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Behind the unsteady glow of a flickering candle, Gideon, a man of pallid skin and restless eyes, sat slumped in his painting chamber. He would spend his days withering away here as he grappled with the monstrous quiet of an unraveling mind. He was known to be a brilliant portraitist, capturing the essence of his subjects with confident, precise strokes. In his hands, even the smallest nuance became a revelation, bringing to light the hidden beauties within every visage.

Thunder booms in the distance as his hand brushed against her soft cheek, his callous hand a rough contrast against her skin. Rain pelts down onto their bodies as they meet each other's gaze, for what could be the final time. He cups her cheek and lets out a breath, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “My love...” He starts, his voice shaky and broken, just like his heart. “Don’t.”

Katies life was never easy. She would often get bullied at school and even by her own father at home with no one to stop it. Her life would become worse when her mom died of cancer and she changed schools where the kids would become violent towards her. Even her sister moved out because she couldn't stand the abuse from their father... Katie would now the main target of her father and that meant the abuse would get worse for her too. The only comfort in her misrable life was her cat names…

When I was about five years old I was alone with my friend back in school and we were playing a game in a corner of the school where the cameras couldn't see us fully. We were playing a game we made up call twin phones, what you have to do is you have to act like you hear a phone ring and as soon as you 'actually' hear it, pick it up and say "Hello? Nice to meet you I am (Whatever you picked as your name)." Then you would wait for the other person to speak and then 'hang up'. We were playing…

I needed the job. Without a bachelor's degree, my previous nursing work hadn't paid much, certainly not enough for me and my four-year-old son Julian to get by. So yeah, life as a single Black mother wasn't easy. Especially considering I was only twenty-three.

The rain fell endlessly from the black sky, turning the city into a maze of reflections and shadows. Neon lights shimmered across wet streets while thousands of people continued their lives without realizing that monsters walked among them. To the world, everything was normal. People worked, laughed, argued, and dreamed about tomorrow. Nobody knew that humanity was sharing the planet with an ancient species hidden behind stolen faces. Nobody knew that the person standing next to them on a…

Two months ago, I almost died. When you imagine your death, most people think they're gonna go peacefully in their sleep at a ripe old age. Very few imagine you'll die because you slipped in an oil puddle in your driveway and cracked your skull on the cement. That's what happened to me, though. My car, an aging beater I had kept for longer than any rational person would have, nearly took me out before I had a chance to sell it. The betrayal cut me deep.

I actually liked Albany. Sure, the town was far from Georgia’s finest. Far from having any recognizable achievements other than rampant poverty and an exaggerated crime rate. But hey, it beat Bainbridge. At least, there was shit to do here, you know. And Alicia and I were never bored.

The morning came gently, the way it often did in late spring - without urgency, without noise, as if the world itself had decided to stretch before speaking. Sunlight spilled across the small street in soft, slanted lines. It touched the rooftops first, then the windows, then slowly made its way down to the pavement where it shimmered faintly like water. Somewhere in the distance, a bicycle passed, its wheels clicking in a steady rhythm that faded as quickly as it arrived.

Martha still felt as if she were trapped in some nightmare. She saw people who bowed deeply to her time and again, only to vanish moments later. Magical carriages and coaches appeared and disappeared into thin air. She looked up at the sky, and suddenly, the image of a man in a hat appeared before her eyes. He looked like a vampire, baring his sharp fangs and smiling malevolently. Then, just as suddenly, the whole vision vanished. Martha felt her strength returning. By some miracle, she managed…

"Pass the coffee." Carl pulled away from the scope of his rifle, and grabbed the insulated container of coffee from a makeshift shelf to his right. Behind him, his father whittled away at a piece of wood, a vague animal shape just beginning to gain definition. Carl passed over the coffee, and his father took a swig from the stainless steel vessel. "Any deer? They should be getting up now." Carl peered out from the wooden shack that was their blind. "Looks like a few are making their way from…

6/29/1316 ... My name is Edith, and I have not prayed in four months. I used to. God knows, or perhaps He does not, that I used to. Every morning, before the rooster crowed, I would kneel on the cold floor of our cottage and press my hands together until my knuckles whitened, and I would speak to Him the way my mother taught me, soft and grateful, the way you speak to someone who is listening. I do not kneel anymore. The floor may be the same cold stone it always was, but I have changed.

The date was perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you look for the catch. The food was good, the laughter was easy, and the chemistry felt natural. Still, I couldn't help but notice their pants. They were ill-fitted, sagging in the back in a way that looked almost like a diaper butt. It was a bizarre silhouette for someone so otherwise put together. "You look great," I said, leaning in. "But are those pants a little uncomfortable? They seem to sit a bit weird on you."

5/4/2015 ...

The Bainbridge Ghost Tours used to be a tradition in my hometown around Halloween. It was always cheap and heavy on the schlock. Hammy tour guides, cheesy music, cheap decorations. Picture ‘Monster Mash’ as a two-hour ghost tour and you get the idea. But given the town's limited history and questionable urban legends, I couldn't really blame Mr. and Mrs. Wesley for going all out with their prized attraction.

I remember one day, slumbering comfortably. I was experiencing a great dream. Full of colors, and bright lights. But that's when I woke up in the middle of the night. I was sweating, everywhere, and anywhere. I wiped my head clean, and noticed something strange. My door was slightly open, showing the light outside. Then I got a frightful epiphany, I must hide. The next day I fell fast asleep, exhausted from work. But the same thing happened once more, Woke up, sweaty, door open.

Evander Adipocere sat in his darkened office as he sipped on the bottle of ginger ale and felt sorry for himself, he might be being harsh, but there was really no other way to describe it. He was about to lose everything, his business, and his freedom. Evander had never been a bad person, in fact, he considered himself quite good. He donated to charity when he could, was always respectful to people even when they really didn’t deserve it, and tried to limit whenever he’d raise his voice or…

Heavy rain, shaking thunder. Laser sharp lightning. Muggy gloom. A beautifully Victorian castle lit hazily from within burns bright on the center of nothing, and nowhere. Painted sepia shades descending darker than the darkness of night itself. Our distressed protagonist, drenched, hurriedly scurries up the stone steps to the bronze Baphomet-shaped door knocker. Thud. Thud. The door slowly scrapes open to reveal a rather unfortunate looking young man, around twenty years of age at most.

"Breaking news tonight. Authorities have discovered the remains of four local Yakuza members in the Port District." The news anchor’s voice crackled from the TV. Her face flickered ghostly blue against yellowed, peeling wallpaper. Bad reception. Static danced across her eyes like digital maggots.

A wail. I hear it drone through the trees. I want to leave. I want to explore. I want to leave, and see something more. Someone I want to meet. I want to see people. I follow the wail. It is loud, not piercing, not uncomfortable. There are people here. I want to see them. I want to see and meet them. they are wailing. I see them there through the trees. They sit there, they wail. It does not feel uncomfortable. There are two people sitting there. They sit outside of the trees.