Horror
The Bunker
Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of tiny drops of water ripples through the dark hallowing room with a chilling echo. Shallow breaths shivering in the cold. They knew not of the time that had passed. Nor did they know what remained of the world they once knew. The innocent few survivors of a cold and cruel war.
By Wolfie Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Failing Inspection
Flipping the folder open; the first thing she looked at was the small photo of a black and white house. Adol gave a little sigh as she picked it up and took a closer look. Two stories, four bedrooms and a small backyard. It was run down and had chipped paint from the looks of it. Rubbing her temples, she placed the picture down and picked up the report. Adol’s job was to go in and inspect the building to see what needed to be done to make it livable again. It was common for people to buy, flip, and sell old houses that were abandoned. Being an agent who travelled across the states, it was an excellent opportunity to see unique and out-of-fashion models of homes that were built throughout the ages.
By Turan Turnip5 years ago in Fiction
I Thought You Would Have a Scythe
You see the world as it truly is, as it always has been. It is washed out compared to your memories, though everything exists in minute detail. The vehicle that struck you, now motionless, hangs above you mere millimetres from the surface of the road. After some time spent in observation, you realise that it isn’t actually motionless at all; it only appears that way, the same as everything else. You stand up, passing through the vehicle as though it were no more solid than vapour. No other beings exist in this world, not as far as you can see. You are in the world between heart beats. This is the moment you realise that you are dead.
By Dave Rowlands5 years ago in Fiction
'Your application has been received'
“This is my hotel. Beautiful, isn’t it?” said the voice on the phone. The man in the car looked at the building in front of him. All squat two stories of its L shape. The beige paint, with faded red and teal trim harkened back to days gone past. The metal railing, rusted in spots, showed decades of use.
By Alison Demzon5 years ago in Fiction
Solitude
Once more, I am uneasy. Night has come: it’s time to sleep. This doesn’t seem like a death knell, but my nights are different than those of anyone else I know. My dreams aren’t calming, gorgeous or restful. No visions of Elysium await. My nights are filled with a deep darkness. And always, there is scratching.
By TrivialPunk5 years ago in Fiction
The Labours of Hell
Some days we wake and wish we were dreaming; others we dream of nothing but being awake. Even with our eyes wide open, it is the best most of us can hope for. Yet, few are fortunate to have the blind-fold ripped away. Jeremy didn’t know it, but he was lucky that, on this particular night, he was afflicted by the first condition. His wife was away on business and he found himself tossing and turning in an empty bed, chasing sleep. Unfortunately, dreams can not find those who are already drifting.
By TrivialPunk5 years ago in Fiction
The Foul Smell of Whores
The pores on her skin popped like kernels in a fire. I never once anticipated how loud that sound would be, nor did I think human skin could splatter. It's so bizarre, here we are--poking, prodding, kneading our skin, and yet...under intense flame it's as fluid as water. The pieces flew across the ground and attached to the grass like glue. I wasn't sure if it was her blood, or the evening dew shining against the fire. It was something of a rite of passage burning these whores.
By Cory DeAn Cowley5 years ago in Fiction
