Mystery

Before the Sun Arrived
The first morning it happened, Mara thought it was a trick of the streetlamp. She woke before her alarm, before the garbage trucks, before the first commuter train dragged its metallic sigh across the edge of town. The sky outside her bedroom window was still a dark, uncommitted blue. The kind of blue that hasn’t decided whether to become morning.
By Flower InBloom2 months ago in Fiction
The Day the Internet Went Silent
The Day the Internet Went Silent At exactly 9:17 a.m., the world stopped refreshing. No notifications chimed. No emails arrived. No feeds updated. Phones, once warm with constant use, cooled in the hands of confused people everywhere. At first, everyone assumed it was temporary—a glitch, a slow network, a routine outage.
By Marie Kromah2 months ago in Fiction
The Baby in the Break Room
At 9:00 a.m., the siren sang its polite two notes—ding, ding—and the building returned its practiced silence. Mara set her mug on the corner of her desk where the ring stain had been carefully outlined with a thin strip of tape. She’d done it on her first day, back when she thought it mattered.
By Flower InBloom2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Memory: Chapters 3
Chapter Three The day had grown long and though the conversation with Pam was a nice change of pace after being alone in the cabin, Trenton was ready to go to bed. She had plans to go out and get a job the following day so she could start saving up money for her own place, and the excitement of that alone made her ready to rest up before the big day.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue2 months ago in Fiction
Find the Rabbit
As red surrounded him. He tasted copper in the air. The door to Daniel’s other life closed before him. It was a one-way trip. That’s what the strange woman — hope fucked from her face — said. One way trip.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Fiction
The Cedar Chest
PART 3 - FINAL Thirty years later, the rain against the window of the house in York sounded exactly like the rain against the windows of the 4:12 to Darlington.
By Marce2 months ago in Fiction
The Platform at Darlington
PART 2 The old man stepped onto the platform and didn't look back. He didn't need to. He knew exactly what the boy was doing: pressing his face against the glass, eyes wide, fingers trembling as they brushed the two pieces of silk. He knew, because for forty-four years, he had been the boy on the other side of that window, haunted by the ghost of a man who smelled like peppermint and cedar.
By Marce2 months ago in Fiction
Red Lights. Content Warning.
The winter storm came on fast and hard. Luckily it was almost closing time, and it was a slow enough day that I could get the end-of-day cleanup done before locking the gate and heading out. Within the hour, you could barely see across the parking lot of the mall to the road beyond.
By Alicia Anspaugh2 months ago in Fiction
The 4:12 to Darlington
PART 1 The 4:12 to Darlington was a vessel of tired echoes. It smelled of damp wool, industrial floor cleaner, and the peculiar, metallic scent of impending rain. Leo sat by the window, his forehead pressed against the vibrating glass, watching the industrial outskirts of the city blur into a smudge of grey and rust. He was sixteen, a huddle of sharp elbows and bruised pride, clutching a backpack that felt heavier than it actually was.
By Marce2 months ago in Fiction
So the World Ended... Now What? A Beginner’s Guide to Apocalyptic Survival. AI-Generated.
Let’s be honest. If you’re reading this, you’ve probably noticed things have gone sideways. Maybe it was a virus, a grid-down scenario, or something a little less... scientific. The world we knew is on pause, and the new world is chaotic, dangerous, and confusing.
By bob singh2 months ago in Fiction
The Letters In His Desk - pt. 3. Content Warning.
First period moves the way most mornings at school do—steady, predictable, almost boring in a way that usually feels comforting. Personal Finance with Mr. Frank is all about numbers that make sense and plans that stretch cleanly into the future. He writes amortization formulas across the board in tidy columns, sleeves rolled to his forearms, explaining interest accrual like it’s a story with a guaranteed ending. Marcus sits one row behind Ethan, angled just enough to keep him in view without making it obvious. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t joke. He just stays there, solid and quiet. Ethan answers when called on, voice even, expression controlled. If there’s pressure building behind his eyes, it doesn’t show. His notes are neat. His posture is straight. Once, Marcus taps his sneaker lightly against the back of Ethan’s chair. A small check-in. Ethan taps back without turning around. I’m good. It’s the kind of silent conversation they’ve perfected.
By Ria2 months ago in Fiction
The Letters In His Desk - pt. 2. Content Warning.
Ethan stands at the bathroom mirror already dressed in dark jeans and a fitted gray pullover, the collar slightly uneven where he pulled it on too quickly and never fixed it. The fluorescent light above the sink hums softly, washing the small bathroom in a pale glare that makes everything look sharper and a little more tired than it really is. He tilts his chin up and drags the razor carefully along the uneven line of hair at the base of his neck, moving slowly and deliberately as if precision alone will keep him from messing it up. A thin streak of shaving cream clings just beneath his jaw, and he leans closer to the glass, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. He presses a little too hard and feels the faint sting of it, quickly adjusting his grip with a quiet breath through his nose. The scrape of the blade against his skin sounds louder in the morning stillness, and he focuses on that instead of the thoughts trying to crowd in.
By Ria2 months ago in Fiction