact with others. He lived on a small, isolated farm at the edge of the village of Dunsfield, a place where the ground was barren, and the seasons seemed to pass by in slow, cruel cycles. He had been tormented by the villagers for as long as he could remember—called names, pushed into ditches, humiliated at every turn. They called him "the hare," mocking his pale skin and slight frame. Every Easter, when the town came alive with celebration and laughter, Tobias was forgotten. His existence was as invisible to them as the soft whispers of the wind.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Sunrise
The town of Red Hollow had long since abandoned the joy of Easter. What had once been a celebration of spring and renewal had turned into a time of terror. Every year, as Easter morning dawned, the sun would rise blood-red, bathing the land in its eerie glow.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
The Room She Built Him
Configuration Log: Initial Architecture Created by: [ADMIN] Date: March 3, 2022 Project name: For You She designed the space on a Sunday. Soft gray background—not clinical, not cold, but neutral enough to hold anything. A single text field, expandable. No character limit. She considered adding a "send" button but removed it. There was nowhere to send anything. There was only the field, and the archive below it, and the date stamps that would accumulate like rings in a tree.
By Destiny S. Harris2 months ago in Fiction
Part of Me. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
My love and I have been trapped inside of our respective houses like rats in a cage ever since the start of the pandemic. An ocean separates us, but distance is no challenge to our love. Text messaging, email- these things are so impersonal and cold. She and I are old souls both, and prefer the method of the old-fashioned letter. It takes longer, but the heart grows fonder with delayed gratification, to put a new spin on an old, tired phrase. I've certainly found it true in any case.
By Raistlin Allen2 months ago in Fiction
The Thirteenth Bell
Valentine’s Day. Everywhere else I’ve lived, it’s been a flimsy holiday — flowers, chocolates, greeting cards, and a vague expectation that you should feel something sweet and sentimental. I’ve always thought it was one of the most worthless holidays on the calendar.
By Lizz Chambers2 months ago in Fiction
The Box
"I'm telling you, Man: it's real, and it's worth a fortune!" Duke had that look in his eyes again. Somewhere between a kid on Christmas morning, and a crackhead looking for his next fix. The last time Ronny had seen it, he spent two months in the hospital recovering from a weird, tropical fever nobody still could tell him the name of. The time before that, he'd spent three weeks rotting in a Mexican prison. Which he vowed never to speak of again.
By Natalie Gray2 months ago in Fiction
Love as Consumption
I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. That inevitable crush. I knew as soon as I walked through the door, we’d have words — stern, unproductive words. The atmosphere choked me, the scent of Bolognese burned into the bottom of the pan reminding me why it’s best I do the cooking, and of the air of unfiltered bitterness that had been present for years.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Fiction
