Mystery

The Widow’s Watch
Perched on the wind-beaten cliffs of Darnham Bay stood Greystone Manor, a crumbling Victorian estate known less for its grandeur and more for its sorrowful legend. At its highest point rose a narrow tower with a single arched window—locals called it the Widow’s Watch. And there, every evening at precisely 7:00 p.m., a figure in black was said to appear, peering out toward the sea.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
Inheritance: The Lost Prayer
The ruins of the monastery always whispered, but no one listened anymore. Toma did. He had grown up on their edges, sleeping under shattered stone arches and moss-covered saints whose faces time had erased. The villagers called him "beynaam" — the nameless. No parents, no lineage, just a boy who wandered too close to sacred ground.
By F. M. Rayaanabout a year ago in Fiction
My Late Husband’s Phone Rang After 3 Years…
The Call That Shouldn’t Have Happened It had been three years since Ahmed’s plane vanished over the Indian Ocean. The official report cited mechanical failure, and the wreckage was never recovered. I had accepted the loss, or so I believed.
By Usamaabout a year ago in Fiction
Framed In Time Part 2. AI-Generated.
Two days before the verdict, the courtroom froze. “Project Static,” Eli Navarro said aloud, and the words seemed to fracture the air itself.
By Travis Johnsonabout a year ago in Fiction
Tragic Love
I’ll start out by saying that it was not the perfect romance. We were not the perfect couple, and we didn’t have the fairytale relationship that some people would make you think we had. We were that “on the outside” couple because on the outside we were ideal. On the outside, we were everything that two people together wished they had. We looked like we were happy . . . on the outside. Well, I suppose not necessarily just from other people’s perspectives. Wade thought the same as everyone else too-that we were perfectly happy together. I guess I was the only one who disagreed.
By pelchen dorjiabout a year ago in Fiction
Rain Knows My Name Better Than You Do"
Rain Knows My Name Better Than You Do They said it wasn’t a storm. Just “heavy turbulence.” That’s what the pilot called it—seconds before the screaming started.
By lonely girlabout a year ago in Fiction
"Where the Water Left Me"
Where the Water Left Me The boat had been my escape — a wooden cradle rocking on uncertainty, sailing toward a future I couldn’t name. My father built it, my mother blessed it, and I, at seventeen, ran away on it. I didn’t run from abuse or danger. I ran from absence — the kind of silence that grows loud inside a house after someone dies. My brother had passed six months before. He was the heartbeat of our family, and when his heart stopped, ours did too. So I sailed off with the illusion that movement would feel like healing.
By Fawad aliabout a year ago in Fiction
The Morning After the Moon
The Morning After the Moon: A Daily Life Reflection on Eid-ul-Fitr The moon was spotted the night before—peeking out shyly from behind the clouds. The local kids ran through the alleys screaming, “Chand raat! Chand raat!” Some were already holding cones of mehndi, their palms wet with fresh patterns, while the bazaar buzzed for one last hour of Eid shopping.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Piper’s Song
The boy should have known something was wrong the moment he glanced back over his shoulder, but he was too tired and wary and afraid to register the truth. He followed the sound of the keening pipe. Its unfamiliar melody, absurdly cheerful, jarred him from the carnage. It filtered through the pores of his skin and infused him with the strength and warmth he needed to run through the icy clutches of winter.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Näkki’s Curse: A Haunting Legend from the Finnish Woods
Eldmere, Finland "Äiti, why can't we go into the woods again?" a small seven-year-old boy asks, voice curious, as he gets into bed. He pulls his covers over him as he lays down. The boy's mother gives him a small smile and helps him settle in. The moonlight casts a soft glow through the window.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Grief Eater: Trapped Inside the Bodies I Consumed
THE FIRST TIME I ate someone’s grief, it was an accident. My aunt had just died, and my cousin couldn’t stop crying at the funeral. She clutched her mother’s wedding ring so tight her knuckles grew white. When she hugged me, she pressed the ring into my palm.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
She Knows What You Did
Prologue: 3:12 a.m. The call came at 3:12 a.m. “Erin… it’s Sophia. She is aware of what you did. What we did. I remember everything.”
By MD Tarek Aziz about a year ago in Fiction