In a forgotten corner of the city, at the end of a nondescript back alley, was a small health food shop. It had been there more than forty years and was once popular.

Once upon a time, in a small village snuggled into the side of a wooded valley, lived a candlemaker.

A final chink of light disappears behind me. The five steps up a narrow staircase lead me to a tiny, sacred space where showbiz magic is made.

Dolan’s first weeks as a correspondent hit him hard. Not the work, but the weirdness of it all. He kept thinking it was scripted somehow as if Vietnam in ’72 was written for him as a parade of absurdities Rod Serling would love..

Meg went to the door and ran a finger over its surface and hinges coated in layers of thick paint, applied one over another for decades. The knob held firm. The lock stuck fast. This door hasn’t opened for years.

The abandoned subway was the subject of an urban myth: the Ghost Train. There were many versions of the tale. They often involved witches, ax-murderers, faeries, or sometimes a combination of the three.

Ever since he had dropped out of college, ended up in a seedy area of the city, and found a part-time job at a bar, he had no desire to play it or write songs.

Walking into the room for the first time, my eyes were drawn to the grand, wooden table covered in a red checkered tablecloth piled with steaming plates of basted turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, and wobbly cranberry sauce.

Fifteen minutes to the deadline. Fifteen minutes to write the words that would end the career of a man who had once saved his life...

The Victorian Mansion, as its previous owners often referred to it, sat a half-mile from the quiet road. Rows of massive oaks lead along the dusty driveway, all the way to the front door, and dense woods framed the home like a knotted head of hair.

Doctor Hendall sat down at his mahogany desk and drummed his fingers on the finish. On the back wall, he had a silver plaque that said, “Semper Fidelis.” His three piece-suit made me feel like I was going to be prosecuted by an attorney.

Private Alexander Huxley sat in the hull of the C-47, jaw clenched and lips twisted into a savage grimace. The weight of his parachute kept him hunched in his seat, and the straps of his harness and weapon case chafed raw swathes into his skin.

Sally first met Roger Wilde in February 1968, a few weeks after she and her husband, Dr. Edmund Pereira, had arrived in Borneo to begin their life as a married couple.

When Yoana Hernandez decided to become a psychiatrist she never imagined one day her patients would be artificial intelligence.

When the taxi dropped Connor in the centre of Haight-Ashbury outside a tall, thin Victorian terrace sporting bright yellow walls, he was as excited as a red setter chasing a stick.