Mystery

Every Night, the Same Man Stands at My Window. AI-Generated.
I used to think the human mind could explain anything—shadows, sounds, the strange ways the night shifts when everyone is asleep. But that was before the man at my window began to return. Before his presence became a routine. Before fear and curiosity tangled so tightly inside me that I couldn’t separate them anymore.
By Muhammad Reyazabout a month ago in Fiction
THE INTERSTELLAR VISITOR IS "ERUPTING": NEW IMAGES SHOW ICE VOLCANOES ON 3I/ATLAS
A "Dead" Rock Comes to Life: The Awakening of 3I/ATLAS Just when the global scientific community thought they had 3I/ATLAS figured out, the interstellar visitor has thrown another massive curveball. We were told it was just a quiet, tumbling ball of ice speeding through our solar system—a ghost form a distant star. But it turns out, it isn’t quiet at all. It is actively erupting.
By Wellova about a month ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #5
Night had fallen. The streetlights outside the window cast a hazy, yellow glow. The air in the pharmacy was permeated with the faint scent of herbs.
By Water&Well&Pageabout a month ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #4
Yongkang walked out of the cinema. The afternoon sun beat down on the street, heat shimmering faintly on the flagstones. The air was dry and thick.
By Water&Well&Pageabout a month ago in Fiction
NASA AND ESA BREAK SILENCE: NEW IMAGES OF 3I/ATLAS RAISE MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS
The Official Narrative vs. The Visual Evidence This week, NASA and the European Space Agency (ESA) finally released new, high-resolution images of the interstellar object designated 3I/ATLAS. As the mysterious visitor speeds toward its closest encounter with Earth on December 19, the agencies are framing this as a routine scientific observation.
By Wellova about a month ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #3
The pharmacy was closed for the night. His mother was busy in the kitchen, and the shop lights were dim, leaving a faint, lingering scent of medicinal herbs on the counter.
By Water&Well&Pageabout a month ago in Fiction
The Secret in the Coffee Shop
Before the city had fully woken up, Laylo opened the door of the small coffee shop. The air was cold, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the streets as people slowly began to emerge. At that moment, a stranger walked in, with an unusual seriousness in his eyes. Laylo noticed the gaze and felt something shift inside – it was supposed to be the start of an ordinary day, but now everything had changed.
By BOBURabout a month ago in Fiction
When Darkness Taught Me to See
The Night Everything Went Black I still remember the exact moment the world went dark. Not just the physical dark—the kind that creeps into a room when the power goes out—but the emotional one. The kind that settles into your chest quietly, like it has every right to stay there.
By Fazal Hadiabout a month ago in Fiction
Ghosts of Summer Rain
The Memory That Wouldn’t Leave Some moments stay with you long after you think you’ve moved on. Not because they haunt you in a frightening way, but because they whisper—softly, constantly—like rain hitting a window on a quiet afternoon.
By Fazal Hadiabout a month ago in Fiction
The Last Door in the Dark Hallway
There was a hallway in the old ancestral house where I grew up, a narrow corridor that always felt colder than the rest of the building. Even as a child, I sensed something uneasy about it, though no one ever warned me away from it. I would pass by with a book or a cup of tea, distracted by life, yet my eyes always wandered to the very end of that dimly lit passage. There, half lost in shadow, stood a door that looked as though it belonged to another century. Dust coated it so thickly that it seemed carved from the wall itself.
By Anas Khanabout a month ago in Fiction
The Crimson Frequency
The rain in Hollow Creek didn't wash things clean; it only seemed to press the grime deeper into the pavement, sealing the town’s secrets under a slick, reflective varnish. Detective Elias Thorne watched the rhythmic sweep of his windshield wipers, the rubber blades groaning against the glass like a dying breath. He had been driving for six hours, leaving the cacophony of the city behind for this forgotten stretch of the Pacific Northwest, a place where the towering pines grew so thick they choked out the daylight long before sunset. The case file on the passenger seat was thin—painfully thin given the severity of the crime—but the photographs spilled halfway out, revealing glimpses of a nightmare that shouldn't exist outside of Victorian horror literature or dark web conspiracy forums.
By Wellova about a month ago in Fiction
There Was Something Crawling Under My Bed
The Night Everything Changed I was twelve years old the first time I heard it— a soft rustling sound coming from the dark space beneath my bed.
By Fazal Hadi2 months ago in Fiction