night-stories

 The Last Room on the Left   The town of Elmbrook had one rule: never swim in the lake after sunset. Locals spoke of strange disappearances, of shadows under the water, and of voices that called out at night, mimicking the cries of lost children. But for eighteen-year-old Rachel, who had just moved in with her grandmother after her parents’ death, the lake was nothing more than a scenic distraction from grief. It shimmered under the sun, glassy and clear, surrounded by pine trees that swayed like sentinels. But once dusk approached, the lake transformed. The water turned a darker shade of black, no longer reflecting light but swallowing it whole. Locals would shut their windows, bolt their doors, and wait until morning. Rachel, of course, didn’t believe in curses or folklore. Not after everything she’d been through. Her reality was already haunted — but not by ghosts. So one evening, just past 7:30, when the sky was painted in streaks of purple and orange, she wandered down to...

  The House That Remembers "Some houses forget. This one never did." When Elise Bradford inherited her uncle’s estate in the quiet town of Black Hollow, she didn’t know she was inheriting something far older than bricks and wood. The house had been abandoned for twenty-seven years, standing like a stubborn relic among the green hills, forgotten by everyone but itself. She arrived one gray morning, rain chewing on her windshield, the GPS blinking out just as the house came into view. A three-story Victorian beast, draped in ivy and time. Its windows looked like dead eyes. The gate hung broken, as if even it had given up trying to keep things in… or out. Elise laughed nervously as she grabbed her suitcase. “Well,” she said to no one. “Home sweet home.” The front door opened with a groan that seemed to echo from the earth itself. The smell hit her first—mold, rust, and something beneath it… something familiar. She brushed it off. Old houses always smelled weird. The flo...

  The Last Broadcast (Final Part) The Tennessee Safe Zone wasn't what Sarah had imagined. Not a fortress or military compound, but a university campus converted to a makeshift community. Chain-link fences topped with barbed wire encircled the perimeter, watchtowers constructed from scaffolding and plywood stood at strategic points. Armed guards—some military, most civilian volunteers—patrolled day and night. Three weeks had passed since their arrival. Three weeks of sleeping in a repurposed dormitory room, standing in ration lines, and avoiding the gazes of other survivors who carried the same haunted look Sarah saw in her own reflection. "Mommy, look!" Emma tugged at Sarah's sleeve, pointing toward the cafeteria garden where volunteers tended rows of vegetables under the late spring sun. "Miss Chen is teaching the kids again." Captain Gloria Chen—whose steady voice had guided them here—stood surrounded by a dozen children, demonstrating how to plant tom...

  The Last Broadcast PART2 Sarah killed the radio and held her breath. The familiar crunch of gravel under slow, dragging footsteps filtered through the basement's tiny window. She pulled Emma closer, the child's sleeping form warm against her chest. The farmhouse had been secure for nearly two weeks, but nothing stayed safe for long anymore. The ham radio had been her mother's bizarre hobby—one that Sarah had mocked gently during holiday visits. Now it was their lifeline, their only connection to whatever remained of the world outside. For three nights, she'd heard Ellis's broadcasts, each one more desperate than the last. Tonight's had ended with gunshots. "Mommy?" Emma stirred against her, voice thick with sleep. "Was that Daddy?" Sarah forced a smile. "Yes, baby. Daddy's still at work. He's helping people." "When's he coming home?" Sarah's throat tightened. "Soon," she whispered, smoothi...

  The Last Broadcast PART 1 The emergency broadcast system hadn't been activated in two days. Ellis took that as a bad sign. He sat in the cramped radio booth, headphones pressed against his ears, scanning frequencies for any sign of life. Static crackled through the headset like distant gunfire. Outside, the setting sun painted the abandoned parking lot in shades of crimson and gold—beautiful, if you could ignore the shambling figures casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. "Day seventeen," Ellis spoke into the microphone, his voice hoarse from disuse. "This is WKRP Cincinnati, broadcasting on all emergency frequencies. If anyone can hear this, respond. Please." He paused, listening to the void. Nothing. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before. The station generator hummed steadily beneath his feet. Enough fuel for another week, maybe two if he rationed carefully. The vending machine down the hall had been picked clean three days ago. His stomac...

**The Forgotten Lullaby**    Every night, just as I drift into the quiet embrace of sleep, a faint melody fills my room. A soft, sorrowful lullaby, played by an old music box. But there's one problem... I don’t own a music box. At first, I dismissed it as a trick of my mind, a sound born from the edge of dreams. But last night, the melody grew louder, pulling me from sleep. My heart pounded as I sat up, scanning the dimly lit room. Then, I saw it—a small wooden box resting on my nightstand, where nothing had been before. I reached out with trembling fingers and lifted the lid. The melody poured out, wrapping around me like a forgotten memory. But as the gears turned, something else happened. The air shifted, and the shadows in the room deepened. My reflection in the mirror wavered, and for a moment, I wasn’t looking at myself—I was looking at someone else. A girl with wide, sorrowful eyes. Her lips moved soundlessly as if she were trying to speak, but no words came. Then, t...