A Multiverse of Stories Inside the Nexus

StoryNexus.co is a storytime blog for avid readers who cannot choose one or even two genres as their favorite. It explores the eclectic tastes of content consumers seeking a diverse range of self-published, original, and authentic content. Our team of open-minded, empathetic, compassionate, and sympathetic writers from all over the globe aims to quench the thirst for engaging tales on this earth and the next, in this universe and the multiverse.

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The Wall - Part 11 - The House Remembers

Part XI: The Wall “The house remembers. The wall waits. Blood is only the key.” -- Chapter Sixty-Three: The House of Nails -- The house breathed. At least that was how Brett felt as Doreen shoved him inside, her voice rising over the gale-force winds rattling the walls. Every window shivered in its frame, every floorboard groaned as though remembering the weight of a hundred feet marching in unison. The teeth-on-glass screech of claws raked across the siding. Something outside wanted in. Something ancient, patient, and starving. “Do you really think you can control them?” Brett shouted, though his words seemed to vanish into the roar. Doreen’s reply was a smile stretched too wide, too confident. “Not control,” she said. “Command.” She herded him up the stairs. The banister shuddered under their grip, splinters flying loose as the house quaked harder. Upstairs, the library door waited — the air colder, heavier, as though it held its breath. Inside, the pentagram was already waiting. Can...

The Wall - Part 8

Part VIII: The Wall “Every secret buried in shadow waits for the light to fail.” -- Chapter Forty-Seven: Blood on the Floor -- The cul-de-sac was jammed with police cars and forensic vans. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, holding back neighbors who whispered, their faces pale and horrified. Officers moved in and out of Brett Parker’s house, their boots crunching across the lawn. Manning’s car screeched to a stop, the detective leaping out with barely restrained fury. A young cop stumbled from the front doorway, doubled over in the grass as his stomach emptied. Manning brushed past him and into the house. The living room was chaos: the coffee table overturned, glass shattered, tarot cards scattered across the rug. A handgun lay on the floor, a severed hand still attached. Manning pulled the cross necklace from beneath his shirt and pressed it against his lips. He pushed through the rooms: closets rifled, beer mugs smeared with lipstick, incense still lingering in the air...

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