Eraserhead Stories Novels & Stories

“Not then. But that night, after dinner, in the hallway, his voice low, calling me brilliant, then softer, *Your voice feels like home*. I wanted to kiss him, to spill our past, but I couldn’t. The intimacy of it, his eyes raw, left me breathless. The next day, the headaches worsened, and his flashes were more frequent. We wandered through a village, the cobblestones uneven, the air thick with jasmine. He led me to a beach, sand cool under our feet, and we swam, the water clear, fish darting like silver arrows. His body close, splashing me, laughing like a kid, intimate, playful. If he were here, I’d kiss him, but the threats stopped me.” Tara’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Sounds magical.

After Dominic Hatch loses his memories, he refuses to believe that I'm his wife. "If you really are my wife, why is it that there aren't any photos of us together?" I explain to him that he doesn't like taking photos. That's why we didn't even have a wedding portrait of us. But soon, Dominic digs out nine thick and heavy photo albums from a hidden compartment in his safe. The main characters in those albums are him and another unfamiliar woman. There are countless photos documenting their journey—from they were still children to when they had completely grown up. The pure and innocence on their faces slowly give way to the sappy love and affection they have for each other. In fact, Domi

A crazed killer in one world, and a sickly frail, sweet boy in another. This universe is terribly wide, ever expanding, or not expanding at all. So minor, we are. So minor, we may as not exist. But, we do. Humans are incredibly beautiful like that. We make nothing out of something. Give an intelligent species dirt and water, and they'll make wireless fidelity bluetooth devices out of it. Truly incredible. Where is it expanding into? The void? If so, Erin feels one with the universe. His consciousness devours all that is the abyss, the sheer state of nothingness, and makes it his own. Flawlessly. With blood, sweat, and tears, of course. Man created a headset from dirt and water. Erin's void i

" My vision blurred, a ringing in my ears. It all came flooding back. Sheila's tearful call, her mom's heart attack, the desperate need for surgery money. I scrambled to help, sending the cash without a second thought. It turned out that 'urgent family use' was code for getting rid of the baby she had with Yoel. Me? I was just the unwitting hero with an open wallet. Joshua's voice kept going. "I've dug up some more stuff. I just sent it to your email. "Erick, are you holding up okay?"

It helps me relieve some stress, so sometimes I come home late on purpose just so my dinner will be cold. Now how the fuck am I going to get these chains off? The man who did this to me will be dead, and the other one who broke my nose will follow right behind him. I would scream if I could, but the asshole put a gag in my mouth. They're going to pay. All of them are going to regret it when I'm done with them. _______________ Krystal's P.O.V.

​The Siege of the Interface: The Final Erasure ​The timeout bar hit zero. ​A sound like a thunderclap ripped through the cathedral. The Eraser-Heads lunged. The first one struck a "Folder" labeled [FIRST_KISS], and Nora watched as the light of that memory turned into a jagged, grey hole. ​"Decide!" the Co-Writer screamed, her legs beginning to dissolve into strings of binary code. "The Audit is closing the port!" ​Nora grabbed the Key of Truth.

We emerged clean but marked—hickeys on my neck, light bruises on my hips from Jake’s grip, a pleasant soreness between my legs that reminded me of everything we had done. Breakfast was surprisingly normal on the surface; coffee, pancakes, laughter—but the looks we exchanged were anything but. Every glance carried the memory of tongues, cocks, and shared orgasms. This was only the beginning. I had never felt more alive. 😊

The pink rubber mass of the **Eraser** didn’t fall like a stone; it descended like a deadline. It was a slab of absolute negation, a silent, scouring force that turned the "Raw Source"—the white, unallocated space where we huddled—into a grainy, grey static. Where it touched the edge of the crowd, people didn't scream. They simply ceased to have ever been. I watched a man from the 1998 "Originals," a man who had just been weeping for his lost dog, vanish. His dog, his tears, the memory of his name—all of it was "Skritch-skritched" away in a microsecond.

I just nodded and kept quiet, bag slung over my shoulder, but the second that door opened and Eric stood there looking tall and cold as ever with that bored stare, something twisted low in my gut. His eyes ran over me quickly, no smile, no warmth, just a flat “I’ll handle her” to Mum before she hugged me one last time and they drove off. The moment the lock clicked shut the whole house changed. Heavy bass music slammed into me from deeper inside, vibrating up through the floor, but outside you couldn’t hear shit because the place was built like a damn fortress. Eric didn’t say a word, he just wrapped his fingers around my wrist hard enough to feel the strength in his grip and dragged me stra

I was confused "How many times have I told you to use two towels, one for your body and the other for your hair alone like how ladies do and stop acting like some prepubescent boy" she had her eyebrows scrunched in annoyance and arms folded "!!" I didn't give any answers in return as that felt like the best thing to do rather than say what she might get ticked off by