Fan Fiction
The Bench That Never Moved
The bench had been there longer than anyone could remember. It sat beneath a wide banyan tree at the edge of the park, its wooden slats worn smooth by decades of waiting. Paint peeled from its iron legs, and one corner leaned slightly, as if tired but unwilling to fall. People passed it every day, yet few stopped long enough to notice it.
By ORM_Specialist19 days ago in Fiction
The Last Light in Apartment 407
Apartment 407 had been dark for weeks. Maya noticed it every night when she returned from work, climbing the narrow stairs of the old brick building with a tired sigh. Most windows glowed warmly by the time she reached the fourth floor—televisions flickering, lamps casting soft shadows—but 407 stayed empty and silent. No light. No sound. Just a closed door at the end of the hallway.
By ORM_Specialist19 days ago in Fiction
The Skull of Dracula
Lara Croft studied the map of the old cemetery under the light of the full moon. What she was looking for lay somewhere under her feet, somewhere under the 1000 graves was the key to opening the great tomb that lay halfway across the world on the southern tip of Australia. Despite the treasures she knew she could find; she never explored the cemeteries and tombs in this particular place for fear of what she might find; the living dead.
By Timothy E Jones19 days ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker of Chronos Lane
In the heart of a city that never stopped to breathe, there was a narrow alleyway known as Chronos Lane. It was so thin that two people could barely walk abreast, and at its very end sat a shop no larger than a garden shed. The sign above the door didn't say "Jeweler" or "Watch Repair." It simply bore the image of a single, unadorned brass gear.
By Asghar ali awan19 days ago in Fiction
The Stingy Family’s Cat
The cat’s two kittens were hungry and kept meowing loudly, making their mother very anxious. The mother cat herself was very hungry. She lived in a house where the owners were extremely frugal—some might even say miserly. They were so stingy that they would not give the cat any food.
By Sudais Zakwan20 days ago in Fiction
The Silence Between the Clues ⭐
The Room That Remembered Everything The room was empty when Elias first stepped inside it — at least, that’s what his eyes told him. No furniture. No windows. Just four pale walls and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering as if it struggled to stay awake. The air smelled faintly of dust and something older… like paper left unread for decades. Elias had rented the apartment because it was cheap. Too cheap for a city that never forgave hesitation. The landlord avoided eye contact and spoke quickly, as though the walls themselves were listening. “It’s quiet,” the man said. “That’s all most people want.” On the first night, Elias slept poorly. Not because of noise — but because of silence. The kind that pressed against his ears until his own thoughts sounded foreign. At exactly 3:17 a.m., he woke up. The light was on. He was certain he had turned it off. As he sat up, he noticed something else. A faint mark on the wall opposite his bed. It hadn’t been there before — or maybe it had, and he simply hadn’t noticed. It looked like a handprint. Not painted. Not dirty. Pressed. Elias laughed softly, blaming exhaustion. The mind played tricks when it was tired. He turned off the light and went back to sleep. The next morning, the handprint was gone. But something else had appeared. Words. Scratched into the wall as if written by a fingernail: “You forgot.” Elias stared at the message for a long time. He tried to remember what it could mean. Missed bills? A call he didn’t return? A promise he never kept? Nothing came. He covered the words with a poster and left for work. That night, the dreams began. He stood in the same room, but it was no longer empty. It was crowded with people — faces blurred, voices overlapping. Someone was crying. Someone was shouting his name. “Elias!” He woke up gasping. The poster had fallen. The words on the wall had changed. “You were there.” His hands trembled. He told himself there was a rational explanation. Stress. Sleepwalking. A prank. Yet deep down, something stirred — a memory struggling to surface. Over the following days, the room grew more active. New messages appeared. Faint sounds echoed at night — footsteps that stopped outside his door, whispers that dissolved when he listened closely. One evening, he found a final message written larger than the rest: “Look.” Below it, the wall was scratched raw, revealing something beneath the paint. A mirror. Elias froze. He didn’t remember a mirror being there. His reflection stared back at him — pale, hollow-eyed, unfamiliar. Then the reflection smiled. Behind him, in the mirror, the room was no longer empty. A woman stood there. Her face was bruised. Her eyes were calm in a way that terrified him. “I told you not to leave,” she said softly. Elias turned around. The room was empty. When he faced the mirror again, the woman was closer. “You said you’d come back,” she whispered. “You never did.” The memory crashed into him like a breaking dam. The argument. The door slammed. The rain. Her voice calling after him. The stairs. The fall. The silence. Elias staggered back, choking on the truth he had buried. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. The walls began to fill with words — hundreds of them — overlapping, bleeding into one another. REMEMBER. STAY. DON’T LEAVE. The bulb flickered violently. The woman in the mirror reached out, placing her hand against the glass. Where she touched it, a handprint appeared on the wall beside Elias — the same one he had seen on the first night. “This room remembers,” she said. “So you don’t have to forget anymore.” The light went out. When the landlord unlocked the apartment weeks later, he found it empty. No tenant. No belongings. Only a single handprint on the wall. Pressed. But in the quiet room, on the wall beside the mirror, a fresh handprint remained — pressed firmly into the paint.
By Inayat khan20 days ago in Fiction
