A lonely, frustrated writer has a terrifying brush with popularity after he falls victim to a mysterious influencer with 2.2 million followers. ESTIMATED READ TIME: 60 minutes Click here to read on Wattpad. **Make no mistake, the following is a mature horror story and contains graphic scenes of self-mutilation.**
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Go out, they said. It's safe, they said. James and Dalah just wanted some fresh produce from their local supermarket. But when everyone isn't wearing a mask, the outlook can get a little ... sticky. 
It was supposed to be a happy visit with the grandparents, but the crushing pressure of a twist ending had different ideas. Now, a trio of intrepid paranormal investigators have been tasked to figure out exactly what's wrong with Nana and Pop Pop.
Click here to read on Wattpad. The year is 2005. George W. Bush is just starting his second term in the White House. The hottest game in cell phone technology is the Motorola Razr V3 and the PalmOne Treo 650. The iPhone is still a few years away. The Rise of Skywalker isn’t even a twinkle in Disney’s eye—an eye that’s currently preoccupied with an overly optimistic Narnia Franchise Wet Dream. In fact, Disney wouldn’t even buy Star Wars for another seven years. It’s summer in 2005 and millions of marketing dollars can still pull the wool over the eyes of a naive movie-going public, dictating box office success regardless of audience consensus or even general quality of filmmaking. All hail the grand illusion of capitalism. It’s a warm evening in the summer of 2005 and video rental stores are still a thing. One particular, independently-run store--freestanding, double glass doors on the left side of the brick facade, small parking lot--was just turning its sign on as dusk settled. Videorama was open for business. There’s something terrifying about being alone with your thoughts. For Lizzie Stevenson, even five minutes is too long--that’s why she’s always chasing that next distraction. But when a home invader ties her to a chair, Lizzie finds herself stuck between a rock and a crazy space, forced to confront a surprising darkness lurking in her past. ***The following story contains adult themes. Virgin eyes, beware! (I’m looking at you, mom.)***
Oil prices have plunged into negative territory. The used car index has cratered. Governments are issuing a universal basic income to its citizens.
Society as we know it is a house of cards built upon smoke and mirrors. There’s a very dangerous reason the Powers That Be don’t want people to see the truth. But it’s already too late. A mysterious gift shop appears overnight in a city known for weird, paranormal, and sometimes apocalyptic activities. But it's probably no big deal. It's just a gift shop. Probably. 
Karen has an axe to grind. Her therapist keeps telling her to find a hobby. Her husband keeps telling her not to spend so much on the house renovation. To be fair, the useless wall standing between Karen and her open floor plan wasn't telling her anything, but it was definitely mocking her. Chop-chop-chop. ESTIMATED READ TIME: 10 minutes Click here to read on Wattpad. 
The sun melted into the horizon, sending cascades of deep oranges and purples and greens across a darkening sky. Max Nebula’s gaze shifted up from the setting sun to see alien stars just beginning to shimmer through the atmosphere. It was the end of another day. A magnificent display of nature that held within it the promise of a new day to come. It would have been a beautiful scene if not for the fact that the world he stood on was about to be winked out of existence by a massive phase induction bomb. This was particularly unfortunate because, as previously mentioned, Max Nebula was still standing on said planet. “Hey, laser-brain!” The call came from Max’s on-again-off-again partner-in-sleuth, Luna Astroflux. “We could use a little help with this whole end-of-the-world crisis, if you’re not too busy with the naval gazing.”
Canned tuna, cheese puffs, toilet paper, and cigarettes.
Welcome to the end of the world. 
Jared Wurston had been waiting for this week all year. It was Christmastime, which meant two-thirds of the office was out on vacation and the remaining workforce was unobtrusive and blissfully quiet. In his six years at Vector Corp, Jared had endured six agonizingly banal Christmas parties full of, from his perspective, fake joy and forced merriment. As frustrating as the parties were, it was all worth it when the majority of the building’s workers disappeared a week or so later. It was at this time that Jared was gifted with the only thing he ever wanted for Christmas: quiet. Quiet from the insufferable buzz of social pleasantries that added up to meaningless drivel. Quiet from the incessant blather about pointless reality TV that leaked from over the cubicle walls. Quiet from the clueless management whose only discernable purpose seemed to be that of making Jared’s job more difficult. Most people planned trips and visited family for the holidays. Jared Wurston stayed home and pretended the world didn’t exist. |
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