thriller
The Train That Never Stops
There was something about the silence of empty stations that gnawed at him. The flickering fluorescent lights, the echo of his footsteps on long, deserted platforms, the way shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally across tiled floors—it all felt wrong. The night belonged to things unseen, and Arman had always believed that traveling through it was an invitation to meet them.
By Salman Writesa day ago in Fiction
Magic - Chapter Two
Author's note: Today, my stream of consciousness flows easily without having to think through the story. Therefore, I am letting my subconscious do the work. I am writing this after writing the following, which you will soon read, and I want to mention that everything I have written so far is purely from my subconscious mind. I have not planned the plot, especially what will happen in today's chapter; you will wonder if I have planned this particular incident. The answer is 'No, I have not'. To be honest, it just came into my mind rather abruptly as I was writing, and that's how the subconscious usually works. I hope you understand what I am saying. If you don't, I recommend you read the book The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy.
By Denise Larkin2 days ago in Fiction
Tempest of Iron Tides
The Gathering Storm The ocean had always belonged to no one—and yet, men had tried for centuries to claim it. Captain Elian Voss stood at the prow of the warship Aegis Valor, his coat snapping in the rising wind. Before him stretched an endless expanse of darkening water, the horizon swallowed by a wall of storm clouds. The air smelled of salt, oil, and something metallic—like the promise of blood.
By Sahir E Shafqat2 days ago in Fiction
My Ex Keeps Showing Up in Photos
My ex and I broke up three weeks before Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t mutual. It was the kind of breakup where things get thrown, voices get loud, and the last thing he says before leaving is something that sticks in your head long after the door slams.
By V-Ink Stories2 days ago in Fiction
The Leprechaun in the Basement
The scratching started three nights before St. Patrick’s Day. At first, the homeowner assumed it was mice. The house was old, built sometime in the 1940s, with narrow crawlspaces beneath the living room floor. Small animals getting in wasn’t unusual. The sound came in short bursts—scratching, dragging, then silence.
By V-Ink Stories2 days ago in Fiction
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time . Content Warning.
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time By luccian layth Here collapses a corner of events — purely narrative, risen from the drain of our old house's gutter, seeping into the channels of a despondent city. Dark of atmosphere. Wretched to look upon. Like an old grey woman the ages have ruined, her sides ulcerated, spoiled like dried apple where worms have long since finished their work and moved on to something equally forgettable.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH6 days ago in Fiction
