thriller
Going Undercover. Content Warning.
By 2019, I had been writing cartel stories for a dozen years yet I still wasn’t ready for what I heard. Marcos Reyes, a half-Dominican gun merchant out of Chicago, told me about it. He appeared at gun shows all over America as Marcos, but almost every narco in Mexico calls him El Fríto. What almost nobody knows is that he is actually Marcus Reed, a 38-year-old ATF agent who was living undercover for forty-five months.
By Scott Christenson🌴11 months ago in Fiction
To Dust. Top Story - December 2025. Content Warning.
Cassus stood before the locked and barred tomb. Twenty years before, he laid its inhabitants to rest. It was as tombs made by families of modest wealth tended to be: four columns supporting an angled roof festooned with griffins, unicorns, and humble men seeking their eternal forgiveness from the Crescent Sun. The bards would pack the tavern with that irony. Cassus laughed to himself and the effort turned to a rasping cough that made his knees buckle. He knew he’d receive no such forgiveness when they laid him to rest.
By Matthew J. Fromm11 months ago in Fiction
Dust and Static. Top Story - December 2025.
Just one more box. Frank thought to himself as he turned back into his childhood home. The loss of his parents was, on paper, a tragedy, a car crash that couldn't have been avoided, but in reality it was no real loss to him. It had been years since he'd spoken to them, and even longer since he'd seen them.
By Liam Storm11 months ago in Fiction
The Room that Remembered. Content Warning.
He woke on cold stone, cheek pressed against grit. A throb pulsed behind his eyes—deep, steady, like a slow hammer striking bone. When he tried to move, pain shot through his shoulders. His wrists were bound behind him with coarse rope, tight enough to bite.
By SUEDE the poet11 months ago in Fiction
The Room at the End of the Hall
(A son returns home after five years to open the room his father left behind. The door was closed out of grief, but what he discovers inside changes the way he sees love, loss, and family. This emotional story explores how memories can stay frozen in time, waiting for the courage to be unlocked again.)
By Salman Writes11 months ago in Fiction
The Night My Shadow Walked Away From Me
Some nights stay with you forever—not because something magical happened, but because something impossible did. The night my shadow walked away from me wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a trick of the light. It was the moment I realized that sometimes, the parts of ourselves we ignore the most eventually demand to be seen. I remember the evening clearly. The air was cold enough to sting, and the street outside my window was unusually quiet. I had been sitting alone in my room, the faint glow of my study lamp stretching my shadow across the wall. It looked longer than usual, almost alive. I laughed at myself for thinking that, but a strange discomfort lingered in my chest. I stood up to stretch, and that’s when it happened. My shadow didn’t move. For a moment, I froze. Maybe I was tired, maybe the light angle was tricking me—but then it lifted its head. My shadow, the dark shape that followed me everywhere without question, turned toward me as if it had finally grown tired of being ignored. And then, slowly, like a tired friend standing up after a long wait, it stepped away from my feet. I stumbled backward, my heart pounding. The shadow no longer clung to me—it stood on its own, tall and silent, made of darkness but shaped exactly like me. And as ridiculous as it sounds, the first thing I felt wasn’t fear. It was shame. Because looking at it was like looking at all the parts of myself I pretended didn’t exist. It didn’t speak—not with words anyway. Shadows never need words. But I understood it perfectly. It walked toward the door and paused, almost asking me, Are you coming or not? I followed. Outside, the world was dim, as if the night itself was listening. My shadow walked slightly ahead of me, like it had finally taken the lead. Each step felt heavier, not because I was scared, but because I realized how long I had been running from myself. We reached the old playground near my street. The swings creaked softly in the wind. My shadow finally turned to face me. That’s when I understood why it left. I had spent months pretending everything was fine—laughing when I felt empty, forcing confidence when I felt small, hiding my fears behind jokes, sleep, or busyness. I had ignored every sign my mind gave me: the late-night anxiety, the overthinking, the feeling of being stuck between who I was and who I wanted to be. My shadow had carried all of that for me. And that night, it refused to carry it alone. I don’t know how long we stood there—me in the cold air, and my shadow facing me like a mirror made of truth. I finally whispered, “I’m sorry.” It felt strange apologizing to something that wasn’t supposed to be real, but somehow it was the most honest thing I had said in months. My shadow stepped closer—not threateningly, but gently. It reached out its hand, and I felt nothing physically, but something inside me softened. Sometimes healing doesn’t look like bright light or big breakthroughs. Sometimes it looks like facing the darkness you’ve been avoiding. After a moment, my shadow turned around and moved back toward me—slowly, patiently, like it was giving me time to breathe. When it touched my feet again, I felt a warmth rise through me, a feeling of wholeness I hadn’t felt in a long time. And just like that, it fused back into place. When I looked down, my shadow was once again where it belonged—following me, not leading me. But it wasn’t the same. Or maybe I wasn’t. I walked home, each step feeling lighter, as if a weight I didn’t know I carried had finally dissolved. The world looked the same, but I felt different—like I had met a part of myself I could no longer ignore. Since that night, I’ve learned something important: Your shadow is not your enemy. It’s the part of you that holds your fears, your mistakes, your insecurities, and your truths. It follows you, not to haunt you, but to remind you of everything you still need to face. Most people run from their shadows. I did too. But the night mine walked away from me, I realized that life becomes clearer—not when you escape your darkness, but when you are brave enough to walk beside it. And sometimes, the most terrifying moment of your life becomes the beginning of your freedom.
By Muhammad Reyaz11 months ago in Fiction
Ali Baba and the Forty Riders of Shadows
Ali Baba was a poor woodcutter who lived a simple life on the edge of a dusty old town. His small home was modest, but peaceful, shared only with his gentle and hardworking wife. Every morning, he walked into the forest with his worn axe and his loyal donkey, hoping to gather enough wood to sell at the market. Life wasn’t easy, but Ali Baba never complained. He believed that honesty and patience would eventually bring him something good.
By Salman Writes11 months ago in Fiction
IVY
CHAPTER 1 : An Unwelcome Presence It didn’t make sense. Why did this person feel so familiar? Why did he carry this sense of unwanted disturbance? His smile looked harmless, but I knew better. Smiles could be deceiving. I needed to make him go away—or it would be another calamity. I couldn’t afford that again.
By Asha verne11 months ago in Fiction
A Message That Appeared on My Phone From the Future
It was a normal Thursday night—or at least, I thought it was. I was scrolling through my phone, half-watching a poorly made horror movie on YouTube, when something strange happened. My screen flickered for a split second, and a notification appeared. Only, it wasn’t from any app I recognized. “From: Unknown” Message: Don’t ignore this. Read carefully. I blinked. My heart skipped. Usually, unknown messages are spam. Or pranks. Or viruses. But this… felt different. Almost… urgent. Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped it. “You are about to make a mistake that will change everything. Stop. Do not go to sleep tonight. Follow the instructions in this message. Your future depends on it.” My first reaction? Laugh. Seriously. My “future depends on a text”? Maybe I was too tired, or maybe the YouTube movie was messing with my mind. But then… the phone buzzed again. “I know you’re laughing. But check the lock on your bedroom door. Now.” I froze. My bedroom door? I hadn’t locked it in months. With trembling fingers, I walked to the door and tried the knob. Locked. Firmly. I spun around. Nobody was there. My parents were asleep downstairs. My younger sister’s room was dark. My dog was snoring on the couch. I checked the phone. The message was gone. For a few minutes, I debated whether I was hallucinating. Sleep deprivation? Anxiety? A prank? But then… the phone buzzed again. “Open the drawer under your bed. You’ll find a black envelope. Inside: instructions.” I glanced under the bed. Heart hammering, I reached down. There it was—a black envelope, perfectly sealed. No note had been there before. No one in my family knew about it. With trembling hands, I opened it. Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a small USB drive. The paper had a single instruction written in neat, sharp handwriting: “Plug the USB into your computer. Follow the file named ‘NOW.’” I obeyed. My hands shook as I plugged the USB into my laptop. There was one file. No folder names. One file: NOW.exe I hesitated. My brain screamed not to. But my curiosity won. I double-clicked. The screen went black for a second, then flickered. A face appeared. Male. Older. But familiar. My own face. “Hello,” the face said, in my own voice. “I’m you. From… 7 years in the future. You have to listen carefully. Everything you know about your life is about to change. And it starts tonight.” I dropped the mouse. My heart raced so fast I thought I might pass out. “Who… what?” I stammered. “Listen,” the future me said. “Seven years from now, you make a decision that ruins everything. I don’t want to say too much—you’ll panic—but tonight, you have a chance to prevent it. There’s a key under your bookshelf. Take it. Go outside. You’ll know where to go. Trust me.” I laughed nervously. My future self? My phone? This had to be some prank… but the black envelope, the USB—everything pointed otherwise. I found the key. Old, rusty, with the initials “J.M.” etched on it. Who even owned a key like that? My hands shook as I opened the front door. The night was quiet. Too quiet. The air smelled faintly metallic. Then I saw it. A small hatch, hidden behind the garden bush I’d never noticed. The key fit perfectly. I turned it. A low creak echoed into the night. Inside was a tiny room. Strange machines hummed softly. Screens glowed with graphs and images of my neighborhood. Maps of streets, houses, even my room. On a chair was a note: “Do what you must. Every second counts.” I stepped inside. The room’s temperature dropped, but I kept going. On one table was a phone—my phone, but older. Messages were open. One from me, dated 7 years from now: “I’m sorry. I tried to warn you, but it’s too late.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. If this message had reached me tonight, I could prevent something catastrophic. But what? Then, the future me appeared again—no longer on screen, but standing there. Older, worn, exhausted. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t ignore the message. Trust yourself. Make the choice you’re scared to make. That’s all I can tell you.” Before I could ask anything else, he vanished. The machines powered down. The room disappeared. I was standing in my garden again. The phone buzzed one final time: “You did it. Or at least… you will.” I sat down on the grass, trying to calm my racing heart. My phone never buzzed again. The USB was gone. The envelope was gone. The hatch? Closed, invisible. And yet… I knew I hadn’t imagined any of it. Tonight, a message came from the future. And I realized: sometimes, the universe finds a way to give you a second chance—if you’re brave enough to take it.
By Muhammad Reyaz11 months ago in Fiction
IVY
Prologue Ivy has spent years rebuilding a life that once burned to ashes—her past hidden, her peace fragile. Just when she begins to believe she’s finally safe, a stranger with ocean‑blue eyes appears at her door, stirring a fear she thought she’d buried forever.
By Asha verne11 months ago in Fiction
