night-stories

  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...