Flash Fiction
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A man discovers a wall of photographs that chart a life he has not yet lived and meets the figure in every frame—an answer that demands his final breath fold back into his first.
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A desperate bargain in a market stall promises a month of youth for a pair of tear-filled vials. She collects her joy and watches her face mend while the vendor waits for the rest of the price to come due.
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A desperate drive devolves into wreckage and a hunted man discovers the slow accounting of bargains made in blood—nothing is forgiven and night always keeps its receipts.
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A private rage turns a single room into a theatre of ruin where breath, blood and madness trade places until nothing recognises itself.
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Malcolm is offered an ‘upgrade’ to a truer reality by strangers in helmets; as his bathroom turns rotten and official he must decide between a manufactured salvation and the family that tugs him back. The choice tastes like metal and something older than regret.
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An old modem hides more than forgotten firmware—its memory stores a presence that waits, hungry, for a cable and the hands brave enough to plug it in.
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A bone found in a cold room answers the words you whisper and keeps its bargains. Curiosity becomes a pact and something patient and hungry waits at the table for the next wish to be spoken.
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A fan’s shrine becomes a theatre of devotion and a private screening of guilt—fame festers into ritual, and what watches from its plaque will not be ignored.
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A man wakes to a living room that eats him—rooms twist, a woman with a bloodied grin hunts him, and violence fractures reality into a road of screaming metal.
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When curated images start wearing a man’s gestures and smile, the feed becomes a teacher and a thief. He watches as the internet learns him—until the reflection no longer belongs to him.
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She tries to buy back a Polaroid that stole her life but finds the photograph keeps accounts—money and houses are offered and yet the ledger demands a darker payment she never imagined.
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Stranded newlyweds seek a phone in a storm and end up invited to a house where hospitality is performance and bodies are bargaining chips.
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He opens a storage unit and meets a decaying doppelgänger who claims a queue of bodies waits for a chance at life. A bargain of skins unfolds in the dark where identity is traded for the promise of being someone else.
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// EXCERPT CORRUPTED: REALITY LEAK DETECTED Jonty Redline doesn’t review horror—he dissects it with broken wires and biometric scans. In his latest verdict on “CALL IT BY NAME AND IT WILL FOLLOW YOU”, he counts your heartbeats, steals your breath, and whispers: “YOUR NAME IS MINE AT 03:06”. Why readers scrubbed their names off doors…
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A nervous man hovers over a blinking prompt—pressing Enter might reveal he is a program or unleash something worse and curiosity becomes a command as the screen answers back.
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// EXCERPT CORRUPTED: REALITY LEAK DETECTED Jonty Redline doesn’t review horror—he dissects it with broken wires and biometric scans. In his latest verdict on “SILENCE INSTEAD OF A BEAT”, he counts your heartbeats, steals your breath, and whispers: “YOUR SILENCE STARTS AT 03:07”. Why readers stopped breathing after sentence 5… >> [ENTER IF YOU DARE]
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// EXCERPT CORRUPTED: REALITY LEAK DETECTED Jonty Redline doesn’t review horror—he dissects it with broken wires and biometric scans. In his latest verdict on “WHERE THE REEL REALLY STOPS”, he counts your heartbeats, steals your breath, and whispers: “YOUR REEL RESETS AT 03:05”. Why readers smashed VCRs after sentence 3… **>> [ENTER IF YOU DARE]**
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A hired vessel for the dying finds one client who refuses to let go—years bleed into hours and identity frays until possession becomes a life sentence. A claustrophobic story about who owns the years you lose.
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Pinned to the ceiling and watched by smiling things, a man bargains with a false mercy as the face he loves dissolves—Anna’s hand is warm and wrong as the world tilts toward oblivion.
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// EXCERPT CORRUPTED: REALITY LEAK DETECTED Jonty Redline doesn’t review horror—he dissects it with broken wires and biometric scans. In his latest verdict on “SOAP ISN’T MADE FROM BROKEN BONES”, he counts your heartbeats, steals your breath, and whispers: “YOUR SILENCE BREAKS AT 03:03”. Why readers plugged their ears after sentence 4… >> [ENTER IF…