thriller
The House With the Red Gate
It is a saying that an old woman lives in the house with the red gate on the edge of Buraq Street. No one remembers when she arrived, or if she ever did. The house smells of cinnamon and old pages, and the wind chimes only sound when no one’s looking.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Bride: One Clue, One Truth, One Deadly Secret"
Part One: The Disappearance It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. The air in the historic Redwood Chapel buzzed with excitement as guests filled the pews, their whispers echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Light filtered through stained glass windows, casting red and gold patterns across the polished marble floor. In the front row, the groom, Nathaniel Grayson, stood tall in his tailored suit, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Fiction
We Are The Visitors
So we left Earth. Or maybe Earth left us. The timeline is fuzzy, like an old photograph smudged by too many fingers. There was water once, and grass. Birds, probably. A sky you could breathe. Then we made some really cool stuff like Netflix and nerve gas and a planet that smelled like melting plastic. So we said, “Hey, let’s go colonize something.”
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction
The Whisper Beneath the Library
StThe Basement No One Talks About I. The Smell of Secrets Rain tapped the window like nervous fingers. Aayan adjusted his hoodie, hiding behind the same table he'd claimed every evening at the University of Murbridge library. He wasn't a top student, or even an average one — but he liked silence, and this place had plenty of it.
By Abid Ali Khan7 months ago in Fiction
