Mystery
The Forgetting Room. AI-Generated.
Dr. Sarah Chen stood in the doorway of Room 447, her hand trembling on the cold metal handle. The hospital corridor stretched behind her, fluorescent lights humming their eternal song. She'd been avoiding this room for three weeks, ever since the accident that had stolen eighteen months of her memory.
By Alpha Cortex30 days ago in Fiction
The Mundane Murders
It was a small town in Massachuttes, named Seaside, where the waves broke on the shores of this coastal town which was nestled between two larger cities. It seemed quiet for the most part, but there was darkness looming in the salty air, of this otherwise righteous town.
By Susan Payton30 days ago in Fiction
Unto The Child
I never knew what to say, so eventually I stopped saying anything. People accepted my silence so easily, as if they had forgotten they had ever heard my voice. Since I could reply, there was no need to hear the endless voices around me. I shut them out and met conversation and connection with silence and vacant stares. It didn’t take long for people to accept that, too. I was alone in the world, like a moving art piece. People saw me and moved along, recognizing I was not one of them. Understand without knowing that I couldn’t contribute on any level to the lives they were leading.
By Leah Suzanne Deweyabout a month ago in Fiction
A House with Good Bones
The house was the strangest thing I had ever seen. The 'for sale' sign had come loose and hung lopsided, waving slightly in the wind. How unusual that the agent had never bothered to mention this lovely place, or make it a priority. As we drove by, she casually alluded to it, noting that it was on the bottom of her list, trying hard to pass it off as a joke, but not succeeding.
By Novel Allenabout a month ago in Fiction
Nothing in Stock
The automatic doors sighed open like they were tired of pretending. A burst of refrigerated air hit my face—cold enough to promise milk, to swear on the gospel of dairy—but the first thing I saw was a tower of cartons labeled WHOLE, stacked in perfect family rows, each one feather-light. A woman in a beige coat lifted one, gave it a little shake, and smiled.
By Flower InBloomabout a month ago in Fiction
THE EXTRA CHAIR
The first time the chair appeared, it was already set for dinner. Marianne noticed it when she brought the pot roast to the table. There were five place settings instead of four. Five forks aligned like silver ribs. Five water glasses catching the yellow light.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Fiction
The Hands That Rocked The Baby Killed Its Daddy
The Hands That Rocked The Baby Killed Its Daddy They said she was gentle. They said she had the softest voice in the ward, the kind that could calm a fevered child with a single hush. They said she was patient. Devoted. Harmless. They never listened closely enough.
By George’s Girl 2026 about a month ago in Fiction
