Mystery/Thriller Short Stories & Novels

At three in the morning, my phone rang. It was my mother. The problem was, Mom had been dead for three years. “Honey, listen to me.” Her voice came through the phone so clearly that for one terrifying second, it felt like she was standing right beside my bed. “Don’t go to work next Wednesday. There’s going to be a fire at your office. “Take a day off. Tell your supervisor you have a family emergency out of town. Whatever you do, make sure you’re not in that building on Wednesday.” I shot upright in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Mom?” My voice trembled. “Remember. Do not go to work on Wednesday.” Her voice began breaking up, as though the signal were failing. “And one more thing. Your dad’s study. The third shelf. That copy of ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’. There’s something tucked inside.” The call suddenly disconnected. I sat frozen in the darkness. My entire body had gone cold. This wasn’t the first time I had received a call like this. The first one came three months ago. Mom had warned me not to take the subway that morning because there would be an accident on the Red Line. I hadn’t believed her. That day, a major signal failure brought a train to a halt inside a tunnel for two hours. No one was hurt, but I showed up so late that I lost an important client. The second call came a month ago. She told me not to eat seafood because I would get food poisoning. I was skeptical, but something about the first call still bothered me, so I skipped the dinner my coworkers had planned. That night, all seven people who went ended up in the hospital. The doctors confirmed they had all gotten food poisoning from the seafood. And now, for the third time, my dead mother had called me.

There are certain things one should never mess with. Like someone else's final exam revision notes, for example. Or a life-saving online calculus course. And a chicken curry meal ordered by a college student who has been starving for eight whole hours.

My roommate, Claire Lane, hadn't come home in three days. Then our landlady blocked my doorway with Claire's suitcase in her arms. She said Claire had already moved out and told me to sign Claire's move-out confirmation for her. Just as I picked up the pen, rows of red text suddenly appeared before my eyes, floating like real-time comments on a livestream. [Don't sign! She never left!] [That isn't Claire's suitcase. There's evidence inside.] [The moment you sign, that paper will prove she left of her own free will.] [When the police get to the basement storage room, she'll say the key was in your hands the whole time.] The landlady pushed the pen into my hand. "It's only one signature. You're roommates, aren't you? Sign for her so I can refund her security deposit." I put the pen back on the table. "Linda, I can't copy someone else's signature. I'm not signing this."

I took leave to be the maid of honor at my best friend's wedding. The moment I landed, Rachel Wendt showered me with lavish gifts: the newest flagship model smartphone, designer perfume, and other branded gifts. "A little gift for you," Rachel said. "Even though I'm getting married, you're still the most important person in my life!" I was deeply moved. Early the next morning, I got up at dawn, changed into my maid of honor gown, and went to find her. Rachel was having her makeup done. When she saw me, she excitedly waved at me. But the moment I went in closer, her face instantly turned icy. "You tramp! Get the hell out of my wedding!" I froze on the spot.

I went viral, all for the wrong reasons. The world came down hard on me, all because I refused to approve my employee, Cassandra’s, maternity leave. Cassandra tore me apart online. “Why won’t you grant me maternity leave? “The government wants the birth rate to go up. Even if you’re the CEO, you can’t go against the law. “I get it. The low birth rate exists because heartless capitalists like you treat employees like nothing. “Fam, back me up here. Am I wrong to protect my unborn child? “I have a legal right to maternity leave.” With her words striking a chord with the young generation, the livestream became a viral sensation. Many spammed the company’s social media to criticise me. There were memes of me as a funeral portrait everywhere. Some even mailed wreaths to the office. The board ordered me to apologize live. I plugged into Cassandra’s stream and looked at her calmly. “I’m sorry, but I still can’t approve your leave.”

On New Year's Eve, I came across a high-stakes delivery order boasting a massive tip of nearly three thousand dollars. Blinded by the incredible payout, I took the order without a second thought. However, the moment I arrived at the destination, I was dragged into a horrific murder scene. Panicked, I immediately dialed 911, but as the police investigation unfolded, every single piece of evidence pointed directly at me as the killer. Surveillance footage showed that I was the only person who had entered the victim's room that night. To make matters worse, tech experts confirmed that the footage showed zero signs of tampering, leaving me with no way to prove my innocence. In the ensuing chaos, the victim's grief-stricken family stabbed me to death right there and then. Even as my life faded away, I couldn't comprehend how a simple food delivery trip had turned me into a convicted murderer. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn back to the exact night I accepted that sky-high delivery order.

I, Julian Manning, am the top salesman at a car dealership, and I never refuse any customer's request. But today, I turn away a regular customer who comes in for a free maintenance service. My colleague is stunned. "Are you crazy? He's our biggest client who's about to buy the only 4-million-dollar top spec car in the store!" I nod and reply, "That's right. He's exactly the one I'm refusing." When the store manager sees the customer, Marvin Haas, angrily raise his phone to file a complaint, he rushes over to smooth things over. "Mr. Haas, please calm down. He's new and doesn't know better. Please come inside, I'll personally take care of everything..." I step to the side and block the entrance. "No. If you let him in, I'll resign right now." Marvin's face turns red with anger, and he points a trembling finger at. "I'm just here for a free maintenance. Is this really necessary?" I meet his gaze and say solemnly, word by word, "Yes, it is."

When I first started at Serenity Hills, the head nurse told me coma patients paid well—but the job was messy and brutal. They could only get IV nutrition. Screw that up, and you're basically killing them. Today was day thirty of looking after the girl. Young. Gorgeous. Like always, I hit the nurse's station to grab her IV bags— But then I saw it. Thirty glucose bottles gone. IV nutrition? Still sealed. Chills shot down my spine.

I had just gotten home when a parent in my son’s class group chat erupted: [Ms. Zinn, what kind of place are you running? Do you let just any random stray off the street become a teacher?] [My daughter came home, grabbed two forks, and tried to jump off the balcony. She said it was Miss Never who told her to!] The homeroom teacher panicked and denied it at once, insisting there was no such person as Miss Never at the kindergarten. She even posted the official teaching schedule in the chat to prove it. On the security footage, there was not a single trace of this so-called Miss Never. However, later, my son whispered to me in secret, “Mom, Miss Never is an old lady with a cat’s face.” “She says only kids can see her.”

The Horror Game invaded the world. Real players entered the game, and their every move would be broadcast live. My adopted son shoved me—an eighty-eight-year-old woman—straight into a deadly dungeon to save his own skin. One of the comments in the live stream predicted: [What? They’re tossing in such an elderly woman? No way she’s gonna survive the first night!] On the first night, a frost-bitten ghost exhaled icy breath in my face. I shrugged off my thick floral coat, feeling sorry for her. “You poor thing! You must be freezing. Listen to me and bundle up quickly!” The second night, a starving ghost lunged at me with blood dripping down his chin. I sniffed the air, then found a jar of pickled cabbage. “Look at how skinny you are! Come on, let me get you something hot to eat.” On the final day, the last surviving players tied me up, desperate to steal the one ticket to escape. However, before they could touch me, every ghost in the dungeon came storming out, cleavers and rolling pins in hand. “Touch her, and you’re dead meat!”

On the day the SAT scores were released, the police showed up at my front door. They said I had murdered three of the top students in my class. The evidence was conclusive. However, on the day it happened, I had been sitting alone at home, drowning in regret over my poor exam performance. "Worthless girl! Useless burden! How did this family end up with a monster like you?!" My grandmother screamed at me, hurling insults as her fists and kicks rained down. The only thing that could have proven my innocence—the security camera—had been unplugged by her the night before. She said the camera gave off radiation and claimed that we installed it to harm her. In an instant, I became the disgrace of everyone around me. After I was convicted, my parents couldn’t bear the blow. They both took their own lives. As for me? Under the crushing weight of public outrage and endless condemnation, I spiraled into depression and died. Even at the very end, I never understood why every piece of evidence pointed straight at me. Then I opened my eyes again and found myself back on the night before the scores were released.

The buzzing of my phone in the middle of the night jolted me awake. On the other end of the line came a voice I could never forget. It was my daughter! However, she died three years ago!

There's a saying that circulates among anglers: "If a dead fish still takes the bait… reel in and leave." The day I went fishing with my dad, we ran into exactly that. What unsettled me was not the fish. It was the look on my dad's face: an excitement that felt completely wrong. Then a message flashed across my livestream, and a chill ran down my spine. [Get out. Now. Your dad is about to trade your life for the one who died in this river a year ago.]

On the third day of my son, Zeke Murphy's disappearance, I've hacked into the smart AI system belonging to the entire apartment block. All 202 families in this block are locked up in their respective homes thanks to my ministrations. After that, I leave my first text message in the residents' group chat. "My son, Zeke Murphy, is in this very building. From now on, I will expose a family's secret every hour. If I can't find Zeke, all of you will go to hell with me." A CEO of a company with tens of millions of dollars' worth of assets is quick to lash out at me angrily in the group chat. "Have you gone nuts? Your son's disappearance has nothing to do with us! I order you to stop what you're doing immediately!" I type out my second text and attach a screenshot of an encrypted financial statement. "@1502Mr.Cooper, you have 59 minutes left. Here's a friendly reminder to check your overseas bank account. I'd like to see if the tax department is interested in its contents." I know that Zeke is currently staring at a resident on this very block right now.

The rideshare I was in broke down on a mountain road. None of our phones had a signal, so we couldn't even make a call. We waited from midnight until 3 a.m., but not a single car passed by. After it started raining, we had no choice but to get back into the car. That's when we noticed the female passenger in the front seat was still asleep. "Do you want something to eat?" the driver asked as he pulled out a few sandwiches and gently tapped her shoulder. Her body suddenly tilted to one side. Then she collapsed. The driver jumped in fright and tried to help her up. But the moment he leaned closer, his face turned pale. "She's dead!" he screamed. His frantic movements twisted the woman's head around until she was facing us. The dim light inside the car fell across her face. Her eyes were wide open. Blood was still running from the corner of her mouth. We all screamed and rushed out of the car. I followed them outside. Then I looked at the others and said coldly, "Let's introduce ourselves."

One night, my family sat together watching the New Year’s Eve Live on television. My little sister, Stella Larson, said she had to pee and hurried to the washroom. Half an hour later, she still had not returned. When I went to check on her, the washroom was empty. “When did Stella leave the washroom?” I asked my parents. Both of them were stunned for a moment before feeling my forehead and saying, “What are you talking about? You’re an only child. Who is Stella?” They forcibly pulled me back to my seat. My mind went blank. Did the three of them just pull a prank on me? After finishing his drink, my father clutched his stomach and rushed into the washroom. I stared fixedly at the washroom door. A long time passed, but no one came out. My father had vanished, too. My hand trembled as I pointed at the bathroom. My mother stepped forward to go in. “Don’t go in! Dad and Luna disappeared in there!” My mother looked grief-stricken as she said, “Sweetie, it’s been just the two of us for the past twenty-plus years, remember?” Her words hit me hard. I was in total disbelief. I explained myself frantically, but the more I spoke, the more confused my mother became. She finally shook me off and said, “Why are you doing this to me? I’ve raised you your whole life! Why do you have to ruin New Year’s Eve?” She walked straight into the washroom, and the house soon fell into a dead silence. Terrified, I called my best friend, Kathy Scott, who lived nearby. I rambled incoherently as I begged her for help. But her words utterly crushed me. “What family members? You’re an orphan.” I hung up the phone, rushed out, and pounded frantically on the neighbors’ door.

My husband was dead. He had saved a girl from drowning, yet he himself perished in the icy river. As I sank into a chasm of grief, the girl's father appeared at my door. He glared at me and demanded, "Where is my daughter's necklace? She was wearing it before she fell into the water!" Rage surged through me, and in the heat of our confrontation, he ended up dead. Then my phone… came alive. "Hide the body. The police are coming. I'll teach you how to dispose of a corpse…"

"Mommy, you have to be the first person to come pick me up, okay?" These are my daughter Dorothy Grant's final words to me when she walked me out of the house this morning. But when I stand at the kindergarten's entrance with a box of Dorothy's favorite strawberry shortcake in my hands, the security guard just stares at me as though I lost my mind. "Ma'am, this place might be where Sunflower Kindergarten is located, but it has already closed its doors for three years. This place is now a retirement home." I rush into the "kindergarten" instantly. The spot where the slide used to be is now replaced by a row of flowerbeds. The room that used to be the classroom now hosts a bunch of elderly people, who bask in the sunlight. With trembling hands, I call my husband, Chester Grant, on the phone. He sounds very exasperated and exhausted over the phone. "Honey, we've been married for five years, and we choose to be childless. You've never given birth before."

On my birthday, my boyfriend gave me a pearl bracelet and claimed it would bring wealth. I did not believe it. However, just a few days later, I actually won 15 million dollars. I happily went to claim my prize, but the very next day, my bank balance vanished overnight. Not only that, I was left paralyzed from the waist down, and my appearance aged by thirty years! I cried and went to my boyfriend for help, only to find out that he, once poor, was then driving a sports car. His paralyzed sister miraculously stood up overnight, while even his sixty-year-old mother transformed into a young woman, as if reborn. I confronted him, asking if the pearl bracelet was cursed. He shoved me to the ground, saying, "What kind of crazy person are you? I think you've watched too much TV and lost your mind!" After dying in anger, I was reborn on my birthday. My boyfriend eyed me with ill intent, holding a pearl bracelet in his hand, preparing to put it on me...

My cousin, Isabelle Cox, dies of cancer. However, my adoptive parents, who have always loved her the most, don't shed a single tear. Instead, they go on an overseas trip with my adoptive brother, Cedric Cox. After they return, they give me an exquisite doll and ask me to put it right next to my bed every night. My adoptive mother, Vivian Mason, looks at my swollen eyes and smiles tenderly. "Why, you're such a grateful and sentimental kid. This is such a pretty doll. Let it stay by your side and accompany you like it's your sister, alright?" I agree. Later, my body becomes increasingly weak, and I sleep all day. One day, when I wake up, I am horrified to find that I am trapped inside the doll and can't move at all. My deceased cousin, Isabelle, became "me"! Beaming widely, she cuts my hair and also my limbs one by one. Then, she throws my mutilated body into the fire. As the flames engulf me, I see my adoptive family standing behind her. On their faces, they show happy and relieved expressions. When I open my eyes again, I am back to the day when they give me the doll.