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My Neighbor Doesn't Age

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When I moved into the neighborhood, I noticed Mr. Grayson. He lived next door. He was a man in his mid-40s, or so I thought. He tended to his garden, sat on his porch, and waved at me when I passed by. He was quiet, but friendly. Years passed. Mr. Grayson didn’t change. I noticed it more each year. He looked the same. Same face, same hair. He didn’t age. At first, I thought it was coincidence. Maybe I was imagining things. But as time passed, I couldn’t ignore it. He didn’t age. No wrinkles. No graying hair. He looked the same as when I first moved in. I became obsessed. I started taking pictures of him, one each year. Same porch. Same smile. No change. Friends didn’t believe me. “He just has good genes,” they’d say. “Lucky guy.” But I knew something was wrong. I watched him every day. He was always there. Always in the same routine. He never seemed to leave the house for more than a few hours. He never looked tired. I noticed every detail. His clothes didn’t change. His movements were...
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The Shadow in My Room Feels Real Now

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I’ve always feared the dark. Not a typical fear, but fear of one thing: a figure. It started as a kid. I’d wake in the night, and in the corner of my room—always there—a shadow. It didn’t move, didn’t do anything, just stood. I’d tell myself it was a trick of the light, and pull my pillow over my head. But each night, it returned. And then it changed. The shadow became clearer. It looked like a person now—tall, hunched. And it moved. Not like a person, just slow shifts, as though testing its form. I still convinced myself it was nothing. But I couldn’t stop looking at it. It felt... wrong. One night, I woke to a sensation—something cold against my leg. I froze. The shadow had moved. It stood close. And then, it reached out. The touch was cold. Too cold. Like ice, but also not solid. My body locked up. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. The shadow retreated, returning to the corner as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t sleep after that. The next day, I brushed it off as a nightmare. But...
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The Voices in the Walls

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We moved into the house on Birch Street months ago. Perfect. Spacious. Renovated. Quiet corner of town. A fresh start. At first, everything was fine. The house felt like home. Beautiful. High ceilings. Old wooden floors. An attic I loved immediately. Tom, my husband, and I worked—settling in, unpacking boxes. Mia and Jake, our kids, excited about their rooms. Life felt right again. But then… the noises started. Soft at first. Subtle. Creaks in the walls. Whispers. Conversations. I told myself, just the house settling. It’s old. It happens. But then, louder. One evening, we sat in the living room, watching TV. I heard it. Clear. The voice. From the wall behind me. “You’re not alone.” I froze. Heart pounding. Tom didn’t hear it. “What did you say?” he asked. “I… nothing. I thought I heard something.” That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The whispers, still there. I couldn’t understand them, but they were there. Persistent. I thought I was losing it. The voices continued. Ever...
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The Other Me

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I never thought much about fate. Life, for me, was always quiet—work, sleep, repeat. I had dreams, sure, but I knew what was realistic, possible. Until I met him. It happened by chance—or so I thought. I was at my regular café on lunch, checking emails. It was crowded, the usual weekday rush, when I felt it—a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up. There, standing at the counter, was a man who looked exactly like me. Taller, straighter posture, but it was my face—my eyes, my hair, my expression. The resemblance was so uncanny it froze me in place. My breath caught. I couldn’t look away. He turned, seemingly oblivious, and took his coffee from the barista. I watched him, trying to shake off the discomfort building in my chest. Maybe it was a trick of the light, a coincidence. Until I saw him glance over at me—catching my stare. His expression shifted. He smiled. It was a strange, knowing smile, like he was aware of something I wasn’t. “Good to see you,” he said, his voice perfectly matching m...
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The Bunker That Shouldn’t Exist

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It began as a routine mission. Boredom seemed the greatest threat. The squad entered a dense forest, nameless and Eastern European. Our maps, outdated, didn’t hint at surprises. Intel declared no hostiles—a standard patrol. The forest grew silent. No birds. No rustling. Just boots crunching and radio static. Soon, we found it: a rusted steel door. It lay hidden in a hillside, moss-covered and vine-wrapped. Though decades old, its hinges shone, freshly oiled. “On the map?” Danner asked. He knew the answer. “Negative,” Cole replied, unease showing. “Stay sharp. We’re going in.” The door groaned open. A staircase descended into darkness. The air chilled, metallic and damp. Danner switched his flashlight on, the beam cutting blackness. “Smells like death,” he muttered. “Old Soviet site, maybe,” Cole suggested. His tone doubted the words. “Stay close. Radios on.” The stairs led to steel-walled halls. Symbols, jagged and uneven, marred the metal. They weren’t Cyrillic or familiar. “Gibberish...
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The Never-Ending Road

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I took the detour without thinking much. The highway was packed, and the alternate route seemed faster. I was directed to turn onto a twisting, narrow route by my GPS. On both sides were trees with low-hanging branches. The sun disappeared behind them. The road stretched on. It twisted and curved but didn’t seem to lead anywhere. I passed an old gas station with rusted pumps. Its sign was strange, covered in symbols I couldn’t read. The lights above flickered weakly. I thought it was just an odd stop. But an hour later, I passed it again. The same rusted pumps. The same flickering lights. The same unreadable sign. My stomach sank. I checked the GPS. It showed the same road looping back on itself. I reset it, but nothing changed. “Recalculating,” it said, over and over again. I kept driving. The landmarks started repeating. A broken-down van with smashed windows. A billboard with peeling paint and unreadable words. An empty diner with a buzzing neon sign. I passed them again and again. ...
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I Was Hired to Be a Night Watchman... But They Didn’t Tell Me What I Was Watching

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I needed the job. The pay was low, but the hours worked for me. The manager hired me quickly. She handed me the keys and said, “Patrol every hour. Don’t go to the lower levels after midnight. It’s not safe.” I didn’t ask questions. The structure was huge and deserted. Every floor looked the same: quiet hallways, flickering lights, and dirty desks. My footsteps echoed. Something felt off, and the silence seemed wrong—too full. My first night went without incident. I observed the monitors and made my rounds. The halls stayed quiet. But on the second night, I heard whispers. They were faint at first, just a soft hum. I stopped and listened, but they disappeared. By the third night, the whispers grew stronger. They echoed faintly through the corridors, as though someone had vanished just out of sight. I called out, “Who’s there?” No one answered. The sound stopped. Then I saw the shadows. They moved at the edges of my vision. When I turned to look, nothing was there. I told myself I was ti...
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The Radio Said My Name This Morning.

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I wake up early, every day, to my routine. Coffee brews, and the radio plays softly. The station—96.7 FM—is familiar and predictable. The DJs laugh, and the music flows. But one thing always stands out. Every morning, they pause. Then, they say a name. “David Miles,” they might say. It’s quick, out of place. They don’t explain. Afterward, the show continues, normal as ever. I never thought much about it. Maybe it was a joke or a community announcement. The names meant nothing to me—until this morning. As I poured coffee, I waited. The pause came. Then, I heard it: “Rebecca Gray.” My hand went cold. I managed to catch the cup as it tilted slightly. My entire name echoed around the kitchen. As if the air itself had stopped, the moment dragged on heavily. The station went on. Then came typical, happy weather updates. However, I was unable to let it go. I felt like I was being watched, and my chest clenched. Why my name? Why now? The sensation persisted. My mind was all over the place at w...
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The Stranger in the Dark

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I woke. Silence. It wasn’t peaceful. It pressed against me, suffocating. The kind of silence that didn’t leave room to breathe. I was blind. A car crash took my sight. I’d never adjusted. The memories from that moment fractured. Faces blurred, moments tangled, and the crash—still there. The sound, the blood, everything wrong, out of place. That silence… It didn’t stay silent for long. The first night, I heard it. A voice. Soft. Faint. I thought it was a hallucination, but it came again the next night. The same voice. "Are you awake?" it whispered. It felt familiar, like a memory I couldn’t catch. The tone… warm, intimate. A voice from my past, one I couldn’t place. "Who are you?" I asked. "Someone you’ve known," the voice said. "Someone you’ve forgotten." The voice returned every night. It told me stories. My childhood. Secrets. Things I hadn’t thought of in years. It felt… safe. Familiar. But it didn’t...
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The Dark Legacy That Won't Let Me Go

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I grew up in a small town, deep in the mountains. Every house felt like its own kingdom. The air thick with pine and incense. My family was old, older than most. Our lineage stretched back generations. As the only son, I was expected to preserve the family name, continue traditions, and follow my elders' lessons. My parents never said it, but I knew—the family legacy was mine. I never questioned it. My father, stern but loving, taught me that honor was sacred. Our actions reflected the spirits of our ancestors. In Confucius’ teachings, we learned that actions reflected not just ourselves, but the generations before. We were part of something greater, a link in an unbroken chain. But I didn’t understand the weight of it until I returned home. It had been ten years since I left. Modern life had pushed me far from my family. But after my father’s passing, my mother insisted I come back. She said it was time to return, to take my place. She said it with authority, like there was no cho...
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