We had been sailing for months after departing from the port of Whitehill, and had left even the most remote hunting grounds of the whalers behind weeks ago. The charts put us northeast of the Forsaken Islands, but their bleak shores were not our destination. Our route led us farther north than most men had ever sailed, across the desolate black waters of the Northern Sea. What a fool the captain of the ship we pursued must have been to believe the unhinged claims of the priestess. There was no warm summer sea hidden by ice, no uncharted passage, no prophesied land for our people to settle. We were alone out here, so far from any known shores that not…

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. During our travels, our leader often drew quite the attention, yet here in Nassudrall the hulking shaman was barely worth a fleeting glance to most. Ch’Goa we called him; the closest approximation our tongues could produce when trying to say his true name. He stood almost as tall as the natives even though the years had bent his back, his leathery skin was brindled with age…

Curiosity isn’t always a good thing. I once thought discovering everything the world had to offer was my true passion. It turns out though some things are best left alone. I always had an interest in the unknown and the unexplained. Mysteries were what I enjoyed most and the darker the story the more it fascinated me. Last year on my 23rd birthday I launched a website focused on mysterious stories and I loved it more than anything. People sent in crazy tales ranging from being followed in the woods to finding strange objects. I read every single story I received and always attempted to come up with an answer to the mystery. I rarely could though as such things…

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…

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. Something was wrong. The sensation of wrongness was the first thing I remember feeling. The reasons why I felt so became clearer as I took time to look around. My room was far too dark and gloomy. My lava lamp was gone. The posters on my walls were missing. My pair of crammed bookshelves were filled with unfamiliar and disarranged books. Half the stuff on my bedside table was gone; brushes, toys, the…

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…