Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Screw again turns.
A gnarled tree stands sentinel in the foreground, its bark pierced by old, rusted screws - they are memories embedded in its flesh. From one twisted branch hangs a solitary lantern, casting a warm, flickering glow that barely touches the creeping shadows. In the distance, the haunted mansion looms, its windows dimly lit, surrounded by skeletal trees and swirling mist.
By Antoni De'Leon4 days ago in Fiction
The Sound Behind the Walls
Some noises are not meant to be ignored Hamza had always been a light sleeper, but the apartment he moved into seemed unusually quietâor at least, he thought it was. On the first night, as he unpacked boxes and set up his workspace, he noticed faint scratching sounds behind one of the bedroom walls. He assumed it was a mouse or some building settling. Yet the sound persisted, subtle at first, almost rhythmic, like tiny claws tapping on plaster.
By Sudais Zakwan4 days ago in Fiction
The Room With No Exit. Content Warning.
Aamir was a traveling journalist, always chasing abandoned buildings for his articles. When he discovered an old hospital on the outskirts of the city, he was thrilled. Stories of patients disappearing and strange accidents had circulated decades ago. Most locals avoided the place entirely, calling it cursed or haunted. Aamir, armed with his camera, flashlight, and a notebook, ignored the warnings. To him, it was a story waiting to be told, proof that the supernatural was nothing more than exaggeration and fear.
By Sudais Zakwan4 days ago in Fiction
The Doll in the Window
When Zaraâs family moved into the old Victorian house on Elm Street, she didnât notice the doll at first. It sat in the dusty attic window, a porcelain figure with glassy eyes, a cracked smile, and a faded pink dress. Her younger brother had insisted it was creepy, but Zara thought little of it. Dolls were just dolls, after all. That was before she began noticing subtle, unnerving changes.
By Sudais Zakwan4 days ago in Fiction
The Passenger in the Backseat
Zain had always driven late at night. The silence of empty streets and the hum of the engine helped him think, helped him escape the weight of the day. He preferred these hours, when most people were asleep, when the city felt abandoned and his thoughts were uninterrupted. But one night, something changed. Something that would make him fear driving forever.
By Sudais Zakwan4 days ago in Fiction
The Last Light of Valenbruck A
In the northern valleys of Europe, where pine forests met gray mountains and rivers ran like silver threads through stone, there stood a quiet town called Valenbruck. For most of the year, clouds covered its sky like a heavy blanket. Sunlight visited rarely, and when it did, people paused in the streets just to feel its warmth. The townsfolk believed this was normal. It had always been this way, or so the elders said. But Elin Marceau was not like the others. She was nineteen, with dark hair tied in careless knots and a habit of staring at the sky as if it owed her an explanation. Elin worked in the townâs old lighthouseâa strange job, considering Valenbruck sat beside a river rather than the sea. Yet the tower had existed longer than memory, built on a cliff above the water, its lamp facing the mountains instead of the horizon. Every evening, Elin climbed its spiral stairs and lit the great lamp, even though no ships passed and no travelers came. âWhy do we still light it?â she once asked her grandfather, Henrik, who had been the keeper before her. âBecause the light reminds the valley that it still belongs to the world,â he replied. âAnd because one day, it may guide something home.â Elin never knew what he meant. A Letter from the Past One winter morning, while cleaning the lighthouse storage room, Elin found a wooden box buried under old maps and rusted tools. Inside lay a bundle of yellowed letters tied with blue thread. The handwriting was careful, elegant, and unfamiliar. They were written by a woman named Sofia Valenbruck, over a hundred years ago. Sofia described a different townâone full of summer festivals, bright skies, and music drifting from open windows. She wrote of a time when Valenbruck was known as âthe town of light,â a place travelers visited just to see the sun rise between the twin mountains. But then the letters changed. Sofia wrote of fear. Of a night when the mountains trembled. Of a storm that swallowed the sky and never truly left. âWe dimmed the great lamp to hide ourselves,â one letter read. âAnd in doing so, we lost the sun.â Elin felt her chest tighten. âWhat great lamp?â she whispered. She ran down the tower and showed the letters to Henrik. His face grew pale as he read. âSo itâs time,â he said quietly. âTime for what?â âTo tell you what we buried.â The Secret of the Lighthouse Henrik revealed what the town had forgotten: Valenbruckâs lighthouse was never meant for ships. It was built to reflect sunlight using a massive crystal lens hidden inside the mountain behind it. Long ago, the lamp did not burn with fire but with captured daylight, spreading warmth across the valley even in winter. But when a violent storm came generations earlier, the people believed the light had angered the mountains. In fear, they shut the system down and sealed the tunnel leading to the crystal lens. Over time, the story became myth, and the purpose of the lighthouse faded into ritual. âWe chose darkness because it felt safer,â Henrik said. âAnd then we taught our children that darkness was normal.â Elin stared at the tower window, where thick clouds hung low over the river. âWhat if the sun is still there?â she asked. âWhat if we just stopped letting it in?â The Climb That night, Elin did something no one had done in decades. She took a lantern and entered the forbidden tunnel behind the lighthouse. The passage smelled of damp stone and forgotten years. Her footsteps echoed like a heartbeat in the dark. At the tunnelâs end stood a massive circular door carved with faded symbols of stars and waves. With effort, she turned the rusted wheel. The door groaned open. Inside, a giant crystal lens rested in silence, covered in dust but unbroken. It looked like frozen sunlight trapped in glass. Elin cleaned it with trembling hands. When her lantern touched its surface, the crystal caught the flame and scattered it into dozens of tiny sparks along the walls. Her breath caught. She climbed to the old control platform and pulled the final lever. Above her, gears shifted. Stone plates slid away from a hidden opening in the mountain ceiling. For the first time in generations, sunlight poured inside. The Return of Morning The light shot through the crystal lens and up into the lighthouse tower. The great lamp burst into brillianceânot yellow, but warm white, like the memory of summer. Outside, people stepped from their homes in confusion. Children pointed at the sky. Old men removed their hats. Women shielded their eyes and laughed. The clouds above Valenbruck thinned, slowly, as if pushed aside by an invisible hand. A beam of light crossed the valley, touching rooftops, trees, and river alike. For the first time in living memory, the town saw a true sunrise. Elin stood in the tower doorway, tears on her cheeks. Henrik joined her, his voice shaking. âSofia would have been proud.â A New Story for an Old Town Valenbruck changed after that day. Not suddenly, but gently. Flowers began growing near windows. Travelers returned, curious about the âtown that found its sun.â Children painted pictures of blue skies instead of gray ones. Music returned to the streets. And the lighthouse was no longer just a ritual. It became a promise. Every evening, Elin still lit the lamp. Not because she feared the darkâbut because she understood what light meant. It meant memory. It meant courage. It meant choosing hope even when fear felt easier. And sometimes, when the clouds gathered thick again, the people of Valenbruck did not complain. They simply waited. Because now they knew: The sun had never abandoned them. They had only forgotten how to open the door. Moral of the Story Fear can make people hide from the world. Tradition can make them forget why they once believed in light. But all it takes is one person willing to climb into the dark and turn the key
By Iazaz hussain4 days ago in Fiction
Oh My Gaaawd!!
đŤđđ¤ I donât think of myself as a very religious person. I like to think of myself as a spiritual earthing, who can find something good and useful in every religion Iâve learned about. I believe thereâs some truth to every story on the planet .. even if itâs just the source or idea that it evolved from. Iâm going to share a true story of mine that I think most people will find something relatable in. Itâs not well written, but itâs true and real and if it makes you smile or laugh, it makes me smile. đđđŤđđ¤đď¸
By Dana Mary Colleen Campbell4 days ago in Fiction
The Skyforge Chronicles
In the village of Larkspire, where the rooftops were stitched with copper and the cobblestone streets hummed with ancient magic, young Elian lived a life far quieter than he wished. Most boys his age chased sparrows or kicked stones into the river, but Elian chased the sky. Heâd climb the tallest hills, stretching his arms toward the clouds, imagining he could pluck a star and bring it down like a fallen leaf.
By Imran Pisani4 days ago in Fiction
A Sky Remembered
The sky was breaking. Not gently. Not beautifully. It tore itself open like a wound that refused to stay closed, blue clashing violently with flame as clouds spiraled into a burning ring above Cindervale. The air shook with every pulse of heat, and people fled the streets, screaming, praying, clinging to doorways as stone cracked beneath their feet.
By Imran Pisani4 days ago in Fiction
The Fire That Refused to Burn
Kael did not wake to light. He woke to silence so complete it rang in his ears. For a long moment, he couldnât feel his body. No pain, no warmth, no fire. Just emptiness, like the space left behind after something essential had been torn out. Panic rose in his chest, sharp and sudden.
By Imran Pisani4 days ago in Fiction
