Horror
What A Clown. Top Story - January 2026.
I heard of the jokester in town. My staff was afraid to share the tales, for they knew the stories infuriated me and punishment was my expertise. I inflicted many types, and excelled at using sharp objects and heated “instruments.”
By Andrea Corwin 5 days ago in Fiction
The Wickfield Husbands
I thought I was lost, when I suddenly saw the sign, Wickfield Rhode Island, and I turned my wheel to exit the interstate. I felt butterflies in my stomach, as I didn't know what to expect. However, I was on my way to the job interview of a lifetime, and I was elated and apprehensive all at the same time.
By Susan Payton5 days ago in Fiction
Day 7
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months and four days since my last confession. Father, I have hurt others in the most horrid ways. I have blindly killed people, many people, even the most innocent, in the name of war and…for money. And I have disrespected my mother and forsaken my family in time of need.
By Gail Winfree5 days ago in Fiction
In the Dark
Icy blue eyes stared at me through the darkness. The fact that I could see these eyes so clearly in the darkness sent shockwaves up my eleven-year-old spine. I had just woken up from a rather intense nightmare, incidentally about some creep that was watching me at the foot of my bed. ‘’I can see you,’’ I whispered.
By DJ Robbins6 days ago in Fiction
A Night Painted with the Scars of Hate. Content Warning.
Steam clouds emanate from the sewer grates like puffs of smoke spilling from the listless mouths that pass on the street. His nose turns away at the slightest hint of smoke; the smell clings to his clothes like children grasping for toys in displays. Opening the door to a discreet shop along the burgeoning street, he files inside to a world utterly alien to him. His eyes darted around the interior store with its neon signs advertising paraphilia in bright, abnormal colors. The walls must have been wrapped in leather dyed by the night sky. Corvids decorated the walls as if they were suddenly going to attack the puppies on leashes, or those meant to resemble them.
By Thomas Bryant6 days ago in Fiction
The Sheriff
"Move aside. I say, move aside!" My deputy barks at the crowd. "It's the sheriff," people whisper. "Move, make way." I usually hate when people whisper like this - like I'm dangerous, like I'm going to harm anyone for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
By Noelle Spaulding 7 days ago in Fiction
Free Loveseat
Every other night, I notice the variation of kipple that loiters—the many monuments littering the city—of every single different kind of leather chair, plush recliner, and loveseat, and Art Deco sofa, many of which end up abandoned, deteriorating the crumbling, and most definitely paper-thin, sidewalks of the street. They rest discarded, like departed souls, or perhaps, the poor souls of Black folk, neglected by the bluest of eyes. Of all of the rubbish, chairs are my fancy. There’s a lot of character in the shape of a chair; the subtle curves especially remind me of the night women who stand on the curb.
By Thomas Bryant7 days ago in Fiction
The Room Holds
They always get one detail wrong. Sometimes it’s the color of your coat, sometimes the way you used to say my name, sometimes the order of events. I correct them gently, the way you would correct a child or a stranger, without urgency. It matters that I do it immediately. If I hesitate–if I allow the mistake to stand–something thins. The room, the air, you. I have learned not to wait.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales7 days ago in Fiction
