The Devil Window
You weren’t supposed to look through it. The window wasn’t even there yesterday. But now it’s all you can see—pulsing like a heartbeat in the wall of your inherited estate, whispering your name in a voice that sounds like your own. Locals call this place 'Harrowick House,' cursed for generations. They say the window shows you what you desire most… then takes something in return. You’ve already seen your dead sister smile from the other side. And tonight, it’s calling her name.I didn’t believe in curses until I saw my sister waving at me from inside the wall.
It was three a.m. when the air turned thick, like breathing through gauze. The hallway stretched longer than it should have—ten doors where there were once five. And then, embedded in solid plaster, the window appeared: stained glass, blood-red, humming faintly. Behind it, Lily stood barefoot in the garden we used to play in, soaked in summer sunlight that didn’t exist here anymore. She mouthed two words: Let me in.
My hand reached out before my mind could stop it. The glass burned cold. A crack split down the center.
Behind me, floorboards creaked. Not from the hall—from inside the room the window now faced. Something had followed me home. Or something had woken up.
I have seconds to decide: pull back and barricade the door, smash the window before it opens fully, or answer Lily’s plea and risk letting whatever wears her face step through.
De7nzy
works: 41
The Forest Of Forgetting
I don’t remember my name. The forest took it—like it takes everything else. Every step deeper erases another memory, another piece of who I was. But I keep walking because there’s a voice calling me, faint beneath the rustling leaves, singing a lullaby only someone from my past could know. The elders say no one returns from the heartwood. But if I forget everyone I’ve loved… what’s left to go back to?
Dark Harvest
You wake up in a field you don’t remember entering, your hands stained with soil and something darker. The air is thick with the scent of rotting grain and iron. Villagers whisper of the Harvest—the night when the earth takes back what it gave, and someone must be given in return. This year, your name was drawn. But you didn’t die. You woke up… changed. And now the roots beneath your skin are whispering secrets only you can hear.
The Last Victim
I was supposed to be the last one they took. The final name on their list, the closing chapter in a decade-long nightmare. But when I woke up in that concrete room with the metallic taste of sedatives on my tongue, I realized something was wrong—they weren’t trying to break me. They were waiting for me to remember. And every second I do, another city block vanishes from the map.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.