The world is dying in slow motion.
Oblivion
by Ava Murbarger | Featured, Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction
You're reading Horror
Oblivion
Ivory Mud
Ivers are brutal, but they can be bargained with.
The Ace
Trace—or Ace, as he called himself, the first, the best—loomed over the printer.
Eel Infested Waters
Dig and his brother floated in the dark waters of Trisbrine, back-to-back on a raft made out of driftwood that had previously been their father’s boat. Dig was rowing steadily onwards into empty ocean, using a large wooden pot lid as an oar. As he blinked away the slight sting of salt water seeping into his eyes, he observed the tranquil nothingness surrounding him…
The Humminghouse
The dead—or, I guess, the undead—don’t do much when left alone, they just sit and wait in a twisted cycle of decaying and un-decaying. But they can smell you, and they move fast and quiet, like air through the vents.
The Draft in the Walls
But above it all, there was a draft in the walls. It was subtle, like someone breathing down your neck. It wasn’t the sort of draft that could be felt all the time—no, sometimes it just lingered in the air, hanging nearly imperceivable, creeping like watchful eyes that are ever behind you no matter how often you look over your shoulder.