thriller

My Friend’s Last Words Came in a Dream
It’s been a year since Lily passed away, but sometimes it still feels like she might text me, or I’ll turn a corner and see her laughing in that way only she could. Grief is strange like that—it never really goes away, it just changes shape.
By ETS_Storyabout a year ago in Fiction
Darkness Before Midnight
Arlington, VA. 1997. Clank is the sound of metal, often heard and goes unnoticed. We assume they're old pipes, an old home with older issues, or perhaps it's construction, someone fixing something somewhere. But "Clank" in the stillness of the night and "Clank" again several times harder. Suddenly, it becomes disconcerting.
By A. W. Knowlandabout a year ago in Fiction
Yippie-kay-yay, Mother Crustacean
It all started one fateful day when I was searching the Great Coral for interesting trinkets to show my mother and father. I happened across something so intriguing that I had to fight a literal frogfish. You don't know what a frogfish looks like? Well, brother, you're in for a shock. They don't actually look like frogs at all—and they're nasty omnivores.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
I Followed a ‘Lost’ GPS Signal… And Ended Up in a Nightmare
Prologue: The Last Normal Night The whiskey burned going down as I crumpled Rachel's goodbye letter in my fist. One year together ended with three sentences on hotel stationery. I threw my duffel bag into the backseat of my '98 Honda Civic - the only thing I owned outright after the breakup. The digital clock read 2:37 AM when I turned the key, determined to drive through the night and put three states between me and my shattered heart.
By The Narrative Hubabout a year ago in Fiction
The Window That Waited
In a quiet corner of the city, where the traffic never quite quieted and the buildings leaned into each other like old friends, stood a weathered apartment block with peeling paint and a rusted fire escape. It wasn’t grand or new, but it had stood for decades, holding stories in its walls.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Letter You Wrote Me
The afternoon light slanted softly through the dusty attic window, catching specks of dust that danced like tiny ghosts. Lila brushed her fingers over an old wooden box she’d found tucked behind stacks of forgotten photo albums. The faded leather latch creaked as she opened it, revealing a bundle of yellowed letters tied carefully with a red ribbon.
By Junaid Shahid about a year ago in Fiction
The Memory Thieves
I woke up with no name. Not in the poetic sense—no amnesia cliché, no slow fade of recollection. It was gone. My actual name. The sound of it, the feeling of it, the weight it carried in my bones—stripped clean from my mind.
By Junaid Shahid about a year ago in Fiction
The Message in the Teacup - Part 1. Top Story - August 2025.
The song “Ça va ça vient” by Vitaa and Slimane was playing through a small white speaker. Lyric lay in the sunshine, she knew she better put on more sunscreen.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Fiction
The Last Message
The First Ping It was 2:13 a.m. when the notification lit up my phone. I’d been awake anyway, mindlessly scrolling through videos that I wouldn’t remember in the morning, letting the blue light keep me company in my dim apartment. Sleep and I hadn’t been on speaking terms lately.
By Muhammad Abbas khanabout a year ago in Fiction
A coward boy. Content Warning.
Mike was the son of a rich aristocratic family that raised him in luxury. He was a man of fine looks, and of noble bearing, and of personal attractions to the female, and of being a prominent character in society. He was handsome, with a languid smile, a proud mustache, and flirtatious eyes that many found irresistible. He was a very witty and polite person and thus was quite fashionable for parties and such events. Women saw him as a charming man and men looked at him as if wishing they could be him because of his physique and his alleged womanizing ways. He was also a master duelist with sword and pistol and often said that if he chose to fight with someone he would prefer to use pistols.
By Khan Aliabout a year ago in Fiction
One Missed Call
"A strange phone call warns me not to go to work—and it’s my own voice on the other end." I wasn’t supposed to answer it. The phone rang just as I was about to lock my apartment door. At first, I ignored it—unknown number, early morning, coffee barely kicking in—but then something in the tone of the ring made me stop. It was my ringtone, yes, but slower. Almost… heavier.
By Zulfiqar Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Gone Girl - A love That Burned and Broke
Gone Girl – A Love That Burned and Broke I always imagined the end of my marriage as a quiet thing. Some whispered argument in the dark, a slammed door, the slow drift into separate lives. But Amy didn’t leave quietly. She vanished like a magician—leaving behind a smashed coffee table, a smear of something red, and a story so perfect it could only have been written by her. I am Nick Dunne, and this is the story of how I met the love of my life, how I lost her, and how I learned that losing her might have been the luckiest thing that never happened to me. Yet, even now, as I lie awake beside her, feeling the weight of her gaze in the shadows, I wonder if luck had anything to do with it at all.
By Shakespeare Jrabout a year ago in Fiction