Horror
"Remove That Hex!" - 2
This is Part 2 of an absurdist, romance novel-spoof horror-sprinkled tale of Elena, a 30-something divorced postal worker living in a high-rise studio apartment in any city in Russia. Once, she bought a talking fish who turned out to be a witch-hexed prince. The only way to remove the hex would be for Elena to fall in love and give him a human baby. Falling in love was the easy part. One day, Elena started to lay fish eggs and put them in the aquarium where her Prince lived in the fish form. She told him to watch them while she was at work, however, the eggs kept disappearing.
By Lana V Lynx26 days ago in Fiction
Drac and Lizzie goes to the Prom
"SOOOOO! 'Young' Drac, we have both - again - graduated high school in Transylvania, Romania in 1666. Oops! I mean 2066. Well, actually, the year doesn't really matter much. Frankly, any old year will suffice, since we have been alive for many centuries and graduated many, many high schools together".
By Antoni De'Leon26 days ago in Fiction
Epilogue
Andy looked forward to settling into his overstuffed recliner, anxiously anticipating the grand finale of the book he had been reading for the last four days. He wasn’t a slow reader; on the contrary, if left alone, he could plow through most books in two days max. The problem with this book was that every time he settled down to read it, something or someone interrupted him. Either the phone would ring or the dog needed to go for a walk. Occasionally, a friend would stop by for a visit. Once, he had to work a double shift because someone called out sick. Tonight was going to be different. He only had two chapters and the epilogue to get through, and he could return the book to the library and find a new one.
By Mark Gagnon27 days ago in Fiction
The Thing in the Woods Loves Valentine's Day
The woods around Blackwood Ridge didn’t just look scary; they were actively trying to digest you. I adjusted the tie of my tuxedo, feeling ridiculous. The silk felt too smooth against my neck, especially since the rest of my body was covered in mud and scratches. A bramble—one of those sentient, black-thorned vines that only grow in cursed soil—snapped at my ankle. I stomped on it with a heavy hiking boot, hearing it hiss as it retreated into the fog.
By Amin Turabi27 days ago in Fiction
