Mystery
Rain-Stained Postcards
It begins the same way every time: the first shy whisper of rain against the window, like someone knocking politely on the edge of the world. I sit at my desk, listening, waiting, knowing the moment the sky opens, the impossible will arrive again.
By LUNA EDITH2 months ago in Fiction
Paper Wings
Elena Moreau had always believed that a courier saw more of a city than anyone else. Not the postcard version, but the real one—the quiet corners where people whispered their hopes into sealed envelopes, the stairwells that smelled of old wood and loneliness, the rooftops where freshly written dreams dried in the sun like pressed flowers.
By Jhon smith2 months ago in Fiction
“Mysteries of the Egyptian Pyramids”
Chapter 1: The Whisper Beneath the Sand The desert was silent.Not the silence of peace, but the silence of something ancient watching.Dr. Aiden Cole lifted his head from the map spread across the hood of the dusty Jeep. The sun was sinking behind the pyramids, turning the desert gold. For decades, he had studied Egypt’s mysteries from behind books and museum glass. But today was different. Today, he was standing face to face with the Great Pyramid of Giza.Beside him stood his assistant, Layla Hassan, an Egyptian archaeologist whose sharp mind matched her unwavering curiosity. “Aiden,” she said softly, “are you ready for this? The chamber we found… it’s untouched. Completely sealed. Not even the French expedition found it.
By Saif Ullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Room That Remembered Me
The Room That Remembered Me The house had been silent for so long that even my footsteps felt wrong, like I was waking something that had been asleep for years. Dust curled around my ankles as I walked the narrow hallway, past doors that opened easily, past rooms that had learned to live without attention. One door—that door—waited at the end, holding its breath the same way I had for two decades.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Fiction
The Breathing Room
The key felt wrong in Maya’s hand — too light, too small to protect seventeen years of silence. She was in front of the door at the dead end of the third-floor hall, the one her grandmother had locked a week after Grandfather died. Maya had been seven then, old enough to remember the sound of the lock clicking, the way Nana pocketed the key decisively, the way she said, “Some rooms are meant to rest.”
By Neli Ivanova2 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern’s Last Light
The night shift at the old Mariner’s Station was never meant to be dramatic. The building sat on the edge of town, where the shore met a stretch of forgotten rail tracks, and most nights passed in the soft hum of solitude. That was exactly why Laurent took the job. After a long year of losing more than he had learned how to speak about, silence felt like the only companion that didn’t demand anything from him.
By LUNA EDITH2 months ago in Fiction
The Christmas Angel
The Christmas Angel Every year the town waits for Christmas, but for me it has always been something more than lights or gifts. It is the quiet that falls over the evening streets, the way the snow makes the world feel soft and patient, and the feeling that someone is watching over us. That someone has a name I cannot speak aloud, yet every Christmas I feel their presence. I call it the Christmas angel.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Fiction
