Mystery
The Letter
A backpack is slammed into a nearby chair. *The sound of a coffee machine is brewing on a countertop.* Time felt as if it were at a standstill. No more than a brief second in a stopless motion. Frustration was brewing at the same rate as the coffee machine.
By Nozomi Rose11 months ago in Fiction
Floor Between
I just used the elevator because my groceries were making noise and my knees were hurting. One watermelon, two bags, and the sixth floor gave me the appearance of having stolen a planet. Mailboxes with teeth, a corridor that smells like everyone's meal, and an elevator that acts like it was once a large hotel's favorite toy are just a few examples of how ancient the building is.
By Milan Milic11 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Secret Exhibit Room
Biology major Rene Penoy, fixed her strap, then placed the photographs on the desk, hearing the phone ring. Picking up the receiver, the feature school newspaper image hunter, welcomed the other voice, telling the curiosity seeker, where she currently provided talented services, obtaining course financial aid credit as compensation.
By Marc OBrien11 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of the Orchard
Elara didn’t believe in magic. She believed in deeds, in ledgers, and in the stubborn, overgrown apple orchard she had just inherited from a reclusive great-uncle. The house was a time capsule, the barn a leaning monument to neglect. But it was the land that called to her, a fresh start after her life in the city had turned to dust.
By Habibullah11 months ago in Fiction
The Echo from the Depths
The Echo from the Depths The city of Vespera slept under a silver cloak of stars, its flickering lights reflecting in the dark waters of Siren's Bay. The salty air, carried by a gentle breeze, brought with it ancient whispers, tales of lost ships and fantastic sea creatures. In the heart of this city, in an old stone house with windows overlooking the sea, lived Elara.
By alin butuc11 months ago in Fiction
Tesla's Treasure Chest
Tesla's Treasure Chest By: Liam Einhorn There are few immortal treasures to a journalist like myself: an unfiltered look at the JFK files; an unaccompanied tour of Area 52; a glimpse into the true origins of the pyramids. Any of those would stir the investigative mind, but perhaps not as much as the offer of a lifetime I present to you now.
By Tales from a Madman11 months ago in Fiction
A Visitor in My Mirror
I have always believed that mirrors tell the truth, even when we aren’t ready for it. They catch us off guard in bathroom corners, shop windows, and dim midnight reflections on glass. But nothing prepared me for the night someone else appeared in mine. It started quietly, the way strange things usually do. I had just moved into a small apartment on the edge of the city, the kind of place that smelled like dust and forgotten memories. The bathroom mirror was old, its frame chipped and its silver backing uneven, but I didn’t think much of it. I’d lived with worse. The first time it happened, I had just come home after a long shift. It was nearly midnight, and the world felt heavy on my shoulders. I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. My reflection stared back, tired but familiar. I reached for the towel hanging beside the sink. And in the half-second before the cloth covered my eyes, I saw it. Someone standing behind me. A woman. She was faint, like a smudge on glass. Long dark hair, head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to listen. Her eyes were the only clear thing about her, and they were fixed on me. I froze. My breath lodged in my throat. I spun around, expecting—hoping—to see nothing more than shadows. The room was empty. When I turned back to the mirror, she was gone. I convinced myself it was exhaustion. Shadows can trick tired eyes, I told myself. Mirrors play games when the light is low. And yet, as I lay in bed that night, sleep wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing there, silently watching. Over the next few days, life returned to normal. Or it pretended to. I went to work, made coffee, ignored the way the mirror seemed to darken around its edges. I avoided looking directly into it unless I had to. But on the fourth night, she came back. I had just brushed my teeth and looked up, expecting my own face. Instead, the mirror showed a dimly lit room behind me—a room that wasn’t mine. The walls were peeling. The air looked thick. And there she was again, standing a little clearer this time. Her expression was oddly calm, as if she knew me. As if she had been waiting. My legs trembled. I tried to step back, but my feet felt rooted. My chest tightened, cold creeping through my ribs. “What do you want?” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if she could hear me. She didn’t speak. She simply raised her hand and pointed at something behind me—something I couldn’t see because I wasn’t in her world. Her lips moved, shaping words that didn’t cross the glass. I leaned in without meaning to. And that was when I understood. She wasn’t trying to scare me. She was warning me. The mirror flickered, the image rippling like disturbed water. I stumbled backward, heart pounding. The bathroom lights buzzed, then dimmed, then steadied. My own reflection returned, pale and shaken. For a long time I just stood there, gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white. I wanted to leave the apartment right then, but something in her expression stayed with me. It wasn’t malice. It wasn’t haunting. It was fear. The next morning, I noticed a fine crack across the top of the mirror. I hadn’t seen it before. It stretched like a thin lightning bolt, almost delicate. When I touched it, a chill ran through me. That night, as I tried once again to sleep, I woke to a faint tapping sound. Soft, rhythmic, persistent. It was coming from the bathroom. Every hair on my arms rose. I forced myself to get up, heart hammering so loudly I thought it might echo. I opened the bathroom door. The mirror was trembling. Not violently—just enough to make the light shimmer across its surface. And as I stepped closer, the glass shifted, the way heat shimmers over asphalt. Slowly, her face appeared again. Clearer than ever. The room behind her was darker now, smoke curling along the floor. She looked at me with desperate eyes. Then she did something she had never done before. She mouthed my name. The tapping grew louder from her side, frantic now, like someone knocking on a door that wouldn’t open. Her hand pressed flat against the glass. For a moment, I thought she would step through, that she would break into my world or pull me into hers. But she didn’t. The mirror cracked with a sharp, splintering snap. Her image dissolved instantly. I stumbled back, breath shaking. The mirror now had a spiderweb of fractures across it, each line splitting my reflection into pieces. I knew, somehow, that I had seen her for the last time. I replaced the mirror the next morning, but sometimes, when I wake from uneasy dreams, I think about her. About the warning she tried to give. About the fire in that dark room. About the way she called my name like she knew what was coming for me. I don’t know who she was. Or why she chose me. But every time I pass a mirror now, I look twice. Just in case she comes back.
By LUNA EDITH11 months ago in Fiction
Complicit. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
Forsaken, I am but a memory — dilapidated, some say; laid to rest in history’s mausoleum. The dank air, my only companion. My entrance has forgotten the prelude of hands, the act of tactility — a spinster’s malediction.
By Paul Stewart11 months ago in Fiction
Silent Sun:. AI-Generated.
The morning began like another inside the coastal town of Miran. Fishermen organized their nets, youngsters rushed to high school, and the elderly sat out of doors their houses sipping tea. yet, because the solar rose, something felt incorrect. Its glow turned into muted, light, as though wrapped in a veil. The townspeople squinted on the horizon, whispering to each other. The sun turned into there, however it become silent—its warm temperature absent, its brilliance stolen.
By The Writer...A_Awan12 months ago in Fiction
