I walked down King Street every day. It is always busy, it’s light airy and alive. The towering sandstone buildings stand like benevolent guards between you and the rest of the city. Running parallel to it is Albion Road. It is grey empty and always dark. Between them is an alley. It is black as night even in daylight. I don’t want to go through, there’s always a man halfway down holding a match illuminating his twisted, broken grin. Today I had to, today I walked down, he raised the match to his lips and blew. It went black.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Simon Curtis and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Crescent Marked Man
The child clothed in his thick nightgown crawled across the forest floor, the dew soaking the cloth and making his knees and wrists wetter and colder. He started to feel tired and scared. There was not a soul anywhere to be found this deep into the forest but somehow, he was here. Alone. He kept crawling, looking for something, anything that wasn’t cold and wet.
By Simon Curtis3 years ago in Fiction
Bomb Scare
It was 2027, and the world never thought it would happen. A missle hit the United States, but it wasn't where they had anticipated. A little town in the northeast was hit by a missile strike, they didn't know why, and they didn't know exactly where it hit, but they did know it was a coastal community, somewhere between Maine and Delaware.
By Gregory Paytonabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
The Man in Seat 23
The man in Seat 23 boarded the plane after everyone else. I noticed him immediately. Not because he looked unusual—he didn’t. In fact, he looked completely ordinary. Dark jacket, small travel bag, calm expression. But something about the way he walked down the aisle felt… wrong. Almost like he already knew everyone on the plane. It was a late-night flight from Chicago to Boston, the kind where most passengers try to sleep through the journey. The cabin lights were dim, and the quiet hum of the engines filled the silence. I was seated in 22A, by the window. Seat 23A, directly behind me, had been empty when boarding started. I remember clearly because I had leaned my seat back slightly, enjoying the extra space. But now the man was there. And he was watching me. I could feel it. You know that strange feeling when someone’s eyes are fixed on you? That uncomfortable awareness crawling across your skin. I tried to ignore it. The plane began taxiing down the runway, the engines growing louder as we prepared for takeoff. Outside the window, the runway lights streaked across the darkness like glowing lines. Then my phone buzzed. I glanced down. One new message. Unknown number. The text read: “Don’t look back.” A chill ran down my spine. Slowly, I turned my phone over and locked the screen. I told myself it was nothing. Probably a spam message. But then my phone buzzed again. Another message. “He’s sitting right behind you.” My heart began pounding. I forced myself not to turn around. The plane lifted into the air, pressing me back into my seat as the city lights shrank below us. Another buzz. I hesitated before opening the message. “Seat 23.” My throat went dry. I finally turned slightly, pretending to stretch. The man behind me was staring directly at me. His eyes didn’t move. Not even when I caught him watching. I quickly faced forward again. This was ridiculous. Just a coincidence. Maybe someone on the plane was messing with me. But another message appeared. “He knows what you did.” My stomach twisted. What did that mean? The cabin lights dimmed further as the flight attendants began preparing for the overnight portion of the flight. Passengers settled into their seats. Someone a few rows ahead started snoring. Everything felt strangely normal. Except for the man behind me. And the messages. My phone buzzed again. “Do you remember Boston?” A memory flashed through my mind. Three years ago. A rainy night. A narrow street. Headlights. And a moment I had spent years trying to forget. My breathing became shallow. I typed a reply before I could stop myself. “Who is this?” For a moment, nothing happened. Then the reply came. “Turn around.” I slowly turned. The man in Seat 23 was still staring at me. But now he was smiling. Not a friendly smile. A knowing one. He leaned forward slightly. “You remember me now, don’t you?” he said quietly. His voice was calm. Too calm. “I think you have the wrong person,” I said quickly. The man tilted his head. “No,” he replied. “I don’t.” My phone buzzed again. But this time, the message wasn’t from the unknown number. It was from my airline app. Seat Change Notification. Confused, I opened it. My seat had been changed. From 22A to 23A. I frowned. That didn’t make sense. I looked back at the man. “You’re in my seat,” I said. He smiled again. “No,” he said softly. “You are.” Suddenly the cabin lights flickered. Just for a moment. But when they came back on… Seat 23 was empty. The man was gone. I looked around quickly. No one seemed to notice anything strange. Passengers were sleeping. Reading. Watching movies. My heart raced as I stood up. “Excuse me,” I said to the flight attendant nearby. “The man sitting behind me—where did he go?” She looked confused. “What man?” “The passenger in seat 23.” She checked her tablet. Then frowned. “There’s no passenger assigned to seat 23,” she said. “That’s impossible,” I said quickly. “He was just there.” She shook her head. “You’re the only person assigned to row 22 and 23.” My chest tightened. “What?” She turned the screen toward me. Seat 22A — Me Seat 23A — Me “That must be a system error,” she said casually. “But there was someone sitting there,” I insisted. The flight attendant looked slightly concerned now. “Sir… you boarded last,” she said. “You were the only passenger in this section.” My mind spun. That wasn’t possible. I had seen him. Spoken to him. Then my phone buzzed again. A final message from the unknown number. I opened it slowly. The text read: “You can’t run from yourself.” And suddenly… I remembered. Boston. Three years ago. The rain. The street. The man I hit with my car. The man I left behind. I never told anyone. Never reported it. I told myself it had been too dark. Too fast. Too late. But now I understood. Seat 23 was never another passenger. It was me. The part of me that had been sitting behind my conscience for three years. Watching. Waiting. And reminding me that some passengers… Never leave the flight.
By Baseer Shaheen 13 minutes ago in Fiction
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Series Review (Season 1)
As one of the biggest properties in fantasy, A Song of Ice and Fire remains immensely popular with audiences. After reaching far into the past with House of the Dragon, a second spin-off was on the cards. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms serves up a bite-sized slice of action and drama, but it still claims a spot among the best small-screen titles.
By Robert Cain7 days ago in Geeks
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.