Mystery
THEM. Top Story - August 2025.
They knew the light kept THEM away. They did not know what THEY were, only what THEY did. Homes ransacked, belongings destroyed, and people disappearing, never to be seen again. THEY had never been seen, only heard, and mostly that was the screams of those that they dragged away.
By Mike Singleton đź’ś Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
The Memory Vending Machine
I first saw the vending machine on a Tuesday night, half-hidden between a cracked pillar and a graffiti-covered bench on the lower platform of East 12th Street Station. It didn’t sell chips or soda. Instead, rows of tiny glass bottles lined the inside, each one glowing faintly, a handwritten label tied around its neck. Above the coin slot, in faded gold letters, were the words: “Memories — $3 each.” I almost laughed. New York was full of gimmicks, but this one was charming enough to make me stop.
By Musawir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes Beyond
Lucy froze, her hand still on the keyboard. Daniel: “This is a joke, right? Someone from the team messing with remote access?” Lucy: “No one except us and Harris has access to this terminal…” Almost without thinking, Lucy typed: WHO ARE YOU? Seconds of silence. Then a new line appeared: NOT IMPORTANT. I AM HERE. Daniel tried to shut down the system, but the controls didn’t respond. Daniel: “This is impossible… power to this section is completely cut!” Lucy typed again: WHAT DO YOU WANT? This time, the reply came instantly: TO LEAVE. They exchanged a glance. Lucy: “Leave? From where?” The answer appeared: FROM YOU. Suddenly, the headphones on the desk lifted on their own and settled over Lucy’s ears. The whispers were clearer now—not one voice, but dozens, maybe hundreds. All speaking together: “Open the door.”
By Vafa Abbasiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Price of Evil
The rain had been falling since midnight, a steady curtain of water that blurred the neon lights of the small city. Jonathan Hale stood at the window of his apartment, watching the world distort through the glass. He wasn’t waiting for anyone, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was approaching. Something inevitable. It had been five years since the night that ruined him. Five years since the betrayal, the blood, and the decision he could never take back. Jonathan had built a quiet life since then—routine job at the docks, evenings spent in solitude, and no friends close enough to ask questions. But evil has a way of finding the people who think they’ve outrun it. At 2:17 a.m., a knock came at the door. Three short raps. He froze, heart hammering. No one visited him at this hour. No one visited him at all. “Who is it?” he called, his voice steadier than he felt. A pause. Then, a woman’s voice—soft, almost trembling. “I think you knew my brother.” Jonathan’s mind started racing. He opened the door just enough to see her. She was drenched from the rain, dark hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes fixed on him with an expression he couldn’t read. “My name’s Claire,” she said. “My brother… his name was Daniel Reed.” The name hit him like a blow. Daniel. He could still see the man’s face in the flicker of that terrible night. Jonathan stepped aside and let her in, though every instinct told him not to. She sat on the edge of his couch, her hands clenched around a leather satchel. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “For years.” He forced himself to speak calmly. “Why?” Her gaze didn’t waver. “Because I know you were there the night he died. And I know it wasn’t an accident.” The room seemed to shrink around him. He had told himself no one would ever connect him to what happened. He had buried the truth deep enough that it should have rotted away by now. But there she was, proof that some evils don’t fade—they wait. “I didn’t kill him,” Jonathan said, the lie tasting like rust. Claire tilted her head. “Maybe not. But you didn’t stop it, either. And I want to know why.” Jonathan could have thrown her out, denied everything, even called the police. But he found himself sinking into the chair opposite her, as though this confrontation was something he had been rehearsing for years. “Your brother,” he began slowly, “wasn’t who you think he was.” Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t interrupt. “I worked with him,” Jonathan continued. “We were hired to move certain shipments. Not legal ones. I was desperate for money, and he… he was already deep in it. But then he crossed the wrong people. Stole something from them. Something worth killing for.” Jonathan’s voice broke slightly, though he tried to hide it. “That night, they came for him. I was there. I could have warned him. I could have helped him escape. But I didn’t. I told myself it wasn’t my fight. That I’d just get myself killed too. So I watched. And when it was over, I ran.” Silence hung heavy in the room. Claire didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She simply opened her satchel and pulled out a small black revolver. Jonathan tensed. “What are you doing?” “My brother wrote me a letter,” she said, her voice flat. “Said if anything happened to him, I should find you. He said you’d either help me get justice… or you’d pay for what you did.” Jonathan looked at the gun, then at her face. She was shaking, but her eyes were steady. He knew she hadn’t come here just to talk. “You think killing me will make it right?” he asked. “No,” she said quietly. “But it’s the only way I can sleep at night.” The rain outside grew louder, as though urging her to decide. Jonathan could feel the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him. In some twisted way, he thought maybe he deserved this. But then Claire’s hand faltered, just enough for him to see the hesitation. “You’re not a killer,” he said softly. “If you do this, it’ll own you. Just like it owned me.” Something flickered in her expression. She lowered the gun slightly, though her knuckles were still white around it. “Then help me,” she said. “Help me finish what he started. Take them down.” Jonathan stared at her for a long moment. It was madness. The people she was talking about were dangerous beyond imagination. But he saw in her eyes the same fire that once burned in him—before fear and selfishness had smothered it. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll help you. But once we start, there’s no turning back.” She nodded. “I don’t want to turn back.” They shook hands. The deal was made—not in ink, but in the unspoken understanding that both of them might not live to see it through. As the rain eased outside, Jonathan felt something strange. Not relief, not hope—something darker. A sense that evil, once awakened, can only be answered with action. And perhaps, in facing it, he might finally pay the price he had been avoiding for years. Somewhere in the city, the men responsible for Daniel Reed’s death were sleeping soundly, unaware that the storm outside had just found its way to their doorstep.
By Hazrat Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
When the Sea Stopped Moving — and the World Began to Break
It started as silence. No gulls, no waves, no wind — just a vast, glassy ocean stretching to the horizon. At first, people thought it was a rare calm. But within days, the stillness spread across the globe. Shipping lanes froze. Fish vanished. And beneath the Pacific, something impossibly large began to wake.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes Beyond
Two days had passed since the discovery of the signal. Dr. Harris had given no explanation—only said, “The matter is closed.” But for Lucy, it wasn’t over. It was close to midnight. Lucy sat alone in the lab. The systems were shut down, but her eyes remained fixed on the same monitor. Suddenly, a faint sound came through her headphones—a slow, incomprehensible whisper. Voice: “… Lucy…” Lucy held her breath, trembling as she removed the headphones. No one was there. The machines were off. Just then, Daniel’s footsteps echoed from the hallway. Daniel: “What are you doing here? I thought you went back to the dorm.” Lucy: “Daniel, I swear… someone said my name. Through this system.” Daniel chuckled, but it was a short, uneasy laugh. Daniel: “Maybe it’s still in your head. Since that night, I’ve been feeling strange too… like my brain is full of static.” The lab lights flickered. Both looked up. Silence. Then, the monitor—previously off—lit up again, showing the same pulsating pattern. Message on screen: HELLO LUCY
By Vafa Abbasiabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes Beyond
The lab always smelled of metal and ozone. Lucy, dressed in a white lab coat with her hair tied back, sat behind the main console, eyes fixed on the screen. Graphs pulsed up and down like an uneven heartbeat. Lucy: “Daniel, do you see this? This pattern doesn’t match any human brain signal.” Daniel stood up from his desk and walked quickly toward her. His eyes locked on the display. Daniel: “It’s… it’s like a repeating code. But the amplitude isn’t stable. It’s as if someone… or something… is trying to talk to us.” A deep, calm voice echoed from the far end of the hall. Harris: “Turn it off.” Lucy turned, confused. “But Doctor, this data—” Harris (firmly): “I said turn it off. Now.” For a few seconds, only the soft hum of the machines filled the air. Harris approached slowly, his gaze cold. Harris: “Some things are better left undiscovered… especially when they’re not from this world.” Lucy and Daniel exchanged a glance. They had no idea that this signal would change their lives forever.
By Vafa Abbasiabout a year ago in Fiction
