Mystery

Quiet Armageddon
“The price of oil has now reached over one hundred dollars a barrel. The highest it has been since twenty twenty-two.” Sylvia half-listened to the voice on the radio as she turned into the Tesco car park. She was more concerned with remembering what she actually needed: cat litter, milk, and probably bread.
By J.B. Millerabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
The Android Detective: Help Wanted
Vesper Lyra leaned her lanky frame into the door to push through the entrance lacking working electronics. A simple, painted sign in a boring and nondescript font announced that one would find a Clyde Sharpman, P.D. inside. Among the bright lights, vibrantly coloured signs, and announcements everywhere else on Wetwater Street, how she even noticed the place was a mystery. Not to mention the roughly cut-out cardboard sign in the unit’s dirty window advertising that the private detective, Clyde Sharpman, wanted help.
By Jean-François Lamotheabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
Lycan Lore. Top Story - March 2026.
As the students of my 10am mythology class take their seats, I decide to steer the day's curriculum away from Greek and dive into a Western European discourse on the misaligned beliefs of the Werewolf. A tale of truth or fiction. No one really knows.
By Lamar Wigginsabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Object
Mary knew exactly where to find the bastard. She pulled up to the side of him in her red BMW and honked her horn. JJ jerked his head to the right. She grinned at him like a poker player, reaching for the money in the pot.
By Paul Aaron Domenickabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Midnight Alley: The Boy Who Called His Killer “Dad”
Lightning cracked overhead as Detective Lena Carter’s boots splashed through the rain-slicked alley. The call had come just moments ago—a child was hurt, and the storm didn’t care. Narrow walls of brick reflected the flickering light from a struggling streetlamp, puddles trembling under each flash. On the wet ground lay a boy, twelve years old, eyes wide in final surprise, blood glimmering in crimson streams across the cracks beneath him. Clutched in his small, trembling fingers was a soaked scrap of paper. Carter leaned close, throat tight: the letters D_A_ smeared by rain.
By imtiazalamabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
The Last Message. AI-Generated.
It was a rainy Thursday when Mia stumbled upon the old, leather-bound journal in her grandmother’s attic. She had always thought the attic was just a dusty storage room, filled with forgotten furniture, broken toys, and cardboard boxes of old clothes. But this journal looked different—its cover worn, edges frayed, and the pages yellowed, as if it had survived decades of secrets.
By Waleed khanabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
The Rule About Tuesdays...
The Rule About Tuesdays Nobody in the business talks about the rule. You learn it. Usually once. If you need to learn it twice, you probably don’t get a third chance.
By Teena Quinn about 24 hours ago in Fiction
The Stranger Who Knew Tomorrow. AI-Generated.
The town of Millford was the kind of place where nothing unusual ever happened. Every morning looked the same. The same people walked the same streets, drank coffee in the same café, and complained about the same weather.
By Waleed khana day ago in Fiction
The Hunt for Dahlia
Paws the size of bucklers slapped down one after another through the mud that made up the eastern pass that ran out through the Agathok. The locals referred to it as Mercas Way, no doubt because of the vast amount of trade caravans and merchants that frequented it in the dry months. The beast gave a low moan and tossed its head back and forth several times to shake the rain and dirt from its face, picking up its pace slightly as it grew giddy at the prospect of a clean hide. The deserts had been warm the last few years allowing the beast to lounge with its master out in the sun, but the packing of sand into everything that was not sealed had been an uncomfortable compromise.
By Brier2 days ago in Fiction
The Corner Table
Every morning, the cafe illed with the same quiet rhythm. The door chimed, the espresso machine hissed, and the regulars appeared in a steady procession.
By Zakir Ullah2 days ago in Fiction
Is Saad Punjwani About to Get Married? A Mysterious Instagram Post Sparks Curiosity
A single Instagram post is sometimes enough to start a wave of curiosity online — and that is exactly what happened when Pakistani technology entrepreneur Saad Punjwani suddenly appeared on Instagram after years of silence.
By Jon B. Carroll2 days ago in Fiction
The City That Sleeps for One Hour
Nerath was a city of contradictions. A jewel in the desert, its towers gleamed like glass spears piercing the sky, its streets pulsed with neon veins, and its people thrived in a rhythm of commerce and culture. Yet beneath its brilliance lay a rule whispered from cradle to grave:
By Salman Writes2 days ago in Fiction