thriller
Missing
Cries of Kara rang out in the night. Their sound lingered ominously between the trees. Feet moving through the dark forest sent up a chorus of crunching pine needles. Hearts beat faster in chests with nervous feelings. Eyes darted into the shadows. Searching for what was lost, hoping not to discover what was feared.
By The Invisible Writerabout a year ago in Fiction
Who's the real monster?. Content Warning.
It's been the same nightmare for over 10 years now. Reliving the night I lost every thing that ever mattered to me. When I jumped off the roof of the hospital I thought it would lead to my death instead of entering the shadows of the world.
By Lucy Torralbaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silent Witness
Rain lashed against the windows of Senator Gregory Harrow’s office, the sound like a thousand whispered secrets. Detective Elias Vorne stepped inside, his sharp gray eyes missing nothing—the too-perfect placement of the gun in the senator’s hand, the lack of powder burns, the faint scent of cologne that didn’t belong to the victim.
By Md. Muzammal Rahman Pirabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ace of Spaces Murders-2nd Part
Chapter 2: The Ace of Spades The rain had started by the time James and Sarah reached Marcus Doyle’s apartment. A cramped, third-floor walk-up in the kind of building where the wallpaper peeled in long, sad strips and the air smelled of mildew and stale coffee.
By Md. Muzammal Rahman Pirabout a year ago in Fiction
Deadly Desperation
On a Saturday night, Cassie Crandall was on the phone with her wife, Janine Templeton, who is the sheriff of their small town. They had been married for 10 years, but things had been contentious to say the least. Divorce was inevitable, and Cassie wanted out, feeling that things couldn't be repaired.
By Clyde E. Dawkinsabout a year ago in Fiction
I Am The Gift
They never ask where I came from. They only ask if I come with batteries. I don’t. There was a time when I was ash, scattered beneath a black tree struck by lightning. Before that, I was a name spoken in a language no one remembers. Before that, I was just... waiting.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
“The Website That Only Appeared at Midnight”
The First Discovery It was a typical sleepless night. I had my phone in one hand, tea in the other, scrolling through articles for inspiration. Writing for digital platforms like Medium and Vocal had become a daily habit—sharing thoughts, tips, and motivational pieces that felt honest.
By Awais Qarni about a year ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Bride: One Clue, One Truth, One Deadly Secret"
Part Two: The Note Beneath the Thorns The church was empty now. What had been a sea of white roses, silk runners, and polished pews just 24 hours ago was now nothing but echoes and caution tape. Detective Mara Ellison crouched at the front of the aisle where Emily Caldwell had last been seen—where the petals fell from her trembling hands, and the bouquet tumbled to the floor like a severed promise. She picked up the evidence bag once more and looked at the note. "Forgive the blood." Three words. No name. No explanation. And no Emily. --- 🕵️ A Groom’s Grief, or a Lie? Daniel Voss hadn’t slept. His eyes were glassy, his jaw clenched like it was holding back a scream. He sat in the chapel's back room, still wearing the tuxedo he had proposed in, still smelling of cologne and cold sweat. “She was happy,” he kept repeating. “That morning, we had pancakes. We laughed. She was humming as she got dressed.” “But she vanished,” Mara said flatly. “You’re telling me—on the most public day of her life—she walked halfway down the aisle and... disappeared?” Daniel rubbed his face. “You think I planned this? She didn’t run. She was taken.” “By who?” He paused. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” --- 🧠 The Maid of Honor’s Secret Kate Morrison, the maid of honor and Emily’s childhood best friend, wasn’t as composed. “I begged her not to wear the necklace,” she whispered. Mara’s ears perked up. “What necklace?” Kate pulled out her phone and showed a photo from that morning: Emily, in her wedding gown, with a thin, antique gold chain around her neck. On it hung a ruby pendant encased in what looked like blackened ivy. “It was her grandmother’s,” Kate said. “She found it a month ago while cleaning out the attic of her family estate. Said she felt drawn to it.” Mara zoomed in. The pendant had an engraving so faint you’d miss it if you blinked. “The vow remains.” --- 🕯️ A Family Estate Full of Shadows That afternoon, Mara made the drive to the Caldwell estate. The manor, sitting alone atop Red Hollow Ridge, looked like a page torn from a Gothic novel—ivy-wrapped windows, cracked chimneys, and shutters that creaked in the breeze. The caretaker, an old man named Harris, met her at the gate. “Miss Emily shouldn’t have gone into the east attic,” he muttered, half under his breath. “Some doors aren’t meant to be unlocked again.” Inside, the air was thick with dust and memory. Paintings of solemn women lined the hall—generations of Caldwell brides. Each wore the same ruby pendant. “She was the first to wear it in over 50 years,” Harris said. “The last one... didn’t survive the wedding.” --- 🔍 The Journal and the Rose Room In the east attic, behind a crumbling trunk, Mara found it: a leather-bound journal with the initials E.C. — Emily’s grandmother, Eleanor Caldwell. > “Louis said the bloodline could not be broken. The vow must pass from bride to bride until the debt is paid. He calls them rose brides, bound by blood and bound by silence.” > “I tried to run before my vows. But the pendant called him. Through mirror, through mind. I saw his eyes in the groom’s face. He never dies. He waits.” Chills prickled down Mara’s spine. Beneath the journal was an old wedding photo. A bride stood next to a groom whose face was eerily familiar—though Mara couldn’t place it. In the corner of the picture, handwritten in red ink: “The rose never forgets.” --- 🪞 The Mirror in the Chapel Back at the church, Mara noticed something she hadn’t before. Behind the altar, half-hidden by a velvet curtain, was an old standing mirror. The pastor said it had been part of the church for nearly a century. Emily had insisted it remain during the ceremony, calling it “a family tradition.” Mara stood before it. Her reflection was normal—at first. Then the air grew colder. Her breath fogged. And in the mirror, behind her, stood Emily. Not disheveled. Not in distress. She stood tall, calm. But her eyes... her eyes were hollow. And the ruby pendant glowed like an ember against her chest. Suddenly, the reflection changed. The groom in the mirror—Daniel—morphed. His features melted and reformed into something ancient, inhuman. And from his mouth came a whisper that didn’t belong to the world outside glass: “The vow is sealed. The blood forgiven. She is mine now.” --- 🕳️ One Truth Emerges Mara stumbled backward, but the mirror went dark. Just her own face now, pale and shaken. The bouquet hadn’t just been flowers—it had been a trigger. The pendant, a key. And the note? A surrender. Emily had been chosen, just as her grandmother had been. Part of a ritual spanning generations. A “rose bride” bound to an immortal vow—one that fed on promises, bloodlines, and blind traditions. But Emily had tried to fight it. She left the note for someone—anyone—to understand. Now Mara did. And she wasn’t going to let Emily become another portrait on the Caldwell wall. --- 🧨 To Be Continued… In Part 3, Detective Mara dives deeper into the origins of the Rose Vow and uncovers the identity of “L.V.”—the groom who never dies. But as she begins to unravel the final thread, she finds herself being pulled into the same ritual… unless she can break the cycle first.
By Hasbanullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Light of Winterhall
The village of Winterhall sat tucked between snow-laced hills and forests so thick they swallowed sound. Time moved differently there—slow, deliberate, like each moment had to be weighed before it was allowed to pass. It was the kind of place where secrets slept under floorboards and even shadows whispered to one another.
By Awais Khaliqabout a year ago in Fiction
Lurking in the Depths of You
“Mr. Elliot Blackwood,” calls a rustic voice. I fumble my keys and wallet as I stand, timidly walking toward the small room, which is composed of only a couple of chairs and a small rectangular table that looks like it belongs in a campervan.
By Chelsea Kateabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Dead
In the old quarters of Philadelphia, autumn had wrapped the city in a blanket of sorrow. The yellow leaves, fallen from trees, lay scattered on the roads like symbols of a mysterious dream. Within this melancholic atmosphere lived a nine-year-old boy, Cole Sear — his life entangled in secrets no one could see.
By Ameer Gullabout a year ago in Fiction
