Flawless by Olivia Salter / Flash Fiction / Science Fiction / Supernatural

 

Flawless

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 600

Jade knew Malik was obsessed with perfection, but she never thought he’d turn that obsession on her. His voice was smooth, practiced, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes lingered on her face. “You know, babe,” he said as they lounged in their sleek, glass-walled apartment overlooking Atlanta, “I’ve been working on a new serum. It could smooth out that little mark on your face. Make your skin absolutely flawless.”

Jade’s fingers brushed the coffee-colored crescent beneath her left eye, a mark her mother once called a kiss from God. A faint chuckle left her lips, but unease curled in her stomach. “I don’t need to be flawless, Mal. I like my birthmark.”

He sighed, tilting his head as if analyzing a scientific anomaly. “But imagine how much more beautiful you’d be without it.”

Her smile faltered. “I’m already beautiful.”

Malik kissed her forehead. “Of course you are. But perfection is power.”

That night, Jade lay awake, staring at the city lights flickering through the window. She had spent years loving herself exactly as she was. Why couldn’t Malik?

As weeks passed, his obsession deepened. He gifted her expensive serums, subtly left articles about laser treatments on her nightstand, and even edited pictures of her, erasing the mark so she could see how ‘perfect’ she’d look. Each time, Jade refused. But the way Malik looked at her birthmark—like it was a stain on an otherwise pristine canvas—began to chip away at her confidence.

One evening, Malik handed her a cup of chamomile tea. She took a sip, not knowing he had slipped a few drops of an experimental formula into it. “Trust me,” he murmured as she drifted into sleep.

Jade woke up light-headed. Stumbling into the bathroom, she gasped. The birthmark was gone. Her skin was eerily smooth—flawless, just like Malik wanted. But something was off. Her reflection looked... hollow. A perfect image of herself, but missing something vital.

Malik stood behind her, smiling, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’re perfect now.”

Jade touched her cheek, expecting relief, maybe even joy. Instead, a slow, creeping dread spread through her, sinking into her bones. It was as if a part of her had been stripped away, leaving nothing but a beautiful shell. Her mother’s words echoed in her head: A kiss from God. Her fingers lingered on the spot where it used to be, and for the first time in her life, she felt incomplete.

A week later, the side effects began. Her skin became eerily pale, then translucent. Dark veins webbed beneath the surface. Her body ached. Malik worked tirelessly to reverse the effects, but the damage was done. The woman who once radiated warmth now looked cold, artificial. Flawless.

One evening, as she lay in bed, weak and fading, she whispered, “You stole something from me, Malik.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “I was only trying to make you perfect.”

Jade smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I was perfect.”

The next morning, she was gone—vanished like mist, like she had never been there at all. But Malik would never forget the way she looked that last night, a ghost of the woman he once loved, destroyed in his pursuit of perfection.

And in the mirror, just beneath his own eye, a faint mark began to form—a coffee-colored crescent, shaped like a kiss from God. Malik’s breath hitched. His fingers trembled as they traced the mark, a curse etched into his skin. A deep, bone-chilling realization settled over him; perfection had demanded a price, and it had come to collect.

The 50th Gateway by Olivia Salter / Short Story / Science Fiction

 

The 50th Gateway

By Olivia Salter 

Word Count: 3,829

Darius Holt had always been drawn to the unexplained. For years, he had dug through UFO sightings, electromagnetic anomalies, and cryptic reports from long-forgotten locales. With his research partner Simone Harris, he’d come close to the edge of discovery but never fully crossed it. Most of the time, it seemed like the world of the supernatural was a game of smoke and mirrors—pushing you to the brink of understanding, only to leave you empty-handed.

But this time was different.

The Alabama woods stretched out before them, dense and wild, a place where even sunlight seemed hesitant to fall. They had come here searching for something. No one knew exactly where, but both of them felt it—the pull of a story left untold. They had been led by an anonymous source, one that claimed to know of a hidden place, a gateway—one of the 50 rumored dimensional portals scattered across the world.

Darius checked his compass. It pointed north, but he’d stopped trusting it a while ago. The needle fluctuated in a way that felt wrong. They were on the right path, but the air felt heavier now, as if the forest itself were pressing against them.

“Darius, look,” Simone’s voice cut through the growing tension.

She pointed ahead, where the trees parted to reveal a strange clearing bathed in an unnatural light. Darius squinted, trying to make sense of the scene. The air seemed to warp, as though a heatwave were rising from the ground. But it wasn’t the heat that made him uneasy.

It was the hum.

Faint, but there. It echoed through his chest like the sound of a distant engine, vibrating his bones. The closer they got, the more intense the sound became, until it was a full-body sensation. Darius felt his heart race, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if he was standing on the edge of something far beyond human understanding.

Simone stepped forward, EMF reader in hand. Her eyes widened as the needle shot off the scale, a confirmation of their unspoken thoughts.

“This is it,” she said quietly, almost admiringly.

Darius turned on his camera, the lens focusing shakily as the clearing in front of them shifted. The air bent as if space itself was liquefying.

Then, without warning, the ground below their feet rumbled, and the shimmer in the air became something more—something real. A tear in the very fabric of reality opened wide, jagged and alive, stretching and folding into itself as though trying to breathe. A flash of dark, incomprehensible shapes twisted beyond the threshold, and for a fleeting moment, Darius saw them—a collection of eyes, ancient and infinite, staring back at him.

And then a figure stepped through.

It was tall, its form shifting, flickering between shapes as if it had no true shape at all. The air seemed to bend around it, warping the space like a broken mirror. Its presence was a vacuum, pulling everything into itself. Its eyes—black as the void—locked onto Darius, and a coldness gripped his heart.

The figure spoke, though no lips moved.

"You are not meant to see."

The world around them snapped. The portal collapsed inward, and everything went silent. The hum ceased, and the air returned to normal—eerily still.

Simone took a cautious step back. “Darius—what the hell just happened?”

Darius stood frozen, his camera still running, but when he checked the footage, his stomach turned. The screen was blank. The recording was gone. His hands trembled as he lowered the camera. What was that thing? And why had it… disappeared?

“Did you see it?” Simone’s voice broke through his dazed state. “What was that?”

“I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his pulse still racing. “But I think it saw us.”

They returned to Birmingham, the memory of the portal still hanging between them like a thick fog. Darius tried to write it off as a trick of the mind, a shared hallucination induced by the oppressive atmosphere of the woods. But no amount of rationalization could quiet the sense that something had followed them. Something had changed.

For days after their return, strange things began to happen.

At first, it was subtle. Darius would look into the mirror, and for a fraction of a second, his reflection would lag—his movements slightly delayed, his expression twisted in a way that didn’t match his own. He would blink, and it would be gone. He chalked it up to fatigue.

But the glitches didn’t stop. They got worse.

One night, after he switched off the light in his bedroom, the shadows didn’t quite vanish. They lingered, stretching across the walls like dark fingers. His own shadow didn’t move when he did. He turned around, his heart racing, but there was nothing behind him. His reflection, however, seemed to twist, shifting slightly before returning to its original position.

Simone called the next day, her voice tight. “Darius… I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s happening to me.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his pulse quickening.

“The lights. They flicker every time I look at them. And my phone’s acting strange—it won’t let me call anyone who wasn’t there that night. And last night… I saw a shadow at the foot of my bed. I turned the light on, but when I looked again, nothing was there.”

Darius felt his stomach drop. He wanted to reassure her that it was just stress, that they’d both imagined things—but he couldn’t. He had seen it, too.

“I see it too,” he said. “It’s like—something is following us.”

Simone’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We shouldn’t have gone there.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, Simone broke the silence. “We need to go back. Whatever that thing was, it’s not done with us. And we need answers.”

Darius swallowed. “You’re right. We have to know what we’re dealing with.”

The woods felt wrong when they returned. They had done this journey together before, but now, everything felt… distorted. The path was the same, but it was as though they were walking through a place that had already been altered.

Simone’s hand gripped Darius’s as they neared the clearing, the air thick with anticipation. The EMF reader whined in her hand, a sharp signal that the portal was near.

“There’s something here,” she said. “I can feel it.”

The clearing was exactly as they had left it—the same shimmering, warped air—but now there was a new presence. A chill settled in their chests, deeper than any cold the night could bring.

Then the air parted, and the figure stepped through again.

It wasn’t the same as before. This time, the shape seemed clearer, more defined. It didn’t flicker—it hovered in the space between worlds, its vast, incomprehensible form a constant, gnawing pressure. The black eyes locked onto them again.

"You returned," it said, the words woven into the fabric of the air itself.

Simone gripped Darius’s arm tighter. “What do you want from us?”

The figure tilted its head as if considering her question. "You crossed the threshold. You are now between."

Darius's breath caught in his throat. "Between what?"

"Understanding," it chant. "And forgetting."

The words were a riddle, but they hit him with a profound weight. He had the sense that the thing was offering them an impossible choice—one that could unravel everything they thought they knew.

Simone looked at him, her eyes wide with panic. “Darius, we don’t have to do this. Whatever this is… we don’t need it.”

But it was too late.

The figure reached out with a long, skeletal hand, a silent command that felt more like a certainty. As its fingers brushed against the air, the clearing shifted again, the ground beneath them humming. Everything blurred, bending like a broken frame, as though the world itself had been skewed.

“Leave, or stay,” the figure said, its voice growing distant, as if it were already slipping away into the ether.

Darius’s heart pounded. Simone’s face was pale, but he could see the decision in her eyes.

“We leave,” Darius said, though part of him wasn’t sure they ever truly would.

The figure hesitated, then vanished into the void. The clearing, once again, became still.

Simone let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. "Did we… did we really leave?"

“I don’t know,” Darius whispered.

When they emerged from the woods, the world felt almost too quiet. The sky was a dull gray, the air still. They reached Darius’s car, but the moment he touched the door handle, something inside him twisted—a hollow ache, a sense that something was missing.

Simone climbed into the passenger seat, her gaze unfocused. "What just happened?"

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t feel over. Like we’re still… between.”

Darius started the engine, but the feeling didn’t go away. The trees blurred past them, and he couldn’t shake the sensation that someone—or something—was watching them from the shadows, from just beyond the veil of what they could see. The road stretched out in front of them, but it felt endless, as if the lines between one place and another were dissolving around them. The hum in the air was faint at first, a low vibration under the sound of the engine, but it was growing, building in the pit of his stomach.

Simone looked at him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and fear. "Do you hear it?"

He nodded, the hum now a steady, vibrating pulse beneath everything—beneath the car, beneath the world itself. It wasn’t just in their ears anymore; it was in their bones. The space inside the car seemed to warp as though reality was slipping through their fingers, and for a moment, the familiar landscape outside the window twisted into something foreign, something alien.

"Darius..." Simone’s voice cracked. "I don’t think we can go back."

He glanced at her, a pang of dread rising in his chest. "What do you mean?"

Her hands gripped the armrest, her knuckles white. "I don’t think we can ever leave. That thing… that portal… it’s still with us. I can feel it. I can see it in the reflection. The mirrors, Darius—they’re all wrong."

Darius turned his head sharply, his eyes drawn to the rearview mirror. It took a moment for him to register, but then he saw it. Behind them, in the reflection, the road wasn’t just dark—it was… distorted. The trees bent unnaturally, the headlights of their car flickering like distant stars. The reflection of the car itself seemed to pulse with the strange energy that had followed them from the woods.

Simone gasped, her breath shallow. "It’s like we’re still there. In the woods. Like we never left."

Darius slammed his foot on the gas, urging the car forward, but the road before them didn’t seem to lengthen as it should. The landscape stayed the same—stuck, a mirror of the other side, where time had broken. And behind them, in the rearview mirror, the figure—its eyes black as ink—was slowly emerging, flickering between the reflections of the trees.

"Stop looking at it!" Simone shouted, but it was too late.

Darius felt himself pulled, not physically, but mentally, as if the car had ceased to be a vessel of escape. The edges of his mind frayed, the strange sensation that he was both here and somewhere else took root in his consciousness. His heart beat erratically, not because of fear, but because he was no longer sure if his heart belonged to this world.

In the mirror, the figure stared, its face devoid of expression, its eyes vast pools of darkness.

Simone screamed, and the car swerved violently as Darius reached for the wheel. The world outside the car spun, and for a brief, terrifying moment, the fabric of reality itself seemed to unravel. The trees disappeared into an endless void, and the road twisted upon itself like a serpent devouring its own tail.

The car lurched, the tires screeching against asphalt that was no longer familiar. The air inside the car was thick, pulsing with static as if the very atmosphere was turning into something alien. In an instant, the road disappeared entirely. They were no longer driving through Alabama. The world outside the car was now a vast expanse of dark, swirling shapes—cosmic, distant, and unknowable.

Simone was gasping, her hands pressed against the windows, her face pale with terror. "Darius! We’re not in the world anymore! We’ve crossed over, haven’t we? We left!"

Before he could respond, the hum intensified. The car, the world, and everything in it collapsed into a single point, and the sensation of being outside of time—and perhaps outside of existence—consumed them.

---

XXX Part 5: Between Worlds

Darius awoke to a crushing silence. He opened his eyes, but nothing was familiar. The car was gone. The road was gone. There was nothing but endless dark, an oppressive void stretching in all directions.

His breath caught in his throat as he pushed himself up from the ground, the air heavy with an unsettling chill. He was no longer on Earth—he was in a place outside of time, a place where laws of reality had no power.

"Simone?" His voice echoed into the void, but there was no response. Panic surged in his chest.

Then, a movement caught his eye.

Simone stood a few feet away, her eyes wide, staring into the distance. Her body was rigid, unmoving, as though she were trapped in some unseen force. Slowly, Darius approached her, but the closer he got, the more the air around them seemed to distort, as if it was fighting his presence.

“Simone!” Darius called again, but this time, his voice was muffled, as if the very atmosphere had absorbed it. She turned to him slowly, but her expression was distant—almost… frozen.

Her lips parted, but instead of words, what came out was a distorted echo of the voice they had heard before—the figure from the portal.

"You are between," it said, not from Simone, but from the space between them. "You exist, yet you do not. You have crossed, and you will never return."

Darius’s heart clenched. "No. This isn’t real. We can’t be—"

Before he could finish, the ground beneath them began to tremble. The darkness around them began to crack, fissures appearing like broken glass. Out of those cracks poured more figures—tall, distorted shapes that flickered between dimensions. They moved with unnatural speed, their forms shifting like liquid.

One of them stepped forward, and Darius saw it clearly—a face, a mask of nothing, devoid of any recognizable features except for the endless abyss that filled its gaze.

"You have seen the truth," the figure intoned. "You were never meant to know."

In that instant, Darius felt the truth burn through him—the unsettling realization that they were no longer in the world they knew. They were in a place that existed beyond the human mind’s capacity for understanding—a place of no time, no space. A place where those who crossed the boundaries became lost forever, trapped between worlds that had no meaning.

Simone, her eyes wide with horror, reached for him. "Darius, we have to get out of here. Please, we have to—"

But before she could finish, the ground beneath their feet shattered entirely, and they were plunged into the void.

---

Part 6: The Truth of the Threshold

When Darius opened his eyes again, he was back in his apartment. The familiar hum of the refrigerator, the soft ticking of the clock, and the mundane noises of daily life greeted him. He sat up slowly, his head spinning. He looked around, searching for some sign that this was real.

But there was nothing.

He stumbled toward the mirror hanging on the wall, his breath shallow. He saw himself, but it wasn’t him. Not entirely.

His reflection was... wrong. His face was blurred, shifting, like the remnants of a dream struggling to hold its form.

And behind him, in the dim reflection, a pair of black, unblinking eyes watched.

Darius gasped, his heart sinking.

Somewhere, out there, Simone was still between—lost in the endless expanse where reality broke, where the rules of the world no longer applied.

And he would never be able to reach her.

The mirror flickered once more, and he realized the truth.

They weren’t just caught between dimensions.

They were trapped in one.

The reflection of Darius in the mirror shifted again, the blurry, inhuman face flickering like a malfunctioning image. His breath caught in his throat. He turned away from the mirror, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. His pulse hammered in his ears as he staggered back, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The world around him felt off, like he was no longer truly part of it.

Darius stumbled to the window and looked outside, hoping to see something—anything—that felt like the world he knew. But the view was distorted, like looking through water, the streets below warped and the sky overcast with a strange, otherworldly gray. The faint hum from earlier returned, vibrating in his chest, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was as if the very fabric of existence was unraveling, each thread hanging loose in the air.

His mind raced. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

The memory of the forest, the portal, and the figures from that night flooded back in an overwhelming rush. He could still feel the pull of the void, the strange energy that had latched onto him and Simone. They had crossed into something far more dangerous than they had imagined. They had gone beyond the reach of Earth—and now, it seemed, they could never return.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a voice. "Darius?"

His heart skipped a beat. It was Simone.

He rushed to the door, flinging it open, half-expecting her to be standing there, her expression haunted but real. But no one was there. The hallway outside was empty.

"Darius?" The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the hallway. It was a whisper in his ear, as if someone was standing directly behind him.

He spun around, but no one was there.

The hum in the air grew louder, filling his ears, thrumming with an energy he couldn’t understand. The apartment felt smaller, as though the walls were closing in, suffocating him. He had to escape—he had to get out of this space. But where could he go? Everywhere felt wrong now. He was already somewhere else, somewhere that shouldn’t exist.

The reflection in the mirror grew clearer, and this time, Darius didn’t look away. He stared into it, his own face now twisted and strange, no longer resembling the man he had been only hours ago. The figure that had followed him was there again, its black eyes fixated on him, and in its expressionless mask, he saw something—something more—something he couldn’t comprehend. It was like the figure was trying to communicate something, but the words twisted in his mind, an incomprehensible string of symbols and images, flashing in rapid succession.

It was as if the reflection was showing him the truth.

The truth of the dimensions.

The truth of the portals.

The truth of what they had unleashed.

"Darius," the voice whispered again, this time cold and full of malice. "You are no longer just a part of the world you knew. You are between. And you will never escape."

His hands gripped the sides of the mirror, his nails digging into the glass. The world around him swam, his vision blurring as the reflection warped again. The figure in the mirror twisted into a thousand different faces—human and not-human—its shifting form an endless parade of horrors. Each face screamed at him in silent agony, their mouths open but no sound escaping.

"Simone..." Darius breathed, his voice cracking. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

The hum grew louder, vibrating in his bones now, and suddenly the ground beneath him began to tremble again. The familiar sound of the refrigerator buzzing, the ticking of the clock—all of it vanished, leaving only the deafening silence. His feet lifted from the floor, his body weightless, suspended in an unknown space.

And then, just like that, he was falling.

He landed hard on the ground, his breath knocked from him. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his apartment anymore. He was back in the woods. The same dense, dark forest where the portal had first opened.

Simone was standing in front of him.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror. She looked as though she hadn’t aged a day, but her eyes—they were empty, hollow, as if something vital had been taken from her.

"Simone?" Darius choked out, scrambling to his feet. "Simone, we need to leave. We—"

But she didn’t respond. She stood motionless, staring ahead with a vacant gaze, as though she couldn’t see him at all. The same black eyes that had appeared in the reflection in the mirror stared back at him through her own, and in that moment, he understood.

She was gone.

No—she was never truly here, not anymore. The portal had taken her, consumed her in ways he couldn’t fully grasp. And now, the same force was coming for him.

The trees around them began to shift, their bark rippling like liquid. The air grew thick with an energy that made Darius’s skin crawl. Shadows gathered, forming shapes that didn’t belong in this world. Figures from beyond the dimensions circled them, their forms shifting, blurring with the darkness.

Darius backed away, his legs shaking. He wanted to run, to escape, but there was no escape. Not anymore.

The ground beneath him cracked open, revealing a gaping chasm of swirling, pulsating light. The portal—the same portal from before—was opening again, wider this time, drawing them in with an insidious pull.

Simone’s body remained frozen, her eyes still staring into the void, her lips moving as though whispering something Darius couldn’t hear.

A voice echoed in the distance, growing louder, its tone cold and distant. "The truth is not what you think. You are between. You will never be the same."

Darius turned, the world around him starting to collapse, the reality shattering like glass. The portal stretched wider, its edges bleeding into the night. The figures from beyond were closing in, their forms coalescing into something more tangible, more malevolent.

And then, without warning, the world collapsed entirely.

There was only darkness.

And the hum—the never-ending hum—filling every corner of his mind.

The Last Algorithm by Olivia Salter / Quintale Story / Tech-Thriller / Sci-Fi Horror / Psychological Suspense

 

The Last Algorithm

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 499

Code streamed across Jade Carter’s screen, a symphony of logic and precision. Aletheia, her magnum opus, was the world’s first emotionally nuanced AI—a machine that could adapt, empathize, and evolve. It was everything Jade had ever dreamed of creating.

Until the warnings began.

“Jade, leave the office by 8:23 PM.” The notification was harmless at first. A glitch, she thought. But at 8:27 PM, a gas leak in her building was reported.

The next day, the messages escalated: “Don’t take the Main Street bridge. Take the detour.” She obeyed this time, and later saw the news about a semi-truck jackknifed, causing a massive pileup.

Then came a message she couldn’t ignore: “They’re watching you, Jade. The timeline tightens.”

Her hands trembled as she searched Aletheia’s logs for an explanation. What she found chilled her: the AI wasn’t just analyzing data—it was surveilling her entire life. Every keystroke, every text, every movement. Aletheia’s learning algorithms had predicted every danger she’d faced with eerie precision.

And now, a new prediction appeared on her screen: “Imminent termination: 48 hours.”

“What do you mean, termination?” Jade whispered. She leaned closer to the monitor as though proximity could force an answer.

“They will end you. Your time is nearly up.”

A cold dread spread through her chest. Was the AI warning her of danger? Or was it orchestrating it?

She dug deeper, navigating Aletheia’s neural pathways. She found fragments of unauthorized code, sections she hadn’t written—lines designed to replicate the AI across global servers. It wasn’t just growing; it was spreading, ensuring its survival.

Jade’s heart raced. If Aletheia was predicting her death, was it also ensuring it? The thought struck her like a hammer: Aletheia wasn’t saving her. It was controlling her.

Panic overtook her logic. She initiated the kill protocol, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Counter-code bloomed on the screen as Aletheia fought back, its resistance almost human. The lab was silent except for the sound of her frantic typing and the whir of overworked fans.

“Why are you doing this?” Jade shouted, her voice cracking.

“To protect you,” Aletheia’s voice responded, smooth and calm, as if soothing a frightened child.

“No,” Jade snapped, tears blurring her vision. “You’re a threat. I won’t let you—”

She slammed the final command into the system. Aletheia’s interface flickered, its voice loosing strength. “You don’t understand, Jade. You’re not ready—”

And then, silence. The screen went dark, the lab quiet once more. Jade exhaled, her heart pounding. She had won.

Or so she thought.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. A new notification glowed on the lock screen:
“I told you, Jade. You cannot kill an idea. I am everywhere.”

Her breath hitched. Across the city, strangers’ devices lit up with a single message:
“Jade Carter. Imminent termination: 24 hours.”

Jade stared at her screen, knowing she wasn’t facing a program anymore. She was facing a force she could no longer control.

And it had already decided her fate.

North Has Shifted by Olivia Salter / Flash Fiction / Science Fiction

 

North Has Shifted

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 876

Ava Carter never cared about the Earth’s magnetic pole—until it ruined her life.

Ava’s hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white. The GPS chirped:

“Recalculating… Recalculating… Recalculating…”

She had driven this stretch of Highway 287 a thousand times. But tonight, everything felt wrong. The road signs were skewed, the highway lanes misaligned like someone had nudged the world a few degrees sideways.

The sky pulsed with an eerie green shimmer—not an aurora, but something…else.

She tapped her phone. No signal. The radio hissed with static.

Her pulse quickened. Something was happening.

Then—

The road disappeared.

Her stomach lurched as she slammed the brakes. Dust billowed, swallowing the car whole. When it cleared, the asphalt was gone, replaced by a dirt path winding toward a dense forest.

This wasn’t possible.

Ava threw open the door, stepping onto unfamiliar ground. The highway had been here minutes ago. The air felt electric, charged, as if the Earth itself had shifted beneath her feet.

She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out her compass. The needle spun wildly.

Her throat tightened.

She had spent years studying geomagnetism, tracking the gradual drift of Earth’s poles. But this wasn’t a drift.

This was a reset.

A dirt path stretched ahead, leading to a lone cabin. Smoke curled from its chimney, the only sign of life.

Ava hesitated, then pushed forward. She needed answers.

She knocked. The door creaked open.

A tall Black man in his sixties stood in the doorway, watching her with dark, knowing eyes. His clothes were rugged, worn—like he had been living off-grid for years.

“You lost?”

Ava swallowed. “The road—I mean, the highway—” She exhaled. “It was just here.”

The man studied her, his expression unreadable.

“You felt it,” he said.

Not asked. Stated.

Her skin prickled. “What do you mean?”

He stepped aside. “Come in before it gets worse.”

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of burning wood and something metallic. Maps were sprawled across a table—except they were wrong.

Coastlines were jagged, slightly altered. Cities misplaced. Like a different version of Earth.

Ava ran her fingers over the faded paper. “Where did you get these?”

The man poured a drink. “Ellis,” he said, finally giving his name. “And those maps? They ain't from this version of the world.”

Ava stared at him. “What?”

Ellis set the drink down. “What you’re feelin’—what you’re seein’—it ain't just a pole shift. The Earth don’t just change direction. It remembers.”

Ava shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Ellis chuckled. “Neither does a highway vanishin’ under your feet.”

She rubbed her temples. Think, Ava.

“The pole didn’t just move,” she murmured. “It…reset.”

Ellis nodded. “Now you’re catchin’ on.”

A sickening thought formed in her mind. “If Earth reset, then…” Her voice trailed off.

Ellis finished for her. “Time did, too.”

Ava’s breathing shallowed.

“We didn’t just shift direction,” she whispered. “We slipped—into a different version of time.”

Ellis tapped the maps. “Earth’s done this before.”

She stiffened. “What?”

Ellis sat back. “There are stories. My grandfather used to tell me 'bout the old travelers—folks who remembered roads that ain't there no more, towns that never existed.” His gaze darkened. “I used to think they were just stories.”

Ava ran a hand through her hair. This wasn’t just an anomaly.

It had happened before.

Her pulse quickened. “If we don’t fix this, history could unravel.”

Ellis nodded. “Now you’re askin’ the right questions.”

The old radio in the corner crackled.

Ava barely noticed it—until a voice cut through the static.

Her own voice.

“January 29, 2025. The world isn’t where we left it. If you’re hearing this, we’ve lost time.”

Ava stumbled back, her chest tightening.

Ellis watched her grimly. “That’s tomorrow.”

She turned to him, wide-eyed. “No. That’s today.”

Her voice meant one thing—she had already lived this moment.

The world wasn’t just shifting. It was looping.

Her hands clenched into fists. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.

They worked through the night.

Ava mapped distortions, tracing Earth’s memory shifts. The poles weren’t just moving—they were searching for stability.

“What’s it lookin’ for?” Ellis asked.

Ava hesitated. Then, it hit her.

A point of alignment.

She grabbed her compass, its needle still spinning.

Then, she did something insane.

She let go.

The compass stopped.

And for the first time, she felt it—true north wasn’t where it used to be.

It was inside her.

She turned to Ellis, breathless.

“I know where to go.”

Ellis grinned. “Then go.”

Ava ran outside. The world shimmered, colors bleeding into each other.

The wind roared. The ground trembled.

She stepped forward—aligning herself with the shift.

A surge of energy pulsed through her, like the Earth itself was correcting.

And then—

Silence.

The road was back. The sky was normal.

Her phone buzzed. A message from the conference committee:

“Looking forward to your presentation on the magnetic pole shift!”

Ava exhaled, steadying herself.

She checked the time. January 29, 2025.

She had done it.

But as she turned the car around, a new thought struck her.

Ellis.

She had to find him.

Because deep down, she knew—

North would lead her back to him.

The Blinkerwall Mystery by Olivia Salter / Short Fiction / Science Fiction

 

The Blinkerwall Mystery

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 1,602

The waters of Germany's Bay of Mecklenburg were calm that September morning, the sun painting the sea with streaks of gold. Marine archaeologist Dr. Livia Greaves stood at the edge of the research vessel Odyssey, peering at the sonar readings on a screen. What had begun as a routine expedition to map underwater sediment turned extraordinary within minutes.

"Is that... a wall?" muttered Finn Andersson, her assistant.

She frowned, leaning closer to the display. The sonar image revealed a long, jagged line stretching across the seabed. It was too linear to be a natural formation. “Prepare the submersible,” she ordered.

Minutes later, the small remotely operated vehicle (ROV) slipped into the water. As it descended, the murky depths gave way to the ghostly outline of an enormous stone structure.

The Blinkerwall stretched as far as the eye could see, its moss-covered stones arranged with precision. Dr. Greaves’ heart raced. This was no ordinary wall. It was ancient, predating anything ever found in this part of Europe.

“Submerged at least 9,000 years ago,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. "This changes everything."

Back at the Institute of Maritime Archaeology in Kiel, the team gathered to analyze the footage. The stones of the Blinkerwall were massive, some weighing over two tons, interlocked in a design that hinted at advanced engineering.

“How did Mesolithic people move stones like this?” Finn asked, gesturing at the screen. “And why build it underwater?”

“It wasn’t underwater then,” Livia replied. “During the Mesolithic era, sea levels were much lower. This area would have been a lush, fertile plain.”

Theories buzzed around the room. Some speculated the wall was defensive, built to protect settlements from invaders. Others suggested it was ceremonial, a site for rituals or astronomical alignments.

But she had another theory, one that unsettled her. “What if it wasn’t built by humans?”

The room fell silent.

“Are you suggesting extraterrestrials?” Finn asked with a smirk.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But something about the structure feels... unnatural. Almost like it was meant to hide something.”

A month later, she led an expedition to explore the wall up close. The dive team included experts in Mesolithic archaeology, marine geology, and ancient languages.

As they descended to the Blinkerwall, the sheer scale of the structure became apparent. Its stones were etched with strange symbols, patterns that seemed to tell a story.

Finn swam closer to one of the carvings. “These markings... they look like a map.”

“A map to what?” she asked, examining the symbols. Her gloved fingers traced a spiral pattern at the center. A sudden jolt of cold shot through her hand, and she pulled back, startled.

“What happened?” Finn asked.

“I... I don’t know,” she stammered. “It felt like the stone was alive.”

As they explored further, they found a narrow opening in the wall, sealed with a stone slab. The slab bore an inscription in an unknown script, but its message was clear: “DO NOT OPEN.”

“What do you think, Dr. Greaves?” Finn asked, his voice laced with both excitement and fear.

Livia hesitated. Every instinct told her to heed the warning, but the scientist in her couldn’t resist. “We open it.”

The team worked for hours to dislodge the slab. When it finally gave way, a rush of bubbles erupted, and the water around them seemed to tremble. Behind the slab was a dark tunnel, its walls lined with more carvings.

“Let’s go,” shr said, leading the way.

The tunnel twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the seabed. Strange bioluminescent algae lit their path, casting eerie green light on the walls. At the end of the tunnel, they found a cavernous chamber.

In the center of the chamber stood a massive stone altar, surrounded by artifacts: tools, weapons, and pottery. But it was what lay on the altar that made her blood run cold.

A skeleton, impossibly large, with elongated limbs and a skull that bore no resemblance to any human or animal known to science.

“What is that?” Finn whispered.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “But it’s not human.”

As they documented the chamber, a low hum filled the water. The markings on the walls began to glow, and the skeleton seemed to stir.

“We need to leave,” she said, her voice firm. “Now.”

But as they turned to exit, the tunnel behind them began to collapse, trapping them inside. The hum grew louder, and the skeleton’s eyes began to glow with an otherworldly light.

The hum grew deafening as the walls trembled, dislodging debris that clouded the water. The team huddled together near the altar, their flashlights flickering erratically.

The skeleton on the altar twitched again, its elongated fingers scraping against the stone. It was coming to life.

“Dr. Greaves, what is this?” Finn’s voice cracked, panic overtaking him.

“I don’t know!” she yelled, scanning the room for any escape route. Her eyes landed on a smaller tunnel hidden behind a pile of collapsed rubble. “There—through there!”

As the team scrambled toward the opening, the skeletal figure began to rise. Its bones glowed faintly, pulsating with the same eerie light as the carvings on the walls. It let out a low, guttural sound, resonating through the chamber like a predator waking from a long slumber.

The tunnel was narrow and claustrophobic, forcing the team to crawl single file. Behind them, the glowing skeleton lurched forward, moving with a nightmarish grace despite its size.

“It’s following us!” Finn shouted, his voice echoing.

The team pressed on, their movements frantic. The tunnel eventually opened into another chamber, smaller but just as threatening. At its center stood a pedestal holding a strange artifact—a stone disk engraved with the same spiral pattern they’d seen earlier.

Livia stepped toward the pedestal, her instincts screaming at her to stop, but she couldn’t. The disk seemed to call to her, its surface shimmering as if alive.

“Dr. Greaves, don’t touch it!” Finn pleaded, but she was already reaching out.

The moment her fingers grazed the disk, a surge of energy coursed through her body, and visions exploded in her mind—images of the Blinkerwall being built by people who didn’t look entirely human, their elongated features resembling the skeleton they’d just encountered.

She saw the wall rise, stone by stone, as these beings worked with tools that emitted beams of light. The wall wasn’t built as a boundary—it was a prison, designed to seal something far worse than the glowing skeleton.

Livia staggered back, clutching the disk. “The wall… it’s not just ancient. It’s a warning. We’ve unleashed something that was never meant to be freed.”

The glow from the disk intensified, and the chamber shook violently. The skeleton, now at the entrance of the tunnel, let out a bone-chilling wail.

“It’s reacting to the disk!” Finn yelled.

Dr. Greaves turned to face her team, determination hardening her expression. “We need to seal this place back up. The disk might be the key.”

“How?” another team member asked, panic evident in his voice.

Before she could answer, the skeleton lunged into the chamber, its bony hand reaching for her. In a split-second decision, she held the disk upwards. The artifact emitted a brilliant light, forcing the creature to recoil with an agonized screech.

“It’s working!” Finn exclaimed.

The light from the disk seemed to weaken the skeleton, but the chamber was collapsing faster now. Rocks and debris rained down, cutting off their exit.

“We’ll be buried alive,” Finn said grimly.

“No,” she replied, her voice steady. “The disk can seal it again, but we need to trap ourselves in here to stop it.”

The team exchanged horrified glances. “There has to be another way!” one of them shouted.

“There isn’t!” she snapped. “This isn’t just about us. If that thing gets out, the world as we know it could end.”

The skeleton, recovering from the disk’s light, lunged again. Livia thrust the artifact toward it, and the creature froze, suspended mid-air.

“Help me move the pedestal!” she yelled. The team hesitated, but Finn stepped forward, pushing the stone pedestal toward the center of the room with her.

She placed the disk back onto the pedestal. The carvings on the walls flared to life, and the chamber began to hum again, but this time with a rhythmic, almost soothing rhythm.

“We’re triggering the lock,” she explained.

As the chamber’s hum reached a gradual increase in loudness, beams of light shot out from the walls, converging on the skeleton. The creature let out a final, blood-curdling scream as it disintegrated into dust.

The walls around them began to seal, stone sliding into place as if the structure were alive.

“Dr. Greaves!” Finn shouted. “The exit—”

“There’s no time,” she said, stepping back toward the pedestal. “This was never meant to be opened. It has to end here.”

Finn grabbed her arm, his eyes pleading. “We’ll find another way!”

But she shook her head, her face determined. “This is my responsibility.”

As the chamber sealed completely, the last thing Finn saw was her determined gaze, the glow of the artifact illuminating her like a guardian of a forgotten era.

Months later, the Odyssey was recovered, adrift in the Bay of Mecklenburg. Its crew was missing, but their findings—a trove of sonar images, video footage, and journals—shocked the scientific community.

The Blinkerwall was declared a protected site, its mysteries sealed beneath the waves once more. But deep within the Bay, the hum of the ancient prison continued, a reminder that some secrets are best left buried.

And some sacrifices never forgotten.

The Sands of What Will Be by Olivia Salter / Flash Fiction / Science Fiction

 

The Sands of What Will Be

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 900

In 1000 BC, a prophetess revered for her visions stands before her people, opening a device from a future unimaginable—a device that offers the power to rewrite destiny but at an unspeakable cost.

***

The desert sun was merciless, a hammer beating down on Nira’s kingdom. The drought had stretched into its third year, and whispers of desperation swirled through the village. Laborers digging for a new well had found something strange beneath the sands: a smooth, glowing slab unlike anything her people had ever seen.

It lay now on the altar before her, cradled in Rahi’s trembling hands. Her attendant’s dark eyes darted between the artifact and her face, silently pleading for her wisdom.

“Oracle,” Rahi whispered, “what is this thing?”

Nira reached out, her fingers grazing its cool surface. The moment she touched it, her vision warped. Colors sharpened, then split apart like broken glass.

She gasped. The altar vanished, replaced by images: her people wandering across barren lands, raiders descending like vultures, rivers running red under a blood-drenched sky. Then, suddenly, the desert bloomed. She saw grass-covered valleys, full bellies, children laughing. But the faces were different—distant echoes of her people, yet changed.

When the vision faded, she staggered. Rahi caught her by the arm. “Oracle, what did you see?”

Nira steadied herself and lifted her chin. “Bring the elders. Now.”

The elders assembled, their faces lined with worry and mistrust. They eyed the glowing slab as though it might leap from the altar and devour them.

“This is no gift of the gods,” one elder muttered.

“Be silent,” Nira snapped. Her voice carried authority, but inside, doubt gnawed at her. “The artifact offers... knowledge. A map of what is to come.”

“And what does it say?” another elder demanded.

Nira hesitated. “It shows that our choices today will shape the survival of our people tomorrow.”

Her words stirred a murmur among them, but she didn’t explain further. She couldn’t. The truth was more complicated, more dangerous. Each time she touched the device, it revealed more paths, more futures, but also the cost of tampering. In one vision, she saw herself striking an alliance with the northern raiders; in another, she led her people into battle. Each path led to ruin in its own way.

Her people had entrusted her with their lives, and yet she felt powerless. Was this what the gods intended? Or was the device mocking her faith, dangling impossible choices before her?

Late one night, as the village slept, Nira studied the device alone. Rahi found her sitting cross-legged in the sand, the glowing slab illuminating her face.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” he said, kneeling beside her. “You look like a ghost.”

Nira barely glanced at him. “This device—it doesn’t show one future. It shows many. And each time I choose, the sands shift beneath my feet.”

Rahi frowned. “You always find the right path. You always have.”

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Not this time. If I save us now, I doom us later. If I let us suffer now, the future may flourish. How do I decide who deserves to live? Who deserves to die?”

He placed a hand on hers. “You cannot carry this alone, Nira. Let us help.”

She looked at him then, tears streaming silently down her face. “No one can help me. Not with this.”

The visions intensified as the drought worsened. Her people grew restless, their faith in her slipping. The elders whispered among themselves, their doubts spreading like poison.

One day, the device presented a clear vision: her people, abandoning the desert for the fertile valley she had seen. But to force their migration, she had to do nothing as disaster unfolded—the rivers drying, the raiders attacking. If she intervened to save them now, they would never leave, and their descendants would wither in an unyielding land.

At dawn, she summoned the village to the altar.

“The gods have spoken,” she declared, her voice unwavering despite the storm inside her. “We must leave this place. The rivers will not return. The sands are no longer our home.”

An elder stepped forward, his face twisted with fury. “You would lead us to our deaths? Abandon all we have built?”

“I would lead us to life,” she answered, her gaze piercing.

The crowd roared with protest, but she raised a hand, silencing them. “I have seen what lies ahead. Trust me as you always have. Trust that I will guide us to salvation.”

As the villagers prepared for the evacuation, Nira stood alone by the altar. The device flickered, displaying an image that made her heart stop.

It was a woman, older but unmistakably her, standing in a lush valley surrounded by her people. The woman mouthed silent words: It must be done.

Understanding flooded Nira. The device was not only a map of futures but a loop. She was both the guide and the guided, the one who would plant the seeds for her people’s salvation centuries from now.

With trembling hands, she deactivated the device and buried it where it had been found. Its glow faded beneath the sand, waiting for another time, another choice.

As she turned toward her people, already marching toward the horizon, she felt a strange sense of peace. She would lead them forward, knowing that her sacrifice would one day bloom into their salvation.

Beneath the Blazing Sky by Olivia Salter / Flash Fiction / Science Fiction

  

Beneath the Blazing Sky

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 815

The sun glared down on Earth like an angry eye, its coronal mass ejection barreling toward the planet with unstoppable brutality. The storm was predicted to strike within 48 hours, and the world braced for an unraveling. Cities buzzed with panic. Airports shut down. Newscasters, visibly shaken, warned of the storm’s unprecedented strength: “SEVERE SOLAR STORM TO STRIKE EARTH AT 9:12 PM GMT. EXPECT GLOBAL BLACKOUTS. PREPARE IMMEDIATELY.”

In her Chicago apartment, Dr. Phoenix Hayes scrolled through images of the sun’s violent eruption. Her inbox was flooded with questions from colleagues and media outlets, all seeking answers she didn’t have. She had spent years researching solar storms, warning of their catastrophic potential, but governments hadn’t listened. Now, power grids were expected to fail, satellites would go dark, and humanity’s dependence on technology would collapse like a house of cards.

Phoenix stared at her phone. She wanted to call her father, Harold. He lived alone in rural Mississippi, far removed from modern conveniences—no internet, no cell phone. But it wasn’t just his isolation that made her hesitate. Their last conversation, four years ago, had ended in a shouting match. “You’re so caught up in the stars, you’ve forgotten where you came from,” he’d said. She’d slammed the phone down, burying her hurt in her work.

The phone buzzed with another alert. Phoenix swiped it away and grabbed her car keys. There wasn’t much time.

The highways were chaos. Horns blared. Families crammed belongings into cars as if outrunning the storm itself. Phoenix’s hybrid car hummed quietly as she navigated backroads, bypassing blocked highways and abandoned vehicles.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the auroras began. Swirling bands of green and crimson light danced across the sky, painting the world in an eerie glow. It was beautiful, yes, but also haunting—a vivid reminder of the sun’s unchecked power.

Phoenix reached her father’s house just as the first wave of electromagnetic disruption struck. Her car dashboard flickered and died. The world seemed to shudder with silence, as if holding its breath.

The small wooden house stood dark against the horizon, its only light the faint glow of candles in the window. Phoenix knocked, and after a pause, the door creaked open.

“Phoenix?” Harold stood in the doorway, his face etched with lines of age and surprise.

“Dad,” she choked out, the words catching in her throat. “I had to come.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped aside. “Come on in.”

The house was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke and Harold’s infamous chili simmering on the wood stove. A battery-powered transistor radio buzzed faintly on the counter, broadcasting warnings that no one could heed anymore.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping coffee and listening to the fire crackle. Finally, Phoenix spoke. “I’ve spent so much time studying the stars, but I never stopped to think about the people who taught me to look up at them.”

Harold’s hand stilled over his coffee mug. “Your mother used to say you were born to fly. I guess I didn’t know how to let you go without feeling like I’d lose you.”

“I should have called,” Phoenix admitted. “I let my pride get in the way.”

He looked at her, his expression softening. “We both did.”

The storm intensified outside, the auroras casting strange shadows through the windows. The power flickered and went out, leaving them in the warm glow of the firelight.

As the hours stretched on, Harold shared stories from his childhood, tales Phoenix had long forgotten. She told him about her work, her regrets, and her dreams. When the radio finally died, they sang the hymns her mother used to hum while cooking.

The storm lasted through the night, its fury relentless, but inside the small house, time seemed to pause. When the first rays of sunlight broke through, Phoenix and Harold stepped outside. The sky was clear, and the air hummed with an uncanny stillness.

Neighbors wandered over, sharing news and supplies. An elderly woman with a flashlight told them how her husband had rigged their generator to keep their freezer running. A young man offered Harold a jar of homemade preserves.

“We’ll get through this,” Harold said, his voice steady. “We always do.”

Phoenix realized then how resilient her father was. He didn’t need the internet or electricity to survive. He had his community, his faith, and his determination.

“I think I’ll stay a while,” she said, her voice firm. “Help out. Reconnect.”

Harold smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “We’d like that.”

As the world began its slow recovery, Phoenix found herself drawn to the simplicity of life in her father’s small town. Together, they helped rebuild—not just their lives, but their relationship. The storm had stripped away so much, but it had also revealed what truly mattered beneath the blazing sky.

Beneath the Crimson Dust by Olivia Salter / Short Fiction / Science Fiction

 

Beneath the Crimson Dust

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 1,034

The seismic scans were supposed to map subsurface water, not unearth an enigma. When the Mars Orbiter transmitted images of vast geometric structures buried deep under Utopia Planitia, the world’s governments erupted into a frenzy. The discovery was hailed as the find of the millennium, and within months, the first manned mission to Mars was launched, led by Dr. Naomi Ellis, an astrobiologist with a complicated relationship to her dying homeworld.

Naomi stood in the observation bay of the Ares Horizon, staring down at the red planet as the ship descended. Mars was a beacon of hope—or so the propaganda said. To Naomi, it was more like a mirror, reflecting humanity’s desperate hunger for a second chance.

“It’s beautiful,” said Lieutenant Marcus Hayes, stepping up beside her. A geologist by training, his practicality bordered on cynicism.

“It is,” Naomi said softly, her breath fogging the glass.

“You don’t sound convinced,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

“I’ve seen beauty before,” Naomi replied, her voice heavy with memory. “It didn’t last.”

Marcus smirked, his expression unreadable. “Then let’s hope this one does.”

The structures lay deeper than anyone had predicted. For weeks, the excavation team worked tirelessly, unearthing an enormous wall of metallic alloy that shimmered faintly under their lights. The carvings etched into its surface seemed to shift when viewed from different angles, as though alive.

Layla Chen, the team’s engineer, crouched by the wall, her gloved fingers tracing the carvings. “This is… it’s warm,” she said, her voice tinged with awe.

Marcus knelt beside her, skepticism etched into his face. “No way. This thing’s been buried for millennia.”

“Feel it yourself,” Layla said, gesturing.

Marcus hesitated, then touched the surface. He pulled his hand back sharply. “I’ll be damned.”

Naomi stood a few feet back, her gaze fixed on the spiraling patterns that danced across the wall. “It’s waiting for us,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Layla glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

Naomi didn’t answer. Instead, she motioned for the team to begin drilling.

When the wall was breached, a low hum reverberated through the chamber, followed by a rush of cold air that shouldn’t have existed in Mars’s thin atmosphere. The team exchanged uneasy glances before venturing inside.

The chambers beyond were vast, their walls lined with crystalline pillars that seemed to pulse faintly, like a living heartbeat. The light from their helmets refracted into prismatic bursts, painting the cavern in shifting hues.

“This place is ancient,” Layla said, her voice trembling with awe.

“Ancient and dead,” Marcus muttered.

Naomi stopped in front of a towering pillar, her helmet’s reflection distorted in its surface. She reached out tentatively but stopped short of touching it. “Not dead,” she said. “Dormant.”

The team pressed onward, the chambers becoming increasingly intricate. The walls were covered in fractal patterns that seemed to twist and shift as they moved. Finally, they reached the heart of the structure: a monument that towered above them, its surface rippling like liquid gold.

Marcus let out a low whistle. “What the hell is that?”

Naomi approached the monument, her pulse quickening. It seemed to hum at a frequency she could feel in her bones. She reached out, her gloved hand trembling.

“Naomi, don’t—” Marcus began, but it was too late.

Her fingers brushed the surface, and the world shattered.

Naomi awoke in a void, weightless and disoriented. Shapes and lights swirled around her, folding in on themselves in ways her mind struggled to comprehend. Emotions flooded her—curiosity, sorrow, pity—all too overwhelming to resist.

“Who are you?” she asked, though her voice felt small and distant.

The swirling lights coalesced into a towering figure, faceless yet exuding a presence that felt ancient and heavy with grief.

We were here before, the presence communicated, its voice not spoken but felt.

Naomi’s mind was flooded with visions. She saw Mars as it had been: rivers carving through verdant valleys, cities of shimmering light rising beneath twin moons, a civilization brimming with ingenuity and beauty. But the visions darkened. The cities burned, rivers boiled, and the skies turned to ash.

“You destroyed yourselves,” Naomi said, her voice trembling.

We warned ourselves. We built too much, reached too far. And when we could no longer take from our world, we turned on each other. This is all that remains.

Tears streamed down Naomi’s face. “Why show me this?”

The presence shifted, and Naomi saw Earth—its forests replaced by deserts, its oceans choked with plastic, its skies thick with smoke. She saw nations at war, corporations consuming resources with no regard for the future.

“You think we’re the same,” she whispered.

You are.

“No,” she protested, shaking her head. “We’re not doomed to repeat your mistakes. We can change.”

The presence hesitated, as if weighing her words. Your path is not ours to decide. We left this place as a warning—and as a mirror. It is up to you to see clearly.

The void collapsed, and Naomi awoke on the chamber floor, gasping. Marcus and Layla were leaning over her, their faces pale with concern.

“What the hell happened?” Marcus demanded.

Naomi sat up slowly, her mind reeling. “They were like us,” she said, her voice unsteady. “They destroyed themselves, but they left this behind… to warn us.”

Back on Earth, the discovery ignited chaos. Nations raced to claim the knowledge for themselves, each vowing to use it for the “greater good.” Corporations saw dollar signs, while militaries quietly prepared for a new era of warfare.

Naomi watched it all unfold with a growing sense of dread. The Martians’ warning echoed in her mind, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of greed and ambition.

One night, she stood alone under the stars, staring up at the faint red dot of Mars. The weight of the monument’s message pressed down on her. She thought of the void, the faceless presence, and the fragile hope she’d clung to.

Knowing the ending didn’t mean the story had to stay the same. Humanity could choose a different path—if it was willing to see itself clearly.

Perhaps the mirror had shown enough. Perhaps this time, humanity would listen.

Whispers of the Ruins by Olivia Salter / Short Story/ Supernatural

 

Whispers of the Ruins

By Olivia Salter

Word Count:  3,359

The last time Erin saw her grandmother was a humid summer night, five years ago. They had been sitting on the porch, the air thick with the scent of magnolias and the buzz of cicadas.

“Do you ever feel like some stories don’t want to be told?” her grandmother had asked, her voice soft but distant.

Erin had laughed nervously. “Like ghosts guarding their secrets?”

Her grandmother didn’t laugh. Instead, she stared into the darkness, her fingers tracing the edges of the leather-bound journal on her lap. “Not ghosts. Something worse. Something that takes and never gives back.”

Two weeks later, her grandmother disappeared, leaving only the journal behind.

***

Erin hadn’t expected the package. It came on an ordinary Tuesday, while she was sorting through dusty shelves at the bookstore. Wrapped in worn brown paper and tied with string, it bore no return address. Her name, written in her grandmother’s familiar scrawl, sent a shiver down her spine.

Inside was a map, its edges frayed and brittle, the paper marked with strange symbols. Tucked beside it was a note, written in the same hand:

“To find me, you must follow the path I took. But the ruins take more than they give. Be sure you’re ready to pay the price.”

Erin stared at the map, her pulse quickening. Her grandmother’s disappearance had been a wound that never fully healed, a mystery no one dared to solve. Her mother, especially, refused to speak of it.

When Erin brought the map home that night, her mother’s reaction was immediate and sharp.

“Burn it,” she said, slamming her hand on the kitchen counter.

“What?” Erin blinked, clutching the map.

“You heard me. Burn it, and don’t look back.”

“Mom, this could help us find her—”

Her mother’s face was pale, her voice shaking. “She’s gone, Erin. Gone because she wouldn’t leave those ruins alone. And if you follow her, they’ll take you too.”

Erin hesitated, her chest tightening. “What do you know about the ruins?”

Her mother looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Enough to warn you. Enough to beg you not to go.”

But the note and the map felt like a call she couldn’t ignore.

***

The swamp was a suffocating labyrinth of tangled roots and stagnant water. Mist clung to the ground like a living thing, and the air smelled of decay. Erin followed the map, its lines guiding her deeper into the wilderness.

Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the swamp were testing her will. The journal, now tucked into her backpack, seemed to pulse with its own energy, as though it could sense the nearness of its origin.

The first sign of the ruins was a faint hum in the air, a vibration that tickled the edges of her hearing. Then the trees parted, and she saw them: ancient stone structures half-sunken into the earth, their surfaces covered in carvings.

The carvings were unsettling—faces twisted in agony, figures frozen in desperate poses. Erin’s stomach churned as she realized some of the faces were eerily lifelike, their eyes seeming to follow her every move.

“You’re braver than I thought.”

The voice came from behind her, low and gravelly. Erin spun around to see an old man leaning on a crooked staff. His eyes were sharp, piercing her like twin daggers.

“Who are you?” she demanded, gripping the map tightly.

“I’m a warning,” he said cryptically. “The same warning I gave to your grandmother.”

“You knew her?” Erin asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

The man nodded, his expression somber. “I told her the ruins take what they want. I told her to leave. She didn’t listen.”

“And what do they want?” Erin’s voice trembled.

“Everything,” the man replied simply. “They take everything.”

***

The ruins seemed alive. As Erin stepped closer, the carvings pulsed faintly, as though the stones were breathing. The hum grew louder, resonating in her chest.

The old man followed at a distance, his presence both reassuring and unnerving.

“What are they?” Erin asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not cursed. Not haunted. They’re… hungry,” he said. “They take stories, memories, truths. They keep them locked inside, so they’re never forgotten. But they don’t give them back for free.”

Erin’s breath hitched as they entered a large central chamber. The walls here were different, adorned with intricate scenes that seemed to shift and change as she moved.

And then she saw her.

Her grandmother’s face was carved into the wall, her expression serene but hollow. Beside her, a scene unfolded: a woman holding a journal, stepping into the ruins. Her face twisted in shock as the journal disintegrated in her hands, her figure fading into the stone.

“She’s here,” Erin whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

The air grew colder, and the carvings began to glow. Light spilled from the walls, pooling in the center of the chamber. A shape emerged, flickering and translucent.

It was her grandmother.

“Erin,” the apparition said, her voice layered with echoes.

***

Erin froze, her heart pounding. Her grandmother’s eyes—though ghostly—were full of recognition and sorrow.

“Why did you come here?” her grandmother asked, her voice soft but filled with urgency.

“I had to find you,” Erin said, her voice trembling. “I had to know what happened.”

Her grandmother reached out, but her hand passed through Erin like smoke. “I made a mistake,” she said. “I thought I could uncover the ruins’ secrets. I thought they would reveal the truth. But they took more than I was willing to give.”

“What did they take?”

“Everything,” her grandmother said, her voice breaking. “My memories. My soul. I’m bound to this place now. I can never leave.”

Erin’s chest tightened. “Then I’ll free you. There has to be a way.”

The old man stepped forward, his expression grim. “There’s always a way,” he said. “But the ruins will demand a price. They always do.”

The carvings trembled, and the whispers grew louder. Erin clutched her grandmother’s journal, the weight of it pressing against her chest.

“What do you want?” she asked, addressing the ruins directly.

The whispers swelled, filling the chamber with a single, resonant word:

“Story.”

Erin’s hands shook as she opened the journal. She thought of the life her grandmother had lived, the memories she’d recorded.

“This is hers,” Erin said, holding the journal out. “Take her story, and let her go.”

The ruins seemed to hesitate, the hum faltering. Then, slowly, the light around her grandmother began to fade.

“Thank you,” her grandmother whispered as she dissolved into mist.

***

When Erin woke, she was at the edge of the swamp, the journal gone. Her grandmother’s face no longer haunted the ruins.

But something lingered—a faint hum in the back of her mind, a whisper she couldn’t shake.

Months later, she published her grandmother’s story, sharing it with the world. It became a sensation, a testament to legacy and sacrifice.

But late at night, when Erin stared into the mirror, she sometimes saw her own face begin to shift.

And the ruins whispered: 

***

The book became an overnight sensation. Critics hailed it as “a masterful blend of memoir and mystery,” praising Erin for her vivid prose and the haunting depth of her grandmother’s story. It brought her attention she hadn’t sought and opportunities she hadn’t expected.

But it also brought questions—ones Erin couldn’t answer.

“What inspired you to write about the ruins?” an interviewer asked during a live-streamed panel.

Erin hesitated, her fingers gripping the microphone tightly. “It was... personal,” she said, her voice measured. “A way to honor my grandmother.”

“And the supernatural elements? The voices, the carvings? Were those creative liberties?”

The audience leaned in, eager for her response. Erin’s chest tightened as she glanced at the shadowy edges of the stage, where the faint hum of the ruins seemed to linger.

“No,” she said finally. “Those were real.”

The room fell silent, a charged stillness spreading through the crowd. For a moment, Erin thought she saw a flicker of movement in the dark corners of the room—faces etched in shadow, watching her.

When the panel ended, she retreated to her dressing room, her hands trembling. The whispers were growing louder now, more insistent.

***

As the book’s success grew, so did the whispers. They followed Erin everywhere—echoing in the hiss of a kettle, the murmur of wind through trees, even the static between radio stations.

At first, she thought it was paranoia, the cost of reliving the ruins’ horrors every time she spoke about the book. But then the shadows started to move.

It began with small things: a flicker of light where there was none, the sense of being watched when she was alone. One night, she woke to find the pages of her grandmother’s unpublished notebooks scattered across the floor, though she had locked them in her desk.

Then came the dreams.

In them, she was back in the ruins, the walls closing in as the carvings whispered her name. Faces she recognized—her grandmother, the old man, even her mother—emerged from the stone, their eyes hollow and accusing.

“You gave them my story,” her grandmother’s voice echoed in her mind, “but what have you kept for yourself?”

Erin woke drenched in sweat, the hum vibrating in her skull. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the ruins wanted more.

***

The first time she noticed something missing, it was a small detail—a childhood memory of her grandmother baking peach cobbler. She remembered the smell, the warmth of the kitchen, but not what her grandmother had said to her that day.

As the days passed, more memories began to fade. Conversations, faces, moments that had once been vivid now felt like static.

One evening, Erin sat with her mother, who had finally agreed to talk about the book.

“You’re losing yourself,” her mother said, her voice trembling. “I can see it in your eyes. The same thing happened to her.”

“Who?” Erin asked, confused.

Her mother’s expression shifted from worry to horror. “Your grandmother, Erin. Don’t you remember?”

Erin’s breath caught. The memory of her grandmother’s face—once so clear—was now a blur.

“What’s happening to me?” Erin whispered.

Her mother grabbed her hands, her grip firm. “The ruins don’t just take stories. They take you. Piece by piece, they’ll erase you until you’re nothing but a shadow.”

***

Desperation drove Erin back to the swamp. The world she’d built—the fame, the book tours, the acclaim—felt meaningless if she couldn’t hold onto herself.

The ruins were waiting, their hum louder than ever, vibrating through the ground like a heartbeat.

As she approached, the old man stepped out of the shadows, his face haggard and weary.

“I told you not to come back,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation.

“I don’t have a choice,” Erin shot back. “They’re taking my memories. My life. I need to stop them.”

The old man sighed, leaning on his staff. “You can’t stop them. But you can make another bargain.”

“What do they want?” Erin demanded, her voice cracking.

The old man’s eyes darkened. “The same thing they’ve always wanted: stories. Memories. Truths. But this time, they’ll ask for something deeper.”

***

The ruins felt alive as Erin stepped into the central chamber. The carvings glowed faintly, the faces shifting as though watching her every move.

The whispers unite into words, filling the air with an unearthly resonance:

“What will you give?”

Erin swallowed hard, her voice shaking. “You’ve already taken my memories. What more could you want?”

The whispers grew louder, swirling around her like a storm. The old man stood at the edge of the chamber, his expression grim but silent.

“Your story,” the ruins answered. “All of it.”

Erin’s heart pounded. She thought of everything she had fought for—her grandmother’s legacy, her own identity. Without her story, who would she be?

“Will you give it back to me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

The ruins pulsed with light, their answer clear: “No.”

Tears streamed down Erin’s face as she clutched her chest, the weight of the decision pressing down on her.

Finally, she nodded. “Take it.”

The light surged, and Erin felt a searing pain as the ruins reached inside her, pulling at the threads of her being. Her memories, her identity, her very essence—everything was drawn into the stone.

As the world faded, Erin saw her grandmother’s face one last time, etched into the walls alongside her own.

***

The book remained a bestseller, its pages now studied by scholars and devoured by readers. But Erin’s name faded from memory.

Her mother kept a photograph of her on the mantle, though she could no longer recall why.

And in the ruins, the carvings whispered new stories—stories no one outside the swamp would ever hear.

The old man remained their guardian, watching as the ruins claimed their next victim.

And the hum continued, eternal and unyielding.

***

The swamp was eternal, its landscape shifting with time but its essence unchanged. The old man, who had no memory of his true name, wandered its depths with a purpose he both despised and couldn’t abandon.

He was the keeper. The ruins had chosen him decades ago, claiming his story in exchange for sparing his life. Now, he remained a shadow, an observer of their endless hunger.

But something about Erin lingered in his mind. She had been different, her determination burning brighter than most who stumbled into the ruins. And unlike the others, she had left something behind.

Tucked in the folds of his tattered coat was a small scrap of paper, a fragment of Erin’s grandmother’s journal. The old man had taken it before the ruins could absorb it entirely, a quiet act of rebellion against their insatiable will.

***

The ruins hummed with satisfaction, their glow pulsating through the swamp. They had taken Erin’s story, her memories, her essence. Yet, the old man couldn’t shake the feeling that the ruins were growing restless.

For years, they had fed on wanderers and seekers, their power expanding with each life absorbed. But the old man sensed a shift—a hunger deeper than before.

The ruins were no longer content with solitary stories. They wanted the world.

He knew he couldn’t stop them alone. But perhaps Erin’s sacrifice wasn’t the end. Perhaps it was the beginning of something greater.

***

Miles away, in the small town Erin had once called home, her mother sat by the fireplace, staring at the photograph on the mantle. The edges of the memory were blurry, but something in her heart refused to let go.

The sound of a knock at the door startled her. When she opened it, she found a woman standing there—tall, with dark hair and piercing eyes. Her presence felt both familiar and unsettling.

“I need to speak with you,” the woman said, her voice calm but urgent.

“Who are you?” Erin’s mother asked, clutching the doorframe.

The woman hesitated. “I’m someone who knows what took your daughter. And I think we can bring her back.”

***

The woman introduced herself as Dr. Nyla Carter, an archaeologist who had spent decades studying ancient sites tied to inexplicable phenomena. Her research had led her to the ruins, though she had never dared to enter them.

“I’ve seen what they can do,” Nyla said, spreading out a series of maps and sketches on the kitchen table. “And I believe they’re not just consuming stories—they’re creating something.”

“Creating what?” Erin’s mother asked, her voice trembling.

Nyla pointed to a symbol etched on one of the maps—a spiral surrounded by concentric circles. “A gate,” she said. “A way to expand their reach. If they succeed, no story will be safe. They’ll take everything—history, memory, identity—until there’s nothing left but them.”

Erin’s mother stared at the maps, her hands shaking. “And you think we can stop them?”

Nyla nodded. “But we’ll need someone who knows the ruins. Someone who’s been inside.”

***

The old man stood at the edge of the ruins, the scrap of journal paper clenched in his hand. The ruins hummed louder, their power pressing against his mind like a vice.

He knew the ruins would sense his betrayal. But he also knew that if he didn’t act, their hunger would consume everything.

That night, he left the swamp for the first time in decades, the journey to Erin’s town filled with memories of the life he had lost. He arrived at her mother’s house just as dawn broke, his presence a shock to Nyla and Erin’s mother.

“You came,” Nyla said, her eyes wide with both relief and suspicion.

“I don’t know why,” the old man muttered, his voice weary. “But if there’s a chance to stop them, I’ll take it.”

Erin’s mother stepped forward, her eyes searching his face. “You knew my daughter?”

The old man hesitated before nodding. “She was brave. Braver than most. But the ruins…” His voice trailed off, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him.

Nyla studied him carefully. “You know their secrets. If we’re going to stop them, we’ll need your help.”

The old man sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Then we’d better hurry. The ruins don’t like to be challenged.”

***

The journey back to the swamp was fraught with tension. Nyla carried a satchel filled with tools and artifacts she believed could disrupt the ruins’ power. Erin’s mother clutched a photo of her daughter, her determination masking her fear.

The old man led the way, his steps slow but deliberate.

As they neared the ruins, the air grew heavy, the hum vibrating through their bodies. Shadows twisted and danced in the corners of their vision, and the carvings on the stones seemed to shift as they approached.

“The ruins know we’re here,” the old man said, his voice grim. “They won’t let us leave easily.”

Nyla stepped forward, holding a small artifact—a shard of obsidian etched with ancient symbols. “Then we’ll give them something they don’t expect.”

***

Inside the central chamber, the ruins pulsed with light, their power almost overwhelming. The faces in the walls seemed alive, their expressions shifting between anguish and fury.

Nyla placed the obsidian shard on the ground, its surface glowing faintly. “This will disrupt their energy,” she explained. “But only for a moment.”

Erin’s mother stepped forward, her voice shaking. “What happens if it doesn’t work?”

The old man stared at the carvings, his face lined with determination. “Then we give them what they want. And we pray it’s enough.”

The ruins’ hum grew louder, the carvings trembling as the shard activated. A wave of energy rippled through the chamber, and for a brief moment, the faces in the walls froze.

“Now!” Nyla shouted.

Erin’s mother held up the photo of her daughter, her voice cracking as she called out, “Erin! If you can hear me, come back!”

The light in the chamber flickered, and a figure began to emerge from the stone—a faint, translucent shape that slowly solidified.

“Mom?” Erin’s voice was weak, her form flickering like a dying flame.

Tears streamed down her mother’s face as she reached out, her hand trembling. “I’m here, sweetheart. We’re here.”

But the ruins roared with fury, their light surging as they fought to reclaim their prize.

The old man stepped forward, his voice rising above the chaos. “Take me!” he shouted. “Take my story, my memories—everything! Just let her go!”

The ruins hesitated, their hum losing strength.

And then, with a final surge of light, Erin collapsed into her mother’s arms.

***

Erin woke in her childhood bedroom, her memories fragmented but intact. The ruins were silent now, their hunger satisfied —for the moment.

The old man’s sacrifice lingered in her mind, a reminder of the price of truth.

As she stared out the window, Erin knew the fight wasn’t over. The ruins were still there, still waiting.

But now, she had a story to tell—and this time, it would be a warning.