Horror

Spring Sacrifice
The woods of Hollow Glen were quiet, save for the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the last rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting long, eerie shadows. The group of teenagers—Ellie, Jake, Sarah, and Ryan—had ventured there on a dare. Rumors of strange happenings in the forest around Easter had been passed down for years, but none of them believed in ghost stories.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
Eggshells
Margaret Whitlock was known as the best artist in the sleepy town of Greystone. Her specialty was Easter egg sculptures—delicate, intricate creations painted with painstaking detail. Each egg was a marvel, depicting pastoral scenes, mythical creatures, and swirling patterns so fine they seemed almost alive. Every Easter, people from all over flocked to her gallery to admire and buy her work.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
Trenches
I crushed my smoke out on the pavement outside the apartment complex before rubbing my eyes deeply and hauling myself off the curb and onto my feet. Two days in a row now I had shown up at Joeys, 7:30 AM so we could walk over to Sal’s shop and start our shift by 8:00. He was normally waiting for me, bright eyed and ready to go, guy loved working on cars all day while I just did it to pay for rent and cigarettes. It’s not the worst job I’ve ever had, but the jeep with two broken cv axels and a cracked transfer case was going to take me most of the day, and I’ve never liked an all-day project.
By Brierabout 20 hours ago in Fiction
𝐜υ𝐫เ𝑜𝓈ιţ𝕪 . Content Warning.
“Do You Know How Dying Feels?” She asked it the way someone asks about the weather. The room didn’t answer.
By Komala day ago in Fiction
The Haiku of Now
This morning, the kettle almost sang. It didn’t whistle loudly the way it usually does. It trembled at the edge of sound, a soft rising hum that seemed unsure whether it wanted to exist. I stood in the kitchen, watching the thin ribbon of steam curl upward, disappearing into nothing. For a moment, I forgot to reach for it.
By ANAS KHAN2 days ago in Fiction
The Wandering Soul
The Wandering Soul Where you go, I will go; where you stay, I will stay. The air in Naomi’s home felt thick with the scent of dried lavender and woodsmoke. Beneath it was another smell, metallic, bitter, that no amount of dried herbs and flowers could hide.
By Claire McAllen2 days ago in Fiction
MIDNIGHT ON FRIDAY. Content Warning.
“Midnight on Friday” is a voice driven story about what happens when ordinary people are pushed past the edge and still find a way to keep moving.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 days ago in Fiction
Frank-hearted and happy. Top Story - February 2026.
Four walls. That's all she had to look at, along with a dirt floor and the ceiling. The door had a small window with a little door that could be opened from the outside. But that hadn't happened much in the time she'd been in here.
By Raine Fielder2 days ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Paradox
In a forgotten quarter of the city, tucked between shuttered shops and a crumbling cathedral, stood The Clockmaker’s House.
By Salman Writes2 days ago in Fiction
The System That Isn’t Broken—Just Unseen
The System That Isn’t Broken—Just Unseen When rules are meant to organize, but life refuses to follow them. Evelyn always believed in systems. She believed in the quiet, invisible frameworks that held the world together—the schedules, the procedures, the routines that promised order and predictability. She had charts for her meals, a color-coded calendar for work, a spreadsheet for friendships, and a meticulous folder system for everything she owned. To her, life was manageable, controllable, navigable, as long as the system was respected.
By ANAS KHAN2 days ago in Fiction
The City That Forgot Its Name
In the heart of Europe, tucked between rivers that curved like silver ribbons, stood a city with no name. Maps labeled it with a blank space. Train conductors paused before announcing it. Travelers who arrived there forgot what they had come searching for. Locals called it simply “The City.”
By Iazaz hussain2 days ago in Fiction
The Night Everyone Forgot 3:17
The first time Nora noticed 3:17, it was on a Tuesday, which felt unfair. Tuesdays were supposed to be anonymous days, the kind that slipped past without requiring you to remember anything about them. She was closing up the coffee shop where she worked, wiping down the last sticky table, when her phone buzzed with a notification.
By Pine News4 days ago in Fiction