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Finally! A Fully Customizable, Ad-Free News and Information Network
Notd is a revolutionary publishing network: a go-to source for unbiased news, podcasts, newsletters, poetry, and more.
Ironside Wolf
Notes
The Turning Tide
Jack gripped the controls of his Dauntless dive bomber, his breath steady despite the chaos unfolding around him. Flak bursts peppered the sky, each explosion a deadly blossom in the vast Pacific expanse. Below, the Japanese carrier Kaga loomed, its deck teeming with activity.
“Stay with me, Bob,” Jack muttered into his radio. His wingman’s voice crackled back. “Right behind you, Jack. Let’s make it count.”
With a final inhale, Jack tipped his plane into a near-vertical dive. The wind roared past his cockpit as he hurtled downward. Tracers whizzed past, but his eyes remained locked on the target.
At the perfect moment, he yanked the release lever.
"Bombs away!"
The world seemed to hold its breath—then a deafening explosion tore through the Kaga’s flight deck, flames erupting skyward. Jack pulled up hard, his plane shuddering under the strain.
Below, the enemy carrier burned. The tide of war had begun to turn.
The Vanishing Hour
Pierce stood at the edge of the hidden passage, his flashlight casting eerie shadows against the damp stone walls. The air smelled of earth and something more sinister—secrets long buried beneath Ravenswood. He knelt, brushing his fingers over the faint bloodstains. This was no accident. Someone had brought Eleanor here, someone who had wanted her to disappear forever.
With Marks behind bars and the case seemingly closed, Pierce couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. He continued his investigation, uncovering a long-buried town secret—one involving Eleanor’s own family and a lost treasure hidden beneath the library.
As the pieces came together, Pierce realized that Eleanor had stumbled upon something she was never meant to find. And someone had tried to make sure she never spoke of it again.
But secrets have a way of surfacing, and in Ravenswood, the past was never truly buried.
Whispers of the Grave
The lantern’s glow barely touched the edges of the crypt, its flickering light swallowed by the waiting dark. Beneath her feet, the stone felt soft, as if the years had worn it thin—had soaked it in the weight of the dead.
She took another step.
Something shifted.
A breath that wasn’t hers. A whisper, dry as autumn leaves.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs as she turned, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something older… something rotten.
Then came the sound—fingernails, brittle and splintered, scraping against stone.
The silence shattered.
The coffin lid slid an inch. Then another.
And from the crack of darkness inside, something grinned.
A Havenbrook Autumn
Emily hadn’t expected to feel this way—not here, not now. But as she stood beneath the twinkling festival lights, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of cider, she couldn’t ignore the way Daniel’s gaze lingered on her.
“You leave tomorrow,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken.
She nodded, her heart caught between the life she knew and the possibilities standing right in front of her. “I know.”
Daniel took a step closer, his fingers grazing hers. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be goodbye.”
And in that moment, with the crisp autumn air swirling around them, Emily wondered if she was finally ready to take a chance—on love, on change, on something entirely new.
The Last Transmission
Elias froze as the being stepped forward, its hollow eyes locking onto his. The chamber pulsed with energy, ancient symbols flickering to life.
“You have come.”
The voice wasn’t heard—it was felt, a whisper in his mind.
A map unfolded around them, stars blinking out one by one.
“The ones who took our sun are coming.”
The ground trembled. A shadow stirred in the ruins.
The transmission had not been a call for help.
It had been a warning.
And now, it was too late.
The Red Room
The door creaked open, and I stepped into the room. The air was thick, suffocating, the walls drenched in an unnatural red. It felt like the room was watching me, waiting.
In the center, a figure sat slouched in an old chair, his face hidden in shadow. His fingers twitched unnervingly in his lap, as though moving to some unseen rhythm.
A voice, low and rasping, echoed in my mind.
“You shouldn’t have come,” it whispered.
I froze. My heart pounded. I wanted to leave, but the door behind me had vanished, replaced by solid wall.
The figure shifted, slowly, deliberately, as if waking from a long slumber.
“You’ve opened it,” he said, his voice a hiss. “Now you’re part of it.”
The room seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the walls pressing in closer. And then, I realized—whatever was in here was coming for me.
