Jzt Stories

Two best friends, Andy and Lila, heard of an old seer in their neighbourhood and decided to find out what the future had in store for them. Right after school, they made their way to her house. The seer’s house was like any ordinary house. Before they could knock, the door swung open with a sweet old lady standing in the doorway. She had bright brown eyes, a trusting face, and a voice that was soothing to the heart. “You came to know your future,”  she said, and they nodded. They all went inside and sat by a round table in the middle of the room. The seer brought a handmade doll, which looked like Andy. After a moment of silence, she whispered; “You, Andy, will be killed by the one you love most dearly.” And just like that, the doll changed form to look like Lila, and the seer proceeded; “And you will choke on your own hair.” They asked how much for the reading, but she said not now. They both ran out, scared and in disbelief. Several days after the encounter, they swore in blood t...

Four large tour buses rolled into the dusty main road of a remote town, their rumbling engines breaking the quiet rhythm of the place. The settlement was small, almost forgotten by the outside world, a cluster of weathered buildings and faded signs lining a single strip of cracked asphalt. The sun hung low, bathing everything in a dry, yellow light that seemed to bleach even the air. The passengers aboard the buses were a mixed crowd of men, women, and a few children yet they shared a certain look, an unspoken connection. They moved as one body, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a guarded precision. This was not a group here to sightsee or soak in the town’s humble charm. Their purpose was transactional, fleeting. They intended to purchase only what was necessary—food, water, and basic supplies—and then vanish down the road as quickly as they had arrived. Before the doors opened, each bus had its own quiet leader who spoke to their group, giving short, firm instructions. No one...

It was the kind of night that made the edges of the town blur: low cloud hung so close to the streetlamps it swallowed their halos, and the air had the damp taste of rain that never quite fell. Clara had been watching the porch for a few minutes without meaning to. She fancied herself careful, the sort of person who checked locks twice and kept an emergency flashlight in the kitchen drawer. That habit had been a useful anchor in the weeks since she moved into the house. Old places liked to surprise you with quirks. An extra creak, a cold patch by the back step but she had learned their rhythms and adjusted. So when something metallic glinted at the edge of the welcome mat, something in her chest warned her to look. It was a small brass blackened at the edges with age, sculpted teeth that suggested a locksmith with an eye for flourishes. No tag. No note. No explanation. The weight of it in her palm felt heavier than its size should allow, as if the metal carried history the way a stone ...

It was just after midnight when I decided to walk home. The streets were nearly empty—only the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional hiss of a streetlamp breaking the stillness. I had stayed late at work, buried under paperwork, and now the city felt deserted, the air cold enough to sting the tips of my ears. My footsteps echoed against the concrete, a steady rhythm that made me feel both alone and exposed. That’s when I saw him. A tall, thin man in a trench coat stood directly beneath a flickering streetlight. His hat was pulled low, shadowing most of his face, but I could still see his smile. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light—a stranger waiting for a bus, maybe a late-night commuter. But the longer I looked, the more wrong it seemed. The smile was too wide. His lips stretched unnaturally far, almost ear to ear. His teeth—there were too many. Not in the way someone with an unusual smile might have slightly crooked teeth. No, these were too uniform, too sha...