Mystery
Babbling Dixie
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelleabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
The Apartment in the Middle
It was raining when Mara first saw the building on Myriad Circle. The clouds hung low and gray, like a tired curtain that refused to move. She had come to this city on impulse, chasing nothing but a vague sense of escape and a hope that the world outside her small hometown could somehow understand her.
By Fawad Ahmadabout 9 hours ago in Fiction
The Empty House
One silent morning, I woke up earlier than usual. The air felt cold, and the sky was covered with light clouds. Everything outside was quiet. Even the birds were not making much sound. It was the kind of morning that feels different, but you cannot explain why.
By Shani Storytellera day ago in Fiction
Red Moon And Killer Wolves
Red Moon And Killer Wolves Under the red moon the forest changed. Trees leaned as if listening. The wolves came, their fur dark with shadow. They did’nt growl, they did not run. They walked slow, eyes fixed ahead, as though something unseen pulled them forward. In the village a single lamp still burned. A woman stepped outside, looking up at the strange sky. She never saw them reach her. One moment she stood breathing, next the ground drank her silence. The wolves kept moving, leaving nothing behind but blood in the dirt and the heavy pulse of the moon above.
By George’s Girl 2026 a day ago in Fiction
The Night My Daughter Called
Three years after burying an empty coffin, a mother receives a call from the daughter she lost to the ocean. The voice sounds real, frightened, and impossibly close. In the quiet of the night, something begins that she doesn't fully understand.
By Lori A. A.a day ago in Fiction
The Silver Creation
“My brother warned me to not accept gifts from the one who commissioned you,” Epimetheus said, his voice echoing against the stone pillars of the temple. Before him stood a woman clad in silvery raiments, her skin catching the flickering light of the torches. A silver tiara rested upon her brow, and rings glinted from her fingers and toes.
By imtiazalam2 days ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Silent Key
To the stranger who borrowed my silence and called it your own: I used to wonder what kind of person does that. Not steal money. Not steal fame. But steal something quieter — something invisible. An idea, a symbol, a piece of meaning that someone else built in the privacy of their own mind.
By Yasir Rehman2 days ago in Fiction
The Story Beneath The Story
People call me Bigfoot and other names and say that I smell horribly. They are afraid of me because I’m not human and have fur. I live where few people do, and the scent I give off is from my rich diet. We live in the wilderness, hiding from humans, and smell like the earth and trees. We rub the raw elk onto our fur and sometimes have nests with carcasses and excrement. Humans don’t find traces of our bodies because, when near death, our fur sheds and eagles take it away. We only die in the spring when wolf and bear cubs are emerging, and our bodies feed their young, while their parents consume our bones. There aren’t many of us left. We think humans stink, and we know when they are near. Human females smell better than males, but sometimes their acrid odor makes me sneeze; it seems to happen once every moon.
By Andrea Corwin 3 days ago in Fiction
Who's Gage
The cereal went soggy faster than I liked, but I still ate it that way. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock in the hallway. Morning light stretched across the kitchen table and stopped just short of the bowl.
By Tifani Power 3 days ago in Fiction
The Clock That Stopped at Midnight. AI-Generated.
In the quiet town of Ravensbrook stood an old house that everyone avoided. It wasn’t broken or abandoned. In fact, the house looked perfectly normal—white walls, tall windows, and a small garden that somehow stayed alive even though no one ever cared for it.
By Waleed khan3 days ago in Fiction
