Mystery Novels & Stories

He wipes his face with a spare hanky. Why can’t he find it? He pulled out his phone from his pocket. He searches about it then. There had to be something. But what’s he gonna search. Mystery girl? Demon? There must be an ancient name for her. Or there isn’t. He was exhausted already. He ruffled his head, if he didn’t get anything, Dixon would end up killing him. He strolled down his phone. Ancient mystery girl. History search. He hunkered down. Since he was tired of standing.

I can feel a shiver run down my spine as I gulp. Something is weird about the atmosphere... how come everyone suddenly disappears? I slowly swallow the candy that was sitting in my mouth. It was a soft candy, so it didn't hurt my throat. Clenching the handle of my bag tightly, I try to walk as normally as I could master. *Bathump! Bathump!* Calm down... there must be a reasonable explanation why this happened, right? A shadow shape of a person appeared behind me. The more I try to walk faster, the more it follows me. Turning around to the different alleyway, I tried to lose the shadow. Since I wasn't paying attention to where I'm heading, I ended up walking to a dead end.

She will be my vessel. Mrs Feeney pulled her wrap tighter against her as the temperature went down even further,the cold chilling her to the bone. “Your vessel?”she asked incredulously.”You mean to possess her?” “And then kill him.” “God have mercy on us all,”Mrs Feeney whispered.”One last time spirit…who are you?” “You will find out,perhaps sooner,rather than later.” As silently as she had come,she disappeared. .......... The call came just as Beth stepped out of the shower.

Copyright, Nihc Ronoel All Rights Reserved 2020 MYSTERIOUS OBSESSION “Where can your obsession finally lead you?” Aris Sandoval was such a good-for-nothing type of a Casanova, but behind his charming looks that were effortlessly used to leave trails of brokenhearted women wherever he went, lies an obsessed heart longing for an extraordinary woman from his past. Will he still continue his mysterious obsession, once he found the right love with a different woman?

The file is spread across the table like a battlefield. Dr. Harrison's confession still echoes in the room, his trembling voice replaying in my skull like a broken record. The weight of that moment is already fading, replaced by something heavier. Because there's more. There's always more. Every answer births a new question. Every truth uncovers another lie. Every layer peeled back reveals another hidden beneath. Every door opened leads to another locked one. Every secret exposed reveals another still buried. Every piece of evidence points to another crime. Every confession leads to another conspirator. Every name uncovered reveals another name behind it. Every truth uncovered reveals anothe

Hushed to be sure but definitely human. And they were unquestionably approaching from the mansion. My inner detective who let's face it was primarily made up of a good dose of curiosity and a dash of survival instincts went into overdrive right away. It was this. An actual living mystery. In contrast to the annoyingly ambiguous Crimson Order internet rabbit hole something I could actually touch. My feet struck the cool floor with a resolute thud as I tossed off the blankets. No time for robes or slippers. My curiosity was like a raging fire destroying any remaining fear. My ear pressed against the cool wood as I walked to the door.

A moment later, a piece of paper slid through the narrow gap beneath my door. The footsteps retreated in haste. I peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I didn't touch the note, afraid of smudging fingerprints. Instead, I crouched and read the words on it: I know the truth about Edmund's death. Come to the big banyan tree in Greenfield Residences at 11 p.m. Don't call the police. The note was crafted with meticulous care—letters cut out from newspapers and books, pieced together like a ransom demand, leaving no trace of handwriting.