Speculative Fiction

The humid air clung to Mira’s skin as she stepped off the rickety bus onto the dusty road. Adjusting her backpack, she squinted at the sun-baked village before her. Wooden houses with tin roofs lined the single dirt street, their faded paint peeling in the relentless heat. Chickens pecked lazily in front yards, while a few curious faces peered out from behind tattered curtains. This was it. After months of planning and paperwork, she had finally arrived in Santa Rosa, deep in the heart of the Peruvian Amazon. The potential for groundbreaking botanical discoveries here was immense. If only she could find the elusive Dr. Alejandro Vega. ...

Jake Sullivan stepped out of his beat-up Chevy, stretching his aching back after the long drive. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his nostrils as he surveyed the small cabin nestled among towering evergreens. This would be home for the next few months—a writer’s retreat to finish his novel and escape the chaos of city life. He grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk and trudged up the worn path to the cabin’s weathered porch. The key was right where the rental agency said it would be, tucked under a faded welcome mat. Jake unlocked the door and stepped inside, floorboards creaking beneath his feet. ...

The wind howled across Frostpeak’s jagged face, carrying ice crystals that stung Lira’s exposed cheeks. She paused in her ascent, pressing a gloved hand against the mountain’s frigid surface. Though she couldn’t hear the mountain’s groans and creaks, she felt them resonating through her bones. Kovo’s gruff voice cut through the gale. “We should turn back!” he shouted, his words lost to Lira’s ears but clear in the exaggerated movements of his wind-chapped lips. “Storm’s getting worse!” ...

Lyra’s hand trembled as she raised the ornate quill. Its iridescent feather shimmered in the candlelight, betraying the power contained within. She took a deep breath, willing her fingers to steady as she lowered the nib to the parchment. “Miss Thornwood.” Professor Aldric’s stern voice cut through the silence. “You have but one chance. The oath you inscribe will bind you for life. Choose your words with the utmost care.” ...

Mia Chen’s fingers trembled as she spun the combination lock, praying she’d gotten the numbers right this time. 14… 27… 9. The metal door swung open with a rusty creak that echoed through the empty hallway. She let out a sigh of relief. Three days at Oakwood High, and she’d finally managed to open her locker without help. As Mia reached for her sketchbook, a chill ran down her spine. The locker suddenly felt colder, as if a gust of winter air had blown through. She shivered, glancing around the deserted corridor. The faded maroon lockers stretched endlessly in both directions, their peeling paint hinting at decades of teenage drama. ...

The old pickup truck rattled down the winding mountain road, its suspension groaning with each pothole. Dr. Evelyn Marsh gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she navigated the unfamiliar terrain. The dense forest pressed in on both sides, creating a claustrophobic tunnel of green. Evelyn glanced at the handwritten directions scrawled on a Post-it note stuck to the dashboard. “Left at the giant oak,” she muttered. “What constitutes a ‘giant’ oak out here?” ...

Mei Lin’s footsteps echoed through the empty streets of Lijiang as she made her way toward the ancient pagoda that loomed over the old town. The first rays of dawn were just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths. A chill wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint sound of whispers. She paused at the base of the pagoda, craning her neck to look up at its tiered eaves stretching into the sky. Even after weeks of investigating the strange occurrences in town, the sight still filled her with a sense of awe and unease. Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, Mei Lin pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. ...

The steady tick-tock of dozens of clocks filled the Thornton household, a rhythmic symphony that usually brought Amelia comfort. But tonight, as she bent over her workbench, the incessant ticking only served to remind her of the precious seconds slipping away. Her fingers, calloused from years of tinkering, trembled slightly as she manipulated the delicate gears of her latest invention. Sweat beaded on her brow, and she paused to wipe it away with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of oil across her forehead. ...

Professor Aldric’s chalk screeched across the board as he scrawled a series of dates in his spidery handwriting. The sound made half the class wince, but the eccentric history teacher seemed oblivious to their discomfort. He turned to face the room, his wild gray hair sticking out at odd angles and his tweed jacket covered in a fine dusting of chalk. “Now then,” he said, peering at the students over the rims of his wire-framed glasses. “Who can tell me the significance of these years?” ...

Mara Winters squinted at the faded wooden sign, barely visible in the fading twilight. “Blackwater Research Station - 2 miles.” She sighed and pressed down on the accelerator, urging her battered Jeep further along the bumpy dirt road. The dense pine forest pressed in on both sides, branches scraping against the vehicle’s sides like grasping fingers. After what felt like an eternity of jostling over ruts and potholes, a small clearing appeared ahead. Mara’s headlights illuminated a cluster of weathered log cabins surrounding a larger central building. She pulled up in front of the main structure and cut the engine, listening to it tick as it cooled in the crisp mountain air. ...