Mystery

Last Night . AI-Generated.
It was just a regular Tuesday. Or at least, that’s how it looked. I had made dinner around 8:30 p.m. — just some roasted vegetables, a bit of garlic, oregano, and olive oil. Nothing fancy, just the kind of meal that feels like a quiet hug after a long day. I always find vegetables oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because growing up, my mom used to make this same dish when things felt heavy in the house. Simple food can feel like a memory you didn’t know you needed. I had no plans beyond a late cup of chai and an old film. The kind of night that usually slips away without much thought. But there was something in the air last night. A strange stillness. No traffic noises outside, no messages buzzing on my phone, not even a barking dog in the street. The silence was so thick that I could hear the ticking of the wall clock like it was a drumbeat. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a moment where you feel like something’s coming, but you don’t know what. That’s how I felt.
By Sherooz khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The House That Waited for Rain
It stood on the edge of the village, where the road thinned and the earth cracked—an old mud-brick house with faded blue windows, a rusted gate, and a courtyard overgrown with silence.
By mr azibabout a year ago in Fiction
The Rookie. Content Warning.
The lonesome wail of a distant siren cut through the cold night air, adding to the city's dismal atmosphere. Det. Marchetti blew the steam off his coffee with a sigh, taking a slurp before ducking under the plastic yellow tape stretched across the alley. It was thicker than mud and only half as tasty, but it was the best cup the 42nd precinct could brew. Besides, he wasn't in a position to complain. There were worse things in this life than bad coffee; a sentiment that the body at his feet would probably share, if it could talk.
By Natalie Grayabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes in the Mind
The world outside was buzzing, full of color, motion, and chatter—but inside her mind, it was still. Too still. Layla sat quietly in the corner of her room, her gaze fixed on the window though her eyes saw nothing. Not really. Not anymore. To anyone passing by, she looked serene, even calm. But the storm inside her was silent and relentless. It wasn’t the kind of storm that broke windows or flooded cities—it broke identity. It flooded thought.
By Abid Malikabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Letter
*The Last Letter* The attic smelled of dust and forgotten memories. Emma wiped her hands on her jeans as she pulled open the old cedar chest, its hinges groaning in protest. Inside lay a patchwork of her grandmother’s life—yellowed photographs, a lace wedding veil, a stack of letters tied with a frayed blue ribbon.
By Ziafat Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lemonade Stand That Didn’t Exist
Every summer, Ellie and Mason swore they’d build a lemonade stand. They’d sit cross-legged on the driveway, scribbling plans on the backs of cereal boxes and napkins. Mason wanted a neon sign. Ellie wanted to name it Squeeze the Day. They argued over flavors, pricing, and whether they needed matching shirts. They never agreed on anything—except that it would happen next summer. Always next summer.
By The Arleeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Second Bedroom
The dilapidated wooden house, with its secrets that lurk inside, waited silently as it continued to deteriorate. The thick kudzu vines and broken limbs from decaying trees shielded the house from being noticed where it sets on the deserted property. The path that led to the front door was overgrown with weeds and thorny rose bushes.
By Frankie Berry Wiseabout a year ago in Fiction
The Final Expedition - Episode 19
The Final Expedition - Compendium ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
The Sand Room
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on something soft, yet strangely gritty. The ground shifted slightly beneath me, like fine grains responding to my breath. Sand. I sat up slowly, coughing as the dust stirred in the still air.
By Abid Malikabout a year ago in Fiction
"The House with the Golden Light"
"The House with the Golden Light" By Niamat Ullah They always said the house at the end of Sycamore Lane was haunted—not by ghosts, but by memories.
By Niamat ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Never-Ending Midnight
The morning sun cast long shadows across Anchor's End's cobblestone streets as Finn Mercer leaned against the weathered brick wall of Gulliver's General Store, his dark eyes scanning the small crowd gathered around Mrs. Henderson's produce stand. At seventeen, he possessed the kind of easy charm that made people forget to count their change and the quick wit that turned every conversation into an opportunity. His unruly brown hair caught the coastal breeze, and his crooked smile suggested he knew something you didn't—which, more often than not, he did.
By Shane D. Spearabout a year ago in Fiction
Ad Umbras: Colloquy Over Coffee. Top Story - July 2025.
John sat in the diner booth sipping his coffee. The black brew tasted especially bitter on his tongue, likely after having been left on the range for too long. The flavor made no difference to him. What mattered in that moment was the world through the diner window under the hazy neon. Though the evening had only just fallen, the hustle and bustle of the city outside was starting to die as quickly as the sun on the horizon. Even in a city, there were places you dared not linger after a certain hour if you had a choice in the matter.
By Ian Readabout a year ago in Fiction