He was standing near the water as she watched from afar. They both knew what was going to happen, but neither wanted to speak about it.

What started as a typical fun day out ended with what felt like the climax of a thriller/horror movie. Sometimes the things we fear or dread the most are right under our noses and we ignore them due to the rational mind even though the twist in your stomach, intuition, and the little voices in our heads tell us differently. As humans, we all have a innate sense when something is wrong or off. It's when we choose not to listen to the one time where the head and the heart agree that things go awry. Sometimes, it's too late to avoid it and things take a wrong left turn for the worst.

The poetry of my mind that my mouth can't express. The reason of my well being. It is a story and autobiography.

A tightening psychological‑supernatural horror, The Third Floor follows Claire as she’s trapped in a looping, shifting building that feeds on guilt, memory, and unresolved grief. Each cycle drags her deeper—through haunted hallways, impossible mirrors, and echoes of her past—forcing her to confront the truth about her sister’s death while the house itself grows hungry for her.

Star sat in silence as money passed through her hands, calm where others would rush. Lives failed her. Fortunes shifted. It meant nothing. Orders were given. Blood was spilled. Empires expanded. When Jakari’s name surfaced, her attention sharpened—not with fear, but hunger. Arkansas was closing. Florida was next.

The nightmare followed me awake—no images, only darkness and red eyes watching. A roar shook my bones. Asia slept beside me, exhausted, unaware. I kissed her forehead and left before the fear could speak. Miles burned under my feet. Steel screamed in my hands. Discipline kept the abyss behind me. Later, the drone showed Little Rock alive and ignorant. Then the building appeared—too clean, too guarded. A woman sat calmly inside. “That’s her,” I said. On the rooftop, the city moved below. Then Jayla’s voice cut sharp: “Jakari—get down. Now.”

Steve and Alan hook something far offshore that was never meant to surface. What rises from the deep is ancient, intelligent, and aware—and it does not leave them unchanged. Though the line snaps and the sea goes calm, the encounter follows them home, seeping into their sleep, their sanity, and their lives. Years later, the ocean still stirs, and the thing they caught remembers them. Some encounters do not end when the water closes.

After forty years in prison, Albert is released into a world that has moved on without him. Technology, cities, and people feel unfamiliar, while his memories remain sharp and unforgiving. As he struggles to rebuild a life, the past intrudes quietly but relentlessly, reminding him of harm that cannot be undone. Treated with distant kindness and burdened by guilt, Albert comes to understand that freedom does not guarantee belonging. The Long Way Out is a stark meditation on time, remorse, and what it means to survive one’s own mistakes.

I write because some truths don’t survive silence. If I don’t put them down, they disappear—and I refuse to let that happen.

Daniel Crowe knows the woods, but one night they turn against him. When the forest falls into an unnatural silence, he realizes he is no longer the hunter but the observed. A massive, unknowable creature emerges—unhurried, curious, unstoppable. Gunshots fail, escape is an illusion, and survival is never the point. Days later, officials blame bears, but hunters whisper of places where the air reeks of iron and rot, where footsteps follow patiently. Some things don’t chase. They don’t need to.

Veronica Hale becomes obsessed with a missing-child poster at her local market—because the girl looks exactly like her. Same face. Same scar. Same name. As Veronica uncovers a decades-old cold case, her own past begins to fracture: unanswered questions about her adoption, a father who refuses to explain, and visions of the child following her through reflections and dreams. When the poster changes and Veronica herself is listed as missing, she realizes the truth is not trying to be found—it is trying to come back.

Twenty-five-year-old Lisa Huntington pushes too far into the winter woods of northern Maine when her snowmobile dies and the trail disappears beneath fresh snow. With no signal, failing strength, and daylight fading, she presses on as the forest grows tighter and the silence turns watchful. Tracks appear. Sounds follow. By nightfall, Lisa learns the wilderness is not empty, not forgiving—and once it claims something, it never gives it back.

Kevin Shaw, a veteran diver, believes the ocean is governed by rules he understands—until an anniversary dive in the Florida Keys reveals something that should not exist. Beneath shallow, familiar waters, Kevin and his wife Carroll discover a massive, ancient structure that feels less like a ruin and more like a boundary. When it stirs, the sea itself turns hostile, forcing a desperate escape. They survive, but awareness lingers below. The ocean has noticed them, and it does not forget.

The van smelled like smoke and grief. Jakari’s scream still rang in my bones, the echo of it louder than the shattered glass. We didn’t talk—we survived. A bomb blinked beneath a tarp, proof this wasn’t over, proof someone wanted us erased. We stole cars, split apart, and ran. In the Corvette, his silence finally cracked, guilt bleeding through every word. I kissed him to remind us we were still human. Then the airport burned into view—runway scorched, plane gone, ash falling. Not a warning. A message.

The bridge became a cage of steel and red dots, and something inside me finally snapped. I stopped reacting and started deciding. Soldiers fell. Screams vanished into the dark below. When I faced Posida, I dropped my rifle and my mercy with it. I didn’t fight to survive—I fought to send a message. By the time I walked away, the war had already begun.

Detective Claire Johnson has spent thirty years on Boston’s streets, watching the system fail again and again. When repeat offenders slip through the cracks, she takes justice into her own hands—quiet, precise, and final. Each “catch and release” leaves her more haunted, more isolated, as the weight of her actions presses on her conscience. In a city that never stops moving, Claire must face the hardest truth: eliminating monsters doesn’t fix the world—it only proves how many exist, and how close she’s become to them.

The town burned because of me. Explosions split the sky, smoke swallowed everything I loved, and the bridge ahead promised escape—or death. A juggernaut stood in our way, armor unbreakable, laughter shaking the street. When steel shattered and blood hit the ground, I realized this wasn’t survival anymore. It was war.

By day, Travis Lessard is the epitome of success: a rising Wall Street star, polished and precise. By night, he sheds the suit, navigating the city’s shadows with calculated anonymity, exploiting fear and secrecy. His carefully controlled double life begins to fracture as glimpses of his crimes emerge and nightmares haunt him. Pursued by an unseen justice, Travis realizes that discipline can’t shield him forever. After Hours is a tense psychological thriller exploring the dark consequences of living a life in halves.

Max Shackleford believes suburban life is harmless and predictable—until one quiet night of experimentation fractures reality. A familiar hallway stretches impossibly long, revealing doors glowing with unnatural color. When Max’s friend Jerome opens one, he steps into a vast world hidden beneath the suburb: endless houses, endless half-lived lives. Jerome vanishes, leaving Max trapped in a normal world that no longer feels safe, haunted by the certainty that something vast and watching lies just beyond the walls.

Guy Nevins’ life appears, from the outside, to follow a flawless and inevitable trajectory. A football prodigy in Oklahoma, he becomes a hometown legend before adulthood, the kind of player whose presence alone fills stadiums. At Notre Dame, his reputation deepens; his name is spoken with reverence, weighted by expectation and destiny. When the Minnesota Vikings select him fourth overall in the 1992 NFL Draft, Guy believes his career has unfolded exactly as it was meant to—each triumph a logical step toward professional stardom. That belief fractures the moment he arrives in Minnesota and confronts reality. The Vikings already have a star quarterback entrenched as the starter—efficient, trusted, and beloved. This man embodies stability and success, the very qualities coaches prize and rookies cannot displace easily. For two seasons, Guy languishes on the bench, reduced to holding a clipboard, offering rehearsed smiles, and absorbing commentary about patience and development.