Horror

Legacy Of Sacrifice In The Flames
Ali Larijani Will Live On Israel says they have killed Iran’s security chief, Larijani—the man who did a PhD on the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. The truth is: they may have only prolonged his life.
By Ibrahim Shah 18 minutes ago in Chapters
Kashmir’s Silent Waters
For centuries, Dal Lake has been the beating heart of Kashmir—a place where shimmering waters, floating gardens, and wooden houseboats created an image of timeless beauty. Tourists once described it as paradise on earth, a peaceful retreat nestled within the majestic Himalayas. But today, many locals whisper a different story. “I have never seen Dal Lake this sad and fearful,” says a longtime resident of Srinagar, capturing a sentiment that has quietly spread across the region.
By Irshad Abbasi about an hour ago in Chapters
Life will find a way. Top Story - March 2026.
One cocoon twitches; my screaming must have disturbed it. It’s followed by a sound like the shaking of a cobra’s tail. A dry rattle sends a shiver down my spine. The rest of the cocoons respond the same way, as if communicating with one another; the cave fills with rattling. The glow becomes stronger as they vibrate and bathes the cave floor in an eerie blue light.
By N J Delmasabout 22 hours ago in Chapters
The Strength I Didn’t Know I Had
The Strength I Didn’t Know I Had ‎BY: Ubaid I used to think strength was loud. It was the kind of thing you saw in movies—people standing tall, never breaking, never crying. Strength meant having all the answers, never doubting yourself, never feeling afraid. At least, that’s what I believed… until life proved me wrong. Because the strongest version of me? I didn’t even know it existed. It started on an ordinary morning that didn’t feel ordinary at all. My alarm rang like it always did, but I didn’t move. My body felt heavy, like something invisible was holding me down. The room was quiet, but inside my mind, everything was loud—doubts, fears, regrets. “You’re not good enough.” “You’re going to fail.” “You can’t handle this.” Those thoughts had been living inside me for a long time. I had just gotten used to ignoring them. But that day… I couldn’t. I sat up slowly, staring at the floor. My reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me anymore. It looked like someone tired. Someone lost. And for the first time, I admitted something to myself. “I’m not okay.” That sentence felt heavier than anything I had ever said before. Because saying it meant I couldn’t pretend anymore. For weeks, I had been trying to hold everything together—smiling in front of others, acting like everything was fine, convincing myself that I could handle it all alone. But the truth was, I was breaking… quietly, invisibly. That day, something inside me shifted. Not dramatically. Not like a sudden burst of confidence or courage. It was smaller than that. Softer. But it was real. Instead of forcing myself to “be strong” the way I thought I should, I did something different. I allowed myself to feel. I cried. Not the kind of tears you quickly wipe away so no one notices—but the kind that come from deep inside, the kind that carry everything you’ve been holding in for too long. And strangely… it didn’t make me weaker. It made me feel lighter. That was the first time I realized something important: Strength isn’t about pretending you’re okay. It’s about being honest when you’re not. The days that followed weren’t easy. Nothing magically got better overnight. I still had bad days—days when getting out of bed felt like a victory, days when my mind tried to pull me back into that dark place. But now, something was different. I stopped fighting myself. Instead of ignoring my fears, I faced them. Instead of running from my problems, I took small steps toward solving them. And instead of expecting myself to be perfect, I gave myself permission to be human. One day at a time. That became my rule. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Just today. Some days, “strength” meant finishing all my work. Other days, it simply meant getting out of bed. And I started to understand… both counted. There was a moment—I remember it clearly—when everything truly changed. I was walking alone, the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink. For the first time in a long time, my mind was quiet. Not completely free of thoughts, but peaceful enough. And I realized something. I had survived. Everything I thought would break me… didn’t. The sleepless nights, the overwhelming pressure, the constant self-doubt—I had carried all of it. And somehow, I was still standing. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not confidently. But I was standing. And that’s when it hit me. The strength I had been searching for… was never something I needed to find. It was something I had been building all along. In every tear I allowed myself to cry. In every moment I chose to keep going. In every day I didn’t give up—even when I wanted to. That was strength. Not loud. Not obvious. But unbreakable. I used to think strength meant never falling. Now I know… it means getting back up, even when you’re not sure you can. And the most surprising part? You don’t always feel strong while you’re being strong. Sometimes, you feel scared. Sometimes, you feel lost. Sometimes, you feel like you’re barely holding on. But even then… you are stronger than you think. I am stronger than I thought. And maybe, just maybe… you are too.
By Ubaid a day ago in Chapters
From Rock Bottom to Rising Again
From Rock Bottom to Rising Again BY: Khan There was a time when I believed I had everything under control. From the outside, my life looked steady—almost perfect. I had a job that paid just enough, a small circle of friends, and dreams that felt within reach. But beneath that carefully maintained surface, cracks had already begun to form. I ignored them, thinking they were temporary, something I could fix later.
By Khan a day ago in Chapters
The Descent
I awake to the sterile stillness of night on Mars. My prosthetic is irritating me, and I lean down to scratch it. I realise it’s my calf that’s itching around the titanium frame. Perhaps I should be happy I have sensation where previously there was none, but I only find it disturbing.
By N J Delmas6 days ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 20
Chapter 20 The room, lit by candles, and with a majestic view of the city, was nearly empty except for Daniel Deacon Reddick. Daniel was one of the key developers of the project and a principal owner of the tower development. As he got comfortable on the leather sofa sitting in the center of the room, sipping a glass of bourbon and enjoying a cigar, Daniel listened to the soft music playing over the speakers. He couldn’t remember being so relaxed, and yet he was filled with an anxious excitement he hadn’t felt in ages. Daniel believed he had inked the deal of a lifetime, and the deal was about to be finalized.
By The Man Behind The Mask7 days ago in Chapters
The Day I Stopped Being Afraid
The Day I Stopped Being Afraid BY: Khan Fear had been my quiet shadow for as long as I could remember. It followed me into every room, every decision, every dream I almost dared to chase. Most people couldn’t see it, but I felt it constantly—like a whisper in my ear reminding me that I wasn’t brave enough, smart enough, or strong enough. For years, I listened to that whisper. I avoided risks. I stayed silent when I had something important to say. I chose comfort over opportunity. Whenever life presented a door, fear convinced me not to open it. “What if you fail?” it would ask. And that question alone was enough to stop me. One rainy afternoon, I was sitting by the window of a small café, watching people hurry through the streets. Some were laughing, some were arguing, and some simply walked with purpose. They all seemed so certain about where they were going. I wondered what that felt like. My coffee had gone cold, but I hadn’t noticed. My mind was busy replaying every opportunity I had let slip away. The job interview I never attended. The conversation I was too nervous to start. The dream I quietly buried because I thought it was unrealistic. It suddenly hit me that fear had stolen more from me than failure ever could. That realization felt heavier than anything I had experienced before. At that moment, something inside me shifted. I realized that the real danger in life wasn’t failing—it was never trying at all. Later that evening, I walked home through streets that looked different somehow, even though nothing had changed. The same buildings stood tall, the same cars rushed by, and the same cold wind brushed against my face. But inside me, something was different. For the first time, I asked myself a question I had never dared to consider before: “What if I’m stronger than my fear?” The thought was strange but powerful. The next morning, I did something small but terrifying—I spoke up during a meeting at work. Normally, I would have stayed quiet, letting others lead the conversation. But this time, my voice rose before my fear could stop it. My hands trembled slightly, and my heart raced. But I spoke anyway. To my surprise, people listened. No one laughed. No one dismissed me. In fact, a few of them nodded in agreement. It was a simple moment, but it felt like climbing a mountain. That day became a turning point. I began doing small things that once scared me—sharing my ideas, trying new experiences, and stepping outside the safe routines that had defined my life for so long. Each step felt uncomfortable at first, like learning how to walk again after years of standing still. But with every step, fear grew quieter. I realized something important during that time: fear doesn’t disappear overnight. It lingers, waiting for you to retreat back into safety. But courage isn’t the absence of fear. Courage is choosing to move forward despite it. Weeks passed, and life slowly opened in ways I hadn’t expected. Opportunities that once felt impossible started to appear. Conversations became easier. Decisions became clearer. The world hadn’t suddenly become less frightening. I had simply stopped letting fear control me. One evening, while walking home under a sky painted with shades of orange and purple, I paused and looked around. The city lights flickered to life, and people continued their endless journeys through the streets. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a spectator in my own life. I felt like a participant. That was the day I truly understood something powerful: Fear had never been the enemy. The real enemy was the belief that fear should decide my path. And the day I stopped letting it make my choices was the day my life finally began. Since then, fear still visits me from time to time. It still whispers its familiar warnings. But now, I answer back. I remind it that I’ve already faced it once before. And I survived. Because the truth is simple: The day I stopped being afraid wasn’t the day fear disappeared. It was the day I realized I was bigger than it.
By Khan 8 days ago in Chapters
I Never Meant to Fall for You
I Never Meant to Fall for You BY: Ubaid I never meant to fall for you. That was the plan from the very beginning. When we first met, you were just another person passing through my life. It was a rainy afternoon at the small coffee shop near my office. I had stopped there only to escape the storm, hoping for a quiet corner where I could finish some work. You walked in a few minutes later, shaking the rain from your jacket and smiling at the barista like you had known her for years. There was something strangely warm about that smile—something that made the gray afternoon feel a little brighter. But I didn’t think much about it. You noticed the empty chair across from me and asked politely, “Is this seat taken?” I shook my head. “No, go ahead.” That was supposed to be the end of it. Two strangers sharing a table because the café was crowded. Nothing more. But somehow, conversations have a way of starting when you least expect them. It began with small talk. The weather. The long lines at the coffee counter. Complaints about traffic. The usual things strangers say to pass the time. Yet the minutes kept turning into hours. You had this way of listening—really listening. Not the kind where someone waits for their turn to talk, but the kind where they truly care about what you're saying. I realized I was telling you things I rarely shared with anyone. About my dreams that felt too big. About the mistakes I wished I could erase. About the quiet fear of not knowing where life was heading. And you didn’t judge me. You just nodded, occasionally smiling, occasionally offering a thought that felt surprisingly honest. When the rain finally stopped, we both looked outside like people waking from a dream. “Well,” you said softly, “I guess the storm’s over.” I smiled. “Yeah… I guess it is.” We walked out together, said goodbye, and went our separate ways. At least that’s what should have happened. But life, as I later learned, has a strange sense of humor. A few days later, I saw you again. This time at the bookstore down the street. You were standing in the same aisle I loved most—the one filled with old novels and forgotten stories. You looked just as surprised as I felt. “Rainy day friend,” you said with a laugh. From that moment on, it felt like the universe kept placing us in the same spaces. Coffee shops. Bookstores. Parks. Even the subway once. Eventually, those coincidences turned into plans. We started meeting on purpose. At first, I told myself it was just friendship. You were easy to talk to, easy to laugh with. Being around you felt comfortable in a way that didn’t require effort. But feelings are quiet things. They grow slowly, like a seed you don’t even realize has been planted. I noticed the little things first. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your favorite movies. The way you always remembered small details about my life. The way silence between us never felt awkward. One night, we were sitting by the river, watching the city lights ripple across the water. You were telling a story, something funny about your childhood, but I wasn’t really listening anymore. I was watching you. And that was the moment it hit me. A quiet, undeniable realization. I had fallen for you. It wasn’t dramatic. No fireworks. No sudden rush of music like in the movies. Just a simple thought that settled gently in my chest. This person matters more than they should. And that terrified me. Because I never meant for it to happen. I had built my life carefully, protecting my heart from the kind of vulnerability that love demands. Falling for someone meant risking everything—your peace, your certainty, even your sense of control. But feelings don’t ask permission. They arrive quietly, take root, and grow. One evening, as we were walking home, you suddenly stopped. “Can I ask you something?” you said. “Sure.” You looked at me with an expression I had never seen before—serious, almost nervous. “Do you ever feel like some people come into your life for a reason?” I laughed softly. “That sounds like something from a movie.” “Maybe,” you said. “But I think it’s true.” There was a pause between us, filled with unspoken words. And then you said it. “Meeting you… it changed something in me.” My heart skipped. Because I knew exactly what you meant. For a long moment, neither of us moved. Finally, I smiled and said the only honest thing I could. “I never meant to fall for you.” You smiled back, the same warm smile from that rainy afternoon. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Me neither.” But somehow, it was the best mistake we had ever made.
By Ubaid 8 days ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 19
Chapter 19 In the months since the Oceanic disaster, the group took Max Shepherd, Jensen Shaw, and Shelly Hammers into custody. The rest of the crew and Oceanic staff were treated, paid, and forced to sign non-disclosure agreements. The area was cordoned off for further investigation, and access to the Oceanic was only allowed by special permission.
By The Man Behind The Mask9 days ago in Chapters
Little apple of death
I arrive at the meeting and stand to attention in front of the holographic display module. The room is creamy white and brightly lit. There is a communion ball suspended from the ceiling. Once the door I entered closes, it instantly conceals within its structure. The walls appear soft and padded, but on closer inspection they are in fact spongy, constructed from a white fungal material.
By N J Delmas9 days ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 18
Chapter 18 The fast attack sub was preparing to detach when Jensen, Han, Max, and the rest of them brought Jane Doe back on board the submarine. As the sub shook, echoes of impacts against the station’s undersea levels reverberating through everything attached, Jensen yelled at his men to detach the vessel. One of his men asked for a heading and he replied in his loudest command voice, “Anywhere but here!”
By The Man Behind The Mask10 days ago in Chapters