Mystery

Avoid the Rabbit
The micro below is a follow up to my recent story Find the Rabbit. It will make more sense if you read that first. Find the rabbit.
By Paul Stewartabout a month ago in Fiction
The Day the Sun Didn’t Rise
The weather forecast had mentioned a storm system moving in from the north. Nothing unusual. But when 6:12 AM came and went without even a hint of light, something felt wrong.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
Lifetimes . Content Warning.
Juliette I sigh as Itap my pen on my desk staring off into space, waiting for someone to tell me to do something and I think to myself I knew this would be boring but Jesus I'm gonna grow gray hairs waiting here. I get snapped out of my thoughts when I feel my desk shake and I see a big pile of papers towering over me as a man that won't even meet my eyes but scans my body says to me, the boss wants you to go over these and make sure everything is correct and when and/or if you are done bring them back to my desk.
By cheyenne about a month ago in Fiction
The Night Everyone Forgot 3:17
The first time Nora noticed 3:17, it was on a Tuesday, which felt unfair. Tuesdays were supposed to be anonymous days, the kind that slipped past without requiring you to remember anything about them. She was closing up the coffee shop where she worked, wiping down the last sticky table, when her phone buzzed with a notification.
By Pine Newsabout a month ago in Fiction
The Curse of the House on Harper's Hill
"Run, Shelly! We're almost there. Don't look back. Hurry!" My best friend, Daniel, was a faster runner. I tripped over a branch and fell, tumbling several feet down the hill. "Danny!" I called out, but he kept running.
By Julie Lacksonenabout a month ago in Fiction
INTERVIEW WITH A HOOKER (3)
“Honey, I wasn’t thinking of ending our conversation; I’m really enjoying it. However, every time I make the slightest move, the bartender has to pick his tongue up off the counter and I can just imagine, from the expressions on the men’s faces behind me that I see in the mirror, what’s going through their little minds. I like you; you’re somewhat like Cool Hands—not your looks—the way you come across—I feel I can trust you. Since the night is still young, if you don’t mind, I thought we could go someplace more private.
By Len Shermanabout a month ago in Fiction
THE STARLINER PROTOCOL: NASA’S "TYPE A" CONFESSION AND THE 311-PAGE COVER-UP
THE ECHOES OF A FAILING SHIP In the sterile, brightly lit press briefing rooms of Washington D.C., government space agencies do not willingly admit to catastrophic failure. They use sanitized words. They talk about "learning opportunities," "data collection," and "nominal deviations." They wrap their mistakes in thick layers of bureaucratic armor.
By Wellova about a month ago in Fiction
THE MAN WHO COULD WORK MIRACLES
George McWhirter Fotheringay was not the kind of man anyone would expect to possess miraculous powers. He was small, with bright red hair, freckles, sharp brown eyes, and a habit of twisting the ends of his moustache when arguing. He worked as a clerk at Gomshott’s and enjoyed proving people wrong. Until the age of thirty, he did not believe in miracles at all. In fact, he strongly argued that miracles were impossible. His strange discovery happened one evening while he was debating the subject in the bar of the Long Dragon.
By Amelia Millerabout a month ago in Fiction
Did The Tarot Cards Predict Love?
Did The Tarot Cards Predict Love? In a quiet village, where the moonlight draped softly over cobblestone paths, there lived a woman named Clara. She found peace in a small garden, surrounded by fragrant blooms, a sanctuary where she could listen to the whispers of her heart.
By George’s Girl 2026 about a month ago in Fiction
The Elevator That Only Goes Down
Everyone who worked there knew that. Forty-seven floors. No basement. No sublevels. But the elevator had 48 buttons.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
Before the Sun Arrived
The first morning it happened, Mara thought it was a trick of the streetlamp. She woke before her alarm, before the garbage trucks, before the first commuter train dragged its metallic sigh across the edge of town. The sky outside her bedroom window was still a dark, uncommitted blue. The kind of blue that hasn’t decided whether to become morning.
By Flower InBloomabout a month ago in Fiction
The Day the Internet Went Silent
The Day the Internet Went Silent At exactly 9:17 a.m., the world stopped refreshing. No notifications chimed. No emails arrived. No feeds updated. Phones, once warm with constant use, cooled in the hands of confused people everywhere. At first, everyone assumed it was temporary—a glitch, a slow network, a routine outage.
By Marie Kromahabout a month ago in Fiction