Fan Fiction
Sinking ghosts come out to play
Timelines that cross boundaries between the past and the present often fuck me up in the most random ways. I know that I’ve been here before, like this church, but I don’t quite remember how. I remember someone I used to resent that was supposed to be my friend, but he was somehow different.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 days ago in Fiction
The Weight of a Feather
The sun hadn't yet cleared the jagged teeth of the basalt cliffs when Elias began his morning ritual. He stood before the mirror, checking the leather harness that crisscrossed his chest. It was worn supple by decades of salt and sweat. He adjusted the buckles, ensuring the iron-grey stone fastened to his small of his back was centered. It was the size of a prize-winning pumpkin and weighed exactly eighty-four pounds.
By Edward Smith5 days ago in Fiction
The Last Letter in the Attic
I hadn’t been back to my grandmother’s house in years. Not since the funeral. The place sat at the edge of town, quiet and stubborn against time, like it refused to admit she was gone. The garden had grown wild, ivy swallowing the porch railing, and the front door groaned like it recognized me when I pushed it open.
By Mariana Farias5 days ago in Fiction
She Blocked Him Everywhere… Except in His Dreams
Her profile disappeared from his screen. Their chats—years of late-night conversations, inside jokes, voice notes, and shared secrets—vanished as if they had never existed. Even the little heart emojis they exchanged seemed erased from memory. He stared at his phone that night, willing it to be a mistake. It wasn’t.
By Tawseef Aziz5 days ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Secret
The town of Hollow Creek was small, the kind of place where everyone knew your name and your business, sometimes before you even did. Tucked between a crooked row of brick buildings on Main Street, there was a shop that most people walked past without a second glance. Its sign was faded, the paint peeling like old memories: “Elliot’s Timepieces”. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood, brass, and a hint of something unplaceable—like nostalgia in liquid form.
By Mariana Farias5 days ago in Fiction
The Overnight Bus Where a Random Man Explored Every Inch of Me in the Back Seat (True Story). Content Warning.
Hi… it’s me, Lila. Twenty-five, sitting here in my little apartment with the rain tapping the window, thighs pressed together just thinking about it. This is what really happened on that long, sweaty overnight bus from Toronto to Montreal last summer. I never thought I’d do this. But my body betrayed me the second the engine started rumbling, and I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
By Chahat Kaur7 days ago in Fiction
The Letter I Never Meant to Open
I had always believed my life was ordinary. I worked at a small bookstore, went home to my tiny apartment, and rarely spoke to anyone outside my circle. But everything changed the day I found that letter. It wasn’t hidden, exactly. It was leaning against my apartment door, with my name written in a careful, almost familiar hand. There was no return address. Curiosity pried it open before I could even think twice. Inside was a single page, filled with messy handwriting: "I know what happened that night. I’ve been trying to tell you for years. Meet me at the old pier at 7 tonight if you want answers." I froze. My heart thudded. What night? Years ago, when I was seventeen, my best friend, Clara, disappeared for two days. She came back, shaken, never speaking of what happened. I had forgotten that night—or maybe I had buried it deep in my mind. I debated ignoring the letter, thinking it might be a prank. But something in me—a long-lost curiosity, or perhaps guilt—pushed me out the door. The city air felt colder than usual, each step echoing in the empty streets as I walked toward the pier. When I arrived, the sun was just dipping below the horizon. And there she was—Clara. Older, changed, but unmistakable. She looked at me, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "You came," she said softly. "I… I don’t understand," I stammered. She handed me a small box. Inside, I found an old photograph of the two of us, taken on the day she disappeared, and a tiny key. "Do you remember the treehouse by the river?" she asked. I nodded. It had been our secret place, where we hid from the world, told secrets, and dreamed of escaping to distant lands. But that night, the treehouse had burned down. Clara had vanished, leaving me alone to face the aftermath. "I didn’t disappear. I was trapped," she said, her voice breaking. She explained that she had fallen into an old underground storage space beneath the treehouse—an accident—and had been unable to call for help. No one could find her. I felt my knees weaken. Years of silence, of wondering, of guilt, all leading to this. She reached for my hand. "I wrote to you because I need to make things right. There’s something you don’t know." She handed me a folded note. Inside was another secret—a confession she had never dared to share. The night the treehouse burned, she had accidentally started the fire while trying to fix the old wiring. She had been too afraid to tell anyone. I had blamed myself for not seeing her before the fire, for leaving her alone—but it was never my fault. I stared at her, the weight of years melting away in one breath. Relief. Anger. Love. Forgiveness. All at once. We sat there for hours, talking about everything we had never said, filling in the missing years. I realized that life had given me a gift—not just the truth, but the chance to reconnect. By the time the moon rose high above the pier, Clara and I had made a silent promise: never to let fear or guilt keep us apart again. When I walked home that night, the city looked different. Brighter. Full of possibilities. And I knew, deep down, that sometimes the answers you seek come in the most unexpected ways—and that some letters are never meant to be ignored.
By Wasif islam7 days ago in Fiction
