Mystery

The Whistling in the Walls
My dearest Linette, You’ve always teased me for my curiosity. "Wren," you’d say, "you’ll drown in questions one day." But it wasn’t water that nearly took me—it was the silence. The silence of the man downstairs.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
As for Danae, she had her knight in shining armour. In the city, as she ran errands she would feel eyes stripping her bare and snarky comments low enough for her to hear them, but no one dared to touch her because they feared Perseus, and that's what she feared if Perseus died during the quest she would have to be her own knight but she wasn't as big and tough as her son and she hated violence. She’d have to marry the king to be protected from the predators waiting to pounce on her, The King, though a predator in Danae’s eyes, she felt he was a better predator, at least she would be queen.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction
Starlight Debt
The signal arrived on a Tuesday. Juno was feeding her daughter breakfast when the message blinked into existence—just a soft tone on her tablet, like an email. Harmless. Innocuous. It only read: “The debt has come due. Prepare for retrieval.” —Orion Covenant Office, Station Eos Her blood went cold.
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
Guardians And Angels | Chapter Four (Part 16)
The first time my best friend met my father, he had a gun pointed at my heart; the next, it was aimed at his own head. Two silent moments, nestled on the ledge of violence. Two chance meetings, bookends to a weekend that would change my young life and the lives of everyone around me forever.
By Christopher Dubbsabout a year ago in Fiction
The War of Water and Fire and the Transformation of Heaven and Earth. AI-Generated.
Since Pangu created the world and N ü wa created humans, the order between heaven and earth was initially established, and the gods each performed their duties. However, the jealousy and dissatisfaction in the hearts of the Water God Gonggong grew stronger and stronger. He had long coveted the power of the Fire God Zhurong to control light and warmth, and finally couldn't hold back. He led his troops of shrimp and crab to launch a grand attack on the Fire God.
By empire datangabout a year ago in Fiction
Beneath The Flour. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the heart of a quiet town, nestled between the cobblestone streets and ivy-wrapped lamp posts, stood a small, fragrant bakery known for its warm meat pies and delicate chocolate tea cookies. The townsfolk adored the young woman who ran it—Elara, with her long dark hair, kind eyes, and a smile as sweet as her confections. She had a way of making people feel like home.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
"The Clock That Ticked Backward"
A short story by Umar Ali Most clocks move forward — marking time, second by second, toward an uncertain future. But in the quiet town of Merlow, inside a dusty antique shop at the edge of Baker Street, there was a clock that ticked backward.
By Umar Aliabout a year ago in Fiction
Pangu created the world. AI-Generated.
In those distant and untraceable years, the universe was nothing but a murky, viscous chaos. Darkness is like an impenetrable web, enveloping everything within it, without a glimmer of light or vitality, only endless silence and nothingness. This chaos is like a huge egg, with thick substances blending and entangling with each other, without any boundaries between heaven and earth, without any signs of life, as if the entire world has fallen into eternal slumber.
By empire datangabout a year ago in Fiction
Buried Truths and Cursed Vows
They were nothing but echoes in an otherwise empty home. To save his life, Mark Thompson would either have to kill her, or kill himself and this was proving to be quite a difficult decision to make. The problem was, people assumed she—his wife—had died a long, long time ago— something about an obituary, or an accident? A couple mistaken dates and a one hell of a slip-up at the DMV—later, he was in a pickle. He couldn’t just kill her again, how would that work? Besides, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She was the perfect wife, until she wasn’t.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
The Secret I Never Told My Best Friend
We all have that one person, don’t we? The one who knows us better than anyone else, who’s seen us at our best and our worst, who’s been there through thick and thin. For me, that person was Sarah. We met in high school, and from that first conversation, I knew we’d be inseparable. We laughed together, cried together, fought, made up, and grew up side by side. We were best friends. No question.
By Izazkhanabout a year ago in Fiction
One More Chance Before It All Repeats
Written by Joey Raines I didn’t see any light. But I wasn’t in the dark either. There was no pain. Still, I didn’t feel safe.
By Joey Rainesabout a year ago in Fiction
Trapped in a Room That Doesn’t exist . Content Warning.
Trapped in a Room That Doesn’t exist I don’t remember walking in. But I know I can’t leave. The walls are smooth—too smooth. Seamless. Featureless. Four of them, an almost-perfect square. White, but not sterile. There’s a faint grey mist in the corners, like the room is holding its breath. There’s no door. No window. No ceiling light. But I can see. Somehow, I can see. I’ve walked the perimeter over a hundred times. Counted my steps. Tapped every inch with my knuckles. Shouted until my throat blistered. My voice doesn’t echo. It absorbs. Like the room eats sound. Or maybe it’s listening. I woke up on the floor yesterday—or what I think was yesterday. No phone. No watch. No pockets. Just clothes that feel familiar and a numbness in my fingers that won’t go away. At first, I laughed. Thought it was a lucid dream. Maybe sleep paralysis. A stress coma. Something I’d wake up from if I just bit my tongue or screamed hard enough. But the hunger set in. Then the thirst. And now, I’m not sure what I am anymore. The room changes when I blink. At first, it was just the corners. Shifting slightly. Like the edges warped when I wasn’t watching. Now, the floor tilts. Just enough to make me nauseous. Sometimes it grows wet. Cold. Breathing. I swear the last time I blinked, there was something in the far wall. A seam. Like a vertical mouth. Gone when I blinked again. I tried sleeping. Laid flat on the warm floor and closed my eyes for what felt like hours. When I woke up, my nails were bleeding. Not bitten—peeled. One by one. Like something wanted to see if I noticed. I found the crescent scraps lined up in the corner. Like they’d been placed there. Arranged. I didn’t do that. I would remember doing that. Right? I’m not alone. There’s no one here. But I’m not alone. There’s something in the walls. I hear scratching at times. Not like mice. Too slow. Deliberate. Like nails tracing a message in a language I’m not supposed to read. Once, I screamed, “What do you want?” The scratching stopped. Then resumed. Louder. Faster. I pressed my ear to the wall and whispered, “Please.” Something whispered back. It sounded like my voice. The Room Remembers. That’s what I wrote, over and over, with the tip of my broken nail. Across the wall. Into the skin of my forearm. THE ROOM REMEMBERS. I don’t know what it means. But I believe it. --- It shows me things now. Faces in the wall. Warped. Shrieking. My mother. My old boss. A girl I loved once and never kissed. A dog I hit with my car and didn’t stop for. They float just behind the surface, mouths open, eyes bleeding. Sometimes I see myself. But taller. Confident. Wearing a clean shirt and smiling. He places his palm on the wall from his side. I press mine to it from mine. And he walks away. I tried to break the wall. I rammed it with my shoulder until I heard something snap. Not the wall—me. I headbutted it until I blacked out. When I woke, the wall had a new mark: a perfect red circle. It pulsed for hours. Like it was thinking. Like it was considering something. And then it disappeared. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. There is no time. Just heartbeat. But sometimes I feel like I’ve lived my entire life inside this box. Like everything before it was a dream. A fantasy made up to amuse myself. This is the real world. This white, breathing coffin. There was a door today. I don’t know how or when it appeared. Just a rectangle cut into the far wall. No handle. No knob. Just slightly ajar. Inside: darkness. Pure, velvet black. I crawled toward it like a starving animal. Put my hand inside. It was wet. And warm. And it gripped me back. --- I pulled away. The door vanished. I heard crying today. Not mine. A child’s voice. Somewhere above. Screaming. I clawed at the ceiling. Bled down my arms. Tore nails again. Screamed until my ears rang. The crying stopped. And laughter followed. Not a child’s laugh. Mine. I think the room is inside me now. I feel it when I breathe. When I blink. When I sleep. I close my eyes and see white. I open them and see white. I bit into my own wrist just to see a new color. It was grey. Not red. Just... grey. Like the mist in the corners. Final Thoughts (If They’re Mine) If you find this, you won’t find me. Not in the way you’re expecting. I’ve become the room. Or the room has become me. I’m the scratches in the wall. The whisper behind the silence. The figure behind your reflection that moves when you don’t. You may never find the room. But if you do… You’ll never leave it. Because it doesn’t exist. And now, neither do I. END
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction