Jzt Stories

  The air in the abandoned subway maintenance room was thick with the smell of rusted iron and damp limestone. Julian, a once promising architect who had spent a decade ‘waiting for the right investor’ while drowning in expensive scotch, woke to the rhythmic ticking   of a pendulum. He was strapped to a steel table, his bare feet hanging over the edge. The darkness was absolute until a single match flared. In the amber glow, a towering figure leaned over him. The face was a nightmare of matted brown fur and bulging glass eye. "You’re late, Julian," The voice rasped, muffled by the heavy latex of the mask. A gloved hand held a vintage gold pocket watch in front of his eyes. The second hand didn't move; it had been soldered in place at twelve. "Ten years late for the skyline you promised this city. Now, you’ve run out of time." Julian tried to thrash, but the leather vitals held firm. The Rabbit reached into a velvet-lined kit and produced a scalpel  that caught t...

  The 1:17 AM train to Eastfield carried six people and a little girl. Nobody remembered her boarding. She was simply there at the Creston Street stop sitting with her ankles crossed, a small patent leather bag in her lap, humming something without a melody. White dress, dark hair parted down the middle. She looked about nine. The drunk businessman across the aisle smiled at her. “You okay, sweetheart? You lost?” She turned to look at him with eyes that had seen things born and buried, and smiled back. “No, I’m exactly where I need to be.” She said. He laughed it off. Cute kid. He stopped laughing around the Millhaven tunnel, when the lights flickered and someone at the back of the cart screamed once and then went very quiet. By the time the train pulled into Eastfield, she was the only one standing.She straightened her dress. Picked up her bag. Stepped onto the empty platform and walked toward the exit, humming again. The station cameras caught her clearly. Every detective who rev...

  I wasn’t supposed to be in that part of the market. It was one of those crowded weekend rushes. People brushing past you, sellers shouting over each other, the smell of spice and sweat hanging thick in the air. I was just trying to get through quickly, head down, phone in hand. That’s when someone grabbed my wrist. Not lightly. Tight. Urgent. I turned, already annoyed, ready to snap at whoever thought that was okay. It was a woman. Older. Mid 40s maybe. Her grip didn’t loosen. “Daniel,” She said. I froze. I hadn’t told anyone my name. I hadn’t spoken to anyone since I got there. “Daniel, there you are,” She said again, louder this time. “Why did you run off like that?” “I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I said, trying to pull my hand free. Her grip tightened. “Stop it,” She whispered, her expression not changing, her smile fixed like it was painted on. “Don’t do this here.” My chest tightened. “Let go of me.” People were starting to look. “She’s your mother, isn’t she?” A man...

 The first time they heard about the baby, it sounded like a joke. “Just leave food outside your door every night, it keeps the baby calm.” They said casually. Marcus laughed. “What baby?” The neighbor didn’t smile. “You’ll hear it.” That night, around midnight, they did. A soft crying drifted through the corridor. Elena clutched Marcus’ arm. “That doesn’t sound like a normal baby.” He nodded slowly. It didn’t. The crying stretched too long without breath, warping into something almost human. Then came a faint knock on their door. Three soft taps. They froze. Another knock. Slower this time. The crying stopped. Silence swallowed the hallway. Marcus exhaled. “Probably someone messing with us.” But Elena wasn’t convinced. The next morning, they found a small plate outside their door. Empty. Clean. No crumbs. No residue. Just empty. That evening, their neighbor knocked. “You didn’t leave food,” He said. Marcus frowned. “We thought you were joking.” “I wasn’t.” Elena crossed her arms. ...