Plot Twists Mystery/Thriller Short Stories & Novels

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?

My wife, three months pregnant, falls into the lake while I'm fishing nearby. As I watch her struggle in the water, I shout anxiously, "Stop thrashing around! You're scaring all the fish away!" My fishing buddy stares at me in disbelief and demands to know why I'm still worried about fishing instead of saving my wife. I calmly rebait my hook and cast it back into the lake. "She'll be fine in the water for a little while, but if that big fish gets away, it's gone for good. Besides, what if I jump in and drown too? Better leave the rescuing to the professionals." Just then, sirens sound in the distance. The rescue team finally arrives, and everyone around us breathes a sigh of relief. But one of the rescuers freezes when he sees me. "Gary? What are you doing here?" Then, he realizes the woman in the lake is my wife. "That's Claire? She went through seven rounds of IVF to get pregnant! Why aren't you saving her? You're the best swimmer on the team!" The tourists around us erupt in outrage. Meanwhile, Claire's struggles grow weaker and weaker until only one hand remains above the surface. At last, my expression changes. I shoot to my feet. Everyone quickly moves aside, assuming I'm finally going to save her. Instead, I pull hard on my fishing rod. A huge fish bursts out of the water. I immediately break into a grin.

My usually low-key boyfriend, Wade Sullivan, suddenly announces our relationship in our class group chat. "Hey, everyone, you're all welcome to celebrate Thanksgiving at Merry Mountain Villa, which my parents own. I'll cover your flights, meals, and accommodations. You can also witness me propose to Lucille." The group chat instantly explodes. "Holy crap! When did you two start dating? You've been keeping it pretty well hidden, huh." "I heard Merry Mountain Villa costs 880 dollars a night, and it's still impossible to book a room. Wade, who knew you were secretly a rich hottie?" My best friend, Danielle Klein, excitedly sends me more than a dozen voice messages in a row. "Lucille, you've finally made it! Wade is finally willing to take you home to meet his parents!" But I can only stare at my screen, a chill creeping down my spine. My boyfriend of ten years has always found excuses to avoid letting me meet his parents during the holidays. He doesn't even dare to post a couple of photos with me on Instagram. And now, out of nowhere, he invites the entire class to his hometown to witness our proposal? The more I think about it, the more uneasy I feel. So, I break up with him right then and there. That very night, I accept my company's overseas transfer to Terraton. It isn't until Thanksgiving night that I finally drag my suitcase out of the airport, only for my phone to vibrate like crazy. I have 186 missed calls and over a thousand unread messages in the group chat. Danielle sends me a private voice message, her voice trembling with despair. "Whatever you do, don't answer any calls or reply to any messages. And run as far away as you can!" I open the class group chat, and my scalp instantly prickles with horror.

After being reborn, the first thing I did was switch my newborn daughter. In my previous life, soon after she was born, a blood test showed her type was AB. But mine was B, and my husband's was O—there was absolutely no way we could have an AB-type child. My husband flew into a rage and demanded a paternity test on the spot. To everyone's shock, the results proved she was biologically related to me, but not to him. He slapped me hard across the face, his voice trembling with disappointment. "I've always treated you well. I only ever loved you—and this is how you repay me?" My mother-in-law wailed and cursed me for cheating, accusing me of bearing another man's child to steal their family fortune. I was completely stunned. I knew better than anyone who the father of my child was—how could she possibly not be my husband's? In no time, everyone turned against me. They called me a cheater, a tramp. My husband divorced me and went online to play the victim, stirring up a storm of hate and harassment that never seemed to end. With nowhere to go and no one left to believe me, I took my baby in my arms and jumped from a building. Even in death, I couldn't make sense of it all. And when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my daughter was born.

My wife, Yasmin Lowe, falls in love with my pet snake. Every night, she claims she is too tired and refuses to let me touch her. In reality, she secretly climbs into the terrarium and spends intimate moments with the snake. After she leaves on a two-day business trip, the snake's temperament changes drastically and it nearly bites my father to death. Furious about this, he has the snake euthanized. What no one expects is that while the snake dies by euthanasia, my entire family dies at Yasmin's hands. "You killed the love of my life. All of you will go to hell with him!" When I open my eyes again, I am back on my wedding night. Beside me, Yasmin quietly lifts the blanket. I smile. Euthanasia? That would be letting them off far too easily.

During the five years I was in a vegetative state, all ten family soldiers assigned to guard me were murdered. One of them merely smoked a cigarette outside my hospital room. The next day, he was found upside down, drowned in a toilet. Another simply adjusted my pillow. The next day, he took a dive from a skyscraper rooftop. The Corleone family was in chaos, but they couldn't find a single trace of the killer. With no other choice, the ten executions, all textbook Mafia hits, became cold cases. Strangely, the very second the tenth guard's heart stopped, I opened my eyes. The first thing I did upon waking was call the FBI and turn myself in. The agents were stunned. "Miss Corleone, are you saying that while in a coma for five years, you planned and executed the murders of ten fully armed Mafia soldiers?" My fingers tapped lightly on the table, a faint smile playing on my lips. "That's right." "Being in a vegetative state only means I couldn't move." "Who ever told you that killing, something so crude, required me to get my hands dirty?"

As the older brother, I agreed to marry a dead woman just to get the five hundred thousand dollars for my younger brother to get married. My younger brother insisted that the middle-aged couple, who had lost their daughter, only wanted their daughter to experience being married before her death. My girlfriend also persuaded me to do it. She said I just needed to lie in the same bed as her for one night and do nothing. I nodded and agreed. But when I got to that family’s house, the parents pulled out a white bedsheet and handed it to me. “You have to actually be intimate with my daughter. Otherwise, I won’t pay you a single cent.”

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.

Three years of fishing. Three years without a single real catch. As I was about to pack up my rod that evening, a homeless man by the river suddenly spoke. "Buddy, you've been dumping bait in here for three years. Spent a fortune, haven't you?" I laughed. "A few thousand dollars, easy." He nodded. "You've been feeding all of us." I figured the guy was out of his mind. Then he stared straight at me. "Your wife's cheating on you. And if you go home before seven tonight, you'll die." I laughed so hard I nearly dropped my rod into the river. "Bullshit. My wife treats me like a king. Who are you to tell me when I can go home?" He sighed. "You kept all of us alive for three years. I'll save you once. Then we're even." With that, he vanished. At the exact same moment, my fishing float plunged beneath the surface. On the end of my line was a thirty-five-pound fish.

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.

There are only ten minutes left in the college entrance exam when the back door of the classroom bursts open. My best friend, Isaac Powell, kicks it in. He grabs me by the back of my collar, drags me out of the hall, and shoves me into a black SUV idling at the curb. "Are you insane? That was the college entrance exam!" I yell. "Is an exam more important than your life? The students in that room… are probably all dead by now!" Before I can respond, my phone starts buzzing like crazy. Notifications flood the class group chat. "@Trevon, the proctor is looking for you." "@Trevon, did you forget about the party after the test?" "@Trevon, where the hell did you go?" My stomach drops as I stare at the sender of that last message. It's from Isaac.

The heat apocalypse struck without warning, and the office turned into hell on earth. Global temperatures spiked past 126°F. Ellie Ramsey, the receptionist, collapsed against the water cooler, her skin fused to the plastic tank. When Frank Higgins tried to pull her free, a layer of skin tore away with his hand. Of the hundred-some people who'd worked in our building, only seven of us were left. The survivors retreated into the underground bunker beneath the building, sealed off from the heat above. Water and food ran out fast. We'd have fought over a single rat's blood just to wet our throats. Then Jake Collins, the technician who'd gone to check the UV lamp in the incubation unit, came sprinting back like he'd lost his mind. He was clutching a part in his hand, his face bone-white. "This temperature control module—" He shoved it in front of my face, his fingers shaking. "The manufacture date. It's from last March."

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.

I'd been home for half a month, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that Mom wasn't quite herself anymore. She looked and sounded like she always had, but something felt different. Then, one day, I got a message from her that sent a chill down my spine. "Lily, hide! There's a ghost in the house!" At first, I thought she was pulling a prank on me—or maybe her account got hacked. Then, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Mom, who had just finished cooking, called out to tell me the meal was ready. I was still hesitating when another message popped up. It was a voice message. "Trust me, Lily. I'm your real mom! The one out there is a ghost! Run!" It sounded just like Mom's voice from outside. My mind was racing in panic. Not hearing me respond, Mom giggled from the other side of the door and said, "I'm coming in."

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.

On the day of my son's one-month celebration, my notoriously stingy sister-in-law surprised me with a branded baby bottle. But instead of accepting it, I turned away and gave it to the neighbor's cruel son who had XYY syndrome. In my previous life, I had accepted that bottle with genuine gratitude, using it day and night to feed my son. I never imagined that a month later, in the dead of night, my son would suddenly suffer a heart attack and die in my arms. Strangely enough, the very next day after my son passed, my sister-in-law's sickly child—who had been confined to the neonatal intensive care unit since birth—was miraculously discharged in perfect health. Losing my son shattered me completely. I spent my days drowning in tears. My husband called me a cursed woman, claimed I brought nothing but disaster, and demanded a divorce. Not only that, but he insisted I leave with nothing. When I refused, he and my sister-in-law joined forces and accidentally beat me to death. It wasn't until after I died that I learned the truth. The woman I had thought was my husband's younger sister wasn't his blood relative at all. She had been adopted by his mother years ago to be raised as his future wife. Together, they had plotted to destroy me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my sister-in-law handed me that baby bottle.

My husband, Landon Warren, was one of the third group of astronauts to set foot on the far side of the moon. Ever since he returned, he's lost his mind. He doesn't remember our daughter Lucia Warren's nickname, refuses to eat anything round, and seals all the windows in our house with black fabric. He stands beside my bed with a knife in his hand on full moon. Yet, the knife never comes down. I ask him what he saw on the moon. He merely stares intently at my face, repeating, "I saw the moon spirit." Everyone tells me he's been traumatized by his experience on the moon, and now he has severe psychological issues. I think so too, until I secretly access the classified records. I discover that, in the last 20 years, 11 astronauts have returned from the far side of the moon. Without exception, every single one of them has gone mad. To make matters worse, all of them claimed to have met the moon spirit. And on the 15th day after losing their minds, all of their wives disappeared.

My girlfriend, Evanna Zeller, and I have been together for three years now. She says she wants to take me home during the holidays to meet her parents. I've hinted at it and straight-up asked more times than I can count, but she's shut me down every time. So now that she's the one bringing it up, I agree on the spot without a second thought. What I don't expect is that once we get there, everyone tells me I'm already dead.

After lights-out, I make my roommates play with an Ouija board with me. Being the scaredy-cat she is, my roommate decides to ask something stupid, "Where did my earphones go?" I almost burst out laughing. I can't believe she's using it to find her earphones. To our surprise, the planchette starts to move. It spells out, "It's under your bed beside the eye." We exchange glances in confusion. What eye? I snort and get out of bed. Using my phone's flashlight, I check under the bed. Nothing is there. Before I can make fun of my roommate for being superstitious, the door slams open. The student who stays next door barges into our room, her face as pale as a sheet. Her voice trembles as she shouts, "Wake up! Everyone on campus is going wild! Someone found an eyeball in our dorm!"

During the annual awards gala, I stepped out to use the restroom. When I came back, my year-end bonus was gone, canceled for allegedly assaulting a new coworker, Elan Crowe. In my first life, I desperately tried to prove my innocence by showing my fitness tracker’s movement data, proving I had been in the bathroom. Calder Roane, the department head, flew into a rage. "Everyone in the department saw you hit him. And you still want to deny it?" I struggled and explained frantically, but in the chaos, I accidentally fell down the stairs and died on the spot. In my second life, I took medical leave and skipped the gala entirely. I never expected that just past noon, the police would surround my home. "Lyra Vale, you’re suspected of intentional homicide. You need to come with us." Elan’s enraged family had then rushed forward and stabbed me repeatedly. I died again. In my third life, I ran to the city plaza, started a livestream, and rapped on camera, turning every viewer into my alibi. That night, the police still came. "The evidence is conclusive. Please come with us." At the station, they pulled up surveillance footage. It clearly showed me sneaking into the gala hall, arguing with Elan, then picking up a knife and stabbing him straight in the back. I was completely stunned. Three days later, I took a bullet. After endless rebirths, I finally laughed in anger. This time, I stormed straight into the gala hall, pressed a knife across Elan's throat, and said, "This is a kidnapping."