Mystery

An invitation into the abyss
This isn’t going to have a happy ending. If you are seeking escapism in a fantastical tale where handsome heroes defeat overwhelming powers of evil to win untold fortunes, the full-lipped kisses of fair maidens and the unwavering love of tail-wagging puppies; this story is not for you.
By David Rattray4 years ago in Fiction
Side Effects May Include:
I am eroding. Time and space flows over me, a river of life and opportunity and experience has discarded me into its abyss. As I stare through the screen of static and noise and reruns from the early 90’s on an old antenna-fed channel, I become dulled, lesser, a pale stone perched atop the pebble gray sofa, sinking, settling, weathering away. I run my parched tongue across the dry-rotted, deep-fried crust of my lips. I let out a long, disparaging breath, the cackling of an unseen audience filling the room from the flat screen television before me.
By Seth Adams4 years ago in Fiction
The Adventure of the Reliquary Chest
“Cordy! Over there, he’s over there! He’s just entering the café!” Lieutenant Cordelia O’Leary turned around sharply, following the direction of her husband, Dr. Henry Kingston. Ah-ha! There you are, you little creep!
By Kathryn Vanden Oever4 years ago in Fiction
Know Thy Neighbor
I pretty much do the same thing everyday. I wake up around 1pm, lay in bed for about an hour while snacking on something from my bedside table. Once I’m bored enough of my phone I get up and wash my face, brush my teeth, the usual morning routine, then I come back to my room. I have some many plans and thoughts and dreams, but I feel like I need something external from myself to give me that push, to get me started in the right direction. I’ve reached out to psychic mediums and tarot readers. I’ve bought oracle decks and crystals and have even charged them under the moonlight in order to “activate” their powers. I’ve attempted reading more books in order to spark inspiration from a character. But I’m still here in my bed, where I’ve been for that past few weeks.
By Janine Walker4 years ago in Fiction
The Box at the Diner
10:30pm. The diner had been closed for half an hour. ‘Thank the lord today is over,’ Maggie said, an unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth. ‘My feet, Ivy. My feet are bloody killing me.’
By Jade Hadfield4 years ago in Fiction
Half a day
Half a day By Hywel Latimyr Tsmugi wanders around the streets surrounding Paddington station, a ritual she seems all so complacent with in recent weeks. She likes to watch as the strange people who also seem to just wander the streets on London like herself potter around with their lives. She notices the man on his phone, with his hands-free device of course, waffling something or rather about plans for a party, with a coffee in had as you do. The old lady across the street, lecturing who Tsmugi assumed was her grandson, about how he should not forget about his studies just because this English woman took his heart. She spoke with a strong accent, which Tsmugi assumed was from somewhere in the West Indies. The lad, however, spoke like how you would hear Londoners speak in American movies. Then there was the little girl and her mother, the girl excited to be getting on a train. She could not have been any older than four, maybe five years old. Her mother just looked tired, as most mothers to young children do.
By Some Guy4 years ago in Fiction
Heat Stroke
Laura was finally home after a long day at the office and she was exhausted. She struggled with the bag of groceries in her hands while rummaging through her purse for the keys. It was just that type of day she was having: of course her car wouldn’t start. She looked at her car and she decided to walk home, regretting it now with the Texas summer heat beating down on her. Halfway home she was drenched with sweat. All she wanted to do was get home and get inside. She unlocked the door and kicked it closed behind her. She set the bag down on the kitchen table. Laura took a deep breath and fell out in the chair taking great pleasure in the cool breeze from the AC. The house was extremely quiet with the exception of the ceiling fan chords clanging together from the vibration of the blades spinning at the highest speed possible.
By Tia Dalu Souhrada4 years ago in Fiction
Punchbowl
Punchbowl John stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway on the fifth floor. The carpet was old and thin with brown stains here and there that break up the pattern of blue, gray, and red squares. It always reminded him of the hotel hallways in movies from the ‘70s. He turned down the hallway where his apartment sat near the end, between the fifty-something cat lady who never spoke to anyone and the young couple who don’t seem to understand what time decent people go to bed. Mrs. Beamon, who occupies the apartment across the hall with her thirty-five-year-old son, whom she swears will be famous one day, was sitting in the hall as usual.
By A. Scott Harlow4 years ago in Fiction
Grandma's Present
After six years of dating and a year and a half engagement, the wedding day had finally come. The bride and groom were excited and nervous, which is to be expected, as their families filled the church. The ceremony was beautiful and went smoothly, the reception after was a celebration and everyone had a wonderful time. After all the chaos had subsided and the guest had all left the newlyweds collected their gifts before heading home. All of the presents were handsomely adorned and looked amazing. At the bottom of the pile there was one box, about the size of a shoe box wrapped in plain brown paper. No card, no name. It seemed odd, but its late and its been a long day, no need to worry about it now.
By Matt Legg4 years ago in Fiction
The Attic
“I think I regret this move. If this is how summer is going to be, I might just have a heat stroke one of these days,” I complained to my wife, Leigh-Anne, who was unbuckling her seat belt from the passenger side. She chuckled, “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Three months back, my wife and I decided that it would be good for us to move because we were bored in Minnesota and wanted a fresh start. She thought it would be a good idea to live in Nevada because there were many job opportunities at casinos, and with my background in Sales and Marketing, I would be a shoo-in. She found a nice, two-room rental house online for us to view. The landlord wanted to meet with us so we could take a look around — which leads us to the present time.
By Anisah Moss4 years ago in Fiction
SBP
Where am I? Everything is a blur, I…I can’t think or recall how I got here, wherever here happens to be. I can’t move or speak, someone help! Please, anyone!
By Michael Shuffield4 years ago in Fiction
Nowhere to Hide
It was Fall in Seattle. I gazed out my window, chugging down the last ounces of my coffee, breathing in and out, as I mentally prepared for my morning run. I walked out my door, shoes in hand, as is my morning routine. As I sat on my door sill, I beamed with pride. I had worked all summer on creating an oasis on this porch. My rocking chairs stained a dark Kona colored swayed ever so slightly in the wind. My hanging planters, pouring over with plants, were hard to get started but were now in full bloom. I took all this in, as I laced one shoe and then the other, popped my Air Pods in my ears, slowly stood and stretched. This warmup was important because I hated running but found that if I eased my mind and body in it became somewhat enjoyable. I trotted down the 3 short steps to my walkway before bouncing up and down warming my legs up and flailing my arms about. I wonder what the neighbors thought of my morning routine. Because I know they are watching. When you live in a neighborhood full of seniors and inquisitive children, you knew everyone was watching the single lady in the little yellow house. Especially Mr. Charles, who I wave at as I begin my journey to the right down my walkway. He edges his lawn every morning around the same time. And every morning I greet him with a quick wave and go about my run. I run half of mile down my street and turn right, where I run a full two miles before having to turn again. This two-mile stretch is my favorite. The streets are lined with trees that remind me of an ocean sunset. The colors of the leaves are perfect shades of crimson, buttery yellows and pumpkin. I run, taking deep breaths, inhaling the colors of Fall, getting lost in the beauty and the two miles is behind me in no time. I turn the corner run a little further and make a right for the hardest part of the run. Two miles, entirely uphill. I have to gather everything in me to make it. During this time, I make a mental check list of my day, mentally adding and scratching things off my to do list. Today is laundry day. I will go home, strip off my running clothes, throw them in the laundry. Ah! I need laundry detergent. As I recall my run on yesterday, throwing my clothes into the washing machine and reaching for an empty detergent container. I immediately add “go grocery shopping to the to do list”. These thoughts have distracted me as I climb the two miles and turn onto my street for the last quarter mile of my run. As I round the corner, I see Ms. Andrews out walking Mr. Andrews, her feisty and very cute yorkie. Yes, she named her dog Mr. Andrews. She vigorously waves me down, which is unusual. As I get closer to her, I pop one air pod out still jogging in place.
By C L Richardson4 years ago in Fiction