thriller

The Camera That Captures the Next Second
Hassan had always believed that a camera could freeze reality. A moment. A truth. A memory. But he never imagined a camera could capture something that hadn’t happened yet.
By Salman Writes10 days ago in Fiction
The Street That Only Appears in Rain
The Street That Only Appears in Rain. It had been raining for three days straight. Not normal rain. This rain was heavy, constant, and strangely quiet. No thunder. No wind. Just endless water falling from a dull gray sky.
By Salman Writes10 days ago in Fiction
Never Say Finis
Samuel was through. He was over it all. Done. Kaput. Finis. He’d lost his job as an ad executive. His wife kicked him out of their home and moved a twenty-two-year-old kid in, who his children were now calling their second daddy. Plus, his car had blown up, forcing him to walk two miles to the nearest exit on the freeway. Now he was living in this roach-infested apartment in a crime-ridden neighborhood. Just last week, a thug had stolen his wallet. At thirty-six, he had nothing to look forward to anymore.
By Mother Combs10 days ago in Fiction
Above From Below: Part 5
Red skies appeared slowly over the Texas horizon as the morning suns brought new life to the area. The roads weren't as saturated as they were to the north, and 1970, black, Challenger sped through the desolate part of the state as it headed to the area Nico was killed. Rick's weary eyes were heavy from driving straight through. He'd only made one stop near any form of civilization.
By Jason Morton10 days ago in Fiction
In love with a ghost
“Room 27” The rain poured relentlessly over Chambéry that evening. The streetlights flickered, as if they too were afraid.
By Gihan Mansory10 days ago in Fiction
IGNIS WAKE
The canteen was vacant as Hamish entered, he was early. The automated lights buzzed to life and flickered a glare across stainless-steel benches that rowed along each side of the modestly sized hall. A set of narrow windows accompanied each bench on the right side. Thick tropical fauna brushed and dragged with the wind against the exterior. The spattering of sunlight through the leaves and branches did very little to brighten the facilities dull concrete and iron panel laced interior. A closed hatch straight ahead into a kitchen indicated that lunch was not yet ready. But as Hamish’s mission detailed, this was the only opportunity to discuss the operation with his fellow MI6 and CIA agents embedded in the mysterious projects activities.
By Blair J Allan11 days ago in Fiction
Above From Below: Part 4
Rick Steele drove away from the bar and headed toward home. There was a period during the rainy season when the locals got a break, the first time in a while, he could drive without using his wipers. He had a lot to think about. What Major Kohl shared with him about his brother’s death had his head spinning. There was something more to his death than the locals in Texas had found.
By Jason Morton12 days ago in Fiction
The Curator's Last Exhibition. AI-Generated.
The Hartwell Museum closed its doors at precisely 6 PM every evening, but tonight, someone had chosen to stay. Dr. Evelyn Cross found the body at 6:47 PM, sprawled beneath the Caravaggio in Gallery Seven. Marcus Hendricks, the museum's head curator, lay face-up on the polished marble floor, his eyes fixed on the painting above him—*The Taking of Christ*. A single playing card, the Queen of Spades, rested on his chest.
By Alpha Cortex12 days ago in Fiction
The Manuscript Beneath the Monastery
I have long resisted telling this story—not because it lacks proof, but because the proof itself should never be uncovered again. Yet time has a way of eroding fear, and memory demands a voice. What I am about to recount is not invention, nor drunken folklore whispered in candlelit taverns. It is something I witnessed, something that followed me long after I fled the mountains of Transylvania.
By Gaurav Gupta12 days ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Fog: A Town That Never Sleeps
The town lay under a velvet fog that never fully lifted, its streets slick with damp and silence. Even the neon of the diner flickered with hesitation, as if unsure it should illuminate the night. The air carried a weight, a subtle hum that tugged at the edges of the mind—a whisper of things best left unspoken.
By Algieba13 days ago in Fiction
Everyone Had a Number Above Their Head… Except Me
The first time I noticed it, I thought I was tired. It was a Monday morning, the kind that drags itself into your bones before your alarm even rings. I was standing in a crowded bus, sweat sticking to my back, when I looked up and saw it.
By Millicent Chisom14 days ago in Fiction
The Malfunctioning Time Machine Part One. Content Warning.
PART ONE The Malfunctioning Time Machine Opening Prose: When the Marble Remembered the Century The revolving doors exhaled her into the lobby like a secret the building had been holding too long.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 14 days ago in Fiction