Jzt Stories

Everyone in Milan knows the Metro stops running at midnight. But sometimes, if you’re the last passenger on the last train, the doors reopen at a station that doesn’t exist. Marco dozed off on the M3 line after a long night out. When he jerked awake, the train was empty with lights flickering. The doors open at an unfamiliar stop "Lacrime" glowed in broken red letters on the platform. No one got on. The air smelled like damp concrete and copper. Down the tunnel, something scraped against the tracks—slow, heavy. The intercom crackled: “This station is not for the living." The doors didn’t close. Marco sprinted out as the train pulled away, leaving him alone in the flickering dark. His phone showed no signal, no trace of "Lacrime" on any map. Then he heard it—wet footsteps dragging closer from the tunnel.   The next morning, transit workers found his backpack on the tracks at Rogoredo. Inside, his phone played a 17-second voice memo—just ragged breathing and a wh...

Michael was the third child to go missing that year. The last place he’d been seen was near the abandoned community swimming pool just like the other two. The pool sat in the middle of town, impossible to miss, yet no one could remember why it had been closed. Over the past four years, anyone who went near it either turned up dead or vanished without a trace. They’d tried filling it in once. Truck after truck of sand poured into the gaping hole, yet the pool never filled. It was almost as if it had no bottom.  Weeks after Michael’s disappearance, some of his friends claimed they’d seen him by the pool, daring them to come closer. The neighborhood watch took it upon themselves to investigate. One evening at dusk, two members patrolling the area heard a child whisper, “Michael says he found a toy by the pool!” Eager to see it, the kids ran toward the water, unaware the adults were following. Before they reached the edge, they saw him Michael, soaked from head to toe, clutching an oce...

For the past two months, the old lady in the house right opposite hers had been asking her about her roommate and why he was so rude. Each time, she politely told her she lived alone, but the old lady insisted she had a roommate who was downright rude and secretive for some reason.     This went on for weeks until one evening when she got home from work. Before she could unlock the front door, the old lady called. Tired of having the same conversation over and over again with her, she headed over to give her a piece of her mind but when she got there, the old lady pulled out a camera, saying she had proof of her roommate.   Going through the video footage, she saw a woman who seemed a little older than her coming out of her house. Confused as to how this was possible, she watched it again before calling the police. The police showed up and searched the entire house, finding the woman who had been secretly living there for months. She changed the locks, reinforced the...

In the town of Lin, there was a stranger who told stories at the town center. Some called him a fortune teller, while others described him as a demon sent from hell to wreak havoc on the innocent. Not much was known about the man aside from his stories and the names some of the folks called him, but one thing was certain, all his tales always came to pass. Because of this unexplained coincidence, a lot of people joined him, hoping to perhaps be lucky enough to receive good fortune. At first, the tales were joyful and heartwarming, like characters in his stories got good news, but soon the stories began to change for the worse. He was very specific with the character's details in the story and also used the names of the people in the town. Just as his good stories ended in happiness and the selected person involved in the story got good fortune, so did the twisted ones. From being plagued with life threatening illness to downright any misfortune. Fed up and scared of the storyteller...

After weeks of talking about her new teacher and how amazing he was, her mother finally agreed to drop her daughter off at school just to see the teacher in question. She usually took the bus to school. They pulled up, and after nearly five minutes of waiting, her daughter’s favorite teacher appeared, neatly dressed with his outfit well-pressed and no wrinkles in sight. At first glance, he looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she had seen him. Already preoccupied and stressed with work and other responsibilities, she drove off, dismissing it as her mind playing tricks on her. Later that night, she heard her daughter singing. The words were wrong, but she recognized the song. It was the same song a stalker had sent her six years ago before she moved to this city. She didn’t know how the stalker had found her again, but she was not ready to relive that experience. Over the following days, she investigated the teacher’s life, cross-referencing it with the stalker’s, and ...

In the gritty town of Lin City, the urban legend of the “Fear Train” terrified those who spoke of it. They said a spectral freight train, its cars black as coal and windows glowing red, roared through the old rail yard at 1:11 AM, but only for those burdened by guilt. Clara, a private investigator with a dark past, heard the tale from a client and decided to face it, hoping to disprove the myth. She stood by the rusted tracks, the night air sharp with rust and regret. At 1:11 AM, the ground trembled, and a low wail cut through the silence. The Fear Train emerged from the fog, its engine pulsing like a heartbeat. Clara’s chest tightened as the train slowed, its doors sliding open to reveal a car filled with mirrors. Against her better judgment, she stepped inside. The doors slammed shut, and the mirrors reflected not her face, but moments she’d buried—lies she’d told, people she’d failed. Each reflection whispered her secrets, their voices overlapping into a scream. The train sped up,...

 Lily’s best friend, Emily, slept over every Friday.  But when Lily’s mom asked,  "Who were you talking to last night?" “ No one really “ She replied knowing the whole truth. Emily had drowned a month ago. That evening, Lily found wet footprints leading from the pool to her bedroom. Her closet door creaked open. A dripping voice giggled:   "You didn’t think I’d miss our sleepover, did you?" “Took you long enough” Lily replied 

The old abandoned swing creaked at midnight, chains rusted throughout. The kids called it the Widow’s Swing—said if you sat on it, you’d feel hands on your back, pushing. Jace dared his little sister to try it. She hesitated at first but reassured herself and went for it.   Moments later, she kicked off, laughing until the arc went too high, the chains snapped, and she landed running into the woods like something was after her. They found her running in circles in a way that seems she wasn’t alone. The swing’s still there, moving in no wind.

At the edge of Route 19, where truckers slumped over coffee, Sal’s Diner had a tab no one paid. It hung behind the counter, yellowed paper scrawled with names— Rusty, Mags, Jo– and debts in red ink. New waitress Carla asked about it once. Sal grunted “They’ll settle up.” Late one shift, a guy shuffled in—greasy hair, eyes like piss-holes in sand. Ordered nothing, just stared at the tab. Carla caught his name—Rusty—before he left, dropping a wet dollar that smelled of dirt. Next night, the tab was shorter, Rusty’s line gone. Sal smirked.  “Told you.” Carla quit when she saw her name scratched out at the bottom with red ink on the paid tab. With her debt to the diner being paid off, she left.

In the forgotten section of the old library in the town of Lin, there existed a room no librarian would acknowledge. Its shelves groaned with books that had no author—only blank spines and pages that whispered when touched.     Novice scribe Elias discovered it by accident, chasing a drifting candle flame down corridors that shouldn’t exist. The air smelled of ink and something darker, like the moment before a storm breaks.   “These are the stories that never were,"* said the archivist, materializing from the shadows. Her fingers left no dust when she touched the volumes. "Lives unlived. Choices unmade." She pulled one down—a thick tome with Elias’ face etched into the leather. Inside revealed pages and pages of him. A scholar. A rebel. A lover standing at an altar. A corpse floating in the royal moat. Every path his life might have taken, pulsing with color before fading to grey.   "Yours is unusually….complete" the archivist murmured. “Most people get pam...

There was a door in Lin Alley that wasn’t there every day. Finn had seen it three times in his life—first when he was eight and running from his father’s belt, again at sixteen when his first love left him, and now, at twenty-four, with blood on his hands and a debt he couldn’t pay. It was a plain door, weathered oak with a tarnished brass knob, wedged between soot-stained bricks where no door should be. The last two times, he’d been too afraid to touch it. Tonight, he turned the handle. Beyond lay a dim café, steam curling from porcelain cups. A woman with silver-streaked hair sat at a corner table. “Took you long enough,” she said, sliding a cup toward him. The scent of bitter almonds and burnt sugar curled in the air. Finn’s voice cracked. “Where am I?” “The In-Between,” She said. “For those who aren’t ready to stay or brave enough to go back.” She nodded at his bleeding knuckles. “You could leave that behind. Walk through the back door, and none of it ever happened.” Finn thou...

The bell above the door chimed not the bright ding of ordinary cafés, but a slow, deep toll, like a funeral bell heard through the wind. Eli froze in the doorway. One moment he’d been fleeing the gunshot roar of collapsing skyscrapers, the next—this. A café lit by candlelight, its tables occupied by people who didn’t look up. A man in a dust-stricken pilot’s uniform nursed espresso. A woman in 1920s flapper gear tapped ashes into a saucer. "Ah you’re early" The bartender said while polishing a glass with his apron. Eli’s hands shook. "Where—when—is this?" "Between. For those who almost died, but didn’t. Yet." The bartender slid a steaming cup toward him. Eli recoiled—the liquid inside moved against the tilt of the cup. "The rules," said the bartender. "Drink, and you go back to your apocalypse. Leave it, and you stay here, forever unfinished." Outside, the warped glass showed his city frozen mid-ruin, flames caught like petals in am...

In the city of Lin, there was a shop that opened only when the moon drowned in clouds. Its sign read simply “Mending for the Misplaced” Lora found it the night her brother vanished. The tailor inside had needles made of obsidian and spools of thread that shimmered like trapped starlight. "I don’t sew fabric, I stitch fates." The tailor said. Lora dropped a bundle on the counter—her brother’s coat, torn where the Hollow Guard had dragged him away. "Bring him back." Lora demanded. The tailor’s smile was knife-sharp before saying, "I can’t unmake what’s been done. But I can sew you a path to him. But the price weighs heavy" Lora didn’t understand until the first stitch pierced her palm. With every pull of the thread, she felt lighter—her childhood laughter, her first kiss, the memory of her mother’s voice, all thinning like mist. By dawn, the coat was whole. By dawn, her brother stood in the doorway, confused but alive. And by dawn, Lora couldn’t rememb...