thriller

After-Hours HR
The email came in at 1:32 a.m. No subject line. Just a calendar invite and a single sentence in the body: Mandatory check-in. 1:45 a.m. HR Office.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
Thriller Red
It’s dark. Zarodie couldn’t see anything. She gingerly moved forward extending her arms as barriers so her body wouldn’t hit anything.
By Devond Devoe18 days ago in Fiction
Choice
Introduction This is for Liam Storm's Challenge that you can check out here: The song is "Catch-22" by Illy featuring Anne-Marie
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 18 days ago in Fiction
The Lights Delay
The office uses motion-sensor lights. They’re supposed to save money. They’re supposed to make late shifts feel less lonely—rows of cubicles blooming with white light as you walk past, proof that the building sees you.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
The Overnight Janitor Who Doesn’t Exist
I work the late shift because it’s quiet. That’s the lie I tell people, anyway. The truth is I like knowing where everyone is. During the day, the office is unpredictable—meetings popping up, people hovering, footsteps that don’t belong to anyone you can see.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
The Conference Room Reflection
The glass walls are supposed to make the office feel open. During the day, they reflect light, movement, people passing by with coffee cups and half-finished conversations. At night, they turn the building into a maze of mirrors.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
Day 12: Something Is Writing Back
Day 1 I woke up on a carpet that smelled like old paper and damp electricity. Yellow walls. Buzzing lights. No windows. No doors that led anywhere meaningful.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
Light Starvation
FIELD NOTES — UNDATED I don’t know when I got here. Time doesn’t behave normally. My watch stopped on entry. My phone battery died before I thought to conserve it. The lights, though—those I can measure.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
Someone Else’s Footsteps
RECOVERY LOG — AUTHOR UNKNOWN I don’t know who will read this. I don’t know if anyone will. I’m writing because writing fixes things in place. It gives the room's edges.
By V-Ink Stories18 days ago in Fiction
The Banyan That Whispered My Name
In India, we grow up hearing one rule again and again — “Suraj dhalne ke baad kuch jagahon par nahi jaate.” Some places are not meant to be visited after sunset.
By Gaurav Gupta20 days ago in Fiction
The Island That Refused to Stay
Lately, she has been trying to look at her life the way a stranger might. Not kindly, not cruelly. Just honestly. As if objectivity could soften the sharp edges of memory. As if stepping outside herself might make the weight easier to carry.
By Salman Writes20 days ago in Fiction
The Million Dollar Paperweight
The Ferrari was red. Or at least, it used to be. Now, it was the color of the dunes. A thick, matte layer of beige dust coated the hood, turning a $300,000 machine into a ghost.
By The Quiet Hustle21 days ago in Fiction