Horror
A Child With A Broken Heart
Lisa used to be a free-spirited child until dark cloud and curses strike her life at an early age. Lisa was the apple of her father's eyes and also his pride and joy at an early age. Her dad was very controlling to her mother, and her mother would not have any of that. Lisa's mother moved to Florida to get away from a controlling man. Different people would babysit Lisa because her mother had to work to support them. There was no stable babysitter in 2-year-old Lisa of life.
By Mariann Carroll2 months ago in Fiction
How to Fuck Around. AI-Generated.
Language is alive, and slang is often where it grows the fastest. Among the many expressions that have emerged and evolved over the last decade, few have captured the imagination—or the eyebrows—of English speakers quite like the phrase “fuck around.” At first glance, it seems crude, irreverent, and downright offensive. But dig a little deeper, and you’ll find that it’s much more than a simple expletive; it’s a linguistic mirror reflecting modern culture, humor, and social dynamics.
By Ayesha Lashari2 months ago in Fiction
Silent Fight
The palm of her hand connected with his cheek, the sound reverberating across the popular five star restaurant silencing the hectic bustling of the servers fluttering between patrons. All eyes turned to the fighting couple, but their eyes were locked on each other. Danson pulled out a chair, the twitch in his clenched jaw the only sign of fury, but his black eyes danced with a promise, 'wait till we get home'.
By Susan Loblaw2 months ago in Fiction
The Ghost Telegrams. Runner-Up in Craft Over Catharsis Challenge.
The excerpt below was discovered in the case files of Doctor Apis Tahuti, psychoanalyst, paranormal investigator, and head of the Department of Psychic Research at Miskatonic University. It is the final entry in a much larger file on The Carrington Event.
By C. Rommial Butler2 months ago in Fiction
Our Song. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge. Top Story - February 2026. Content Warning.
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandell2 months ago in Fiction
Liminal: New Audio Fiction
While you wouldn’t have known it from the Golden Globes podcast nominations this year, audio fiction podcasts are largely a province of independent podcasting. While large podcast networks like Spotify have not figured out how to recoup their considerable investment in audio fiction, innovative indie podcasters have found that sweet spot between creative innovation and financial prudence.
By Frank Racioppi2 months ago in Fiction
Tea Time
Like every morning, Ester watched as trembling hands lifted the robin’s egg blue teapot and poured the amber liquid into a matching teacup. Louis’ hands were wrinkled, weathered, calloused from years of work. She still loved holding those hands across the small kitchen table as they talked. She remembered doing it for fifty years, the hands had changed but they felt the same. It was a good day when she could think back over the years. It was better in the mornings. The fog of sleep when she woke up lifted and she remembered his name, but in a couple hours it wasn’t guaranteed.
By Raine Fielder2 months ago in Fiction
