Mystery

The Ghent Files: A Faerie Simple Conundrum
You know it's going to be a long day when you get a work call in the wee hours of the morning. Only, in my line of work, long days have a habit of being just a bit more than you bargained for. I hardly ever get these sorts of calls, anymore. Since getting my license about five years ago, it's been pretty smooth sailing: lost keys and rings, unfaithful spouses, the odd haunted basement or demonic possession. You know: simple jobs.
By Ian Read9 months ago in Fiction
A Quandary in Quarantine
Chapter Three I had had my one-on-one originally scheduled with Maggie for right after lunch, but after a brief phone call we canceled our meeting in favor of a short all-staff at 11 o’clock. She was worried about the town’s potential response as much as I was, and wanted to talk to everyone all at once.
By Erin Lorandos9 months ago in Fiction
A Quandary in Quarantine
Chapter Two Most Monday mornings, I usually followed more or less the same routine. I would arrive at the library around 7:45 or 8:00 am, do a quick sweep of the reference department - which also housed our Adult non-fiction collection - for any obviously out-of-place materials, grab a book truck on my way past circulation, empty the book drop - which is usually full to overflowing after the library is closed all day on Sundays. Next, I take that cart back to circulation so the desk staff can work on getting those items checked in, then I head back to my desk in the reference area.
By Erin Lorandos9 months ago in Fiction
The Arrow in the Dark
It was the kind of night that made the rain taste like old iron and bad omens. The kind of night where even the streetlamps seemed to hunch their shoulders and mind their own business.
By Carolyn Sternes9 months ago in Fiction
Off the Book. Top Story - January 2026.
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly9 months ago in Fiction
Fate is Funny like that
A tall, lanky figure sped through the night, impossibly gaunt and running faster than should have been possible—an inhuman speed.
By Alicia Anspaugh9 months ago in Fiction
Eyes. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
I was seven years old the first time I got married. I remember the weight of the dress before I remember my own name. It was heavy and white and warm, like it had been waiting for me longer than I had been alive. The fabric pressed against my shoulders with a seriousness I did not yet understand. The room was filled with the aroma of flowers I couldn’t name, their scent thick and unfamiliar; and the walls seemed older than the building that held them as if the space itself had been borrowed for the occasion. There were people there. I remember that much. Their voices softened as I entered, the way voices do when something inevitable is about to happen. No one smiled too widely. No one whispered. They all seemed like a blurry memory; a background character of my story. I am even unsure of the season but I do know I wanted to hold onto the feeling and the intensity of the dream; and take it with me but I couldn’t remember everything once I woke up.
By Cadma9 months ago in Fiction
The Things Love Leaves Behind
In this city, magic didn’t glow. It stained. The rain that night tasted like old copper and burnt herbs, the kind of drizzle that seeped into your coat and your conscience at the same time. I pulled my collar up and waited under the awning of a pawnshop that sold cursed objects at honest prices, which is to say: none of them were cheap, and none of them were safe.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Fiction
A Quandary in Quarantine
Chapter One The sun was high and bright in the brilliant sapphire blue sky. A few perfectly puffy cotton-ball clouds floated lazily by. Looking up towards the sky out my front window, I could almost believe it was the middle of summer, rather than the beginning of March. But, it was definitely not summer. We were still deep inside a brutal Midwestern winter. The snow had been piled by the plows thigh-deep along the roads and an ever-present layer of ice hung heavily from the branches of the sturdy trees that lined the street.
By Erin Lorandos9 months ago in Fiction
Patriots. Expatriates.
The white china cup clattered against the serving plate as the train hit a soft bump. He stared glassy-eyed as the coffee within swirled. Mountains flitted by his window, their gray dominance only interrupted by the lush green landscape at their base.
By Matthew J. Fromm9 months ago in Fiction
THE SILENT REBELLION: WHY THE WORLD IS WATCHING A PENGUIN WALK TO ITS DEATH
You have seen the image. It is arguably the most heartbreaking thing on your timeline right now. In the top half, a penguin lies motionless, half-buried in the dust, its journey ended. In the bottom half, a solitary figure waddles away from the safety of the colony, heading straight for the white nothingness of the horizon. The text overlaid on the image speaks of "leaving midway" and the "will to live." It is being shared by millions who feel burnt out, lost, or exhausted. But most people sharing it do not know the true story behind this footage. They think it is just a sad animal getting lost. They are wrong. This is not a mistake. This is a decision. The Law of the Colony To understand why this is terrifying, you have to understand the rules. Penguins are biological machines designed for one thing: survival through unity. They stay together. They move toward the water to feed. They move toward the ice to breed. Their internal compass is locked to the magnetic pull of the ocean. For a penguin to be alone is a death sentence. For a penguin to walk away from the water is insanity. But in 2007, the legendary filmmaker Werner Herzog captured something in Antarctica that science still struggles to explain emotionally. During the filming of Encounters at the End of the World, his crew noticed a single Adélie penguin. While thousands of its kin were heading right, toward the open water and food, this one stopped. It looked around. And then, with a terrifying calmness, it turned left. The 70-Kilometer Suicide The crew watched in silence. The penguin began to walk toward the interior of the continent. There is nothing there. No water. No food. No colony. Just a frozen wasteland of ice and mountains that stretches for thousands of kilometers. The scientists on site, including ecologist Dr. David Ainley, tried to intervene. They caught the "deranged" bird and brought it back to the colony. They placed it among its friends, hoping the "glitch" would reset. It didn't. The moment they released it, the penguin didn't hesitate. It turned right back around and began marching toward the mountains again. It wasn't lost. It was heading toward a destination that didn't exist. This wasn't a navigational error. It was a "death march." The bird was walking 70 kilometers into a white hell, knowing—on some primal level—that it would never return. And now, in 2026, this footage has resurfaced, not as a documentary clip, but as a mirror for humanity.
By Wellova 9 months ago in Fiction
The Defender Of The Faith. Honorable Mention in Craft Over Catharsis Challenge.
On the castle green below, the Crown Prince chased a black cat under the ever watchful eye of the King. *** Father Gustavo hated this backwater island; too cold in the winter, too sweltering in the summer. But the murder of the Crown Prince of Feriones demanded immediate attention from the Holy Lateran Inquisition. He dabbed the sweat from his jowls, yearning to be back amongst his estate where the soft breeze off the ocean stirred his grape vines. What he would give to listen to that symphony instead of the babbling knight chained with him.
By Matthew J. Fromm9 months ago in Fiction