Plot Twists Short Stories & Independence Detective Novels

I didn’t get into college, so I took a job driving a city bus. Once I finished training, I started working the night shift with Uncle Tim. He had always been the kind of guy who followed every rule. But that night, he wouldn’t let me pick up a single passenger. He even made me keep the bus dark the entire route. Uncle Tim died shortly after that incident. A few days later, someone told me something that made my blood run cold. Uncle Tim had actually been dead for quite some time. So who the hell had been riding with me that night?

My dad died in a car crash. On the seventh day after his death, I hear him whisper in my ear, "Amara, save your brother. There are cracks in the old stone bridge at the village entrance... It will collapse... He will die." I immediately call my brother, Asher Langford, and he takes a different route out of the village. But that afternoon, the police report that a murder took place on that road. The victim is Asher. My sister-in-law, Delia Winslow, and I bury him in tears. On the seventh day after my brother's death, I hear my dad's voice again. "Amara, keep an eye on Jasper. Don't go to the back of the hill. The dead trees there attract lightning... There will be a thunderstorm in three days." That night, Delia locks my nephew, Jasper Langford, inside the house. But three days later, Jasper falls from a window on the 12th floor. Delia goes insane after losing her husband and son consecutively in such a short time. Holding back my grief, I leave my own son, Billy Calloway, with my husband, Felix Calloway, and help Delia lay Jasper to rest. On the seventh day after Jasper's death, I see my dad holding Billy's hand and looking back at me with a sorrowful expression. He says, "Amara... There are spirits looking for substitutes in the reed marsh in the village. Take care of Billy. Don't go..."

When I finally met my online boyfriend in person, he asked what I wanted in a future husband. I didn't even have to think. "He can't be named Jamie Bloom." He looked completely lost, but I didn't explain. Because a fortune-teller once told me I'd die at the hands of a man named Jamie Bloom. That evening, he went to take a shower, and a message popped up on his phone. One glance, and my blood ran cold. "Jamie, sweetie, you got there and didn't even text Mom to say you made it safe?"

At 11:00 AM, my husband, Silas Vexille, slowly drowned in our indoor thermal pool. At the time, I was having my usual morning tea with the other mafia wives in the estate's back garden. The pool room was directly above the garden, barely a dozen feet away. Originally, if I had gone back to the main house at 11:00 as usual, I would have had plenty of time to save him. But as fate would have it, Victoria Harrison insisted on inviting us over to her nearby home to see her new pink diamond. At 11:20 AM, my daughter April and I pushed open the doors to the pool room. By then, Silas was already gone. At the lavish funeral, I was devastated, fainting several times. The mourners murmured in sympathy. "Don Vexille and his wife always had such a beautiful marriage..." "Yeah, what is she going to do now that the Don is dead?" Silas's mother, Martha—a tough woman who ran a Texas farm alone after her divorce—flew in overnight. Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, she walked straight up to me. Her expression was stone-cold, and she spat out every word: "You are the one who murdered my son."

The prettiest girl in our class, Mandy Smith, died unexpectedly in our dorm. When the police took statements, my two other roommates and I pleaded guilty. I took out Mandy’s love letter to my boyfriend. “I killed her because she was seducing my boyfriend.” Anna Anderson took out a purchase history for cyanide. “I killed her because she snatched my overseas studies spot from me.” Fiona Lee took out an expulsion letter. “I killed her because she reported me for cheating.” All three of us hated Mandy. However, the police found that all of us had alibis during Mandy’s time of death. The counselor also asked us to stop lying. However, the three of us sneered. “Whether you believe it or not, one of us is the murderer.”

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.

Eight years into our marriage, my husband was as childish as ever. He loved playing pranks on me, constantly leaving gag gifts around the house. I would just smile, toss them into the storage closet and think nothing of it. A few days later, while deep-cleaning the house, I remembered his latest box and decided to throw it out. But the moment I lifted the lid, a foul, putrid stench hit me. Inside the box lay a severed human hand. Terrified, I collapsed to the floor, my fingers trembling as I dialed 911. When the DNA results came back, the detective's expression was a twisted mix of confusion and horror. "Ma'am, the DNA extracted from the severed limb..." he stammered. "It belongs to Michael Miller."

My husband's lottery ticket hit the 30-million-dollar jackpot, and our whole family was over the moon. Our daughter had been diagnosed with end-stage kidney failure, and the medical bills had already buried us under millions in high-interest debt. That 30 million dollars would not only save her life but also finally give our family the comfortable future we had always dreamed of. However, the day before we were supposed to claim the prize, I sold the ticket for one dollar. Our daughter died at home because we could not afford her treatment. My husband, shattered by the loss, jumped from the 30th floor and killed himself. The entire internet called me a monster. Countless people reported me to the police, demanding my arrest. Five years later, my son won the jackpot for 30 million dollars. Yet once again, I sold the lottery ticket for a dollar.

Yvette and I fought over who was the real heiress for two lifetimes. In my first life, my parents were convinced I was their true daughter. They coaxed me into going to the hospital for a blood test. However, when I woke up in the ward, weak from blood loss, I saw their faces twisted with hatred as they strangled me. “You fake! Just die!” “You’re not our child at all!” I could not fight back. In agony, I took my last breath. In my second life, I was certain Yvette was the real heiress. I pretended to be sick to avoid my parents. Still, I saw the news a few days later—Yvette’s body had been found in the wilderness, drained to a husk. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn for the second time. Yvette was shaken with fear, while I was dragging my suitcase. Both of us were staring at each other. I looked at her and smiled. “How about we run away together?”

Getting into one of the nation's top universities, Newhaven University, is something I achieve after putting in all my effort throughout high school. The orientation bus for freshmen is traveling along the mountain road toward the new campus. Everyone on the bus is filled with anticipation for university life, but I'm curled up in the very last row, drenched in cold sweat. No one here knows that I've already died once. The GPS clearly shows that following this winding mountain road to the summit will lead to Newhaven University's new campus. However, in my previous life, the bus drove through a dense fog for a full three hours before finally plunging into a deserted valley. Yesterday, it was in that valley that I lost my way entirely, plunged off the cliff in sheer panic, and shattered every bone in my body. The roar of the bus engine pulls me back to reality, and I jerk my head up to glance at the time. In ten minutes, that eerie, all-encompassing fog will arrive.

I set fire to my painting in front of the entire academy. Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd as everyone thinks it's some kind of performance art. Unlike them, Willow Laurent is distraught. She rushes up and grabs my hand, questioning in a shrill voice, "Cassidy Seymour, have you gone mad? This is your only chance to prove yourself!" I shake her hand off me coldly. My only chance? No… What she means is that it's her chance. In my past life, I created this masterpiece with all my heart and soul. But she stole it from me and submitted it as her entry first. Whether it was the composition, the colors, or even my original dot-stippling technique… She replicated every detail flawlessly. Then, she won the National Young Artists Gold Award, signed with a top gallery, and became a rising star. And what about me? I was condemned as a shameless plagiarist. Insults and curses gradually drowned me. "You shouldn't be an artist!" "Plagiarists are scum! They should just die!" Her fans stormed into my studio, smashed my art supplies, and broke my right hand. As I saw no end to the hell that I was living in, I jumped down from the top floor of my studio. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the very day she first accuses me of plagiarism.

The empire's most beloved princess suddenly fell victim to a mysterious illness, slipping into a deep coma that no physician could cure. In the end, the royal astrologer delivered a chilling prophecy: only the man destined to be her true soulmate could awaken her with a kiss of genuine love. In the first lifetime, my eldest brother, plain-looking and desperate for the enormous reward promised by the crown, volunteered to go to the palace and kiss the princess awake. However, the moment she opened her eyes and saw him, she let out a horrified scream. Calling him a fraud, she ordered the guards to drag him into the royal fountain and drown him alive. "You liar! How could someone who looks like you possibly be my fated one?" In the second lifetime, my second brother listened carefully to the warning left behind by our reborn eldest brother. Determined not to repeat the same mistake, he sought out an underground black-market surgeon and took on the face of the most handsome man in the entire country before going to awaken the princess. This time, everything seemed perfect. The princess fell deeply in love with him, and for an entire year they lived in bliss. However, on the day their child was born, she took one look at the baby and completely lost her mind. In a fit of rage, she ordered my second brother to be beaten to death on the spot. "How dare you deceive me? Die!" By the third lifetime, after witnessing the horrific deaths of both my brothers, I hid silently in the corner, too terrified to say a single word. Unfortunately, the queen had other plans. She ordered her servants to forcefully hold me down and make me kiss the princess awake. I never expected that on the very night of our wedding, the princess would suddenly go mad, rush out of the castle, and accidentally fall into the lake, where she drowned. The queen was furious beyond reason. Believing me responsible for her daughter's death, she ordered my public execution, leaving not even my bones behind. Then came the fourth lifetime. Once again, the Royal Chamberlain arrived at our home with a line of armed guards surrounding the estate. "The astrologer has confirmed it," he declared calmly. "The princess's destined soulmate is one of the three sons of the Lynch family. "You have three days to decide. Whoever succeeds in awakening the princess will marry into the royal family and enjoy limitless wealth, power, and honor." This time, the three of us only exchanged uneasy glances. The fortune and status being offered were enough to tempt anyone in the empire, yet not a single one of us dared take a step forward.