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Write a story that includes the phrase “It was a dark and stormy night,” “Skeletons in the closet,” or “Digging up the past.”

Posted in Dramatic on Nov 14, 2025

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✍️ 58 stories

THE YEAR DEATH GOT MY NAME WRONG

Submitted to Contest #329

I’ve always believed May babies come into the world stubborn. Maybe it’s the Taurus in us: hoofs dug deep, head low, refusing to be told when it’s time to go. Nobody had to convince me of that. Life tried to erase me more than once, and every time, I wrote my name back into the world with whatever ink I had left—blood, breath, or bone. But the night everything finally broke open—the night that would circle back and start digging up the past before I ever knew there was a past worth digging—I wasn’t thinking about destiny, or astrology, or su...

44 likes 14 comments 14
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Peek at evil and it'll peek back at you!

Submitted to Contest #329

Screwed. I was completely and absurdly screwed. Trust me, I'm not even exaggerating this time. All my life, I thought I was one of those lucky girls who grew up in a rich, loving, and caring family, with normal parents who would do everything for their kids and who worked hard to create a healthy environment.I remember when I was in seventh grade, many of my friends had issues at home. Abusive or drunk parents, divorced parents fighting for custody of the kids, a toxic environment with a lot of disrespect, and some were terrible, like my bes...

35 likes 25 comments 25
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Bones

Submitted to Contest #329

TW: Death, themes of grief Bones are not malleable. They break under pressure. They deteriorate with age. Yet, they are rigid and dense. And in the right conditions, they can last for centuries. It must be why the skeletons in the closet of my mind continue to stay preserved. Bleak memories, buried stories, and a haunted past – perfect circumstances to keep the heaps of clandestine bones heavy and intact. Such a grim, melancholy reminder of the things I can never forget. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Not quite true, I suppose. They say i...

23 likes 8 comments 8
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Buried Things

Submitted to Contest #329

It could’ve just been the pipes creaking—the shop was an old building, after all. But no one really believed that. It was always in the small hours. The thudding heart. The taut chest. The breathlessness after waking from the same dream that had haunted Sylvana since visiting the cellar and finding the corpse: the feeling of being smothered, trapped in suffocating darkness. And yet it wasn’t the memory of Digweed’s body—discovered while searching for a missing Rhea—that held her. It was the unknown presence behind that cold, damp wall. Even...

20 likes 13 comments 13
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One Shoe Curve

Submitted to Contest #329

Managing Sam’s mother and her unyielding expectations during our first year of marriage was a burden I hadn’t fully anticipated. For every family member’s birthday, every holiday, and every Sunday, Susan expected us to be at her house for dinner without fail. On holidays, she also assumed we would attend their church service. What should have been a warm family meal and meaningful church attendance turned into an uncomfortable obligation—a ritual meant to maintain appearances rather than strengthen family bonds. Conversation was minimal, the...

20 likes 3 comments 3
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Biscuits for the Dead

Submitted to Contest #329

It was a dark and stormy night, the kind that made shadows flicker and cupboards groan. Bea was quite sure the power cut had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with her landlord forgetting to pay the bill again. Still, the wind howling around her block wasn’t helping her nerves. She sat at the kitchen table, clutching a mug of rapidly cooling tea, when she heard a sound. Not a moan. Not rattling chains. Just... someone clearing their throat politely. “Absolutely not,” she muttered. “I am not being haunted during a blackout....

19 likes 5 comments 5
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The Blackwood Incident

Submitted to Contest #329

It was a dark and stormy night, and Detective Marcus "Mac" Sullivan was beginning to suspect that whoever designed the Willowbrook Police Department's coffee machine had a personal vendetta against humanity. The bitter sludge emerging from the ancient beast tasted vaguely of motor oil.Thunder cracked overhead, rattling the windows of the small-town station. Mac glanced at the case files scattered across his desk—three bizarre deaths in as many days, all involving what witnesses described as "weird glowing stuff" and "sounds that weren't quit...

19 likes 2 comments 2
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Drink from the whole wine

Submitted to Contest #329

The goldfish wasn’t the only witness to the turn of events that evening, and even he hid out of sight on the edges of the bowl, like an illusionist playing with the optics of the glass globe. His was a fish eyed view of the large rotund figure collapsed in the traditional styled red leather armchair with its high back and unusually large wings. It was built to last, not like the quickly decaying body of the man. The chair’s wings appeared like dark silhouettes and would not have been out of place as large flapping ears on the head of an elep...

18 likes 16 comments 16
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Asteroidal Dragoons

Submitted to Contest #329

The mavericks back at headquarters didn't realise that the drill-bit needed to be quantum. 'That's as far as it will go,' the Engineer hollers. 'More steam!' I say to him, shouting through the pneumatic messenger. My voice echoes through the brass piping of this behemoth we're operating. On the other end, I hear the Engineer harumph, then he loads more coal. I feel the change immediately, both my hands dug into the control panel, the heat coursing through them almost painful. Reminds me of summers on Neptune, once the Cyber-Queen's Dragoo...

18 likes 3 comments 3
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Letters to Santa

Submitted to Contest #329

The child's scrawl on a Christmas card—such a small, yet special thing. The malformed letters were squished and scrunched every which way in the cramped space beneath a canned greeting, drafted by some man or woman who spent the day coming up with, "Season's Greetings!" while watching the clock tick slowly toward the magical hour when the slog of coming up with fresh holiday greetings ended. This special card was reserved for the Head Elf himself. Santa. Saint Nick. Kris Kringle. Pere Noel. However a child referred to him, it was all the sam...

13 likes 2 comments 2
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The Overwhelming Responsibility of Coming Home

Submitted to Contest #329

Colin shovels nondescript casserole onto his plate, the spoon clanking on the ornate china. The sound seems to echo for ages in the stuffy wood-paneled kitchen.“Sorry,” he mumbles behind a sheepish smile. There isn’t a response. Colin’s smile falls as he picks up a fork and turns towards the dining table. His eyes scan the seats for his best option. Front left? Next to his dad's half-empty bottle, no good. Far end? Maybe, but he’s always felt weird sitting at the head of the table. He decides to take a chance beside his grandmother and sets ...

13 likes 3 comments 3
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A visit With Saul

Submitted to Contest #329

The other day, I asked Daddy about this memory that I have. He shook his head and said, “I never understood why you’re always diggin’ up the past, son!” Here’s what I know. As far back as I can remember, I had heard the adults in my family talk about my father’s second cousin, Saul. Saul had moved to the Cleveland area to work in a factory. His mother had begged him not to go up there. She said he belonged down here in Kentucky with his family, not up there with strangers. Saul moved anyway. He was doing well. He made plenty of money and wou...

12 likes 3 comments 3
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Night Class

Submitted to Contest #329

It was a dark and stormy night, which was frankly mortifying. I hate that line. It’s the literary equivalent of turning up to a funeral in a novelty tie. But there it was anyway: rain lashing the gothic windows of D-Wing, thunder grumbling over the university like an elderly professor with opinions about commas. I tightened my cloak and muttered at the sky, “We get it. Atmosphere.” The sky responded with a particularly theatrical crack of lightning. Show-off. I, Dr Lucian Graves (PhD, undead, underpaid), had been assigned proctor duty for No...

12 likes 3 comments 3
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3 AM

Submitted to Contest #329

I write at 3 AM because I have to. Not "have to" like a deadline. "Have to" like breathing. Like my fingers start twitching around 2:45. Like if I don't sit down and open the document, something inside me will claw its way out. George and Fred know. They're already on the desk when I come in, two black smudges in the blue light of the monitor. Waiting. They're always waiting. I've been writing the same story for eight months. A psychological thriller about a woman who can't tell if she's losing her mind or if her apartment is trying to kill ...

11 likes 6 comments 6
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Memories in the Fog

Submitted to Contest #329

It was a dark and stormy night as the young terrier male sat at a corner table of a forgotten tavern in a drenched overcoat, waiting for his mysterious contact.The “Fog District” of Vulane - the City of Lies - was a place to go to forget - and be forgotten - by the outside world. Even the Veilwinter Silvermasks rarely stomped around the place.But every resident of the Fogs was known to every other, at least by sight. Their true names - or at least what they were named when they were born - had been lost in the mists.A lute from an enchanted ...

10 likes 1 comment 1
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