In the old country, before the priests came with their bells and books, there lived those who could swallow sorrow. They were born with hollow hearts, it was said, and…
He’d discovered his gift four years earlier. A story about a thing that lived in storm drains. He’d written it in a fever, posted it online, then spotted the thing…
The classroom smelt of damp earth and hunger. Sarah Brennan stood before eleven children, their faces pinched and grey in the weak afternoon light that filtered through windows filmed with…
The scalpel traced the Y-incision across the cadaver’s chest. James concentrated on keeping his hand steady, aware of Dr. Winters watching from across the dissection lab. His appendectomy scar itched…
Maya’s phone held twenty-three recordings of people dying. Her latest was a homeless woman outside Tesco who’d clutched her hand and said “sorry” to someone who wasn’t there, her final…
The Elevator Anthology – Part V The queue stretched three blocks. I’d been in 2035 for six hours and still didn’t understand what they were waiting for. A shop. Perfect…
The Latchkey – Part VI Santa had read approximately 847,000 letters that evening when he found the one that made him stop. The handwriting was spidery, uneven, as though written…
The Elevator Anthology – Part IV The voice had changed. Martin noticed it on a Tuesday morning, waiting for the lift to descend from the ninth floor. The usual automated…
Ralph Dawson heard his name. Clear and certain, cutting through the hammering of his heart and Freddie’s ragged breathing beside him. Not a shout or a threat. Just his name.…
You remember that day, don’t you? The one where everything changed. We were in that coffee shop on the corner, the one with the crooked awning and the barista who…
The Latchkey – Part V [Editor’s note: This incomplete draft was discovered in Andy Brooke’s WordPress dashboard on 14th November 2024. He hasn’t responded to emails or phone calls since…
What’s my middle name? WHAT’S MY MIDDLE NAME?
Danny Marsh had spent three weeks on his zombie costume. Three weeks of YouTube tutorials watched on a cracked phone screen, of measuring corn syrup into teacups while his mum…
“Third helping today,” Maureen said brightly, ladling more gravy onto Tyler’s plate. “Growing lad, aren’t you?” “Always room for seconds with this one,” Pat agreed, beaming. “Or thirds. Or fourths.”…
The Elevator Anthology – Part III The power cut hit just as Nadia pressed the button for the seventh floor. The lift jolted, lights flickering, then settled into a dim…
Seth guided the drone over the treeline, thumbs working the controller. Up here, three hundred feet above the woods behind his new house, nobody could touch him. Nobody could shove…
The Latchkey – Part III You’ve been sitting in the same position for three hours now. That’s fine. Comfortable chair, good book, nothing urgent to do. Except you can’t remember…
The pattern appeared at 2:47am. Callum had been inside the Met’s facial recognition network for three hours, sifting through camera feeds across Zone 2, when he spotted it: the same…
Vinny checked the paperwork twice. O-negative, taken this morning, properly stored. He held the bag up to the fluorescent light, examining the colour. Rich. Healthy. The donor had excellent iron…
The Elevator Anthology – Part II The lift doors opened with a cheerful chime, and Zara stepped inside, smoothing down her interview suit one last time. Ground floor. She pressed…
When “The Man in the Black Suit” appeared in The New Yorker in 1994, it reminded readers why Stephen King ranks among America’s finest short story writers. This deceptively simple…
The Elevator Anthology – Part I The lift doors slid shut with their familiar whisper, leaving Louise alone with her thoughts and the weight of the revolver in her handbag.…
The Latchkey – Part II “Right, that’s it!” Zoe slammed the remote down as eight-year-old Harry threw another cushion at his sister. “Bedtime. Now.” “But we’re not tired!” Mia protested,…
The interview room is cold, though I am used to it. Chill air, hard chairs, the scrape of a pencil—such things become part of one’s day. The Doctor sits opposite,…
There has ever seemed to me a solemn virtue in black cloth. Crepe, most especially, possesses a character distinct from any other fabric; it does not merely cover, it absorbs,…
On the Fringes of Reality is a collection of contemporary horror stories that explore the unsettling spaces where our ordinary world reveals its true nature. Each tale examines the familiar through a darker lens, finding terror in technology, relationships, and the everyday moments that suddenly turn strange.
