Category: fiction

  • Mile Marker 117 – Part 4:

    Mile Marker 117 – Part 4:

    The narrator grapples with the aftermath of a mysterious crash, finding their truck damaged and their memory hazy. After receiving a chilling phone call from an unknown voice, they discover a map indicating a troubling pattern linked to Mile Marker 117. As unsettling signs suggest they are not alone, eerie warnings intensify the suspense.

  • Mile Marker 117 Part 3

    Mile Marker 117 Part 3

    A chilling encounter on an empty highway, where a photograph reveals a shocking truth about a fateful accident.

  • MILE MARKER 117

    MILE MARKER 117

    The investigation centers on the mysterious disappearance of truck driver Daniel Mercer near Mile Marker 117, where similar incidents have occurred over forty years. Despite no physical evidence, multiple witnesses have recalled a farmhouse that isn’t documented. Seeking answers, the narrator plans to explore this enigmatic location, questioning the nature of the disappearances.

  • Building a Creepy, Fun Membership

    Building a Creepy, Fun Membership

    Help me shape a members-only space just for my readers. If you joined an author membership, what would you actually be most excited to get—early access to stories, exclusive journal entries and bonus chapters, eerie audio narrations, or something else entirely? Cast your vote and share your ideas below.

  • Journal Entry #1

    Journal Entry #1

    I replayed the recording three times, hoping I had misunderstood what I was hearing. Maybe it was the neighbors. Maybe the app glitched somehow. Maybe I was still half asleep and imagining things.

  • I Drove Through a Town That Doesn’t Exist

    I Drove Through a Town That Doesn’t Exist

    Weather-beaten buildings leaned at uneasy angles along the single dirt road. Their paint had long ago peeled away under years of sun and snow, leaving gray wood exposed like old bone. A rusted sign creaked above the entrance to the general store, swinging slowly whenever the cold mountain breeze passed through. Most of the windows…

  • I Thought I Bought a Dream Home. I Was Wrong.

    I Thought I Bought a Dream Home. I Was Wrong.

    The house stood at the end of the street like something that had outlived the rest of the neighborhood by sheer stubbornness alone. Built more than a century ago, the Victorian mansion rose three stories high beneath steep gables and weather-darkened slate shingles, its narrow windows glinting faintly behind curtains yellowed with age. A round…