reedsymarketplace
Hire professionals for your project
reedsyblog
Advice, insights and news
reedsylearning
Online publishing courses
reedsylive
Free publishing webinars
reedsydiscovery
Launch your book in style
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2024
As Márton and Evelyn ran, the echo of their footsteps grew louder, each beat transforming into a strange, relentless rhythm that seemed to match the ticking of the clock above. The sound was more than just an echo—it was as though the station itself had begun to pulse in time with them, a heartbeat of a creature lying in wait. Shadows pooled in the corners, stretching like dark, inky tendrils, and the walls around them twisted and warped, as though reality itself were fraying at the edges. They reached the end of the platform, both breathles...
Submitted to Contest #275
The haunting began the night Magda’s father died in a derelict hospital overlooking the fog-draped coast of Whitby. It was early October, and the biting winds off the North Sea swept through the town with an unnatural chill. Magda sat beside his bed as he took his last rattling breath, her hand cold in his weakening grip. “He’s coming,” her father whispered, his sunken eyes wide with terror. “Who, Papa?” she asked, leaning in to catch his final words. “He’s… watching. He never leaves,” he murmured, his gaze flickering to the darkened window ...
There was something in Eliza’s garden. At first, she thought it was her imagination. Shadows, sounds—those could all be explained by the wind or the creaking of the old boards in the house. But for months now, something had kept her awake, pulling her to the window to look out over the small, wild patch of greenery behind her cottage. Then, one night in early autumn, Eliza saw it. She was curled up in her armchair with a cup of tea, her book lying forgotten in her lap, when she felt it—a sensation like a whisper above her heart, a pull to lo...
The night Pooky arrived in Rosewood, he slipped down through a shivering breeze that rattled the late autumn leaves on the edge of the little town. None of the lights were on at Number 12 Sprig Lane. And that suited Pooky just fine. Pooky—a small, wild creature from the oldest myths, known for his mischief and secret tricks—was tiny and white with large, liquid-black eyes and rabbit-like ears that seemed to bounce with every movement. He sniffed the air with a small nose that wriggled adorably, and his whiskers, sharp and silver like spider ...
Submitted to Contest #274
The house on Carver Hill loomed at the edge of town, set apart from the safety of light and sound. It stood where the cracked road met the twisted trees, and those trees bent inward, almost protectively, casting the house in a shadow so dark that even the bravest souls hesitated to approach. The house seemed alive, pulsing with an eerie energy, and over time, townsfolk learned to steer clear of it. When they did talk about it, they did so in whispers, lowering their voices as if the house itself might be listening. Strangest of all, the hous...
The late summer sun cast a lazy golden light over the playground, but Alex’s palms were sweating. He had spent the afternoon trying to climb the park’s tallest tree, determined to reach the branch that towered over his head. His older brother had climbed it easily the week before, standing triumphantly on the top branch and looking down on him with a grin. But today, the tree seemed taller and more impossible. After another failed attempt, Alex slid to the ground, feeling a tight, hollow ache in his stomach. He sat in the grass, the feeling ...
The footsteps behind her quickened. Casey felt her pulse speed up in response, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she fought the urge to look back. Every instinct screamed at her to check if the figure was still there, but she resisted. She had learned not to look back. Looking back gave them power. The street was nearly empty, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of streetlights. It was a quiet evening in Eastbrook, the kind of night where the air was crisp and sharp, and the only sounds were the occasional hum of a distant car or the rustl...
Submitted to Contest #273
The narrow road wound through trees so thick that they blotted out the sky, casting everything in shadows. Seren Hartley gripped the steering wheel tightly as her car bumped along the uneven asphalt, the silence of the forest around her thick and oppressive. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, 4:45 p.m. It would be dark soon. "How much farther?" she muttered, her eyes flicking to the GPS. The destination marker pulsed on the screen—Bitterwind Road, less than two miles ahead. The invitation had arrived unexpectedly in her mailbox...
Journal of Kit HarringtonOctober 1st, 2023 9:12 PMI never thought I’d keep a diary, but I don’t know where else to put my thoughts. I need somewhere safe to store them, somewhere no one can find. This book seems like the best bet for that. It’s old, worn, a leather-bound relic I found at a used bookstore a few weeks ago. I wasn’t looking for it; it found me, really. And maybe that’s what I need now—something to find me and make sense of this mess in my head. It’s been two months since *it* happened. Two months of avoiding eye contact, of sle...
Zane Carter didn’t trust anonymous invitations. As a journalist, he'd long learned that anything cryptic usually hid something dangerous beneath it. Yet the unmarked envelope that had arrived on his desk a week ago seemed to draw him in, as if he’d been waiting for it his entire life. **“Come to the island. We know what you’ve been searching for. You will find the answers you seek.”** There was no name, no return address, just a flight ticket to a remote Pacific island and GPS coordinates. He debated ignoring it. What sane person would follo...
Elena’s breath came in ragged gasps, the cold night air slicing through her throat as her boots pounded the uneven dirt road. Moonlight filtered through the skeletal trees lining the path, casting jagged shadows that reached out like claws. She didn’t dare look back. Run. Don’t look back. It wasn’t just the noise, though the low, persistent hum that followed her was maddening. It was something more than that, something she couldn’t fully explain. But she knew one thing—she was being hunted. The night had begun innocently enough. A gathering ...
Submitted to Contest #272
I have forgotten the exact year I died. Time dissolves in the darkness, becoming an endless night. I remember flashes—the sound of wind howling through the trees, the sharp sting of frost on my face, and the cold, relentless grip of death as it sank its teeth into my soul. But the details blur, fragments of a life I can barely remember, overtaken by the hunger. I think I was a man once. I think I had a name. I lived, I breathed, and I walked among the living. But now, I am something else, something far older and more sinister. I have become ...
The lighthouse had been quiet for years. That was the first thing I noticed as I stood at its base, staring up at the weathered stone tower that seemed to pierce the sky. The second thing was the absolute stillness. No birds. No wind. Only the distant sound of the sea, crashing into the jagged rocks below. I had taken the job without much thought—after all, who needed company when you had isolation as beautiful as this? My friends had warned me that I’d go stir-crazy, but I craved the solitude. The daily grind of city life had worn me thin, ...
High on the cliffs overlooking the tumultuous sea, Blackwood Manor stood like a sentinel, its silhouette sharp against the stormy sky. Once a grand estate, it had become a decaying relic, whispered about in nearby towns. The stories told of strange happenings, flickering lights in empty windows, and the mournful cries of a woman lost to time. Elena, a budding photographer with a passion for the paranormal, was drawn to the manor by its dark allure. She had spent years documenting abandoned places, but Blackwood Manor held a special intrigue...
The rain fell like a curtain over the city, blurring the lines between buildings, sky, and earth. Water gathered in puddles along the cobblestone streets, reflecting the flickering streetlamps in distorted ripples. Inside a small, dimly lit café tucked away in a quiet alley, Ellie sat by the window, staring absently into the storm. Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup, her mind drifting in and out of the present moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for something—or someone. Across the room, the door opened with a s...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
1 like
