The Omniscrolls

Since I was a child, I could easily read any living thing’s feelings and know their entire history just with a single touch. Humans, dogs, birds, and even trees—I felt everything they’ve ever experienced. It was both a blessing and a curse, for while there was so much joy, there was also an equal, if not more, amount of pain. When I first proved to my classmates that I had these abilities, most of them were amazed, however, a few classmates, and even a number of teachers, began to fear me and call me names. My mom forced me to stop talking about my abilities with others from that point on, but eventually, I came to be labelled a freak by most children at school, as well as by many people in our neighbourhood. Mom and I moved to a new town not long after, and there, I kept my secret to myself even after I graduated and joined the police force. My abilities allowed me to quickly rise through the ranks and become a detective. In the field, even though my abilities were a secret, people be...

I woke up to an odd text on my phone: “Don’t trust anyone, everything’s a lie.” It was from an unknown number, so I assumed it was a prank and got ready for school. When I went downstairs, however, my phone blinked again. “Don’t eat anything they give you.” I swiped the message and headed straight to the dining room. I found it odd that my younger brother, Alex, was already at the table; he was always ten minutes late. “Maybe everything is a lie,” I joked in my head. However, it was not long before I began to notice certain differences in the way my family went about with their routines. Dad was never one to allow phones at the table, but he was laughing with my brother over a prank video. And then there was Mom: although she didn’t act any different than other days, I saw her in the kitchen, writing something down on a piece of paper while on the phone with someone. Mom was left-handed, but she was writing with her right hand. I wondered if those prank texts actually bore some truth....

Trigger Warning: Suicide Henry was an introverted teen who struggled with self-esteem and standing up for himself while growing up. Towards his late teens, Henry took his own life because of bullying at school. Just before he passed on, however, he remembered standing in a grey world resembling earth; and before him stood a figure wearing a grey cloak, and with swirling grey patterns on their face and hands. She was holding a tall, wooden staff with a raven’s head carved into the top. “Who… Who are you.” “Death. I’m here to escort you, Henry.” Henry looked over to his side and noticed James, his only friend, clinging to his body in the bedroom. He wished things hadn’t turned out like this; seeing James’ muffled cries, he only hated himself all the more. “You may still have a chance,” Death said. “For what?” “To apologise.” Death took in a deep breath; her hands began to shake. Henry stepped forward. “What’s happening to you?” “It’s almost time, we must hurry.” Henry took one last look ...

For as long as I remember, I always felt as if I was being followed. When I brought this up with my parents, they reported it to the police. However, the cops couldn’t find anything and the investigation went nowhere. I was embarrassed enough because of the investigation since the issue caught the attention of the entire school, but then my parents made it worse by hiring a private investigator. After a while, I no longer knew whether I was actually being followed or whether it was just the PI. My parents called her off after a year had passed, but the feeling of being followed still remained. Mom and Dad checked on me once in a while, asking whether I sensed anything strange, but I said nothing. I never saw or heard anyone, it was always just a feeling I could never shake off. There was nothing I could prove, so I decided to remain silent. If I truly had a stalker, then they had ample time to learn my daily routine and approach me when it was convenient. For years, I hadn’t encountere...

Check out my picture book, Within the Wolf , available on Amazon: A retelling of the classing Red Riding Hood fairytale, with a twist.

Trigger Warning: Gore / Violence Against Children As a homicide detective, I thought I had seen it all until, one day, I came across a sight I never thought I’d see. The bodies of multiple children were thrown into a pile on the outskirts of the town. I felt knots form from my stomach to my throat as my partner and I investigated the bodies; the children were tortured before they were shot in the back of their heads. They were all minorities, so we started cracking down on supremacists and other gangs in the area, but every route we took led us to an impasse. As we ran around in circles, the bodies kept piling up every other week. By the time the second month rolled around, we were staring at a three-digit body count. I saw their faces every time my head hit the pillow, and I stared at the ceiling for hours, hoping and wishing to get my hands on those responsible. I could barely even eat anymore. My partner’s hopes of catching the murderers slowly eroded as this dragged on, but I doubl...

I spent most of my childhood dreaming and daydreaming about different worlds, imagining so many stories unfolding in my mind every single day. Mom always told me I had a vivid imagination and encouraged me to write whatever I dreamt about. She said she was just like me when she was young, and that writing all those stories down from a young age was a major factor that contributed to her becoming an author. I took her advice and started writing when I was just six, and over the years, I had so many stories of my own that I was proud of. However, my preferring fiction over everything else pushed me into a corner in social situations; a lot of my classmates thought me a freak and often bullied me. I struggled to make friends for many years, and once I reached my teens, I finally gave up on it. My stories were enough, I didn’t need any friends. My characters were my second family. After I finished school and started working, however, my writing slowly faded into the background of my life. ...

From a very young age, I could always see two shadows on either side of every person I met. Mom always said I had a vivid imagination, but I knew it was much more than that. Each of these shadow pairs had a strong presence around them, as if exerting pressure on their surroundings. But I was the only one who seemed to sense it. Mom always said it would all disappear as I grew older, but they never did. I still felt those strange presences even when I reached my early teens. I brought it up with her again, but she was quick to dismiss the topic, saying I should just ignore it. From then on, I decided to never speak of it to anyone, but I still wouldn’t give up trying to understand exactly what those beings were. I observed my classmates’ behaviours and saw if there was a connection between their actions and the shadows. At first, I didn’t see anything significant, but as time passed, I came to understand that the shadows were in fact swaying the decisions of their hosts, be it for bette...

It was three in the morning when the half-demon named Jackal was awoken by repeated knocking at his front door. Snapping alight the torches fixed upon his wall, he made his way through the main hall, opening it ready for another group of drunks or vandals, but it was the land’s sole princess at his doorstep. “Princess Ashlyn, what brings you here at this hour?” “My father intends to have me married within a month. I am to stay here until someone worthy arrives.” Jackal was furious; the nerve of the king to use him as bait. It was one of those times where he wished he hadn’t inherited his mother’s compassion. If he were all-demon, he may not have felt guilty about ridding the king within the following hour. Jackal took pity on the princess and welcomed her into his home. He led her to what was once his mother’s room, left untouched as it was a decade ago, save for the weekly cleaning. Ashlyn apologised to Jackal, saying that she would have never chosen this if it were up to her. He foun...

I was discharged from the military only a month ago, but somehow, my energy levels had begun to deplete drastically. With the time it usually took me to do a hundred pushups, now I could barely do even ten. I tried everything from changing my diet to altering my routine, but nothing worked. Not even my husband, who was a doctor, could help me with the issue. Two months passed and I could barely take a walk outdoors without feeling exhausted by the end of the trip. I spoke about my issues with my best friend, and she said that maybe I should hire a hitman to ensure I stick to my routine. She said she knew someone who’d accept such a job. I knew my friend was joking, but seeing my options disappear one by one, I decided to take my chances.  I hired the hitman my best friend knew; he was amused by my proposal. He asked me how he would get paid if he were to actually take me out. I assured him it would never come to that and paid him half of the promised sum upfront. The initial contra...

I carried the label of “freak” with me to every school I went to. I was at my sixth school, sitting in a corner of the cafeteria while trying to avoid the latest group of bullies when, suddenly, I felt a cold breeze brush past me. “Not again … ” I wished I didn’t hear anything this time. Thankfully, I didn’t. It started six years ago when I was ten. I began to feel presences that weren’t there, and felt as if something was always trying to reach out to me. This happened no matter how many times I switched schools, and each time, the presence I felt was a different one. My mom, being superstitious, made things worse for me by forcing me to wear protective rings and chains that brought too much attention to me. Many classmates made fun of me, saying I was a witch. I sometimes wondered whether they were right. If only I could fully see what was reaching out to me… One morning, I was with my eyes shut while listening to music when, suddenly, I felt that familiar presence brush past me with...