Mystery

Seeking For Hidden Gold, Diamond Treasure
-- Seeki Once, there lived a kind and honest man who had accumulated a treasure of gold and diamonds over his lifetime. This treasure was not meant for luxury or pride—it was a gift for his children, a safeguard for their future. He hoped it would help them survive during difficult times and support them even in their old age. He and his children were known in their village for their honesty, generosity, and good character.
By Engr. Mansoor Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
Nowhere Girl. Content Warning.
It was a blistering July afternoon, and the Walmart parking lot shimmered with heatwaves. I had just finished loading groceries into the trunk of my car. I always park far out, away from the clustered chaos near the entrance. Less traffic, less noise, fewer eyes. That’s how I like it.
By Shai Andersonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Forest
They say some places aren’t meant to be found. Deep in the untouched corners of the world, far beyond any map or satellite, lies a place whispered about in old sailor tales and explorer journals. A place known only by a few names—but most call it The Forgotten Forest. This is not an ordinary forest. It’s a place that bends reality. The Discovery Nobody Expected It all began when a group of researchers—botanists, explorers, and biologists—were following a strange signal picked up by weather satellites. It showed odd energy patterns, like something was alive, but far too large to be any animal or storm. Guided by curiosity (and perhaps a bit of foolishness), they ventured into a remote region surrounded by towering cliffs and rivers no human had crossed for centuries. What they found was beyond belief. Stepping Into a Living Dream As they entered, thick silver mist curled around their feet. The air smelled of wildflowers mixed with something they couldn't quite name—sweet, almost metallic. The trees stretched higher than skyscrapers, with trunks that glowed faintly at night, their bark shimmering in soft shades of green and gold. Strange vines coiled like snakes around everything, pulsing softly, as if they were breathing. The forest wasn’t silent—it sang. Soft, melodic hums echoed through the air, as if the leaves whispered secrets from long ago. Plants Beyond Imagination The explorers quickly realized this forest wasn’t just beautiful—it was alive in ways they couldn’t explain. There were glowing flowers, known as Luminth Blooms, that opened only during moonlight, casting a soft blue glow that lit entire clearings. They found Whisper Vines, plants that reacted to sound—when spoken to, they shifted their colors and positions, as if listening. Deeper still were the Crimson Weepers—tall, crimson-leafed trees that “weep” drops of sweet nectar said to heal wounds instantly… but those who drank too much reported strange dreams and visions of ancient civilizations. Every step deeper into the forest felt like walking into another world—half paradise, half puzzle. The Creatures That Watch From the Shadows Where there are strange plants, there are always stranger creatures. Shadowy figures darted between trees—some resembling large cats with shimmering, silver fur that made them almost invisible. Other times, pairs of glowing golden eyes watched from the darkness, blinking slowly, studying the outsiders. One of the explorers claimed they saw a Feathered Wisp—a bird-like creature made of soft, white light that left glowing trails in the air. But the most chilling tale came from a night deep in the forest, when the team heard soft footsteps circling their camp. Footsteps too heavy for any known animal… but in the morning, there were no tracks. Only deep, ancient markings carved into the nearby stones. A Place That Bends Time? Perhaps the most unsettling part wasn’t the plants or creatures—but the strange way time worked inside the forest. The explorers stayed for what felt like days—but when they finally escaped, nearly three months had passed outside. They hadn’t aged a day. And the forest? It vanished from satellite view again, as if it never existed. Is It Real… or Just a Tale? Some say The Forgotten Forest is a doorway to another realm. Others believe it’s Earth’s last untouched sanctuary, hidden by powers we don’t understand. Many are skeptical, calling it a hoax or a hallucination brought on by rare gases. But others—those who have seen it—still have the glowing marks on their skin where Whisper Vines touched them. They know the truth. Some forests should stay forgotten. Would You Dare Enter It? If given the chance to step inside, would you? Many wonder what secrets still lie hidden inside The Forgotten Forest. But perhaps some mysteries are best left untouched. 🌿 "Some forests hide their secrets… Others become their secrets."
By Abid about a year ago in Fiction
The Noise Darkness Makes
Tick… Tick… Tick… That noise—what is that noise? Tick… Tick… Tick… There it goes again. What is that noise? I can only see darkness, so what is causing that sound? Maybe a clock? But where? I tried to concentrate, but it sounded like it was coming from everywhere—All directions, with no relent, as it continued to tick, tick, tick.
By John Henryabout a year ago in Fiction
The Echo Room. AI-Generated.
When a grieving widower moves into a Victorian house, he discovers an attic room that repeats his thoughts. But one night, the voice begins saying things he never said—and couldn’t have known.
By Nowshad Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Collected Silence
The Boy Who Collected Silence Elias Martin had not spoken a word in two years. In the seaside town of Windmere, where gulls cried louder than the church bells and the sea rolled in like a breathing beast, people whispered about him. Some said the silence made him strange. Others said it made him sacred. But no one really knew the truth.
By Ahmad shahabout a year ago in Fiction
Five Shadows
He didn't know how it happened or when it started, but he had been in many places where he cast multiple shadows, and didn't think anything of it, but now, everywhere he went, he cast five shadows. He didn't know why, and nothing seemed to be amiss, but each day it preyed a little more on his mind.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
In Defense of the Dreamers
In Defense of the Dreamers I’ve always admired the dreamers. Not the ones with carefully laid five-year plans or vision boards dense with images cut from glossy magazines. No — I mean the ones who carry soft, unreasonable hopes in their back pockets. The people who believe in impossible futures, secret miracles, and the tender audacity of sending love letters in the age of unread messages.
By Kine Willimesabout a year ago in Fiction
The First Step Outside The House, After Leaving Many Footprints Inside The Home
The little boy sat curled up in a corner of the wooden house. Whenever his eyes gazed at the golden, radiant rays of the sun filtering through the white snow outside, a tremor stirred within his tiny heart. He would shrink further into the corner, closing his eyes, trying to hide himself. He would cover his eyes with both hands. But when the golden rays touched his shivering body, the warmth brought him such relief that he slowly removed his hands from his eyes. And when he opened them, he found his body wrapped in that golden light. His eyes sparkled with wonder. He peeked out the window, and as far as his eyes could see, there was only a white sheet of snow. Far off on the horizon, a glowing yellow orb deepened his awe. Gusts of wind bathed his face in icy waves, and he would leap back into the corner, pressing himself against the walls. His brown hair fell across his cheeks, and his eyes were sunken and weary. His eyelids blinked slowly, as if trying to absorb every visible thing. His cheeks were hollow, his intestines shriveled from hunger, and his skin had turned cold and pale. He wore a thick woolen overcoat that had become too small for him. His fingers rarely emerged from the coat’s pockets. He breathed within the wooden walls where life was very cold. Silence reigned, especially at night when darkness seeped in with the cold winds. Then, the lone window would beckon to him. He spent nearly all his time standing by it, gazing at the white land outside. His eyes would freeze in place, and he would stand motionless. The land beyond was far more beautiful than where he was. Only three faces floated in his memories. He wasn’t familiar with two of them, but the creature that didn’t match those faces had lingered around him for a long time. For the past two days, he was surrounded by wooden walls, with the vast white land outside staring back at him. The emptiness in his stomach grew, his lips dried, his breath slowed, and his eyes became still. His skin clung to his bones like a fine silk sheet. Something stirred within him, pulling him toward the door, where faint light peeked through the cracks, as if calling him out. Gathering all his strength, he tried to stand. He stumbled and fell, tried again, and finally, leaning against the wall, he moved toward the door. His footsteps stirred something in the house he had never felt before. He placed his hand on the door and pushed it outward. As the door opened, the bright light outside rushed in, covering all the darkness. His eyes remained still. The cold air mingled with his breath and entered his body. A shiver ran down his spine. His trembling hands tried to hold the door. Then his gaze fell on a white figure lying on the snow-covered land. He stepped outside for the first time. It was a familiar face, a fox. Still and silent. Snow had nearly covered her entire body. Ice had formed on her white fur. Eyes were open, filled with fatigue and stillness. There was no movement in the body. Nearby, some fruits were scattered, perhaps she had tried to enter the house. The little boy’s gaze lingered on it. His fingers gently rustled on the fox’s frozen fur. And the dust over his small treasure of memories was swept away. The fox used to come to that house once every two or three days, leaving some fruit for him before leaving. This had been happening since the time he came into that house. One cold morning, when the fox saw him for the first time, he had cried so much that his voice was hoarse; even his sobs were tearing through his throat. The fox had seen him hanging halfway out of the door of a wrecked car, the hand of the woman lying beside him still holding on to him. Next to the woman lay an unconscious man. Except for the little boy, none of the three showed any movement. The little boy was quiet then. As the fox’s steps slowly moved towards him, she gently held him in her mouth and pulled him out. Then she sniffed the bodies of the man and woman, and turned back from there. The little boy remained seated outside the car, his gaze fixed only on it. A little while later, she returned again, and dragging him over the snow, brought him into that house. Since that day, the little boy has never gone outside again. That world, too, was beautiful, one he no longer belonged to. The fox would bring him crabapples, wild berries. When the emptiness of his stomach and his shriveled intestines began to cry out, his hands would instinctively reach for the fruits. The fox would sit with him for hours inside that home. He would stare at her; in the fox’s eyes floated a deep, peaceful aura. She would gaze at him fixedly. The silence between them was profoundly deep. She wandered most of the time in the wild snowy area, but whenever she came to the house, she brought enough to keep the little boy alive. Touching the fox’s stiff body brought no response. He stood up. For a moment, his longing eyes looked at the fruits scattered near the fox. Then he turned back and went inside. The door remained open. He staggered back to the same corner, curled up, and rested his head on his knees, sitting silently. Her numerous footprints still glimmered, trapped between the thin layers of snow on the floor. Her presence still lingered, as if she were still there, silently watching him. Suddenly, the sound of breaking ice echoed. Fierce winds slammed against the house’s walls, as if trying to carry it away. Thick layers of snow fell from above, like someone gently folding a silky blanket. Within moments, a new, gleaming sheet of snow spread across the ground. Everything became silent. Where the house once stood, there was now only an empire of white land, and spread over it was a glow of cold snowy fog.
By Karan w. about a year ago in Fiction
She Was Never Real
I met her on a rainy Tuesday. The kind of rain that doesn't just fall—it lingers in the air, heavy and cold, like the universe itself is pressing down on you. I was sitting alone in a bookstore café, sipping cheap coffee and pretending to read a book I’d already abandoned. She sat across from me without asking, as if we’d done it a thousand times before.
By Leah Brookeabout a year ago in Fiction
First Night in Bangkok
It was late when I landed in Bangkok, and I was exhausted. The flight had drained me — the recycled air, the cramped seat, the hours of restless half-sleep. I should’ve gone straight to bed.
By Nicky Besabout a year ago in Fiction
7 Men Survive in a Horror, Dark Bungalow
Chapter 1: The Breakdown The rain lashed hard against the forest road as the old bus groaned to a stop. The driver muttered a curse—engine dead. Seven passengers, all strangers, stepped into the storm. None of them knew where they were, except that they were far from help. Amid the trees, they saw it—a crumbling colonial bungalow, cloaked in vines and shadow. Its iron gate creaked as they pushed it open. They had no other choice.
By Engr. Mansoor Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction