Mystery
Punk Tactis
Louise waited until they got back home to call Jimmy’s number – After a big fight with his dad, Jimmy Jr. decided to stay with his mom more often. Only visiting his father on the weekends, unlike his younger brothers. - Louise called and waited for him to pick up, it was nearing the third ring when he answered,
By Dylan-Quinn Harris2 years ago in Fiction
Dollhouse
Content Warning: Kidnapping and torture. Dollhouse D.A. Ratliff A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery Where could she go? She could barely see through the driving rain. Her heart pounded in her chest. Keep running. She had to keep running. So many dark houses, no one to help. She slipped on the wet grass and fell over a tricycle, landing hard on her right shoulder and knee. Pain raced through her body, and she stifled a moan. Be quiet. There were kids here. He said he wanted kids to play with. Danger. She pushed up with her left arm and tried to run, but her knee buckled. Can’t stay here. Had to move, had to get away. In agony with each step, she found a path between houses and moved as fast as she could. A street—she could follow the street. As she stepped off the curb, a bright glare blinded her, then darkness.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Dark
It was 2:37 a.m. when the phone rang. Lauren groggily reached for her cell, her heart pounding. Who calls at this hour? She glanced at the screen—Unknown Number. A chill ran through her as she hesitated before answering. "Hello?" Her voice was hoarse from sleep. Static. Then a whisper. "He knows. Get out. Now." Lauren bolted upright. "Who is this? What are you talking about?" The call cut off. The room, once comforting, now felt sinister. The hum of the fridge, the soft ticking of the wall clock—everything seemed amplified in the eerie silence that followed. She sat frozen, her mind racing. Who knew what? And what was she supposed to be running from? Lauren had moved to this small coastal town two months ago, seeking a fresh start after a messy breakup. She knew no one well enough to have enemies. But that call—it felt personal. Her apartment suddenly felt too exposed. She peeked through the curtains. The quiet street lay under the orange glow of streetlights, empty except for a lone parked car—a dark sedan. It hadn't been there earlier. Had it? Her phone buzzed. Another unknown number. She swallowed hard and answered. "Lauren, listen carefully." A different voice this time, a man’s, urgent and low. "Leave now. There’s no time to explain. He’s already close." "Who are you? What's going on?" she demanded. The man ignored her. "The back door. Go now." A loud bang came from her front door. Lauren’s breath hitched. Someone was outside. She grabbed her keys, slipped on her sneakers, and crept to the back door. The moment she turned the knob, the front door shook violently. "Lauren!" A deep voice boomed from the other side. Panic surged through her veins. She dashed out into the night. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt from the ocean. She didn't stop running until she reached the end of her street. Her mind reeled. Who was that? Was it the "he" from the call? She ducked into an alley, trying to catch her breath. Her phone buzzed again. She flinched before answering. "Where are you?" The same male voice. "Who are you? Why should I trust you?" "Because I just saved your life. Look behind you." Lauren turned—and gasped. A man in dark clothes stood under the streetlamp, holding up a badge. FBI. "We need to go. Now." "What is happening?" she asked, her voice trembling. "You're in danger. That call you got? It was a warning. Your ex—he’s not who you think he is. And he's not just your ex. He's wanted for multiple crimes, and we believe you have something he desperately wants." Lauren felt her stomach drop. "That’s impossible. He—he’s just a—" "A criminal. And he knows where you are." A car screeched around the corner. "Run!" the agent shouted. Lauren bolted after him as gunshots rang through the night. Her life had just turned into a nightmare—and she had no idea how it would end. --- They sprinted through the narrow alleyways, the agent leading her through twists and turns. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, but questions burned in her mind. "Where are we going?" she panted. "Somewhere safe," he replied, barely breaking stride. They reached an abandoned warehouse near the docks. The agent unlocked a side door and ushered her inside. The space was dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights, the scent of damp concrete filling her nostrils. "Start talking," Lauren demanded, crossing her arms despite her shaking hands. The agent exhaled sharply. "Your ex, Michael, isn't who he claimed to be. He's involved in international smuggling—drugs, weapons, stolen artifacts. We’ve been tracking him for years, but he always stays ahead of us. Until now." Lauren's mind reeled. "That makes no sense! We dated for three years. I would’ve known—" "Would you? Think, Lauren. Did he ever disappear for long stretches? Come back with vague stories? Did he have large amounts of money with no clear explanation?" She hesitated. There had been inconsistencies. Business trips that never added up. Strange men who called at odd hours. But she had brushed it off, trusting him. "What does he want from me?" she whispered. The agent hesitated. "We think you have something—a ledger, a drive, anything he left behind that could incriminate him." Lauren shook her head. "I don’t—wait." A memory surfaced. A small, encrypted USB drive Michael had given her before they broke up. He had said it was nothing important, but insisted she keep it. At the time, she had thrown it in a drawer and forgotten about it. "I might have something," she admitted. The agent’s eyes locked onto hers. "Then we need to get it before he does." Before Lauren could respond, the warehouse door burst open.
By Gift Abotsi 2 years ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Daughter
No one in the town of Bellmere remembered when the clock last chimed. It had stood in the heart of Ashleaf Park for as long as anyone could remember—silent, still, and watching. Children threw stones at its base. Artists sketched its towering Gothic frame. Teenagers carved their initials into the stone benches surrounding it. But no one expected it to work. It was just... there. A monument to memory, or perhaps to forgetting.
By Alpha Cortex2 years ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Kingdom Hidden Beneath the Ocean
The ocean, vast and mysterious, has held countless secrets within its depths for millennia. Beneath the relentless waves, beyond the reach of modern technology, lies an ancient kingdom long forgotten by the world above. This forgotten empire, with its towering cities and majestic palaces, was once a beacon of knowledge and power—until it was lost to the sea. Its civilization, full of untold wonders and treasures, has been swallowed by time and water, leaving only echoes of its existence. It is a place where myths and reality blur, a place waiting for the right moment to rise once more. Dr. Eleanor Carter had always been obsessed with myths of lost civilizations. As a marine archaeologist, she had spent years chasing legends, but none fascinated her more than the whispers of a sunken kingdom somewhere in the Atlantic. The locals of a small coastal town spoke in hushed tones about the ‘Kingdom of Valtara’—a grand empire swallowed by the sea thousands of years ago, its riches and wisdom lost to humanity. But they also warned that Valtara was not entirely gone; it merely slept beneath the waves, waiting for its rightful ruler to return. Intrigued, Eleanor embarked on an expedition with her team, setting sail aboard the deep-sea research vessel The Neptune’s Call. Guided by ancient maps and satellite imaging, they ventured to a remote part of the ocean, where the depths plunged into a vast abyss. As they deployed the submersible, anticipation hung in the air. Would they find ruins, or was it just another legend? As the submersible descended, the darkness swallowed them whole. The only light came from their floodlights, cutting through the murky waters. Then, through the gloom, structures began to emerge—impossibly tall spires covered in coral, immense domes with intricate carvings, and streets paved with what looked like shimmering gold. The kingdom was real. Their cameras recorded everything as they maneuvered through what appeared to be a palace entrance. Giant statues, half-buried in sand, depicted figures wearing elaborate armor and crowns. Ancient glyphs lined the walls, pulsating faintly as if responding to their presence. It was as though the kingdom still breathed, slumbering in the deep. Then came the discovery that changed everything. In the grandest hall, atop a throne of iridescent stone, sat a figure. Not a statue, not a skeleton, but a man—preserved as if he had just fallen asleep. His attire was unlike anything seen before, encrusted with gemstones and detailed embroidery that defied the ravages of time. In his hands, he clutched a trident, its surface gleaming despite being underwater for centuries. Eleanor felt an inexplicable pull toward him. As she approached, her fingers brushed the ancient weapon. A sudden tremor shook the seabed. The city around them groaned as if awakening from a long slumber. The glyphs on the walls shone brighter, illuminating the chamber in a soft blue glow. Then, the figure’s eyes snapped open. A deep, resounding voice filled their comms, though no one had spoken. “Who dares disturb the slumber of Valtara?” The king’s gaze locked onto Eleanor, and she felt as if the ocean itself had come alive. He rose from the throne, water swirling around him, yet he did not float. Instead, the water obeyed him, moving as if it were an extension of his will. “My kingdom was betrayed,” he continued. “But now, the time has come to rise again.” The ocean floor trembled. All around them, structures shifted, repairing themselves as if reversing time. Statues reassembled, roads smoothed, and light emanated from long-dead lanterns. The lost kingdom was reawakening. Eleanor and her team, awestruck, barely had time to react before the city began its slow ascent, rising from the abyss toward the surface world. As The Neptune’s Call scrambled to the surface, satellites around the world picked up an anomaly—an entire landmass emerging from the depths. The world watched in disbelief as an ancient civilization, thought to be mere myth, reclaimed its place in history. Eleanor knew this was just the beginning. The return of Valtara would change everything humans understood about history, power, and the unknown forces hidden beneath the waves. And standing at the center of it all was a king who had waited millennia to reclaim his throne. The ocean had given back its secret, but at what cost? The world would soon find out.
By Gift Abotsi 2 years ago in Fiction
The Wind That Cries. AI-Generated.
Whispers in the Dark The village of Ravens hollow was known for its silence. Even the wind, when it passed through the skeletal trees, carried no voice. But one night, as the autumn moon hung low, a soundless cry drifted through the air. It wasn’t a wail, nor a whisper, yet it sent chills through the villagers who heard nothing—only felt it in their bones. Echoes of the Forgotten Clara, the baker’s daughter, had always felt the weight of silence pressing against her. Her grandmother used to tell her stories of voices lost to the wind, souls that could not be heard but still longed to be remembered. One evening, as Clara wandered through the outskirts of the village, she felt it again—that phantom sorrow brushing against her skin. The Last Light Before Midnight That night, the lantern outside Clara’s window flickered wildly, though there was no breeze. She stepped outside, drawn by an unseen force, and found herself at the old well at the village’s edge. Midnight loomed, and with it, the shadows of the past grew darker. The wind stirred, whispering something just beyond her understanding. She leaned in closer. Shadows on the Horizon A gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it a presence unseen. Shadows moved where none should have been. Clara realized she was not alone. The silence was not empty—it was filled with those who had been forgotten, trapped in a realm where their screams had no sound. A whisper brushed against her ear, not heard but felt. Help us. Silent Screams in the Wind Clara could no longer ignore the voices of the unseen. The wind carried their pain, their longing to be set free. With trembling hands, she knelt by the well and whispered their names—names from forgotten graves, names she had only read in dust-covered books. As the final name passed her lips, the wind howled—not in sorrow, but in release. The silence lifted, and for the first time in centuries, the wind carried a voice again. The next morning, the villagers awoke to something new. The trees rustled, the air hummed, and the wind no longer cried—it sang.
By Chinonso Ogbonna2 years ago in Fiction
The Ghost Train
Chapter 6: The First Stop The rhythmic clacking of wheels on the track slowed gradually, the first indication that the Infinity Line was approaching a station. Sarah's phone battery had dwindled to fifteen percent despite being fully charged when she boarded, but she activated the camera anyway, determined to document whatever came next.
By Shane D. Spear2 years ago in Fiction
