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Latest Stories

October 17, 2025
Flash Fiction L Christopher Hennessy

The Moon Is A Wanderer Too

The rain came down like broken glass and the city was a wound, bleeding light and exhaust and the smell of food frying in oil that’s been used too many times. I was walking nowhere, which is the only place I ever go, and the streets were full of saints and…
October 17, 2025
Mystery Stories Brittany Szekely

The House On Wren Street

Notes: A mother rebuilding her life after domestic violence uncovers a chilling secret in her new home Isla didn’t notice the house was watching her until the second week. At first, it was just creaks in the floorboards, the way the hallway light flickered…
October 17, 2025
Flash Fiction L Christopher Hennessy

Pee Girl Gets The Milk

He met her on a Tuesday, the kind of Tuesday that feels like a leftover Monday, stale and gray and hungover from the weekend’s sins. Her name was Lita, or maybe Rita, or maybe she just said that to keep things simple. She had a cigarette halo, a ring of smoke…
October 17, 2025
General Stories Matias Travieso-Diaz

Lie To Me More

La vida es una mentira; Miénteme más,Que me hace tu maldad feliz.(Life is a lie; Lie to me more,For your wickedness makes me happy.)Armando Domínguez Borras, “Miénteme” (bolero) Out of a habit ingrained over fifty-odd years of hard work, Timmy McFarlane got up…
October 17, 2025
Flash Fiction Syed Hassan Askari

The Unseen Listener Of Moscow

It was 11:55 p.m. when he stepped out of Moscow’s Lefortovo Metro Station. His whole body ached; his legs trembled. His eyes were sleepy. He felt surrounded by unknown souls, all in a hurry to reach their destinations. He looked at the disappearing faces for a…
October 17, 2025
General Stories L Christopher Hennessy

Rearranging The Brain Furniture

She called herself Lark, though her name was probably something dull like Emily or Claire. She was nineteen, maybe twenty, with a face that looked like it had been drawn in charcoal, smudged eyes, a mouth that never quite closed, and hair that hung like wet…
October 17, 2025
Flash Fiction L Christopher Hennessy

FCAWF

She called herself Moth and said she liked the way they flew into flames without flinching. Her real name was Emily, but that was buried under layers of eyeliner, cigarette burns, and a voice that could cut glass. She was thirty, somewhat immature, vindictive…
October 17, 2025
Science Fiction Stories Kashif Imdad

Femtoria

In a dystopian future, the world had transformed into a society that was unrecognisable to those who had lived in the previous century. The nation of Femtoria stood as a beacon of prosperity, A female supremacist regime, had risen to power, enforcing a strict…
September 27, 2025
Flash Fiction Syed Hassan Askari

Half an Hour to Fourteen

Last night she lay on her bed with a curly-haired doll close to her chest. She was looking at the clock hanging over the door. Only half an hour was left —her life’s digit would turn from thirteen to fourteen, a change that felt like a heavy blow to the…
September 27, 2025
Romance Stories Nelly Shulman

Till We Meet Again

“Would you like more coffee?”The server in the orange apron lowered the pot, but Cath muttered, “No, thank you.”Her voice trembled, and the server busied herself with the next table. Outside the window, fog enveloped Waterloo Bridge. The morning was quiet,…
September 23, 2025
Flash Fiction Leroy B. Vaughn

Another Farewell To Arms Reunion

We were sitting in a little café in Wickenburg Arizona eating lunch when my wife looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you’re actually going to this reunion after you told all of your buddies that there was not a chance in hell that you would go.” “I know…
September 23, 2025
General Stories William Kitcher

A Political Solution

The Rt. Honorable Leader/Head of Council/First Governor/Chief Minister/Premier/President/Chancellor/First Minister/Party Secretary-General entered his office, and looked out the open window. It was a beautiful sunny cool day, and the cherry blossoms shone in…

She yelled so awfully loud... like she was right in my face, you know?

My friend Ryan and I were about twelve and we had been to see Batman at the cinema. Jack Nicholson was awesome as the Joker and as we walked home we kept trying to laugh like that, swapping lines from the movie.

It was late and my stepfather was supposed to pick us up, but he never arrived, more than likely too drunk to drive. We waited around for him, but when the town clock tolled at midnight it was obvious he wasn't coming. Ryan offered to call his parents, but being so young, and out so late, it seemed more adventurous to walk home.

The main street was well lit, so we agreed to stick to it. Ryan's concern was walking past the park. Street lights were few and far between from there and most people stayed clear of the park at night, especially since the MacKenzie baby drowned in the pond, and they said the child could be heard crying sometimes. I told the kids at school I'd heard it myself.

We crossed the street to avoid the park. I stopped to tie my shoelace.

A slight breeze whipped through the tree tops, branches creaked, and one of the park lights began flickering.

Ryan said, “ Hey, Joey... Notice there's no traffic? “

I did notice and it was really quiet, too, but then again it was after midnight.

He said, “ If I hear a kid cryin' in that park, I swear I'll shit my pants. “

“ Can you hear that? “ I asked.

“ Hear what? “

“ Your imagination playin' tricks on you. “

“ But you said you heard that kid's ghost. “

“ Yeah, I did, but I didn't see anythin', and no-one believed me anyway, except you. “

We kept walking and made it to the corner. My house was half a block away, but Ryan still had two blocks to go, past the high school.

He looked back at the park and gasped. I saw it, too. More lights were flickering.

“ I don't want to walk home alone, “ he said. “ I'll give you five bucks to walk with me. “

“ Yeah, okay, “ I said, “ but I'm not holdin' your hand. “

At the high school, Ryan looked back at the park again. He looked frightened now. Every light in the park was off and it was pitch black.

“ It's nothin', “ I told him. “ Happens all the time. I see it from my bedroom window. The council needs to clean that place up. It's a dump. “

“ A dump where babies drown and their ghosts cry in the night. “

We kept walking and turned the corner. Ryan was relieved to be so close to home. He gave me the five bucks. Easy money.

Not far from his house was a little white chipped paint cottage, with a wire fence and rusty gate, and no curtains in the windows. All the lights were off and as we walked past an old lady started yelling, “ I see you there! Don't you knock and run! Don't you dare!  “

“ That's freaky, “ I said. “ She sounds really angry. Old people should be asleep at this hour. Lets go have a look. “

I started towards the gate, only joking, and Ryan grabbed my arm, saying, “ Don't, man. That's too much. She might call the cops. “

“ Don't you knock and run! “ she yelled.

“ She really hates kids, “ Ryan said. “ I've heard her before, but never seen her. “

His mother and father were still up when we arrived. They were disappointed that we had to walk. We should have called them. They offered to let me stay, but I declined, and just wanted to go home.

“ See you tomorrow, “ Ryan said, closing the door.

As I walked home, I had to pass the cottage again, and sure enough, she was still yelling, but then she stopped, as I stood at the gate.

I heard her say, “ I'm cold and can't get up. “

Now I was worried. What if she was injured? She might die and I could have helped.

I opened the gate and left it open, approaching the house. She sounded like she was crying now. At the front door, I knocked lightly, saying, “ Hello? Do you need me to get you an ambulance? “

“ I'm so very cold, “ she said.

“ I can get you help. “

I went to the window and peered inside. As my eyes adjusted, I became aware of something, and every bone in my body wanted to run.

“ I see you there! “ she yelled, but I couldn't see her. “ Don't you knock and run! “

The window boomed and cracked. I fell backward, gathered my feet, and didn't stop running until I got home.

My mother was in the kitchen as I came through the back door.

She said, “ You're as white as a sheet. How was the movie? “

I ignored her and went directly to my room and sat on my bed, grabbing my knees to stop them from shaking.

 

That house was empty.

BIO: I live in Orange, NSW, Australia. I have one child -a daughter. I was born in 1977. My poetry has appeared in anthologies worlwide and my short stories have been featured in men's magazines. I cite James Herbert, Tales from the Crypt, vintage Penny Dreadfuls, and Ripley's Belueve It, or Not, as an influence.

 

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