Mystery

Under the Same Stars
Every night after work, Mia would climb up the old fire escape to the roof of her apartment building in New York City. She would sit on the ledge, hugging her knees, and look up at the endless stretch of stars. It was her escape from the noise, the loneliness, the ache of missing something — or someone — she hadn’t even met yet.
By Muhammad Ibrar2 years ago in Fiction
The whistler of wren hollow
The Miller family moved into the house at the edge of Wren Hollow on a rainy spring morning. It wasn’t much — the roof sagged, the floors creaked, and the woods beyond whispered in a language only trees knew — but it was theirs.
By E. hasan2 years ago in Fiction
Shadow man
Excellew- Shadow Man: Just before dusk, the small town of Madhuban seems to take on a different look. A strange silence descends around the old, abandoned Roy Chowdhury Haveli at the edge of the city. People say that at night, a shadowy man can be seen in that house, who has no face—just a body shaped like fog, moving silently, and occasionally saying in a trembling voice, "Give me back my thing..."
By Mehjabin Hossen2 years ago in Fiction
The House Beyond the Fog
Part 1: The Path That Disappears The fog rolled in early that night, thick and silver like spilled mercury across the countryside. Rohan gripped the steering wheel tighter, squinting through the mist. His GPS had died miles back, and now he was relying on half-forgotten directions to find the old village his grandfather used to speak of — Wrenthorpe, a name that already sounded ghostly. He was supposed to meet his friends there for a camping weekend, but so far, he'd seen no sign of them. Just empty fields, long-forgotten stone walls, and now... this. Through the mist, a figure appeared at the side of the road — a woman in a long gray coat, her hair plastered to her face by the damp air. Rohan’s heart jumped. She lifted one hand, pointing down a narrow track that peeled off from the main road. Against better judgment, Rohan slowed to a stop. He rolled down the window just enough to shout through the crack. “Is this the way to Wrenthorpe?” The woman didn’t answer. She simply kept pointing, her hand trembling slightly. "Thanks," Rohan muttered, uneasy. He pulled onto the track, tires crunching over gravel. When he looked back in his mirror — the woman was gone. The track grew narrower, trees crowding closer until their bare branches scraped against his windows. After what felt like an hour but could have been minutes, the path ended at a clearing. In the middle stood a house. It was enormous and old, its wood siding sagging with rot. Windows stared blankly into the night. A single lantern flickered on the porch, though Rohan couldn’t imagine who would still live out here. Maybe it’s a bed and breakfast, he thought hopefully. Maybe this is where we’re all meeting. He stepped out of the car. Immediately, the fog seemed to swallow the vehicle whole. He turned in a slow circle — the track he’d driven down was gone, vanished like it had never existed. Heart hammering, he approached the house. The front door creaked open before he could touch it. --- Part 2: A Voice in the Dark The hallway beyond was dark except for a faint light deeper inside. It smelled of damp wood and something sweet, like rotting fruit. "Hello?" Rohan called, voice cracking slightly. "Anyone here?" No answer. His boots thudded softly against the warped floorboards as he stepped inside. The door groaned shut behind him. Rohan walked toward the light, which seemed to come from a room at the end of the hall. As he passed doorways, he caught glimpses of empty rooms — a parlor full of sheet-covered furniture, a kitchen with a broken table, a staircase whose steps sagged and bent. The light was coming from a small sitting room. Inside, an oil lamp burned on a low table, surrounded by armchairs. In one chair sat a man — or at least something that looked like one. Rohan froze. The figure was slumped, unmoving. Shadows obscured its face. For a long moment, Rohan thought it was a corpse. But then the figure stirred, slowly lifting its head. "Welcome," it rasped. Rohan found his voice. "I think I'm lost. I was looking for Wrenthorpe — is this...?" "You've found it," said the man. His voice was like dead leaves scraping across pavement. "Or what's left of it." The figure shifted forward into the light. His face was ruined — scarred and waxy, his eyes milky white. One side of his mouth twisted into a semblance of a grin. "Not many visitors these days," he said. "Come. Sit." Rohan wanted nothing more than to turn and run, but he found himself stepping forward, lowering himself into a chair. His muscles moved sluggishly, like he was underwater. "What happened here?" Rohan asked, his mouth dry. The man chuckled, a hollow sound. "We opened a door," he said. "And something answered."
By Rohan2 years ago in Fiction
High Powers
The cold wind swept across the shattered land. Jagged mountains stood like silent guardians around a vast valley of ruins. In the middle of it all, a young traveler named Aren stood still, his cloak flapping in the night breeze. Above him, the sky was alive — a swirl of stars, purple clouds, and a giant glowing ring spinning like a portal to another world.
By Waqar Ahmad2 years ago in Fiction
The Previous Tenant Left a Diary Under My Floorboards. It’s Dated Next Year.
The First Entry When I moved into the old apartment on Willow Street, the landlord told me the previous tenant had left in a hurry. "Quiet girl," he said, shrugging. "Never caused any trouble."
By Wiki Rjm2 years ago in Fiction
The Library of Forgotten Dreams
The library was forgotten by most. Tucked behind thick hedges and hidden at the edge of the village, its old wooden door creaked with every passing wind. Yet inside, among the towering shelves and faded maps pinned to the walls, magic lingered like the scent of old paper waiting.
By Judith Atambi 2 years ago in Fiction
"Whispers of the Forgotten"
Lydia Montgomery has spent years burying herself in the past, unable to move on from the tragic death of her fiancé Michael, who died in a car accident three years ago. She has avoided the world of love and desire and immersed herself in her work as an art historian.
By robin james2 years ago in Fiction
Half a Soul
In a quiet little village, there lived a girl named Dora Ettings. She was not like other girls her age. When she was very young, a wicked fairy cursed her and stole half of her soul.
By Muhammad Hayat2 years ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker's Last Secret
Chapter 1: The Unwinding In the quiet village of Ash Hollow, time moved like molasses—thick, slow, and sweet. Nestled between misty hills and whispering pines stood a dilapidated clock shop, its sign creaking in the wind: Hargrove’s Horology. Inside, Elias Hargrove, the town’s last clockmaker, labored over his final creation. His hands, gnarled but steady, adjusted a tiny gear no larger than a ladybug’s wing.
By Sanchita Chatterjee2 years ago in Fiction
The Night Shift at the Morgue Has One Rule: Never Answer the Knocks"
The First Rule "Rule number one," said Carl, the retiring night attendant, as he handed me the keys to the Willowbrook Morgue. "Never answer the knocks."
By Wiki Rjm2 years ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Saw the Tomorrow
The first time Elara predicted the future, she was six years old. At first, it seemed like a small thing: a lost dog that was found before its owner even knew it had gone missing. However, as time went on, the glimpses became sharper, clearer, and darker.
By MD Tarek Aziz 2 years ago in Fiction