Mystery/Thriller Short Stories & Novels

Lately, my world seemed to have taken a strange turn. I was clearly just an ordinary-looking girl. Yet everyone said I was so beautiful they could not take their eyes off me. I was even scouted by a talent agent, debuted as the lead, and became a national sweetheart. I went out to buy a lottery ticket. Out of the blue, I won thirty million dollars. I had money, power, and status. All the things I never dared to dream of before were within easy reach. However, I noticed something strange. My friends were forgetting me day by day.

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.

After the college entrance exam, my sweet, well-behaved daughter suddenly turned into a monster. She stabbed the grandmother who had raised her with her own hands over and over again, leaving her to bleed to death. She threw her little brother, who had always adored her, straight off the tenth floor. My husband and I were horrified. We begged her to stop, our voices shaking. But she only laughed like a maniac. “Grandma and my brother were too good to me. That's exactly why they had to die! “And you two worked yourselves to the bone to support me, pay for my schooling, and give me a good life. You were good to me too. “So you have to die as well!” Then she set the house on fire with my husband and me still inside. I closed my eyes, furious and unwilling to accept it. But when I opened them again, I found myself back one week before my daughter's college entrance exam. This time, I secretly installed a camera in her room. No matter what it took, I was going to uncover the truth behind why she'd murdered our entire family. But when my husband and I finally saw what the camera had recorded, neither of us could say a word.

I suspected someone was impersonating my husband. Maybe it wasn't even human. Because lately, Luther had been acting far too strange. After more than ten years of being left-handed, he'd suddenly started using his right hand. The birthmark on his thigh had disappeared too. But the strangest thing happened this morning. As he crossed the balcony on his way out, the morning light slanted across the floor. And somehow, he cast two shadows. One in front. One behind. Yet whenever he held me, I could still hear the strong, steady beat of his heart. I told myself I was being paranoid. Until that evening. I had the TV on while I cooked in the kitchen when the news anchor suddenly cut in with a breaking report. “Authorities have identified the body of the man who drowned in Lake Yandee last week.” “The deceased has been identified as Luther Miller, male...” My mind went completely blank. Behind me, the front door opened softly. Then Luther's gentle voice drifted in. “Honey, I'm home.” My entire body started shaking. I spun around and raised the kitchen knife toward him. “Who the hell are you?”

I still remembered a night from my childhood. At midnight, my grandfather took me to what became the most unforgettable feast of my life. The host was Daniel Lee, the poorest man in the town. He didn't own a single farm animal and often struggled to put food on the table. Yet when his father passed away, he laid out ten full tables piled high with roasted lamb heads. My grandfather served as the town's funeral coordinator and came to oversee the service. My grandfather glanced at the tables, unable to hide his curiosity. “Where'd you get the money for all this? And those lamb heads don’t look cheap, either." Daniel smiled. "All you need to know is that only the finest lamb heads were served tonight."

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.

3:00 a.m. Insomnia gnawed at my nerves like a rusted saw, grinding back and forth mercilessly. On a whim that I couldn't explain, I opened a radio app called "Echoes from Below." The interface was simple and bare. Black background, blue text. No ads, no host introduction. Just a single audio waveform, slowly buffering on the screen. The shape of the waveform felt wrong. It didn't look like soundwaves at all. More like rows of sharp, interlocking teeth. A pop-up window appeared in the center of the screen. [Listening Guidelines] The letters glowed blue, carrying an unsettling eeriness. [This station's signal may extend into dreams. If you hear the broadcast while dreaming, firmly believe that you are awake.]

After getting ready for bed, I lay down and made a video call to my girlfriend as usual. Instead of answering, she sent me a text message. [My family is making me get engaged to Dean Yates. This is the end of the line for us.] Ever since she reunited with her wealthy birth family, I had been worried that this would happen eventually. Despite my worries, it came anyway. When I tried to text her again, all I saw was a glaring red exclamation point. A few days later, her engagement party was trending online. I opened the video, and I could feel the chills in my spine. That was not her. I immediately called the police. "Hello, I need to report a murder at the Gomez Estate." The officer on the other side asked, "Who's the victim? What's your relationship with her?" My voice trembled as I answered. "Her name is Opal. Opal Lane. And my name is Tommy Fletcher. I'm her...ex-boyfriend."

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.

For three consecutive months, an extra five hundred dollars mysteriously appeared in my desk drawer. Attached to each stack of cash was the same brief note: “Overtime Pay.” The only problem? Our company didn’t offer overtime pay. It wasn’t until I finally checked the security camera footage that I uncovered the truth. Every single night, my boss was sneaking over to my desk and slipping cash into my drawer.

Before my crazy grandmother died, she gave me three walnuts. According to her last wish, I cracked open the first walnut on my twenty-fifth birthday. Inside the walnut was a slip of paper. 'Go to the skybridge and grovel at the first beggar you meet' was the instruction written on it. When I looked at the note, I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Still, I did as told. To my surprise, the beggar turned out to be an undercover cop. Only later did I learn that I had long been targeted by human traffickers, and the bow had saved my life. As for the second walnut, my grandmother told me to crack it open before I got married. When I put on my wedding dress, ready to marry the policeman who saved me, I happily opened it. This time, there was a crumpled old photograph inside. In the photo, my fiancé was smiling as he strangled another bride.

During a long holiday, my husband booked flights for a family vacation. On the way to the airport, I suddenly saw numbers appearing on everyone’s head. The numbers on my husband’s head indicated sixty years, but my parents and I had only six hours indicated on our heads. While I was puzzled over the meaning of those numbers, I noticed that the driver next to us only had six seconds indicated over his head through the car window. Five… Four… Three… Two… One. When the number turned zero, a massive truck immediately rammed into the car next to us. I saw flickers of fire, flesh and blood exploding before my eyes. People were screaming for help, but I could not hear anything. I trembled as cold sweat drenched my entire body. It was because my flight would be taking off in six hours.

On the day of the SATs, all the students in the exam hall were asleep. The teachers did not just let them be, but they also told everyone not to write any answers. For the past ten years, every valedictorian in the city had mysteriously died on the very day their scores were released. The police conducted thorough investigations but found that all of them had died by suicide. Students across the city were gripped by fear. Some transferred to other schools, others dropped out. Some even deliberately underperformed on the exam. They were all equally terrified of becoming the top scorer and valedictorian. I was the only one who did not care. I was already at the bottom of my class. I would barely even qualify for a community college, let alone the SATs, which I had left completely blank. But to my surprise, when the results came out, I turned out to be the top scorer!

I have spent ten years fighting against the fake heiress, Cynthia Powell, to secure the Powell family's inheritance. Eventually, we both set our sights on the eldest son of the wealthy Wright family, Robin Wright. In my first life, I secure the marriage, but on the very night the shares are transferred to my name, I die a gruesome death. Blood seeps from my eyes and mouth as I collapse. As I lie there dying, Robin calmly wipes the poisonous powder from his fingertips and smiles at me. "My apologies, Kathy Powell. You have to die for the sake of the woman I truly love." I repeatedly curse Cynthia in my heart. In my second life, I am determined to avoid being murdered by Cynthia and her lover. So, I pass the marriage opportunity over to Cynthia. On their wedding day, I'm relaxing at home with a face mask when the police burst through my door and handcuff me. "Cynthia's car was firebombed on the way to the wedding ceremony, and she was burned to a crisp. We found your fingerprints on the fuel tank. You're under arrest for arson and murder. Please come with us," the police orders. The news shocks me. I'm sentenced to death, all thanks to Robin's manipulation. When I wake up, I'm in my third life. After seeing the Wright family's marriage proposal on the table, Cynthia and I take a step back. A chill runs down both our spines. Robin is a curse. How is it that whoever marries him ends up dead?

On the morning of the college entrance exam, my daughter surprised me by asking for a ride to school. She was usually much closer to her mother, so when she suddenly turned to me, I canceled my work plans without hesitation. “Don’t be nervous, Ivy. I’ll be right here when you’re done.” I watched her walk into the school, then returned to my car. When the test let out, students streamed through the doors. Some looked confident, while others seemed crushed. I waited anxiously for Ivy. But as the crowd thinned, she was nowhere to be seen. I assumed the test had gone badly and she was too upset to face me. I hurried over to a school security officer and asked him to help find her. He radioed the staff and had her name called over the intercom, but she still didn’t appear. Growing frantic, I showed him a screenshot of her registration details and asked him to check the room listed there. He went inside without hesitation. When he returned, his face was dark with anger. “Are you out of your mind? There’s no Ivy Young on the roster for that room! “There’s no one by that name taking the college entrance exam at this school!”

Two years ago, I got pregnant for the first time. At ten weeks, a silver lock-shaped charm appeared outside our front door. There was no shipping label and no sender. Ian Shaw laughed at me for worrying. He said a friend had probably sent us an early gift for the baby. But that night, I developed stomach pains. By the time I reached the hospital in the early hours, the baby no longer had a heartbeat. A year ago, I got pregnant again. I told no one, not even my mother. In the eighth week, an identical silver charm appeared in the nursery we hadn’t used yet. The doors and windows were locked, and the security cameras showed no one entering. That time, I fell in the bathroom and lost the baby too. Now I was pregnant again. Before dawn in my seventh week, a nightmare woke me. My fingers touched something cold beneath my pillow. A third silver lock charm lay there. I held it in my shaking hands. Who was trying to kill my baby?

I've bought an old DVD online for 1.50 dollars. When I play it, I start trembling. The bride on the screen looks exactly like me. But I've never been married.

I finally get a ticket to return home a few days before New Year's. But when the door opens, an unfamiliar man appears in front of me and asks, "Who are you?" I frown. "This is my house. I'm back for the holidays." His expression is cold. "You're in the wrong house. This is my place." I look at the apartment number. It is Building 3, Unit 901. I'm in the right place. I want to head inside, but he blocks my way. "Hey, don't go crazy right now." I notice the cardboard box by the door and point at it. "You're the crazy one. That's the gift I sent." The man grabs me and makes me look closer. "Take a good look!" The tracking number matches the one on my phone, but the sender's name says Steven Lowe, not mine. "Steven, who's at the door?" My mom, Dahlia Jones, steps out of the kitchen. I call out to her excitedly. "Mom, I'm home!" But the next moment, what she says made my blood run cold. "Who are you? Don't call me that. I'm not your mom."

The day I recovered from my mental illness and got discharged, my parents held me in their arms with tears of happiness. My sister gave me a teddy bear and said she had been waiting for me to come home. I comforted my parents who were crying and accepted the gift from my sister. I slowly got used to ordinary life and became the real daughter of the Schmidt family. To show their preference for me, my parents transferred the family business into my name on my sister’s 18th birthday. But I cruelly murdered the family of three who cherished me on this day.

When Dad learned I placed second on a practice college entrance exam, he shouted at me. "Second again? Can't you beat whoever came first?" "How did I end up with such a useless son?" I promised I'd take down the top student on the next exam. That night, I dreamed about the girl who came first. In the dream, I pushed her from the twenty-third floor. The sound of her hitting the ground made my stomach turn. I woke from the nightmare to a flood of messages in the class group chat. The first message made my blood run cold. [Zara Henson jumped from the twenty-third floor. She died on the spot.] [Zara's mother insists it wasn't suicide. She says someone pushed her.] [Can you hear the police sirens?]