0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale VerdictThe clock stood in the corner. It was old. Oak. Heavy. Its face was cracked. A spider web hung in the twelve. Silas sat. He did not move. His back was against the wall. The wood groaned. He listened. The tick was slow. Too slow. Like a heart giving up. Silas was not a man. Not entirely. He was a thing made of time. A creature of seconds. In the village of Oakhaven, they knew. They whispered....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe boiler in the basement of the Whitmore & Sons Provisioning Company did not explode, which was the first thing everyone failed to understand, and the second thing you would have to explain to the insurance adjuster before he stopped looking at you with that mixture of pity and suspicion. It simply stopped breathing. One moment, the great iron lungs of the facility were heaving with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenThe glass shattered not with a sound, but with a sudden, violent absence of light. It was a soundless explosion in the heart of the conservatory, a place that had always hummed with a low, electrical vibration that made the teeth ache. Julian stood frozen, his hand still raised in the gesture of release, watching as the pane of the great arched window did not fall outward but inward, dissolving...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe dream began not with sound, but with a sensation of weightlessness, a suspension in the air where the walls of the house had dissolved into a pale, misty grey. Elias stood in the center of a room that was not quite a room, but a threshold, a place where the floorboards breathed. He knew, with the absolute certainty of the subconscious, that he was dead. Or perhaps he was dying. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitOctober 1894. The air in Millhaven smelled of wet coal and the sweet, rotting perfume of the hop harvest that had just ended. Elias Thorne sat alone in the back room of the General Store, the door barred against the wind that was starting to bite through the gaps in the window frames. He was not waiting for anyone. He was not expecting anything. He was simply existing in the quiet, a state that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe fire took the roof of the Great Hall on a Tuesday, the kind of day that feels like a held breath before a sneeze. You remember the smell, a thick, wet rot of burning oak and wet thatch that clung to your nose for days, long after the smoke had cleared. You were twelve, old enough to know that the world was breaking, young enough to believe that you could glue it back together with enough...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended mist that clung to the damp stone of the keep’s highest turret, turning the air into a thick, breathing thing that tasted of iron and old moss, and within this grey, suffocating embrace, Thomas Bradshaw stood with his back against the cold, unyielding wall, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts that seemed to tear at the fabric of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe rain had not stopped in the village of Oakhaven for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the watchtower, a rhythmic, hollow sound that Thomas Whitmore had long since learned to ignore. He sat on the cold stone floor, his back against the damp wall, watching the mist curl through the narrow slit of the window. Below, the town lay silent, its streets empty of the usual chatter,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WhispersYou have always known that the ink was wet. It is a sensation that lives in the fingertips, a damp, cold weight that has nothing to do with the air in the room. You are sitting in the parlor of the house on Elm Street, the same house you have rented for thirty years, watching the dust motes dance in the slant of afternoon light. Outside, the town of Oakhaven continues its quiet, rhythmic...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek