Mystery

Dream Thief
My dreams of thievery A long time ago, I had a dream. Every night again, without fail. I would dream of a world, a replica to ours. With shadows clawing at me. And one day it didn’t let me escape again, so I write about it instead:
By Auden Lynrothabout a year ago in Fiction
Blur
They were supposed to protect their charges, but this morning another one was gone. They had kept a watch all night and were convinced they had succeeded.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
The Book That Changed My Village
In the small village of Shonapur, tucked away in the lush green heart of Bangladesh, life moved slowly. The days were marked by the rhythm of the rice fields, the call of the muezzin, and the chatter of neighbors by the riverbank. I was twelve, a skinny boy with big dreams and a bigger appetite for stories. My name was Arif, and my world was limited to the dusty paths of Shonapur—until a worn-out book found its way into my hands and changed everything.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The City's Last Bench
Every evening, I find myself on the same old park bench — tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. No crowds, no chatter, no influencers snapping selfies. Just a worn-out bench, its wooden planks chipped and scarred, and me.
By The Doctorabout a year ago in Fiction
The Apocalypse Hotline
It all began on an ordinary evening. I was scrolling through my phone, half-listening to the news about political unrest and strange weather patterns. Suddenly, my phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown number. Curious, I answered.
By Naveed Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Brave Cub Who Walked Into the Storm
art of the African savanna, where golden grass whispers stories of survival and legacy, a lion cub named Leo was born. But unlike his siblings, who roared with instinct and leapt with promise, Leo was different. He was smaller. Quieter. Often overlooked. While the others played fiercely beneath the tall acacia trees, Leo watched from a distance—his eyes not on the games, but on the horizon. His paws were too small to race, his roar too soft to intimidate, and his legs trembled in the company of boldness. Yet there was something else inside him. A spark that didn’t show on the surface. A curiosity. A question. “Why don’t you join them?” his mother would ask gently, her golden eyes filled with worry. Leo would lift his head, ever so slightly. “Because I want to learn,” he would whisper. “I want to see the world before I try to conquer it.” Others in the jungle didn’t understand. They dismissed him. “Too small to matter,” scoffed the zebras. “Too quiet to be brave,” mocked the monkeys from their high, swinging homes. But Leo didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice far older than his own murmured: “Your time will come. And when it does, the world will know.” he Storm That Changed Everything It came without warning. The sky, once a blue canvas, darkened into a violent grey. Thunder cracked through the heavens, and the jungle trembled. The rain poured like arrows from the clouds, and the wind howled like forgotten spirits. Leo’s family, like many others, found refuge in a rocky cave near the cliffs. They huddled close, seeking warmth and safety as the world outside unravelled. Then came the sound that pierced the storm. A cry. Fragile and distant. Milo. The baby elephant from the neighboring herd. Lost. Alone. The lion king, Leo’s father, growled with authority. “No one moves. The storm is not kind to wanderers.” But Leo couldn’t sit still. His ears twitched at the sound. His heart raced—not with fear, but with purpose. “He’s out there,” Leo said, more to himself than anyone else. “He’s afraid.” “You’re just a cub,” his father barked. “Don’t be foolish.” But Leo had already stepped forward. His mother tried to stop him. But courage moves faster than doubt. And sometimes, a lion’s heart knows exactly when to roar—even if no one else can hear it.
By Arshad khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Dove's Flight
In the heart of a war-torn village nestled between two rugged mountain ranges, a soft coo echoed through the rubble. The sun peeked out from behind grey clouds, casting a faint glow over the shattered walls and broken streets. Amid the ruins, a single pigeon fluttered its wings, resting atop what remained of an old bell tower. No one noticed it at first—after all, it was just a bird. But soon, this unassuming pigeon would become the village’s most powerful symbol of hope and peace.
By Intresting Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Message from Tomorrow
Maya never thought the future would reach her through a single text message. She was a night owl by habit, scrolling through endless feeds and memes until her eyelids drooped. At 2:03 AM, her phone buzzed on her nightstand, vibrating against a stack of unread books she always meant to finish. She expected another spam notification or a random meme from her insomniac cousin. But the preview froze her thumb mid-scroll.
By Muhammad Riazabout a year ago in Fiction
Voicemail from My Future Self
"Voicemail from My Future Self" “Whatever you do... don't answer the door on June 30th.” The voice was mine. But I never said those words.
By Hasnain Ul Haqabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room: A Haunting Tale of Hidden Emotions and Unspoken Truths
The Forgotten Room: A Haunting Tale of Hidden Emotions and Unspoken Truths By: Hamza Yaqoob Introduction What if you had a room inside your mind, one that held every memory you refused to face? What if you could walk through it—and uncover the secret you’ve been hiding from even yourself?
By Dr Hamza Yaqoob about a year ago in Fiction
The Mapmaker of Broken Hours
Part I: The Map That Wasn't Camille Delaroche lived above a candle shop in the old part of town, where the streetlamps were gaslit and time trickled a little slower than it did downtown. She was a cartographer of the rarest kind: a mapmaker of imaginary places.
By Hikmatabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker of Wintermere
Part I: The Frozen Morning The morning Elias Bell died, it snowed in reverse. Flakes that had already fallen lifted gently off the cobbled streets of Wintermere and floated back into the sky. Chimneys un-smoked, footfalls vanished, and for a brief moment, even time itself seemed to breathe in.
By Hikmatabout a year ago in Fiction