Top Stories
New stories you'll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Easily Spooked. Top Story - June 2025.
Here I am again, surrounded by chintz, faced with tea and watery eyes, the bloody dog staring at me. What was it Mickey said? I ask the wrong questions. Could be he's right. Well, it's hard to ask the right ones when your stumbling in the dark. I'm on surer footing today. Literally. My shoes are new, a little stiff, but comfortable and dry. My mam always said you could tell a man by the shine of his shoes. "Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Jeffers," I say, pleased with how gravely professional I sound, despite the absurdity of the situation. Of course, Gail doesn't find it odd, not in the same way I do. It's got to be strange, being without your spouse after nearly thirty years. Not one half so weird, I'd argue, as knowing the dead man we'll be discussing will be waiting for me outside. "You said you used to work for the police," she said, "That's right, isn't it?" "That's right," I say, stirring sugar into my tea, "I left to work as a private detective." Her mouth is a thin line. She's sitting ramrod straight, and peering at me carefully. I'm not sure what she's looking for, but I try to display it. Between her and that huge hairy dog, I feel like there are eyes drilling into me from all over. Maybe Mickey's as well. I shift in my seat. "You don't look like a private detective," she says. "But it's good that you don't work for the police anymore. I don't trust them." She sits up even straighter at that, squinting at me as if daring me to react. "Well," I sip my tea, "Lots of people don't." There's a pause. Damn. I was too heavy-handed with the sugar. "Mrs Jeffers..." Is it Mrs? For a widow? Ah hell, what do I care... "Are you planning to make use of my services?" "I'm not sure. Could you help me, d'you think?" "I may be able to-" especially if your dead husband will be a bit more co-operative. "It would be useful if I could take notes. Is that OK?" She nods. It'd be easier to concentrate if your dog wasn't gawping at me. I turn to a clean page. "Just tell me about what happened. Take your time." "Well, I went into Mickey's study last night. I don't know why. It... It feels like he's in there." Her chin juts upward. "I understand," I try to inject warmth into my voice. I really do understand...better than she realises. "There was something he was working on... a case he never let go. He was working on it the night he... Anyway. It was gone. Someone had been in the filing cabinet and taken out papers and folders and spread them over the desk." "How did you spot that?" "I'm not sure... It just looked off." Okay. "If I work for you, Mrs Jeffers, what would l be investigating? Would I be looking into the disappearance of those files, or would I be taking on the case your husband was working on?" "They're the same thing aren't they?" "They could be. Wouldn't like to assume, though." "And what about my Michael?" she says, hardly above a whisper. Here it comes... "Could you confirm that he... I mean, was it really...." "I have some contacts. I could look into that for you." Her shoulders sag and wobble. "Mrs Jeffers, when you say you don't trust police... Who else had access to your husband's office?" "A lot of folks came by the same day you did. All old friends of my Michael, from his days on the force. Any of them could have gone in his office. I was hosting, you see. Going to the kitchen, you know. For hot drinks and whatnot." "I see." So what made me so special? What made you decide to trust me? She reads the question on my face. "You're the only one who couldn't have gone in that room," she says. "Why is that?" I'm genuinely curious how she's reached that conclusion. "Honestly? You had wet feet, and you left footprints everywhere you went." Oh, Mickey would have loved that. I sip on my lukewarm tea. "I'd be happy to help you Mrs Jeffers. I'll send you a copy of my rates, and a contract. I don't want to be pushy, but the sooner I can act the better." "I understand. You need payment from me so you can, oh I don't know, bribe people for information." "That doesn't sound like me, Mrs. Jeffers." I am all innocence. It sounds exactly like me. I write down her contact details and she sees me out. The dog still doesn't take his eyes off me. If I were easily spooked it would give me the heebie jeebies.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
We Resign from More Than just Jobs. Top Story - June 2025.
There are many goodbyes and "I quits" when it comes to being chronically unwell; in my case through a multitude of different chronic illnesses caused by not two, but three tumours in my uterus. I cannot say that I have been gaslit by the healthcare and medical profession over the last nine months (could have delivered a baby in this time, but anyway); yet being unwell takes its toll on your psyche, and most of all, on your entire life. And the loss is more than just monetary. Doctors need to keep investigating to find the root cause; and that discovery on you the unwell patient can be physically, mentally, emotionally and financially exhausting.
By Justine Crowleyabout a year ago in Psyche
I Ghosted My Dream University. Top Story - June 2025.
I still live in the Czech Republic. Something about the affordable cost of living, short work week, sustainable public transportation, and abundance of people who like me here has driven me to stay. In fact, I have signed on for a second year as an English teacher with the same company, setting this up as potentially the longest I’ve stayed in one place since my undergrad. Yes, I’ve been back to the States a couple of times, because I’m saddled (blessed?) with a family that wants to see me regularly, but doesn’t want to go through the trouble of getting passports. I genuinely enjoy living in Europe, which is why it came as such a surprise when I realized that I don’t want to stay in Europe.
By Steven Christopher McKnightabout a year ago in Confessions
Proudly Living Within The Intersection. Runner-Up in Pride Under Pressure Challenge. Top Story - June 2025.
Each day, upon awakening, each one of our individual identities takes center stage. We open our eyes and allow ourselves to be who we authentically are; who we are inherently, at our core. If we're fortunate, the world around us recognizes our identities, and builds systems and institutions that honors these identities in a way that allows us to live fulfilling lives. Our identities are inextricable from who we are, especially how we operate on a daily basis.
By Jose Antonio Sotoabout a year ago in Pride
Rachel Reviews: Of Lions and Unicorns by Michael Morpurgo. Top Story - June 2025.
I do like Michael Morpurgo or what I've read of him. His books are what I would call good stories: they're accessible to all; they deal very much with people, mainly children but not always, and what they find important; they have a rural feel, a love of the country which is almost romantic in parts that appeals to me; the link between man and animal features a lot and I like the connection that he makes between us and the things with which we share this earth.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in BookClub
The snake and the seeker. Top Story - June 2025.
“Coming! Ready or not!” Trouble is, I’m not ready. Not for this. When they drew the snake, I took too many guesses. My count was huge. And we always play hide-and-seek in the dark. That was what we called it, often hyphenated, sometimes even rushed into a single word: hidenseekinnadark.
By Andy Pottsabout a year ago in Fiction
I Resign From… Challenge Winners
Some roles you take on. Others get handed to you. Quietly. Without a conversation. This challenge was about saying you're done. With being the strong one. The fixer. The secret keeper. The one who never says no. We asked you to write a resignation letter to the parts of yourself that no longer serve you.
By Vocal Curation Teamabout a year ago in Resources
House of Masks. Honorable Mention in Out of the Dream Challenge. Top Story - June 2025.
I don’t remember beating him. Stabbing him. That’s what I keep telling them. The detective. The doctor. The woman with the clipboard and thick glasses who looks at me like I’m dead to her. I keep repeating it, hoping it’ll eventually mean something: “I don’t remember. I swear.”
By Steph Marieabout a year ago in Horror
Back in the Summer of 77. Top Story - June 2025.
In my youth in British Columbia, I loved to snorkel in the ocean waters. Much of my time was spent when I prepared to attend private school, snorkelling under the White Rock Pier in all sorts of weather. During my youth, crabs were still plentiful around the White Rock Pier and in the rugged breakwater that protected the pier.
By Bruce Curle `about a year ago in Writers
Businesswoman Chapter 159. Top Story - June 2025.
As the trio rode to the ThruMotors site, electricity hung in the air. Excitement abounded. Their pay cuts didn’t mean as much as the value of further extending the reach of privatization in Delaware of various government organizations. Atkinson peered out the window.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
