thriller

The Joneses
They arrived on a Thursday, which is the worst day for envy. Mondays are too busy, Fridays too forgiving. Thursdays sit in the middle like a held breath—long enough for comparison to bloom, short enough that you still think you can do something about it.
By Violet Hamilton6 months ago in Fiction
My Stalker Knows My Dreams
The first email came at 6:12 a.m. Daniel almost deleted it. Unknown sender. No subject line. No attachments. Just text. You were in a hallway again.
By V-Ink Stories6 months ago in Fiction
Someone Is Living in My Attic
The house was cheaper than it should’ve been. That should’ve been the first red flag. But Daniel Reeves wasn’t in a position to question luck. Fresh start, new job, new town—he needed something affordable, fast.
By V-Ink Stories6 months ago in Fiction
The Person Who Texts Me from Unknown Numbers
No one noticed when Lila Hart stopped talking. She had always been quiet—the kind of girl who sat in the back of the class, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes down, answers correct but barely audible.
By V-Ink Stories6 months ago in Fiction
The Bog of the Unseen
Blood dripped frae his weak an' tired hawns. His sword hit the peaty bog he foun' himsel' in. It hud bin hoors since the sun set oon the land he called hame. Hamish tore at his sleeves an' desperately tried tae stoap the bleedin' pourin' frae the gash oon his erms an' side o' his torso.
By Paul Stewart6 months ago in Fiction
La Femme Nikita: Brainwash is One of the Darkest Episodes in Television
La Femme Nikita is one of the best shows I have been recently watching. I wasn't expecting a spy thriller to keep me so hooked, due to the dark content we get in so many episodes. I'm barely on the first season, and I've been freaking out with so many dark moments throughout the season. Nikita is working for a government program known as Section One, that consists of taking down dangerous people that could threaten the world.
By Emy Quinn6 months ago in Fiction
Orbis Aeternum
Berlin, 2025 The air smelled of ozone and snow when Klaus Reinhardt left the black marble building where the Thule Society had its headquarters. The mass rose above the Plaza of Order, with cyclopean columns and golden eagles. At twenty-six, Klaus was one of the youngest initiates in decades: son of an impeccable lineage that traced back to the original founders. A surname that opened doors, no words required.
By Isidora Luna6 months ago in Fiction
Unveiled
As Daria Hardwick drove at night, she had many things on her mind, which came with the territory of being the captain of her police department. The main centerpiece of Daria's thoughts was a case that ended up on her proverbial lap several weeks prior, a case that started out centering on domestic problems, only for things to reach a potentially deadly level.
By Clyde E. Dawkins6 months ago in Fiction
Magatha Crispy and the Vicar’s Secret. Content Warning.
Book 4: Magatha Crispy and the Vicar’s Secret Instalment 1 The bells of St. Cuthbert’s had not rung for three days. That was what brought Magatha Crispy to the tower steps on a damp Tuesday morning, her breath misting in the cold. Constable Percy Whimp hovered behind her, clutching a torch he seemed afraid to use.
By Stephen Harrison6 months ago in Fiction
how deep is the titanic
I pressed a crumpled letter to my chest as the Titanic’s bow slipped under the waves. The icy water crept up to my knees and the ship’s lights began to flicker. In the distance I heard a woman’s voice — soft and familiar — whisper my name.
By imtiazalam6 months ago in Fiction
Titanic Mysteries That Still Baffle Historians
I pressed a crumpled letter to my chest as the Titanic’s bow slipped under the waves. The icy water crept up to my knees and the ship’s lights began to flicker. In the distance I heard a woman’s voice — soft and familiar — whisper my name.
By STORY LINE6 months ago in Fiction
The #944 to Tabriz
As the train departed Isfahan station, Amir reached into his suitcase and felt it. Pulling it out, he carefully examined the colorful shard of ceramic between his fingers, remembering its history.
By Hamza Habib7 months ago in Fiction