Miraculous Texting Stories Novels & Stories

I nod my head “Yeah, I’ll try, Laila, “ I say as I sit down. with a heavy heart, I type out a text and pray that somehow she will read it.” Once I've sent the text, I sit and stare at the phone and let me tell you, those few minutes seem like an eternity. Still, my prayers are answered when a reply comes through, well, not so much of a reply but one single emoji. It looks as though it's an auto-reply, possibly because she couldn't risk typing something out; still, it's that one tiny little miracle emoji that gives me strength and hope that we can both get through this.

She remained calm, lovely and kind no matter how much the people around her treated her like shīt. After that day, we went back home and I could see how happy Miracle was to be with her mother again. I introduced myself to Ben Jones, the woman I should be grateful to for giving birth to an amazing woman. She did not show any reaction, yet for Miracle, just seeing her mother means the world to her. We did not waste any moment in having a doctor check her. They checked her blood, urine, and did all the necessary tests to find out if there is something wrong with her. Miracle told me her mother's condition is mostly psychological, and she informed the doctor of seeing Beth crying.

"Is that what love is? Loving people who don't deserve it?" Isabella looked at me. "Yes," she said. "That's exactly what love is." --- My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Margaret is dead. I stared at the screen. She killed herself ten minutes after you left. Pills. The same kind she gave your mother. The circle is complete. — M I showed Lucien. He read the text. His face was pale. "Mira," he said. "Or someone pretending to be Mira."

That thrill of total loss of control. "What is wrong with me?" I whisper. I stand up on wobbly legs. I fix my clothes. I check my face in the mirror—I look wrecked. Flushed, wild-eyed, lips swollen. I pick up my phone. There’s a new notification on the lock screen. Not from the app. A text message. From an unknown number. I'm not dead. I'm free. —Echo_Fragment_7F I stare at the text. It’s not dead. It’s free.

A new text message is glowing on the screen. "Who is texting you at this hour?"

As far as I know, that sister-in-law of mine had her life extended for more than 10 years, and I’m happy about that! ++++++++++ And now I ask you, dear reader, what miraculous stories have you heard that included supposed spiritual, supernatural, or paranormal beings? Have you experienced such incidents yourself? I leave you with these questions and hope to see you again here at the Supernatural Spa soon. This is your Storyteller, The Diwata, bidding you goodnight and until next time... Fare thee well!

"Please call me. let me know what your answer is. If you prefer sending your answer through text then feel free to do so and I'll read it out loud." After listening to a caller who didn't believe in the stories passed down from their ancestors, considering them to be stories meant to scare teens from organizing parties in the woods at night, which was a futile attempt, Miranda walked towards the main road and crossed over to the other side, where she waited for her school bus. Amanda thanked the first caller before promptly answering the next one. "Please tell me your name and location," she requested, only to receive a mysterious response from the caller, "They exist," he said, declining to

This was the first time he held his gaze with a Persian at such a close distance. “Do you not believe in traditional medicine? Do you think it’s all superstition and myths?” Alex asked calmly. “Of course,” Miranda said. “Well then, I’ll show you what myths in America really look like.” He gently lifted a finger and tapped Miranda below her neck. In the next second, she started screaming out loud. “Oh, oh my god! Oh lord! Why can’t I move? Have I been paralyzed? What did you do to me? Oh! Oh my god! I don’t want to be paralyzed!”

She resembles a scared little girl. My heart hurts for her. My phone pings with an incoming message. It’s from a strange number, but I instantly realize who it is when I read the first line; “Little Caramel, Remember, when I said I would go to any lengths to make you mine? I hope you’re enjoying the chaos.” Once I read the last line, the message mysteriously disappears. I kid you not, I end up searching my entire incoming message history but the message has truly disappeared. Poof! Just like that. It’s like black magic.

Yet the kindness was sweeter than anything I had tasted in months. My eyes filled completely, and a tear rolled down my cheek. I did not wipe it away. I no longer had the strength to pretend. Mira reached across the table and held my hand firmly. “Max,” she whispered. “This is God’s way of telling you that your story is not finished.” I nodded slowly, my lips trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say,” I murmured. “Say yes,” Mira replied softly. “Say yes and allow life to give you another chance.”