#thriller

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because if I don’t, it will stay in my head forever, scratching at the inside of my skull like something that wants out. My name is John, and a few months ago I found something I should have left buried. It happened during a trip out west, far from any marked trails, in a place where the silence feels wrong, like it’s not empty but waiting. I came across an old shack, barely standing, hidden between dead trees and dry grass. It looked like no one had…

Something changed after the first broadcast, but not in a way people could easily name, and that was what made it dangerous, because without a clear shape, fear has space to grow into anything, and anything is always worse than something defined. The world did not stopnot collapse, did not react in any unified or immediate way, and that absence of visible consequence created a fragile illusion that whatever had happened during the night had been insignificant, forgettable, something that could…

Blood of the Damned - Shadows over Riga - The Nosferatu Experiment © Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved ( Nightscribe & Royal Road Edition ) Disclaimer: No warranties! Latvian Proverb: “Skopais maksā divreiz.” Translation: “The stingy one pays twice.” This proverb warns against being overly frugal or cheap, as it often leads to higher costs in the long run. Chapter 1: The Risky Summons

Hi. My name is Rick Leave. If you are reading this, you are alive, or at least foolish enough to seek danger where it waits. That is appropriate. Curiosity can be fatal in my world. People called me insane, a threat, someone who should be locked away and discarded. They were right—only in that they never understood. They never understood the way my mind observes patterns, how life moves like clockwork when seen through careful eyes, and how fear can be orchestrated, anticipated, controlled.

James Locke had always been a quiet man, the sort whose presence barely registered in a crowded room, and he had grown used to it. There was a strange comfort in being unnoticed, in blending into the gray pattern of city life without anyone truly looking at him.

My name is Edward Polist, and for most of my life I was a detective. People used to say I had a gift for seeing things others missed, that I could notice patterns hidden in chaos, that I could follow the smallest detail until it led me somewhere real. I believed them, maybe more than I should have. My work became the only thing that made sense to me, the only place where the world followed rules. Evidence led to answers, actions had consequences, and nothing simply happened without a reason.…

Hi, my name is Michael. This happened a few years ago, on Halloween. It’s something I haven’t told anyone properly. Not like this. Not in full. But I think about it almost every night… and it doesn’t feel like it’s fading. It was supposed to be a normal Halloween.

Good day. My name is not important. What matters is what I found… and what I was never supposed to find. This document comes from archived police records dated back to the late 1980s. I discovered it by accident while going through old, partially damaged files. At first, I thought it was just another closed case, something routine, something forgotten for a reason.

Hi, my name is Paul Lipson. People used to call me Henry. As a child, I was born with a Siamese twin. My twin could not see me, but sometimes… sometimes he controlled my body or whispered thoughts into my mind. At first, it was subtle—a hand I didn’t want to move, a voice I didn’t speak—but as I grew older, the whispers became screams.

I jumped and dropped my paint brush when I heard the front door slam shut. My nerves were immediately settled when I heard the familiar voice of my husband. “I’m home!” My painting could wait. I smiled and made a beeline to the front door. He wasn’t supposed to be back from his work trip till tomorrow. “You usually text me when you’re getting home early,” I commented as I went in for a hug. “I lost my phone. I’ll have to go get a new one tomorrow,” he replied.

‘Hey, girly! I’ve decided to start selling cosmetics.’ I groaned as I read the text message. When a girl you haven’t spoken to since high school, Kimmy in this case, sends you a message like that, it means they’re trying sell you on some MLM BS. My phone buzzed again, and despite my better judgement, I checked it and braced myself to read the words ‘boss babe’.

I’m usually a ‘take things slow’ kind of girl, but there was something about her in the bar that night. I was sitting at a table in the back, watching my friends’ coats and purses while they were out on the dance floor. This was my usual role, and I suspected it was the only reason they still invited me out.

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don't simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn't have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he's kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would've even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake?

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.

“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.”