Horror
Pyro's Spell, Friday, May 18th, 2007
“Here you are ladies, early as usual.” Anton informed his six gorgeous passengers. “Same time again tonight?” Anton had landed one hell of a gig this time. All he had to do was pick up six exotic dancers at the same place and time, then drive them 20 minutes down the road. Each girl gave him $20 to drop them off, and another $20 when he picked them back up.
By Anton Mathias Heft about a month ago in Fiction
Split Lip
At the hospital, the nurses have got those looks on their faces where you can just forget about patient confidentiality. Behind those raised eyebrows, behind the crinkled-up foreheads, already they’re cooking up the nicknames–what they’re gonna call you after you shed that paper gown and slide your legs back into those pants.
By Maegan Heilabout a month ago in Fiction
The Night Weeping Inn: A Guest Protocol for Your Serene Stay
Esteemed Guest, Welcome to the Yonaki-kan (Night Weeping Inn), a sanctuary nestled deep within the forgotten valleys of Ishikawa Prefecture. For generations, our inn has offered weary travelers a timeless respite, a glimpse into an older Japan where nature and spirit intertwine. To ensure your stay is as tranquil and undisturbed as possible, we kindly ask you to observe the following traditional protocols. These guidelines are not mere suggestions; they are the bedrock of harmony between our cherished guests and the ancient spirits of this land. Your cooperation ensures not just your comfort, but your safety.
By Takashi Nagayaabout a month ago in Fiction
Halloween. Content Warning.
What was the ancient evil that infected Corey Cunningham and caused him to go psycho? It was an ancient demon known as Belial. It was the thing known as The Shape. Michael was The Shape. That was what everyone thought. Michael was the shape to Haddonfield. Belial was Michael’s Shape. He was the entity that showed himself to Michael when Karen interrupted him. It was the silent alarm waiting to trigger Michael.
By DJ Robbinsabout a month ago in Fiction
The Devil's Opponent: The Root of Evil Manifesto. Content Warning.
The Devil's Opponent: Root of Evil Manifesto Chapter 1 Raven Grimm was a rather funny, but handsome man who owned a magic store in the big city called “The Capricorn”. It was his little slice of paradise and a good reason for him to stay out of working at a fucking job which would just end up making him “just over broke”. He had such a feminine face and long silky white hair that spoke of many years of wisdom that he wore down around his shoulders. He looked so much younger than he really was. He was what you might call a femboy or at least that's what he preferred to call himself. Born on February 18th, 1993 in Minneapolis, Minnesota. so currently he was 33 years old, but looked to be in his twenties still. He was perhaps the most available bachelor in his area and yet no woman or man would touch him with a ten foot pole because of a cursed ring he could not take off. It was silver with a great black diamond set into it. The diamond was so dark and dense it felt as if it were absorbing the energy around it and to his knowledge it actually was. He hated how heavy it felt on his hand. It felt like an overpriced slave collar. He cursed the woman who put this on him night and day, but to no avail she never seemed to return to him. He looked around at the shoppers in his store and saw one pick up a tarot deck out of curiosity. He was meaning to teach classes on how to read them, but lacked the energy to invest in such a project since managing his store took up what motivation and energy he did have. A young woman in a billowing cloak came into the store just as he was thinking of closing up shop. She had brown hair and hazel eyes the color of the forest and river and skin that was basically white. What did she want here? He wondered as she picked up a black and red candle for spell casting and came to the register where he stood.
By Eris Willowabout a month ago in Fiction
The Devil's Cut . Top Story - January 2026.
“Comrade, finally you’re awake.” The voice was smooth, sensual. A flickering incandescent bar was all that lit the white, sterile room. All Vladimir remembered was everything going black. He tried to move his arms and found them strapped to the gurney.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a month ago in Fiction
