Blake Bowman just purchased his first home. An old gothic Victorian with the original interior still intact. While cleaning out the attic, he came across a few boxes of items left behind by the previous owners. While moving them out, a box he was carrying dropped something from the bottom, fluttering to the floor. Almost slipping on the item, Blake put aside what he held to bend down and pick it up. Examining the photo in his hand, he furrowed his brow, trying to understand what he saw. It was a photo of a man and a woman. Both sat beside each other, upright in their chairs, posing for the camera. The snapshot was old and a bit faded, but…

“The mind over matter is me” – – – That was the quote that lingered in my mind. I saw it once—on a TV screen during a mental health awareness ad, which played after the show I was absentmindedly watching had ended. It stayed with me, I pondered how powerful our minds can shape our reality. The thoughts we think, beliefs we share, and our perceptions of reality aren’t merely passive but actively influence how we experience and interact daily. It had me thinking, that despite everyone living in the same physical world, billions of individual realities, cultivated by billions of other people co-exist under one shared present, does that make sense? But what do I know? I was just…

Ban is an employee at Metro Courier in Ikeshima, tasked with investigating a growing urban legend. Ban was initially reluctant, considering that the subject topic differed from what he wrote about. After interviewing a few people, Ban reviewed the information. Unfortunately, there was no consistent story, which may mean they made up their versions of Booth 21. Ban decided to do further research at the library. At the library, he walked to the front to talk to an attendant named Kouta. “Excuse me?” Ban spoke softly so he would not disturb the people around them. “How may I help you?” Kouta smiled and turned to face Ban. “Do you know anything about Booth 21?” Ban asked, taking out a notepad…

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” — Matthew 7:13 Faith is a strange thing. An invisible current, tugging people toward something they couldn’t see, couldn’t prove, yet clung to with unwavering certainty. Some found comfort in it. Others, like me, found it incomprehensible—a construct built on nothing but hope and fear. A way to explain the unexplainable. A reason to kneel when the world felt too heavy to stand. I never thought much about it. Religion, faith, belief… they were like relics from another time, things people inherited rather than chose. I grew up watching others pray before meals, cross themselves in front…

Paul was a security guard at the Silent Centre Museum in Oak Heart. Though he had been working there for a while now, he had never worked the night shift. Anthony was usually the guy who did, but he was currently on vacation. That would mean it would be up to Paul to take over that shift. “Paul, we need to talk,” Anthony said to him, coming in for his shift that day. They had never spoken to one another before, so it was strange for Anthony to start a conversation now. “Sure, man, what’s up?” Paul answered, figuring it was due to their work protocol differences, as he put his gear away. Anthony looked around, making sure they were…

Nyoka lived in Giverny, where she owned a bakery shop called Reverie. She was beautiful with her long golden curly hair that went to her waist and bright blue eyes. The townsfolk swore that she looked straight out of a fairytale. Nyoka always ensured that everything she baked, from the sweet to the savory, was made ‘just right.’ She aspired always to make people smile and feel welcome in her bakery. Berard, however, disliked Nyoka. He said she was too nice and fooled all the townspeople. He needed to get rid of her, but the only way to do that was to ensure they were alone. It had been raining that day, and he saw her walking in the rain…

Alice arrived at Clare View Point. She had saved just enough money to get there but needed to save the rest for lodging and food. It meant taking other forms of transportation was out. Alice had decided to see if someone would be willing to give her a ride. After all, the last stop she was heading to was pretty close; it would still be a long walk on foot. Alice scanned the faces of the people standing outside the bus station. There stood a handsome man walking to the parking lot. “Excuse me!” she cheerily spoke, walking up to him, who stopped to listen.”By chance, could you give me a ride?” Alice asked. The man looked at her. “Where…

There are stories that cling to the edges of reality, rumors whispered in bars by old sailors with trembling hands and distant eyes. Stories of ships that drift into the harbor with no crew, no signs of struggle… just eerie silence. But until last week, I thought they were just that… stories. The Nautica appeared in the mist on a quiet Tuesday morning. No distress signals, and no records of departure. A 70-year-old cargo vessel, long thought scrapped just… appeared. It was found adrift off the coast, slowly floating toward the docks with not a soul on board. No crew. No captain. Nothing. Naturally, the news caught my attention. As a freelance journalist, I made a living chasing down stories…

The handwritten sign plastered to my door was not something I could miss. ‘Rent due on Monday: don’t be fucking late this time.’ Living with my best mate’s sister had been working out reasonably well, and to be fair, I felt terrible about being behind on rent so often, but I still wished Hazel would find a less passive-aggressive way of reminding me. If only my parents had bought me my own place after I’d graduated college, I’d get to be the one behaving like an overprivileged asshole, I reflected, before tearing the sign off the door and entering my bedroom. I flopped down onto my bed, exhausted after another morning of fruitless job searching. I knew I would have…

Zhang Yaxin’s Facebook Posts 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. June 28 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. Post Content: Met a super handsome fortune teller on my way to work today. He asked me a lot of common questions and said my recent fortune is good. I’m so happy!!! Do you girls want to find him and get a reading…

The handwritten sign plastered to my door was not something I could miss. ‘Rent due on Monday: don’t be fucking late this time.’ Living with my best mate’s sister had been working out reasonably well, and to be fair, I felt terrible about being behind on rent so often, but I still wished Hazel would find a less passive-aggressive way of reminding me. If only my parents had bought me my own place after I’d graduated college, I’d get to be the one behaving like an overprivileged asshole, I reflected, before tearing the sign off the door and entering my bedroom. I flopped down onto my bed, exhausted after another morning of fruitless job searching. I knew I would have…

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. He spent the first day clinging to the safety of the shore, too afraid to venture into the unknown depths of the island. With his own hands, he built a fire, cracked open a coconut, and fashioned a crude shelter from the branches and leaves that lay scattered nearby.…

“The mind over matter is me” – – – That was the quote that lingered in my mind. I saw it once—on a TV screen during a mental health awareness ad, which played after the show I was absentmindedly watching had ended. It stayed with me, I pondered how powerful our minds can shape our reality. The thoughts we think, beliefs we share, and our perceptions of reality aren’t merely passive but actively influence how we experience and interact daily. It had me thinking, that despite everyone living in the same physical world, billions of individual realities, cultivated by billions of other people co-exist under one shared present, does that make sense? But what do I know? I was just…

Have you ever heard of the Grand Circus of Mysteries? You can recognize us by the large banner set up over the entrance; a circular sign with several slightly faded looking clowns, magicians, leaping acrobats and other exotically dressed performers decorating its length. A large, open circus tent sits in the background with the entrance lit up in yellow, and the name of the circus is printed out in bold and stylised letters in a semicircle above the scene. The sign is over fifty years old and it’s been a tradition for the past century for it to be erected right on top of the archway over the circus gates. I would have hoped you’d heard of us. We’re a…

Blake Bowman just purchased his first home. An old gothic Victorian with the original interior still intact. While cleaning out the attic, he came across a few boxes of items left behind by the previous owners. While moving them out, a box he was carrying dropped something from the bottom, fluttering to the floor. Almost slipping on the item, Blake put aside what he held to bend down and pick it up. Examining the photo in his hand, he furrowed his brow, trying to understand what he saw. It was a photo of a man and a woman. Both sat beside each other, upright in their chairs, posing for the camera. The snapshot was old and a bit faded, but…

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 ever. Nestled at the edge of town, my modest farmhouse is surrounded by meticulously tended gardens. Each morning, I wake at dawn, don my gardening gloves, and tend to my plants with the care…

Nyoka lived in Giverny, where she owned a bakery shop called Reverie. She was beautiful with her long golden curly hair that went to her waist and bright blue eyes. The townsfolk swore that she looked straight out of a fairytale. Nyoka always ensured that everything she baked, from the sweet to the savory, was made ‘just right.’ She aspired always to make people smile and feel welcome in her bakery. Berard, however, disliked Nyoka. He said she was too nice and fooled all the townspeople. He needed to get rid of her, but the only way to do that was to ensure they were alone. It had been raining that day, and he saw her walking in the rain…

There are stories that cling to the edges of reality, rumors whispered in bars by old sailors with trembling hands and distant eyes. Stories of ships that drift into the harbor with no crew, no signs of struggle… just eerie silence. But until last week, I thought they were just that… stories. The Nautica appeared in the mist on a quiet Tuesday morning. No distress signals, and no records of departure. A 70-year-old cargo vessel, long thought scrapped just… appeared. It was found adrift off the coast, slowly floating toward the docks with not a soul on board. No crew. No captain. Nothing. Naturally, the news caught my attention. As a freelance journalist, I made a living chasing down stories…

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” — Matthew 7:13 Faith is a strange thing. An invisible current, tugging people toward something they couldn’t see, couldn’t prove, yet clung to with unwavering certainty. Some found comfort in it. Others, like me, found it incomprehensible—a construct built on nothing but hope and fear. A way to explain the unexplainable. A reason to kneel when the world felt too heavy to stand. I never thought much about it. Religion, faith, belief… they were like relics from another time, things people inherited rather than chose. I grew up watching others pray before meals, cross themselves in front…

Alice arrived at Clare View Point. She had saved just enough money to get there but needed to save the rest for lodging and food. It meant taking other forms of transportation was out. Alice had decided to see if someone would be willing to give her a ride. After all, the last stop she was heading to was pretty close; it would still be a long walk on foot. Alice scanned the faces of the people standing outside the bus station. There stood a handsome man walking to the parking lot. “Excuse me!” she cheerily spoke, walking up to him, who stopped to listen.”By chance, could you give me a ride?” Alice asked. The man looked at her. “Where…

Have you ever heard of the Grand Circus of Mysteries? You can recognize us by the large banner set up over the entrance; a circular sign with several slightly faded looking clowns, magicians, leaping acrobats and other exotically dressed performers decorating its length. A large, open circus tent sits in the background with the entrance lit up in yellow, and the name of the circus is printed out in bold and stylised letters in a semicircle above the scene. The sign is over fifty years old and it’s been a tradition for the past century for it to be erected right on top of the archway over the circus gates. I would have hoped you’d heard of us. We’re a…

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. He spent the first day clinging to the safety of the shore, too afraid to venture into the unknown depths of the island. With his own hands, he built a fire, cracked open a coconut, and fashioned a crude shelter from the branches and leaves that lay scattered nearby.…

The handwritten sign plastered to my door was not something I could miss. ‘Rent due on Monday: don’t be fucking late this time.’ Living with my best mate’s sister had been working out reasonably well, and to be fair, I felt terrible about being behind on rent so often, but I still wished Hazel would find a less passive-aggressive way of reminding me. If only my parents had bought me my own place after I’d graduated college, I’d get to be the one behaving like an overprivileged asshole, I reflected, before tearing the sign off the door and entering my bedroom. I flopped down onto my bed, exhausted after another morning of fruitless job searching. I knew I would have…

I remember that night all too vividly, as if the memories were etched into my very soul. It was a cold, moonless evening, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes you wish for the warmth and safety of home. But little did I know that home would offer no sanctuary from the horrors that awaited me. We were gathered around the campfire, a group of friends seeking refuge from the darkness that enveloped the forest like a shroud. The flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows upon the trees that loomed ominously in the distance. It was then that I first heard it, a faint rustling in the underbrush that sent a chill down my spine. At…

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 ever. Nestled at the edge of town, my modest farmhouse is surrounded by meticulously tended gardens. Each morning, I wake at dawn, don my gardening gloves, and tend to my plants with the care…

Chapter 1: The Arrival My name is Emily Parker, and I’ve always been drawn to the mysteries of the supernatural. So, when rumors of a haunted mansion hidden deep in the woods reached my ears, I couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. Little did I know that my quest for answers would lead me into the heart of darkness itself. The forest around me was alive with the sounds of the night, a cacophony of rustling leaves and chirping insects that seemed to whisper secrets in the darkness. The moon hung low in the sky, its feeble light struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of trees that surrounded me. The mansion, a looming silhouette against the night sky, seemed to…

Zhang Yaxin’s Facebook Posts 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. June 28 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. Post Content: Met a super handsome fortune teller on my way to work today. He asked me a lot of common questions and said my recent fortune is good. I’m so happy!!! Do you girls want to find him and get a reading…

There are stories that cling to the edges of reality, rumors whispered in bars by old sailors with trembling hands and distant eyes. Stories of ships that drift into the harbor with no crew, no signs of struggle… just eerie silence. But until last week, I thought they were just that… stories. The Nautica appeared in the mist on a quiet Tuesday morning. No distress signals, and no records of departure. A 70-year-old cargo vessel, long thought scrapped just… appeared. It was found adrift off the coast, slowly floating toward the docks with not a soul on board. No crew. No captain. Nothing. Naturally, the news caught my attention. As a freelance journalist, I made a living chasing down stories…

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” — Matthew 7:13 Faith is a strange thing. An invisible current, tugging people toward something they couldn’t see, couldn’t prove, yet clung to with unwavering certainty. Some found comfort in it. Others, like me, found it incomprehensible—a construct built on nothing but hope and fear. A way to explain the unexplainable. A reason to kneel when the world felt too heavy to stand. I never thought much about it. Religion, faith, belief… they were like relics from another time, things people inherited rather than chose. I grew up watching others pray before meals, cross themselves in front…

Alice arrived at Clare View Point. She had saved just enough money to get there but needed to save the rest for lodging and food. It meant taking other forms of transportation was out. Alice had decided to see if someone would be willing to give her a ride. After all, the last stop she was heading to was pretty close; it would still be a long walk on foot. Alice scanned the faces of the people standing outside the bus station. There stood a handsome man walking to the parking lot. “Excuse me!” she cheerily spoke, walking up to him, who stopped to listen.”By chance, could you give me a ride?” Alice asked. The man looked at her. “Where…