thriller
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 Storiesabout 8 hours 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 Storiesabout 8 hours 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 LAYTH4 days ago in Fiction
Ping
Laughter at the beach tickles my ears, blending with the harmony of the crashing waves. Smiles on every beachgoer greet my gaze as the sun shines down upon us. The perfect day off. Away from the four walls of the office building located many miles away. Time to just lie back and enjoy the ocean view. My eyes close, allowing the gentle, serene waves to soothe my nerves and wash away thoughts of stress. Tension recedes from my muscles with each pat from the water on the shore while the sun kisses my dark skin. This is what they mean when they say tropical bliss.
By Iris Harris4 days ago in Fiction
AI Interrupted
Kristin loves AI. Ever since AI became a thing, she has been on the phone or using it on her laptop, uploading photos and stories to her social media. It’s like it was made for her. It’s brilliant and perfect in her eyes. She can escape the daily grind of high school and other trivial matters thanks to AI. She spends her days creating things like an image of a goat eating at a diner with a monkey as a waiter. She proudly shows it to all her friends. Her friends seem to love the wild ideas she comes up with. They even insert their own ideas at times. Anytime there’s a new assignment due, she is thrilled because it’s an excuse to improve her AI technique.
By Meredith McLarty6 days ago in Fiction
The Door at the End of the Hall. AI-Generated.
The dream always began the same way. Margaret would find herself standing at the end of a long hallway — walls the color of old teeth, carpet the deep burgundy of dried blood, and a single door at the far end that seemed to breathe. Not move. Breathe. The wood expanding and contracting in a rhythm that matched her own pulse, as if the door had swallowed something living and hadn't yet finished digesting it.
By Alpha Cortex6 days ago in Fiction
