thriller

The Riverside Road - Part One
“Mr. Li, this letter appears to be the last words written by your late son, Hudson. We found it in your room, and it appears to be addressed to you.” Detective Williams produced a folded envelope and handed it across to the man dressed in mourning clothes beside him.
By Matthew Yu6 months ago in Fiction
Episode 13: A Pet In The Garden
The first time they called her “it,” Marla said nothing. They were laughing, silver-mouthed and bright-eyed, lounging in the gardens of the fallen Capitol, dressed like gods from old paintings—if the gods had cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread and no shame about hunger. One of them—the girl with a voice like broken glass—tilted her head, smiled without warmth, and said, “Ant’s pet looks sad. Did he forget to feed it?”
By Paper Lantern6 months ago in Fiction
I Found A Room That Shouldn't Exist
They’re going to say I hallucinated it. That it was a dream. That I misremembered or made it up, or that grief does things to a person.
By Paper Lantern6 months ago in Fiction
The Night at the Library
The night at the library started out just like any other night with me in the stacks reshelving books from the day before. For some reason this night was beginning to feel a different. At the moment I am not quite sure how, but I am having a feeling I will be finding out. Just not sure when.
By Mark Graham6 months ago in Fiction
I Lived the Same Day for 100 Years
I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of birdsong. Again. The same sun filtered through the same curtains. The same song played on the radio: “Golden Days” by The Morning Haze.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Fiction
The Books
As I went into that reading room there it was 'The Book". I walked up to the table, and I heard "Read the book." I stood there wondering what should I do for I thought that I had put all the books back on the shelves. I inched closer to the table, and it seemed like I was being gently pushed to that table with that book. My phone rang. I answered it, 'Read the book." Again, the feeling of being pushed to the table. I was closer to the table and the book turned out to be "The Bible".
By Mark Graham6 months ago in Fiction
The Books
When walking through the library one dark and gloomy evening when I was placing books back in the stacks there was this one study carrell that seemed to whisper. I slowly went over to it, and it kept saying "Read the book. Read the book." I thought what book as I finished putting books back on the shelves. I went about straightening chairs and picking up items that students left behind and put in the lost and found box. "Read the book, read the book." Again, what book. I went into the next room and there it was "The Book".
By Mark Graham6 months ago in Fiction
Episode 12: John Doe
So there was screaming. That’s how it started. In the room — one of those white, blinking kinds that smells like bleach and static and something dying in the walls. Someone was strapped down. Someone else was talking too calmly. There were machines. Needles. Silver bags of blood hanging from hooks like ornaments from a Christmas no one would survive.
By Paper Lantern6 months ago in Fiction
The Signal Beneath Sector 13. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the year 2148, beneath the ruins of the abandoned research colony "Sector 13," a signal was detected — a sequence that defied every known law of physics.
By Mohamed hgazy6 months ago in Fiction
The Stranger Who Knew My Name
The Stranger Who Knew My Name By [HAFSA] The first time I saw him was outside the bookstore on 6th Street. He stood leaning against the lamppost like he belonged to the rust and the rain, an unshaven man in a brown coat a size too large. He watched people with tired, knowing eyes, but it was me he smiled at.
By HAFSA6 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Door: A Race Against Time
Down a cobbled alley, in the heart of the old city, between a disused bookshop and a tea stall with a busted awning, there was a tiny little shop that sold clocks. It bore no board — just an old wooden cuckoo clock on a nail driven into the wall over the door; and the bird had long ago ceased to sing.
By Saddique Khan6 months ago in Fiction
Wrong Number📱. AI-Generated.
It was 1:44 AM when his phone rang. Unknown caller. He answered. No one spoke. Just slow, muffled breathing—like someone behind a thick cloth.
By ElaheMindStories6 months ago in Fiction