Most favorited stories

The sky at the end of the cycle went purple and orange, the way it always did, like something slowly bleeding out. Only one of the twin moons was up, and the air was wet and warm. The glowing things the children called shimmer-flies were everywhere, drifting through the tall grass in lazy loops, pulsing soft light.

Hands raised above his head, none could bear witness to his holy tunic. Dust filled light peered from the stained glass windows, blocking the view of the not yet holy. I could make out his holiness’s silhouette and his robe’s red shine from the ethereal glow. The floor became wet with the tears of those who stood at the pews, hands raised as did their holiness. Their eyes were a squint, but their teeth would break under the pressure of their smiles. Some reached for it, some hid from it, some…

Howling winds clattered broken windows.

This is a story about the brave little tractor. Let's call him John. John is a small tractor, but he loves helping out on the farm! John plows across the field with his little plow. It takes a very long time, and afterward, John is very thirsty and hungry. His metal begs for oil, but John loves serving and helping others!

From an early age, David "Flint" Warren loved the woods. He and his childhood friends would spend entire summers charting the dense, untamed forests behind his parents’ house, hunting for what they enthusiastically called "buried treasure." Back then, a rusted iron railroad spike or a smooth piece of sea glass was a fortune. Over the years, David developed a keen eye for the hidden and the forgotten. But childhood fantasy eventually dissolved into adult responsibility. The freedom of the woods…

Have you heard of the man by the dock? It’s said that when twelve strikes the clock, A shadow stirs, a silent walk, Across the pier, in midnight’s flock. His footsteps fade on wooden planks, A ghostly figure, no one thanks, But if you seek to break or make The ritual’s curse, beware the stake. A silver coin, a candle’s flame, A mirror dark, to call his name— Arrange them ‘neath the moon’s cold glow, And whisper softly, soft and slow. Toss the coin into the water’s flow,

I’ve been selling junk on eBay for years—mid-century lamps, Beanie Babies, even a taxidermy squirrel once. My weekends are spent prowling garage sales, looking for overlooked treasures. So when I saw the squat, ancient jar sitting in a patch of weeds at the back of a neighbor’s sale, I figured it might be worth, at the very least, a hundred bucks to some archaeology-obsessed collector. Honestly, it didn’t look like much at first. About as tall as my knee, thick clay, faded patterns spiraling…

My wife and I always dreamed of living off-grid on our own land, but we were never able to afford anything—not even a small quarter-acre lot. We were sick of paying rent for shitty houses and apartments that charged way too much for the condition they were in, so we started wondering if there was anywhere we could actually afford to live.

Everyone loves Disney and their beloved cartoon characters like Mickey mouse, Donald duck, Goofy, Minne Mouse and Daisy duck, Pluto. But what if I tell you that there's something deeper in Disney that we all forgotten a long time ago? You can grab one of their files and it'll be titled. "The Disney Files" Welcome to this Alternative Universe, where it shows you the files of 'The Dark Reflection of Disney'

At ten years old my parents and I had moved away from my childhood home and into an underdeveloped city, within a quaint little cul de sac. Moving away from all of my friends, especially when we were off from school hit me pretty hard, and my parents knew that. One of the things they had tried to do to make up for it, was move into a neighborhood they made sure was full of other kids. What’s more, is that one street over from this new home there was a large park. It had everything: tennis and…

Stacy was a diligent office worker-meticulous and thorough. It was a typical, sunny summer day, just like any other. She sat at her desk, buried under a pile of documents to sign and a long list of emails to send. Nothing indicated that her peace was about to be shattered. Her colleague, Michelle, walked into the office, announcing that there was an issue with the ventilation system and that the computers were running louder than usual, though no one knew why.

I didn't open the door. On mine and violets life I didn't, but my head was pounding the same way as it did when I went through a door.

There was a warp before his eyes, before his right eye, an uncommon warp—something like two faces, like two halves of different faces. One for real, living, responsive to the world. And the other . . . about which, echoing your senses, you would say: Whatever for? It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be born in the first place, because whatever’s born is there to embrace life, not repel it, not clam up, not frighten it, not for it to repel the born, not one about which you would say: He’s…

Spending time in jail isn't fun, like at all. It may be one of the worst experiences you could ever face in your life. If any kid out there is listening to this? Please understand that jail isn't cool. One minute you get yourself arrested, thinking it will make you look cool in front of your friends, showing that you're some sort of badass. Next, you'll be shivering in a jail cell, with other prisoners around you that either want to hurt you physically, or worse. But, when I was arrested, I…

I didn’t really like either of the sons-of-bitches. The only problem was I was married to Ed. At thirty years old, I’d gone from Sharon Wilson to Sharon Wam. I know. Changing to such a silly last name was only an awful beginning to an awful marriage. Unlike me, Ed didn’t like going out much. He much preferred to drink at our little house on East University Street. The married months weren’t kind to us. Ed’s curly golden hair was always a mess, his good-looking face hindered by constant anger.

9/01/2015 ... I always wondered what causes people to picture things in their head a certain way. Whether it's emotion, or memory, or something harder to name. What interested me most was why it changes. You imagine something one way for years, and then one day, without any warning, it's different. And you can't go back to the way it was before, no matter how hard you try.

'Love.' They say it's the purest form of giving without expecting anything in return. To be unconditional, understanding, and patient. Love can be the sweetest thing of all, but it can also be the most dangerous weapon in the world.

8/13/2015 ... There is a land somewhere, one of vibrant grass and ornate architecture, the kind of place where joy isn't performed, but is a natural byproduct existence. The light isn't sure what to call it. A dimension, perhaps? Another world? Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Even now, at night, there’s a soothing calm to it. But the light doesn’t care about any of that. He's only just found this place, and finding it took long enough that he's in no mood to admire the scenery.

It was a cool midsummer night when me and my friends start to head home we both split of from each other until it was just me I still had a mile to walk so I kept me head down but when I was walking I kept hearing strange cracking and jingling like bones from the woods around me you see we lived on a dirt road no houses for around a mile out I got home around dinner time mom and I had a good meal dad often wasn't there he was a trucker so he had to stay on long trips away from home but me and…

There resides a local legend in Salem, Alabama. One tucked far away in the corner of rural America, far off the beaten path, and far from even the middle of nowhere. A legend that rears its head only once a year: Pope's Haunted Farm.