Supernatural Prose is the gateway into unexplained phenomena through written non-metric means. These are typically attributed to "things that go bump in the night".
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As Intangible as a Ghost by Convenient-Alias, literature
Literature
As Intangible as a Ghost
I think Colin was lonely. He kept on coming up to my house, day after day after day. Even after I'd explained for the thousandth time that hello, I wasn't that kind of psychic.
Yes, I could see him. And yes, that was rare. I think only one out of maybe a hundred thousand people can see ghosts? And Upton was too small to have a genuine psychic in residence. He told me that until I moved in, no one had ever seen him. And tethered to the cemetery, unable to go more than a few miles, he couldn't leave town to seek anyone out.
But I wasn't the kind of psychic he was looking for. I didn't carry messages for the dead. I didn't try to help them
The Goddess of Time
My body is always heavy because I am not allowed to take a break as I always must continue to walk down my path. My long brown hair was slightly moving from the slight hot breeze as today in the the never ending sands of time it was hot.
The souls of my feet where cracked from the burning hot steps, my throat was so dry from the hot air but I still continued to walk as I felt the hot sun beating down on my skin as the breeze came through again slightly blowing my white dress that danced in the wind. In the distance was a clock that was always spinning as I would walk along the steps of time each step I took I watched a n
Life and Death: Until the End by Everlasting90, literature
Literature
Life and Death: Until the End
I hate you! Why do you steal what I create?
I take what comes to me. I do not steal. Since the beginning, you can never seem to grasp the difference.
It doesn’t matter which word you choose. You cause me pain.
I am an end to pain. I end the pain of your children.
You end their life. You take some before they can even have a chance to live.
It is not my choice nor is it my fault. Your children are not immortal. Their bodies fade but their souls continue. I send them to where they belong. You know of this.
You are so full of darkness. I can barely see, let alone know what you do.
I see you. I see your beauty, your tragedy. Your lov
For Christmas: 9 Cookies Dancing by WhiteFoxKitsune88, literature
Literature
For Christmas: 9 Cookies Dancing
The smell of ginger filled the air when Claire opened the oven door and pulled the small cookie sheet out. She took a big whiff of the sweets she was making and liked what she got. Nine gingerbread cookies in human shape. They were small, about the size of her hand, but perfect in shape and a golden brown.
"Just like mother always made them," she said, her natural Olde English accent rolling off her tongue as she set the sheet down on the counter.
In her house one could hear a Christmas song that quietly echoed from somewhere in the living room. The song was by a '90s boy band that Claire found surprisingly catchy and had not stopped li
With a ruptured shake the mirror cracked into a million pieces, twinkling as they fell to the blood stained floor. Her hands slammed down against the grey dirty sink as she tried to breathe through the pain that corrupted every part of her body. The pain was excruciating, shooting up and down her chest, down her arms, plunging through her head. The pain would last a while. Her blonde hair, stuck to her forehead in sweat, cascaded down past the sink to the ground and she flipped it over her shoulder quickly in order to reach the tap. Her shaking hands clasped it slowly and with a swift turn the clear water began to run.
She needed to wash it
When I first laid eyes on Utsten abbey, it seemed a thoroughly inhospitable place. It was built almost a millennium ago, and the grey, mossy stone buildings certainly look the part. Only the small road below separates it from the sea, and cold ocean gales blow nearly constantly. The surrounding trees are as tall as the abbey itself, and their gnarled branches shielded the building from what little sunlight there is. The lawn in front of the abbey is filled with crooked and cracked gravestones, some of them as old as the abbey.
This charming building became my home one chilly October morning. What could compel a man, you ask, to willingly liv
The thick and heavy chains are adjusted, so unnecessary, so useless ... pressing his pale skin.
" Every night the same thing, every damn night, Ursula! Why? Why do you chain me? You know I'm not leaving!"
"You did once." is the cold, whispered reply.
He sighs. Hurt, disappointed, his gaze plunges to the ground.
"How much longer are you going to keep punishing me for it?"
"I am not the one that punished you." The reply so icy that it would freeze him if he still retained his body heat. "This is your destiny".
And with this last whisper the voice of the beautiful doll-like blonde with the perfect curls, trembles with excitement, enjoying
That Which We Find by Ambiguous-Catharsis, literature
Literature
That Which We Find
I don’t know what attracted me to the little antiques shop on 23rd. I’d seen it every day when I drove to work, and every day when I drove back, but I never stopped until one day in September.
I stepped inside, the bell on the door tinkling quietly. A sort of old, musty smell hit my nose, which didn’t surprise me. A fine layer of dust covered almost everything in the store, and those special objects that weren’t dusted with grey were covered in tarps and blankets.
Trailing my finger over the top of a wooden bench, I wove my way between lamps and cabinets, looking for the proprietor.
“Hello?” I called. Th