WhyThe fog was thick on the waterfront, a choking miasma of coal smoke and the sickening-sweet stench of decay from the river. Hurrying toward the rendezvous point he’d specified, nameless things crunched unseenWhy3 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
beneath the heels of my walking boots — I shuddered, and tried not to guess at what they were, or had been, once. For at least the dozenth time that evening, I wished Jonathan had been able to accompany me here. I understood that he needed to be able to plan for our elopement to the continent without his family getting wind of it, but still…
Thinking back, I remembered meeting him for the first time in the Sanitarium gardens, as I was taking one of the catatonia patients out for some air. He was reading, the afternoon light gracing the planes of his face like gilding on the marble statue of a Greek god, the paleness and fragility of his expression only adding to his otherworldly masculine beauty. He turned, and the sun shone past his delicate smile i
MISTMIST16 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
La lunga sciabola ricurva volteggia frenetica, fendendo a destra e a manca, provocando dolore e disperazione, ferite profonde, lacerazioni letali. Le macchie di sangue imbrattano il bel volto, i lunghi capelli dorati, le mani ossute e decise. Il fragore delle armi e della lotta risuonano nelle sue orecchie, una musica ritmata, che lei danza con innata abilità. Lei è Mist, la guerriera dai capelli d’oro, coraggiosa e letale, principessa delle remote terre iperboree. Si volta di scatto verso il sole al tramonto, nessuno le sta più attorno, un silenzio improvviso cala sulla pianura. La battaglia è terminata, le schiere nemiche si ritirano. Mist si siede su una roccia, dopo aver spostato un corpo trafitto. Comincia a ripulire lentamente la sua lama affilata, fingendo di non accorgersi della presenza di un guerriero alle sue spalle. Egli la guarda ansimante, attendendo una sua mossa. Poi, desolato, si siede al suo fianco, dopo qualche esitazione.
Darkness UndergroundIt was just a church. One of the least scary places imaginable. And yet, as Adam approached the doors, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. He told himself that it was the chill of night and not the eeriness of the dark and desolate chapel. He reached out and paused, his hand inches from the doorknob. Why, on tonight of all nights, did his brother have to run off? Adam attempted to hold the anger in, knowing it would only make the situation worse. The situation being that his younger brother, Max, had run off on Halloween. This wouldn’t have been too bad, except for the fact that Max had autism, which left him somewhat mute and unable to understand certain social cues, such as someone calling his name. Adam’s one saving grace was that he knew exactly where Max would go: the old abandoned church in the center of Dead Man’s Hill Park.Darkness Underground3 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
The park was named for the large hill in its northern quadrant where colonists and natives had faced off during the French and Ind
The White Fox in its RealmThe White Fox… As it had been come to be known as. It was such a mysterious and alluring creature. It seemed to dwell on the eyes of the creatures that came to witness ITS presence.The White Fox in its Realm4 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
It knew its own purpose in its quest for survival on these planes. It was a Harbinger. Although it was pure of any shed blood, its own dark enticements were easily seen when the Purity of its White Fur and Golden Eyes were shed. It was a hunter of the Soul, Spirit, and Mind. On planes well above many creatures’ understanding.
Its own realm, however, in these planes. Was not a pleasant one, even for it. Due to powers well beyond its control. Its realm had become a place of horrors. Flesh was ground. Blood was Water. Organs, fresh and rotting alike, littered the ground as seeming plants for this unearthly scape. The air was toxic to any creature not used to such a plane of existence, like many other realms in this existence.
It looked nearby, a plant with a stalk of ocular cords and a flowering ey
Notes of DiscordThere is something living in the wind tonight.Notes of Discord8 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Soft, soft, Night’s song. She sways with it, one step at a time. Down the cement steps, towards the sandbox, the rosebush, the gazebo. The tree.
She looks up, and there is light – from the moon, the streetlamps perhaps. The leaves rustle, turn silver then green with each breath. She hears the absence of sound, a terrifying, scorching chill squeezing her chest. Still, she walks.
Everything is in shadow, gone, everything but this – the tree, the rusty green of the gazebo, the cement reflecting crystal light. Something waits for her, there, against the tree’s pale-brown bark.
The barking starts.
Awful. Terror breaks the calm melancholy of the night, tears through her flesh like shards of ice. She trembles, feels herself shake – eyes, eyes and open jaws growl at her from the nothingness beyond the circle of moonlight; the tree, the gazebo, the cement steps. She runs.
Back, back – back into the building, up t
Moonlight Sonata [3rd Edition]Moonlight SonataMoonlight Sonata [3rd Edition]10 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
On the night of October 30, in the city of Budapest, Hungary, about 11 pm, a group of shadowy forms like men gathered below the balcony of the house of Ramon Tesla, a former citizen. It was known throughout the Capitol that Tesla had died one year prior on the same night.
Tesla had previously traveled through both Hungary and Romania and had ventured through the forest into Transylvania. Then he was suddenly and mysteriously delayed in returning to Budapest. When he could travel homewards, he needed to travel at night. He arrived at his house in the eastern side at the same hour, 11 pm. Then he unpacked his bag and collected his clothes in the cabinet. He went to his piano and began to play Ludvig Van Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Suddenly he was aware that the moon had appeared and seemed full. He continued to play.
A moment later, a tall figure stood before him and gazed at him silently. Then the figure walked over to him calmly. Tesla saw tha
O HOMEM QUE VOLTAVAO HOMEM QUE VOLTAVA - PrefácioO HOMEM QUE VOLTAVA6 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Enseada Branca é um lugarejo que começa no deserto e termina no mar. De um lado o inóspito e do outro a vida pujante, entre um e outro vivem os habitantes do local. Para os lados do deserto temos o Sol inclemente e as areias escaldantes onde tudo é bem visível e claro, já para os lados do mar, tudo permanece imerso em seus insondáveis mistérios. Porém, aos poucos a cidade vai sendo engolida pelas areias, mas o fato não parece importar muito aos seus habitantes. Neste livro, mais uma vez, lanço mão do expressionismo com que construo minhas obras, porém desta vez mudei algumas coisas: deixei de lado a narrativa subjetiva do protagonista e me fixei mais nos diálogos. Decidi que esta história deveria fluir de modo diferente, deixando que os próprios personagens a conduzissem com suas respectivas dinâmicas. Sendo assim, tudo se desenvolve com rapidez e a trama flui solta
Madraz's Mansion of Macabre: Liberty City Theory Many GTA players have discovered this peculiar Easter egg in the fourth installment of the popular franchise. It is something so unusual but so fascinating. It is located in non-other than the statue of happiness herself.Madraz's Mansion of Macabre: Liberty City Theory 28 minutes ago in Short Stories More Like This
It is a big, beating heart.
Nobody knows what its origins are, or what it is doing in a smiling statue. The heart is not so much a giant organ, but it is a signal. A signal…for things to come. The face of the statue is beaming. She smiles, signaling that life is not misery. That life is something to be enjoyed, not to be wasted on solving its purpose. What keeps the heart beating? Is it galleons upon galleons of blood that has been donated by ‘volunteers’? Many guesses have been made. What many do not know, is that the heart runs on happiness. This emotion is the fuel for the spirit. It keeps the mind operating and at peak performance. To be happy and to make others happy is the purpose of life. Every single person on earth has a time in their
Goodnight.Goodnight.Goodnight.9 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
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He woke up. It was half past midnight and it has been less than half an hour since he went to bed. This has been the case for him for the past few weeks or so. He was suffering from a severe insomnia as he woke up at least ten times every night. He woke up and just stood there. He knew he couldn't return to sleep & that he would need to tire himself and his eyes before he managed to go back to sleep yet again. He opened his laptop and plugged in the power cord. He was going to try and watch something. A movie, an episode of a serial, anything that could potentially tire him and make him want to sleep.
Half an hour later, he found out that nothing could amuse him enough nor to bore him enough for him to want to sleep. He sighed and he closed his laptop. He tried to close his eyes, spun in his bed, flipped the pillow from the warm to the cold side and vise versa but he just couldn't sl
Michael's RageThe rage. The rage is thrilling through my body like a hot fire. I can’t control it. I cannot quell it. But it is always driving me. Making me do things I don’t want to do. It tells me, over and over. You must kill them. You must kill them all. This relentless voice, in my mind. It will not quit. It does not stop. It cannot be silenced. I must do its bidding.Michael's Rage21 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
She is screaming. She is screaming and it feeds my rage. The rage says she must die. She must be killed. And anyone who stands in my way, must die. I watch myself, day after day, doing these things. Repeating these same actions. Watching my knife rip through the heart of another unsuspecting teenager. Another soul who got in the way of the Rage. The Rage that will not go out. I watch, and I can do nothing. It has complete control of me.
She is my niece. She is my flesh and blood. This is why the Rage inside me wants her dead. I do not want her dead. I do not wish to kill her. But the Rage says I must. The Rage says I m
A Single NightA Single NightA Single Night12 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
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Have you ever been outside while it was dark? Of course you all have - you have social lives, go to clubs and all. For you, the night is the beginning of the day, but for me, that's not the case. As far as I am concerned, I must be in bed at 22:30 so I can wake up early in the morning, so, every time I am outside past 21:00 during the cold seasons, it feels, somewhat odd to me. Especially considering that before that, I was at a friend's place and we watched a plethora of horror-based materials and videos, some of which were obviously fake, others, somewhat realistic. It's somewhat magical how the human mind works, especially the artistic mind. Having my mind set on horror and what people consider paranormal, my mind instantly began working that way, seeing every single figure in the dark as a potential maniac, murderer, threat, which was undoubtedly a good thing, consideri