thriller

Behind the velvet curtains
“No, please come in, I insist,” said Ziv, a man in his late forties, who ran his family’s enormous castle with many rooms. He lived with his maid, who felt like his mother. Rea, a Mexican actress, visited the movie set to get to know the place she was working in. She was fascinated by the long golden walls, the spacious halls, the red velvet curtains, and the pictures hung that had people who looked ethereal. Still, one shot stopped her; it was the picture of a child who had short red wavy hair, sharp but shiny eyes, and defined lips that looked as if they were drawn. His hundredth plea broke her reverie. Rea accepted Ziv’s invitation and decided to have coffee with him. They had a friendly chat, introducing themselves to each other until…
By Sham Al ahmarabout a year ago in Fiction
Unwritten on Their Graves. Content Warning.
In a cramped California apartment, eighteen-year-old Leo lived with his mother and two younger siblings, twelve year old Jasmine and eight year old Marcus. Their mother, a woman of quiet grit, had been left to raise them alone, scraping by on the meager wages of a diner job.Life had dealt her a harsh hand, and the family’s fragile balance was further shattered by Marcus’s battle with anemia. The medical bills drained what little they had, while the constant worry gnawed at them all. Leo watched his mother fight each day with unyielding determination, and though his heart burned to ease her burden, he was just a high school senior, too young, too powerless, yet aching to do more. To ease his mother’s burden, Leo had taken a part-time job at a local diner, slipping into an apron right after school while his classmates rushed off to sports or friends. Whether it was scrubbing greasy grills, bussing tables, or running orders, he did it all without complaint.The pay was barely enough to make a dent in their mounting expenses, yet Leo clung to it with quiet determination. Every shift was not only a reminder of his struggle, but also of his dream, a dream to rise above these barriers, and build a better life not just for himself, but for the people he loved most. One evening, as his mother returned from another long shift, Leo pulled her aside. His SAT results had arrived, good enough for college. Her tired face lit up with pride as she embraced him, certain her sacrifices were paying off. But Leo’s voice wavered as he confessed the catch: his scores weren’t high enough for a full scholarship, and he refused to drag the family deeper into debt. She pressed his shoulders, assuring him they would find a way and that he should focus on his future. Still, even as she smiled, Leo couldn’t ignore the worry lingering in her weary eyes. As graduation crept closer, Leo’s excitement was overshadowed by a growing weight of anxiety. The future loomed uncertain, with college slipping further from reach. Then one afternoon, a notice on the school bulletin board caught his eye, a career fair was coming to the gymnasium. It felt like a chance, to carve out a path forward, a way to bridge the gap until college could become more than just a dream. On the day of the job fair, Leo wandered aimlessly from stall to stall, scanning pamphlets and half-listening to pitches about door-to-door sales jobs, trade certifications, and odd apprenticeships. None of it felt like a future worth chasing. His steps slowed before the U.S. Army booth. Two recruiters in crisp uniforms greeted him with practiced smiles and a confidence that set them apart from the rest. They spoke of opportunities, college scholarships, steady pay, health care for families, benefits that struck directly at the heart of Leo’s worries. But it wasn’t only the promises that drew him in. The idea of wearing the uniform, of serving something greater than himself, stirred a sense of purpose he hadn’t known he was searching for. By the time he walked away, Leo no longer felt uncertain. He had found his path: the Army would be his way forward, and he was ready to take it the moment high school ended. When Leo told his mother about his decision, her reaction was far from proud. Fear and anger flashed across her face as she called the Army a path toward a coffin. She reminded him of all she had sacrificed to protect her children, of Marcus’s illness that already kept her awake at night, and insisted she could not bear to see another son chasing death. But Leo’s resolve did not waver. The arguments grew louder and more frequent in the days that followed, yet no amount of pleading or warning could pull him away from the choice he had already made. At last, the day of Leo’s high school graduation arrived, and for a brief moment the family allowed themselves to breathe. Laughter filled the small apartment, and even his mother set her worries aside to celebrate her son’s milestone. But the reprieve was short-lived. Soon after, Leo sat for the Army’s recruitment test; and passed. The letter that followed was swift and decisive: he was to report to Fort Benning for basic training. The weight of reality returned, heavier than ever, as the course of Leo’s future was sealed. The day Leo left, his mother wept as she begged him to remember he could always turn back, that home would always be waiting. Jasmine hugged him tightly, whispering for him to take care, while Marcus received the firmest embrace of all, as if Leo could somehow protect him from afar. At last, his mother stood before him, her tear-filled eyes heavy with fear of what lay ahead. With a final goodbye, Leo stepped away, his heart burdened yet fueled by the dream of building a better life for himself and the family he loved. And so began Leo’s journey, one that would carry him to the other side of the world, into the unforgiving landscapes of Afghanistan. It was a path that would shape him and shatter him, forcing him to witness and endure things he had never imagined. In the heart of war, Leo would be tested not only as a soldier but as a son, a brother, and a man torn between duty and conscience. Follow his story in the novel "Unwritten On Their Graves", a haunting tale of sacrifice, morality, and the human cost of war, now available on Amazon. Get your copy today.
By Munawar Sheikhabout a year ago in Fiction
The App That Knows Too Much
A Modern Obsession Jordan considered himself a tech enthusiast. He always wanted the newest gadget, the most cutting-edge apps, the fastest upgrades. His apartment buzzed with smart devices: a thermostat that adjusted itself, lights that dimmed with his voice, even a refrigerator that texted him when milk ran low.
By Hassan Janabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Radio Signal
Amara's nights never stopped until dawn. While the rest of her classmates at the university slumbered through the night in dormitories, she sat in the observatory, headphones stretched tight, eyes on the rows of data inching across her screens. She wasn't scanning for meteors, or for the faint glow of distant galaxies. Amara was listening.
By Leyvel Writesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Shadow Painter
The Shadow Painter The first time Elara discovered her gift, she was only nine years old. She had been sitting cross-legged in her grandmother’s attic, where dust floated in beams of late-afternoon light and the smell of turpentine lingered. Her grandmother, once a painter of modest renown, had left behind dozens of cracked canvases and jars of half-dried paint. Most children would have found the place eerie, but to Elara, it was a sanctuary.
By Numan writesabout a year ago in Fiction
Guardians And Angels | Chapter Five | Part 20
One My father stood at my bedroom door buzzing Hard as Fuck. That Friday night, when he decided to walk into my bedroom, I was still at the dance with mirror ball lights spinning across my freckles not knowing back home the robot cicadas from the fucking Jungle were screaming at him again.
By Christopher Dubbsabout a year ago in Fiction
Proof of Pain. Honorable Mention in The Shape of the Thing Challenge. Content Warning.
Kirk kneeled on the concrete floor and roared WHERE IS IT loud enough to travel up the stream of blood, past the cracked eardrum and shake the young man’s brain awake. Receiving no response other than a pained grunt, Kirk kicked the exposed flesh below the ribs. Waxing half moons congealed into a purple nebula.
By Sean A.about a year ago in Fiction
AI for the Mind
The Rise of Digital Therapy Tools In recent years, mental health has become a central topic across Europe, with rising awareness about depression, anxiety, and burnout. Traditionally, access to therapy has been limited by long waiting times, high costs, and stigma. This is where artificial intelligence (AI) has stepped in, offering new ways to make mental health support more accessible.
By Muhammad Ibrahimabout a year ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Village
Every corner of the world hides secrets that defy logic. Some stories are passed down through generations, their origins long forgotten. Others appear suddenly—so strange and chilling that they’re impossible to ignore. This is one such story: a remote mountain village that exists on every map, yet no one who tries to find it ever succeeds. I first stumbled across this mystery on an old travel blog. The writer described passing by a weathered signpost pointing toward a place called Dharava. He’d driven by countless times, but one day his curiosity got the better of him. He followed the road, expecting a quiet mountain settlement, only to find nothing but dense forest. He assumed it was a GPS error. That single detail hooked me. Dharava appeared on maps, historical records, and old census documents, but online, there was no trace of it—no photos, no recent mentions, no travelers’ reviews. It was as if the village had been scrubbed from existence. As a journalist drawn to unsolved mysteries, I couldn’t resist. I decided I had to go there myself. --- The morning I set out, the weather was already unsettling. Heavy clouds hung low over the mountains, and mist curled over the winding roads. I eventually found the sign for Dharava, pointing toward a narrow road that looked barely used. The moment I turned onto that road, a heavy silence fell. No other vehicles, no people, not even the distant hum of life. The trees seemed to close in, their branches weaving together so tightly that sunlight barely touched the ground. The further I drove, the older and rougher the path became. It felt like no one had traveled this way in decades. On either side of the road stood towering banyan and peepal trees, their roots twisting like skeletal fingers over broken stones. My GPS insisted I was close, yet I saw no signs of life. A crumbling stone wall appeared at the edge of the road. Beyond it stood a small, half-ruined temple. The carvings on its worn walls were ancient, faded almost to nothing. Inside, I found an extinguished oil lamp and shriveled flowers, as though an offering had been made there long ago. As I turned to leave, I felt it—a prickling sensation on my neck, like I was being watched. I spun around, but the road behind me was empty, silent except for the whisper of the wind. --- I pressed on, curiosity overruling my growing unease. Deeper into the forest, I found a dilapidated house, half-collapsed beneath creeping vines. Inside, a wooden cupboard stood against a cracked wall. Against my better judgment, I opened it and discovered a small leather-bound diary. The pages were brittle, the ink faded, but one entry was still legible: > “The voices grow louder at night. The villagers say this place is cursed. No one who walks this road after dark returns.” A chill ran through me. I tucked the diary into my bag and stepped outside, determined to turn back. That’s when I heard it—a faint giggle, high and childlike, drifting through the mist. I froze, heart pounding, scanning the trees. The laughter faded as quickly as it had come. The forest felt alive, watching me. I snapped photos of everything—the temple, the house, the carvings—hoping to capture proof of this place. But as I retraced my steps, I realized nothing looked the same. The path had shifted. The trees, the rocks, even the landmarks I’d passed moments ago were gone. --- Panic set in. My GPS had lost its signal, and the sun was sinking fast. Darkness crept between the trees, and the mist thickened until it felt like I was walking through a dream. Desperation gnawed at me. I picked a direction and pushed forward, my breath quickening. Then, a light flickered in the distance—a soft, golden glow. I followed it, stumbling through tangled roots and low-hanging branches until I reached the temple again. This time, someone stood outside. A woman, dressed in a white sari, her face blurred by the mist. “Please,” I called out, my voice trembling. “I’m lost. Can you help me?” She didn’t speak. Slowly, she raised a hand and pointed down a narrow path I hadn’t seen before. I hesitated, but fear of being trapped there overnight overpowered my caution. I thanked her softly and followed the path. After a few minutes, I heard a sound I’d been desperate for: the faint blare of a car horn. My car. Breaking into a run, I burst out of the trees and onto the main road. I turned back, expecting to see the temple, or the woman—but there was nothing. Just dense, dark forest. --- Back at my hotel, I pulled out the diary and examined it again. On the last page, written in shaky handwriting, were these words: > “Those who leave this place alive are never called back.” I returned home the next day and never spoke of Dharava to anyone—not until now. The village is still marked on maps, a tiny dot in the mountains. But no one has ever uploaded a single photo of it, and no traveler has confirmed its existence. Some places aren’t meant for us. Some places will always remain hidden.
By AngelFaceabout a year ago in Fiction
A summer that scarred me for life.
I began my day normally like any other teen would: drinking my coffee with an extra shot of expresso and scrolling through my phone. My head was still buzzing with excitement.
By Ayesha Buttabout a year ago in Fiction
Arrival Over Earth
Arrival Over Earth 2000 miles across the sky By Joey Raines The footage was never meant to be seen. It was labeled, stored, and buried in silence. Yet for a brief moment, it escaped into the world, a glimpse of something that should not exist.
By Joey Rainesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day the World Stopped Using Mirrors
It began on a morning like any other. People rose from their beds, shuffled to their bathrooms, and discovered that their mirrors no longer worked. Not cracked, not clouded, not broken — simply blank. Glass still shined, but it reflected nothing. You could press your palm against it and see only the dim outline of your hand through the glass, like pressing against a window at night.
By arsalan ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction