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Latest Stories

February 06, 2026
General Stories Thomas Turner

The Lost Williamsen

Coming back from Switzerland, after my wife died, was pretty hard, but I made it. When I landed in LaGuardia airport. I went to go get my luggage. That's where my brother Eddie was, to pick me up and to see the rest of the family. Eddie comes over to me and…
February 06, 2026
Horror Stories Tom Kropp

Killing & Carnage

The sun was a blood lurid red slipping below the jagged peaks of the Redmount Mountains. For Shannon, its fading light was not a promise of rest, but a countdown to her dark side.​ She pressed her spine against the damp, crumbling limestone of a marketplace…
February 06, 2026
Poetry Markus J

2 Aussie Limericks 2 Aussie Clerihews

once a aussie yobbo named pete who only wore thongs on his feet a bunion grew on his toes and a red wart on his nose over were his days at the beach ------------------------------------------------------ there once was a jackaroo who went by the name of blue…
February 02, 2026
Flash Fiction Matias Travieso-Diaz

My Second Middle Name

San Lázaro no quiere palabras, quiere hechos. Popular Cuban refrain A few hours after I was born, my parents had a conversation regarding my name. The usual practice in Cuba, as in many other countries, was that a baby would have two given names apart from…
February 02, 2026
General Stories Thomas Turner

Year One

T J Tuner, Sonny Turner and Curt Chown January 4, 1976- Ocean avenue, Brooklyn New York: Sonny and his wife are having coffee at 5pm Sunday. His wife’s name is Candy. This is when Candy asks ‘When are they picking you up?’ Sonny says ‘7:30 pm.’ Candy asks…
February 02, 2026
Horror Stories Tom Kropp

Werewolf Bar Brawl

Shannon returned to the main street and boldly approached the cantina. At the doorway, one of the burly guards boldly said, "We don't allow no outside whores in here. Only Diego's girls are allowed to work here." "Don't insult me. I'm not a whore. I just…
February 02, 2026
Flash Fiction Matias Travieso-Diaz

The Self-Serving Giraffe

Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. Oscar Wilde Grumpff was a Somali giraffe male (Giraffa reticulata) in a herd that inhabited a dry savannah in northern Kenya. He was eighteen feet tall and two…
February 02, 2026
Poetry Markus J

An Aussie Had A Barry Crocker

once an Aussie had a Barry Crocker when he got fined from an angry copper he smoked up his golden ute then said it was real beaut because of this, the fine was made double and his best mate was nicked named blue cooked kangaroo and emu stew gave none to…
February 02, 2026
Crime Stories Shane Horton

Super Detectives (Queen Bee)

The smoke of my cigarette dances on the fire of its embers while I breathe in the tar. Chills silently run along my body from the slow breezes of the city. Exposed skin is cold like chunks of ice from the late winter. Honking, common yelling, and occasional…
February 02, 2026
Science Fiction Stories Tom Kropp

Eye Of The Cyborg

Fierce winds whipped across the blood red desert of Dumar and its stormy scarlet skies were filled with soaring starships. A large city sparkled in the hellish light, safe from the storm behind flickering photonic forcefields. It was a volatile planet prone…
January 27, 2026
General Stories J.P. Young

Bittersweet Christmastide In A Winter Wonderland

“Our sweetest songs are those of saddest thought.” ― Percy Bysshe Shelley “It”s always sumtin”, ain”t it?” – Rico Long ago and far away…Things were like the good old days…and as Rico said, Ray lived for the good olddays…As his wife Katrina was working late at…
January 27, 2026
Fantasy Stories Fayaway & Hermester Barrington

Three Days' Flight to Mitrúvishar

Wednesday, November 20th, 2024 From: John Parchment <dragonwriter@mitruvishar.com> To: Emmett Zuntz <ezuntz@majicorpmedia.com> Dear Mr. Zuntz, thou ASCII Mephistopheles, I hereby tender my resignation to Majicorp Media. When I left my secure-but-boring…

The wind was howling though the trees at sixty miles per hour as if it was blocking out all noise on purpose. The rain drops as big and as round as looking glasses pelted down at lightning speed, creating a mosaic of mirror images all around me; my pale white reflection staring silently at me everywhere I looked. The sky was a never ending pit of unimaginable darkness, making me feel claustrophobic.  As I stared in earnest to find just an inch of light to guide me into safety, the storm picked up, the ice cold water from the rain seeping through me, freezing me to the bone. I stumbled forward blindly, my footsteps masked by the noise. What was happening? It was as though the world was in an uproar, trying desperately to unleash the anger and fury on anything it could find. What was happening?

As he stole stealthily down the eerily lit side street, the sense of danger and rage was like a blood curding scream of anguish. As his mood increased rapidly, the sky deepened into a velvety, black pit of darkness, gradually getting darker by the second. The only source of light was the lampposts spread evenly on either side of the road; casting deformed shadows unevenly down the narrow street.  Eugh, light, who invented that ghastly thing. Darkness is the key to everything. The screams and protests of his unfortunate victims were drown out, fading into a black hole of nothingness; where they were forgotten about once and for all. He paced doggedly, avoiding as much as possible, the beam of light being shed. If, by chance, a slither of light managed to escape its confinement to illuminate the dark presence, you would see the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid eyes upon. He was a proud creature of about 6 ft. 2, who had a mysterious aura about him. His toned muscular body was tense and rigid as he walked like a shadow amongst the pure souls of the living. He was dressed casually in a black V necked jumper, which fitted him perfectly, clinging to every curve of his perfectly toned body. Alongside this he wore opened legged jeans also black, with heavy, gothic looking boots. His footsteps were masked by the silence, the sense of dread and rage was so loud it threatened to engulf him.  Suddenly, out of the blue, came an old Aston Martin screeching around the tight corners of the street. For an instance he was caught like an unfortunate rabbit in the blinding headlights. The face of this thing was extraordinary. He had a strong jaw line with a chin that jutted out at an attractive angle. He had perfectly shaped lips which always had the hint of a mocking smile, as though everything was funny. When you looked into his eyes, it sent a shiver down your spine. They were as black as the Midnight sky, with hatred and anger pent up behind them. They were like two black holes, threatening to engulf everything.

Every window he walked past showed a role play of images. Stupid, careless humans prancing about happily without a care in the world. If only they knew. If only they felt as he did. He felt nothing. No fear. No regret. No remorse. Nothing. How did anyone live with emotions, with feelings? They make you do things you have no control over, they made you fall in love. Oh how he hated that word. There’s no such thing. It was all her fault. That one person who had ruined everything; who had ripped out his un beating heart with that cruel malicious smile spread over her face. What did his brother have that he didn’t?  He was the better looking of the two, there’s no doubt about that. He knew how to turn on the charm. Why wasn’t he good enough? God damn it. He should of finished it- No; reminiscing on the past doesn’t get you anywhere. The only way is forward, and that is where I shall go.

How he hated every pitiful human, jumping at their own shadow. Surely, if they had the choice, they would choose this? Why wouldn’t they? The cold hearted memories of his past locked away far enough that he could no longer reach them. His mind full of doom and sorrow, his blackened heart still in his chest, not beating. All of the senses heightened, the reflexes as quick as a cobra striking at its prey. The thrills of watching the crimson red blood pour from the puncture marks on some pretty maidens snow white neck. It was time. Time to have some long awaited fun…

I gave up.  All hope was gone. Every turn I took, I was surrounded. Surrounded by the quietness of the world. The wind had died down, the rain slowed to a stop. The silence was so loud, it threatened to engulf me; shouting, telling me to run and not to stop. This was the end; there was no escape, nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He glided gracefully towards me; it was as though his feet never touched the ground. My heart was pounding frantically in my ears, but I ignored it as I stared in awe at the beautifully sculptured face of my killer staring hungrily down at me, his teeth barred and pointy. He seemed to tower above me, a stone sculpture against the now starry sky, looking down on my shocked face. I didn’t even see him move, he was just there, sinking his sparkling white teeth into my neck. I heard the loudness of my piercing scream echo around me, drowning out into a muffled whisper. But no one was there to save me as my blood ran freely down the road.

His stomach rumbled appreciatively as the storm sprang into life once more. Who’s next?

***

My name is Nicole Grimason and I'm a student at university studying Environmental management and Geography. I'm 18 and I currently live in Birmingham in the UK. I enjoy writing as it is a way to express all of the imaginative thoughts in my head and I hope you enjoy reading!

 

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