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There were six of us when we left the trading post and traveled in the western direction, following the river in the shadow of the Inech mountains. The market we had visited was one of the few places in the world where a ragtag group like us did not stand out from the crowd.

Our journey began at the end of everything. The world had ended, but ours had just begun. We had lived our lives in solitude, confined for as long as we could remember, but that was about to change. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?” I asked seemingly no one. After a while, a voice I’d never heard rang out. “Hello! Yes, I can hear you. Who am I speaking with?” The British voice crackled out, and a wave of excitement overcame me.

"Why did I choose this job?" Vanessa wondered. She never wanted to work with people, especially not in mental hospitals. She had always preferred remote work, but for now, this job would do. She handled both day and night shifts because no one else wanted to work with these individuals. She understood why. But who was she to judge? Besides, it was the only way to reduce her sentence. All she needed to do was pass out medication and keep an eye on them—how hard could that be?

Sarah had always been an early riser. Her job as a nurse required it, and after years on the same schedule, her body woke her before the sun even began to rise. This morning was no different. As she shuffled into the kitchen, she flicked on the light and set the kettle to boil.

"Are you looking to bring sparkle and pizazz to your life? Are you looking for a brand new ambiance? Well come join us at Shadow Haynes' Circus this Saturday! Watch death defying feats that will simply amaze you! Laugh with the clown acts! See our contortionists, magicians, living statues and more! You won't believe your eyes! Come one, come all!"

Jarren lifted the sheets up over Milli, tucking them in around her as she stared up at him. “Daddy?” she said. “Yes, angel?” “Can I have a song?” He sighed. “I don’t know any of the songs Mommy would sing to you.” “She would sing songs about going to sleep.” He took in a deep breath. “Well, I’ll give it a try. Um… let’s see. Go to sleep, goodnight, it’s nighttime little girl… go to sleep, you’re in bed…” “That’s not a very good song, Daddy.”

“Boy, you’re entirely too old to be pussyfooting with a grown hog like that. If you intend to do a job, then do it, don’t hesitate,” said the blood-soaked farmer. I looked down at the horror stricken pig with pity in my eyes. It seemed to know what would happen next. The poor creature was beginning to squeal. It was too similar to the cries of a human. I felt sickened, like I was witnessing a murder.

Important Reminder: This Post Has Been Deleted The following content consists of Facebook posts made by the deceased Zhang Yaxin in the past few days. To prevent causing panic, these posts have been deleted. The copies you see now have been processed. Image: A fortune teller's face with one gold and one blue eye, wearing vintage glasses, a prominent nose, slightly curly hair at the ends, looking about 24 years old.

Richard removed the lightswitch to the basement stairwell. It wasn’t that he simply disabled it, no. He removed the entire thing. Plastic covering, screws, the switch box—all of it. Though, he had shut off the power to the basement for good measure, too.

I sliced the arms and legs. I sew together each vein. Delicate patterns of lace, and the soft blush of first love. My palms are stained red. The needle slipped in, swiftly as the sleek body of a fish. Sans hésitation A gentle gush of warmth, Flowing freely from each cut. Catching in the cracks of the pavement And between my lovers lips These are only the amateur first strokes Of my watercolour painting. Next are the fingernails. which have endured the brunt for many years,

I’d lived my whole life in the small, idyllic farming town of Harvest Hill, where the annual pumpkin festival is more than just an event; it’s a cherished tradition that brings the entire community together. Every fall, the townsfolk gather in the town square, surrounded by the glowing red and yellow of autumn leaves, to celebrate the season’s bounty and compete for the coveted title of the largest pumpkin. For years, I had dreamed of winning that prize, but this year my hopes were higher than…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.”

I work the night shift at a local mom-and-pop convenience store at the front of my neighborhood. We sell snacks, drinks, milk, bread, all the normal stuff that people need but aren’t willing to make a traditional run to the grocery store for. There was talk about adding a gas pump out front, but it hasn’t happened yet.

The first time I visited the Otherworld was when I was eleven. One moment I’d been having some peaceful dream I hardly remember, and the next, I was shooting up in bed with a gasp. I pulled my blanket tighter around myself as I looked around uneasily.

It started suddenly. Autumn was coming to an end, the weather was rapidly deteriorating. Busy streets turned into canals filled with icy water and debris. Thin streams ran along the dirty walls and mixed with the long-term patina of rust. An atmosphere of decay, a thick, viscous feeling.

In the darkest night, where shadows creep, The Soulstitchers come when you should sleep. With gaunt and shadowy forms they stride, To haunted places, they will guide. Their flames are smoke, icy-cold and bleak, A formless fire that none can speak. Frantic movements, masks they wear, Tearing at their faces, a chilling scare. Yet in the silence, they move so sly, No sound to mark their passage by. To the site of trauma, they'll lead you near, In hopes that you will face your fear.

For most people, the art of programming is to fill desires left unaccomplished in reality. For some, it is to pay their bills in an effort to have a home. And for others, it may not be so heart-warming and wholesome most of the time. It may be to sacrifice. To reawaken. To find. 1995, Lubbock, Texas -

Like me, if you were born during the 2000s, you probably grew up watching Cartoon Network, and if you watched Cartoon Network as a kid, then you most definitely watched "The Amazing World of Gumball." This story is about what my best friend and I saw when we went to visit Elmore. If you google "Gumball house IRL," you can actually find the address of the real-life house. In fact, every building in Elmore is real. Gumball’s house, the mall, and the school—they’re all there. But in the pictures,…

The man's mind was a blank slate, a void where the memory of how he came to be stranded on this small island should have been. He had woken on the shore, his body battered and bleeding, with the ghostly echo of an incessant beeping ringing in his ears. When he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of fire and twisted metal, but the meaning behind these fragmented visions eluded him.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Rain fogged up the window. A soft crackle sounded from the fireplace. It was supposed to be a cold, comfortable night. But I couldn’t help the chill that ran down my spine. My day was spent with powdery mountains and snowboarding and hot chocolate. It was supposed to be a day for me to forget. Tap. Tap. Tap.