There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

I hate Mondays. It’s a generic thing, but I just loathe having to go to work after the weekend. Anyway, I’m done with it, so I guess I can’t complain now. I recently purchased a house for a surprisingly good deal out in the woods. It’s a pretty nice place, other than sometimes the cellular mysteriously goes out for hours at a time. It’s pretty late, about 9 p.m. My new job keeps me quite late, but it’s extra pay, so you’re not hearing anything bad from me. As I get off the main road and onto the gravel road into the woods, per my navigation system’s directions, I listen to my tires running over the small rocks, almost sounding…

The Visit Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn’t making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was. One day, after returning from work, I received an unusual phone call from Henry. “Mom, you need to come over. I want to introduce you to someone.” Henry’s tone was different than usual—more excited, which made me feel a sense of relief. Maybe he had finally found a girlfriend? There was a reason to think so—my son had unexpectedly gone…

The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes, unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.   I must’ve dozed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt…

In the flickering light of the torch, the old gold shimmered with a mesmerizing allure, a testament to the treasures of a bygone era. At long last, the avaricious seekers had found their prize, their hearts consumed by an insatiable hunger for wealth. “We shall be rich beyond measure,” declared Sir Hampton with a triumphant laugh, his fingers greedily digging into the mounds of golden coins. His men exchanged glances of unbridled excitement, their hands eagerly filling their pockets with the gleaming metal. “Never again shall we toil,” one man exclaimed with glee. “Nor our children,” another added, his voice brimming with anticipation. The crew’s laughter echoed through the ancient chamber, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. But their revelry…

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw nobody. He sighed relief, looking at his fish once again, holding it and wishing there was someone around, to witness his catch. He…

I need to be extremely clear to you that this is real. There is nothing fabricated in what I am about to tell you. There are what I can only describe as zombies out there, making their way to you right now. A few nights ago I saw a news story on my phone. I opened google to search for something, and underneath the searchbar there were the usual news articles I expect to see. But one of them mentioned something about a violent rabies outbreak nearby. The picture underneath showed a low quality image of a person being handled by police or doctors into what looked to be a truck. It looked to me like a screenshot from a…

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you. It began as I lay still and heavy in my old bed. It was not soft but I was drifting away to a place where I could dream. Then, the quite common unsettling occurrence happens where from my bed upon an ungodly hour, I could hear a loud screeching inhuman scream. A woman’s scream if it were to be replicated by a waterlogged and damaged robot voice box. A screeching as though a hoard of crows were to imitate a human upon their death. I feel…

It started in the girls’ changing room after gym. Standing on the cold tile floor while scrubbing off the sweat with a wet wipe. I’ve been here so many times my movements are automatic, almost involuntary, whilst I am in my own mind, milling the minutes until next period. My movements halted, I was scared. Am I trapped? Dying? Using my joints is now similar to the clicking in place of metal gears. Click click click. My first instinct was to hide until I could regain my composure. An unknown sickness took over me. The girls can’t see me like this, it’s too much. They’ll look down on my weakness. “Adina?” It slithers in and out of my ears like…

I need to be extremely clear to you that this is real. There is nothing fabricated in what I am about to tell you. There are what I can only describe as zombies out there, making their way to you right now. A few nights ago I saw a news story on my phone. I opened google to search for something, and underneath the searchbar there were the usual news articles I expect to see. But one of them mentioned something about a violent rabies outbreak nearby. The picture underneath showed a low quality image of a person being handled by police or doctors into what looked to be a truck. It looked to me like a screenshot from a…

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you. It began as I lay still and heavy in my old bed. It was not soft but I was drifting away to a place where I could dream. Then, the quite common unsettling occurrence happens where from my bed upon an ungodly hour, I could hear a loud screeching inhuman scream. A woman’s scream if it were to be replicated by a waterlogged and damaged robot voice box. A screeching as though a hoard of crows were to imitate a human upon their death. I feel…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

In the flickering light of the torch, the old gold shimmered with a mesmerizing allure, a testament to the treasures of a bygone era. At long last, the avaricious seekers had found their prize, their hearts consumed by an insatiable hunger for wealth. “We shall be rich beyond measure,” declared Sir Hampton with a triumphant laugh, his fingers greedily digging into the mounds of golden coins. His men exchanged glances of unbridled excitement, their hands eagerly filling their pockets with the gleaming metal. “Never again shall we toil,” one man exclaimed with glee. “Nor our children,” another added, his voice brimming with anticipation. The crew’s laughter echoed through the ancient chamber, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. But their revelry…

The Visit Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn’t making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was. One day, after returning from work, I received an unusual phone call from Henry. “Mom, you need to come over. I want to introduce you to someone.” Henry’s tone was different than usual—more excited, which made me feel a sense of relief. Maybe he had finally found a girlfriend? There was a reason to think so—my son had unexpectedly gone…

The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes, unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.   I must’ve dozed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt…

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw nobody. He sighed relief, looking at his fish once again, holding it and wishing there was someone around, to witness his catch. He…

It started in the girls’ changing room after gym. Standing on the cold tile floor while scrubbing off the sweat with a wet wipe. I’ve been here so many times my movements are automatic, almost involuntary, whilst I am in my own mind, milling the minutes until next period. My movements halted, I was scared. Am I trapped? Dying? Using my joints is now similar to the clicking in place of metal gears. Click click click. My first instinct was to hide until I could regain my composure. An unknown sickness took over me. The girls can’t see me like this, it’s too much. They’ll look down on my weakness. “Adina?” It slithers in and out of my ears like…

I hate Mondays. It’s a generic thing, but I just loathe having to go to work after the weekend. Anyway, I’m done with it, so I guess I can’t complain now. I recently purchased a house for a surprisingly good deal out in the woods. It’s a pretty nice place, other than sometimes the cellular mysteriously goes out for hours at a time. It’s pretty late, about 9 p.m. My new job keeps me quite late, but it’s extra pay, so you’re not hearing anything bad from me. As I get off the main road and onto the gravel road into the woods, per my navigation system’s directions, I listen to my tires running over the small rocks, almost sounding…

I need to be extremely clear to you that this is real. There is nothing fabricated in what I am about to tell you. There are what I can only describe as zombies out there, making their way to you right now. A few nights ago I saw a news story on my phone. I opened google to search for something, and underneath the searchbar there were the usual news articles I expect to see. But one of them mentioned something about a violent rabies outbreak nearby. The picture underneath showed a low quality image of a person being handled by police or doctors into what looked to be a truck. It looked to me like a screenshot from a…

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you. It began as I lay still and heavy in my old bed. It was not soft but I was drifting away to a place where I could dream. Then, the quite common unsettling occurrence happens where from my bed upon an ungodly hour, I could hear a loud screeching inhuman scream. A woman’s scream if it were to be replicated by a waterlogged and damaged robot voice box. A screeching as though a hoard of crows were to imitate a human upon their death. I feel…

It started in the girls’ changing room after gym. Standing on the cold tile floor while scrubbing off the sweat with a wet wipe. I’ve been here so many times my movements are automatic, almost involuntary, whilst I am in my own mind, milling the minutes until next period. My movements halted, I was scared. Am I trapped? Dying? Using my joints is now similar to the clicking in place of metal gears. Click click click. My first instinct was to hide until I could regain my composure. An unknown sickness took over me. The girls can’t see me like this, it’s too much. They’ll look down on my weakness. “Adina?” It slithers in and out of my ears like…

The Visit Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn’t making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was. One day, after returning from work, I received an unusual phone call from Henry. “Mom, you need to come over. I want to introduce you to someone.” Henry’s tone was different than usual—more excited, which made me feel a sense of relief. Maybe he had finally found a girlfriend? There was a reason to think so—my son had unexpectedly gone…

The nonstop pitter-patter of the cold rain against my bedroom window set the mood. I found myself rubbing my eyes, unable to follow the now swaying lines. My book was a jumbled mess of dyslexic text. I spent another minute trying to decipher the words, but my exhausted state of mind could not put meaning to them. I folded the top right corner of the page and gingerly placed Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, back on the windowsill.   I must’ve dozed off at some point because I found myself dreaming. Eyes. Red eyes the size of saucer plates peered into the depths of my soul. No matter how hard I tried to look away, I could not break the gaze. I felt…

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw nobody. He sighed relief, looking at his fish once again, holding it and wishing there was someone around, to witness his catch. He…

I hate Mondays. It’s a generic thing, but I just loathe having to go to work after the weekend. Anyway, I’m done with it, so I guess I can’t complain now. I recently purchased a house for a surprisingly good deal out in the woods. It’s a pretty nice place, other than sometimes the cellular mysteriously goes out for hours at a time. It’s pretty late, about 9 p.m. My new job keeps me quite late, but it’s extra pay, so you’re not hearing anything bad from me. As I get off the main road and onto the gravel road into the woods, per my navigation system’s directions, I listen to my tires running over the small rocks, almost sounding…

In the flickering light of the torch, the old gold shimmered with a mesmerizing allure, a testament to the treasures of a bygone era. At long last, the avaricious seekers had found their prize, their hearts consumed by an insatiable hunger for wealth. “We shall be rich beyond measure,” declared Sir Hampton with a triumphant laugh, his fingers greedily digging into the mounds of golden coins. His men exchanged glances of unbridled excitement, their hands eagerly filling their pockets with the gleaming metal. “Never again shall we toil,” one man exclaimed with glee. “Nor our children,” another added, his voice brimming with anticipation. The crew’s laughter echoed through the ancient chamber, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. But their revelry…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…