Mystery

When The Air Runs Out (part 3)
Carly could not believe her own eyes. Her parents were dead, she saw the car, there was no way the survived the crash with the way the car was crushed. She had seen their bodies go into the fire to be cremated, something they had left in their wills. She stood up, staring at this woman that could not be her mom, but she looked and sounded so much like her, and her eyes, Carly would always remember the look in her mother's eyes and this woman had that look. "I...excuse me..." Carly sputtered and ran into her bathroom, locking the door behind her. She hadn't actually looked in the bathroom until now. Though it was small, it was pretty nice and had everything she needed, toilet, sink and shower. She finally had her own shower instead of the communal one in the middle of the floor her dorm room was on.
By Crissy Cornwell5 years ago in Fiction
The Island
It all started on January 17th 2021, that was the day our lives changed forever. What started out as your typical Saturday soon turned into everyone's worse nightmare. That day the plates began to shift and our home as we know it disappeared. Honestly I thought that we were for sure going to die. I didn't want to die; I was only 17. We were at home when the ground began to shake.
By Liz5 years ago in Fiction
Worst. Tuesday. Forever.
How did I end up here? Me of all people!? Back to a wall in a dead end alleyway staring down a horde of zombies as they shuffle towards me to eat me. As many zombie games I've beaten and movies I've seen, how did I find myself between a rock and a hungry place!?
By Nathaniel Zeigler5 years ago in Fiction
James Swithinski: Enabler of Death
With a deep breath, James Swithinski left the wall he had been leaning on. It was dark outside, and James reached up to take his cigarette from his mouth. That was one of the few lights that shone in the alleyway the young man stood in.
By Tristan Palmer5 years ago in Fiction
Day 74
Today is a different day. We woke up and did not hear the buzzing sound we had been hearing since the day that everything changed. From our messed-up calculations, we are waking up to the 74th day since the sick people were released. For 74 days, we kept hearing bustling and steps above our underground shelter. Frankly, I don’t know how we made it past the first 24 hours, all of us crammed in this little hole that my husband created.
By Beatriz Magana5 years ago in Fiction
In the Arms of Morpheus
The clouds thundered in the distant skies, the morning hues of burgundy and maroon gently kissed the exposed blue. The sun merely signaled the time of 9am. Stepping into the fresh morning sun from the narrowed brick corridor, J. Edward Liveon, Private Eye, sniffled at the sight of the bustling crowds of Market square. As a trolley squelched past, spewing its’ enraged ashen debris, a toll booth could be heard in the distance, two dings, a pause, two more dings. The sounds of voices were amplified, ricocheting off the dark stoned buildings, soft water droplets propelling the rocky exteriors. The square was wide, with many off-shooting streets of varying sizes. The larger ones bustled with motor carriages and trollies. Moderately sized pathways, which dipped and curved throughout the region, were jam-packed with bustling foot traffic, Thousands of mysterious faces traveling to mysterious places. The smaller paths were harder to spot, shady characters decorated the mouths to the dangerous alleys. Edward would fall within the shared classification of a shady character, the slight scar on his face often allotted a swift judgment by strangers.
By RW Hughes5 years ago in Fiction
In the Arms of Morpheus
Rain splintered heavily against the tin walls of the warehouse. Adding to the sweet melody of rain was the sporadic array of thunder, which decorated the sky in the ravishing dance of lightning that often went hand in hand. The thunder would roll in menacing waves, a double blast of bangs- pause for the flash of lightning, with a pursuing double blast of thunderous eruptions in the sky. The waves of the nearby sea lashed out in violence at the cemented docks. Occasionally the tentacles of water would aggressively assault the tin walls of the large dockside warehouse. Within the walls, the loud smash of water on metal echoed endlessly through the wooden crates marked with miscellaneous papers.
By RW Hughes5 years ago in Fiction
Doomsday Diary
I woke up today it was like any other day. I woke up, got dressed, then went downstairs to play. I was shocked to see my kids were still in bed. What was to come was so unfathomable. I would not have ever expected that so many would end up dead.
By J.W. Baird5 years ago in Fiction
Wendigo's Moose
South of Saskatoon in Southern Saskatchewan, fertile farmland produces megatons of wheat and other food crops yearly. This story doesn’t take place there. North of Saskatchewan the fallow soil of the subarctic tundra grows stubby grass, moss, and lichens. This story doesn’t take place there either. Between those two tracts of land is a six-hundred-mile-wide stretch of boreal forest in the midst of winter’s grip. Now there’s a place for a story.
By Karl Van Lear5 years ago in Fiction
The bubble
The bubble “Mother, why do we have to stay in this giant bubble? Look out there! Look at the birds flying! What do they sound like? Yesterday you told me those four legged animals are deer, they are so pretty! The trees are so huge, the grass so tall, why are they swaying and dancing?” Pointing beyond the glass bubble, wiping it from the condensation of my breath.
By Leslie Strom5 years ago in Fiction
Husk. Top Story - June 2021.
Husk The birds don’t come here anymore—not since the burned-out husk appeared in the woods. No one knows how it came to be here. The grass in the clearing is green, the surrounding trees unmarred. Yet the car’s innards are scattered about like this was a crime scene someone tried to obliterate.
By Svetlana Sterlin5 years ago in Fiction
Melody
Melody Jenkins wasn’t normally a big consumer of newspapers, but as she made her way through the market, she dropped a fresh copy of the afternoon paper into her basket. She made her way to the front of the store with the few items she needed, and quickly paid the cashier. Luckily, the rain had stopped, and it was a short walk home.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction