Adventure
The Leprechaun in the Basement
The scratching started three nights before St. Patrick’s Day. At first, the homeowner assumed it was mice. The house was old, built sometime in the 1940s, with narrow crawlspaces beneath the living room floor. Small animals getting in wasn’t unusual. The sound came in short bursts—scratching, dragging, then silence.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
Above From Below Part 5
Rick was dressed and ready to go, after a much needed rest at a local hotel. It was one of those cash by the hour joints, or by the week, as the case was. It served Rick well enough since it had a shower, a toilet, and a sink with running water. There was an ice machine at the end of the structure, and across the street was a greasy diner. Overall, he'd been forced to spend time in worse placed than this.
By Jason Mortonabout 12 hours ago in Fiction
The Woman
Every Handshake Delivered a Flavor She Couldn't Ignore THE GIFT NOBODY WANTED 🎁 Nora Kim discovered her ability on her seventh birthday when her grandmother hugged her and she tasted cinnamon and honey so strongly that she searched the room for cookies before realizing that the flavors were coming from the embrace itself, from the warmth and love that her grandmother radiated through physical contact, and this was the beginning of a life lived through a sense that nobody believed existed and that transformed every human interaction into a gustatory experience that could be beautiful or revolting depending on the emotional state of the person touching her. Handshakes with strangers tasted like water, neutral and forgettable, but handshakes with people harboring hidden anger tasted like burnt metal, and the embrace of a friend who secretly resented her tasted like spoiled milk despite the smile on the friend's face, and this constant involuntary translation of human emotion into flavor meant that Nora could never be deceived about how someone truly felt about her because their body chemistry communicated through her tongue what their words and expressions might conceal 🍯
By The Curious Writera day ago in Fiction
The Library
A Librarian's Secret That Has Been Hidden for a Hundred Years THE DOOR THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST 🚪 Maya Santos had worked as the evening librarian at the Thornfield Public Library for three years without noticing the door behind the reference section, a door that blended so perfectly with the oak paneling that it was invisible unless you were standing at exactly the right angle in exactly the right light, and she only discovered it on a Thursday evening in December when she dropped her phone and watched it slide across the floor and stop against a door frame that she had walked past thousands of times without ever seeing 📱
By The Curious Writera day ago in Fiction
The Sound of Summer Running
Summer is a season full of life, energy, and happiness. One of the most beautiful experiences of this season is the simple joy of running. The sound of summer running is not just about footsteps on the ground—it is about freedom, excitement, and the feeling of being alive.
By aadam khan2 days ago in Fiction
THE TWELFTH PLATE
The dinner bell at Harrow House rang at six o'clock sharp. Not five-fifty-nine. Not six-oh-one. Six. I learned this on my third evening, when I arrived at five-forty-five, eager to make a good impression. The dining room was empty except for Mrs. Blackwood, who stood at the head of the long oak table, arranging silverware with the precision of a surgeon.
By Edward Smith2 days ago in Fiction
An Apple Orchard's Gems
The summer was hot, and every day the sun blazed. Some evenings it cooled by 15 degrees, which gave a bit of relief. Then there were the ongoing roasting weeks of no rain, no shade, no clouds. Even the insects were quiet and grounded, no buzzing. The birds hid in the scattered trees' leaves or flew off to the forests. Everything slowed down to survive the unusual heat in a climate usually comfortable.
By Andrea Corwin 3 days ago in Fiction
The Shanghai Cipher. AI-Generated.
The manuscript had been missing for four hundred years before anyone thought to look for it in Shanghai. This was, Dr. Nora Ashworth reflected, either a stroke of genuine insight or the kind of desperate reasoning that passed for insight when you had been chasing something long enough that the chase itself had become the point. She stood on the Bund in the October rain of 1924, her coat doing its inadequate best against a wind coming off the Huangpu that smelled of diesel and river mud and the particular industrial ambition of a city that had decided to become the future before the future had finished deciding what it was, and looked at the address written in her notebook.
By Alpha Cortex3 days ago in Fiction







