Mystery Files Novels & Stories

I know his schedule, so I know he doesn't have any meetings to attend, so I wonder where he is. I walk over to his desk. I must've missed a meeting or something. I'll just double check his schedule to make sure there isn't any more issues. I sit down at his desk, and go through his schedule. 'This is weird.. there's a bunch of meetings here that I wasn't aware of.' I continue to go through his files to find anything that could shed light on all these mystery meetings. As I'm scrolling through, I accidentally click on a file. Just as I'm about to close it, one of the files jumps at my attention. It's a file all about me. Starting from when I was a kid, until now. No longer caring as to why I

Really? Frantically, I quickly opened the other files from the same folder and then even more files from other folders and scanned through them. The different documents outlined different cases, but the theme was all the same. All files pointed a finger to the crimes that Madame Francesca had allegedly committed and had somehow kept hidden under the rug for all these years. Some files went way back for more than ten years. A certain year caught my eye and with a resigned sigh, I clicked to the open the folder containing files from the year that my mother passed away.

I whispered in confusion as I flipped to the next page and what I saw next had my blood running cold. I kept flipping the pages, hoping it was some kind of joke but it wasn't. It was right there, staring in front of me. Just then, the door opened, and Michael walked in, freezing in his tracks when he saw the files in my hands. “What the hell is this, Michael?”

The files on the USB drive were a mess. Like, seriously disorganized. There were Word documents with weird titles like "Project Nightingale" and "Operation Sunset," a bunch of photos of random places I didn’t recognize, and a couple of video files with names like "Meeting 1" and "Meeting 2." It was like Jeffrey was trying to make his own spy movie.

Then she said "I knew I couldn't trust you. Whatever it is you're hiding..I will definitely find out. And when I do. I'll kill you before you kill me." she said and I gave her a questioning look. "Whatever it is your thinking. get it off your mind. I'm taking you this night. So, go take your files and come with me. NOW!" I said and she chuckled looking at me in disbelieve "You know what...fine! You see this position I'm standing in.. you'll have to uproot me, to get me out of here--" she said and without thinking twice, I carried her over my shoulder and she screamed hitting my back. To no avail.

My heart pounded hard against my ribs. Whatever secrets Mom had been carrying, they were still here. And I was going to uncover every single one of them. No matter how dangerous it became. I began bringing the files out, one after the other, stacking them up on the floor. The dust rising from the old papers almost choked me, but I didn’t care. I pulled out the last one and dropped to the floor with it, my heart racing. I became confused on which to start from first. I was pushing each file off another, dusting them off, when my gaze caught a file with a name that also carried our last name on it. It was titled Frederick Luther Hale, Missing.

I don't have to give the files back. I can simply deny ever finding them.

My hands trembled slightly as I opened it, bracing myself for whatever I might find. The file was filled with reports, documents, and strange photos that were hard to make sense of. Some of it was coded in a language I didn’t understand, but certain words stood out to me, chilling me to the core: experiments, mind manipulation, disappearances. There were mentions of individuals—patients? Subjects?—who had come to Blackwood seeking help, only to vanish without a trace.

When he left, I just tossed it in my bag, but I never get the chance to return it to him. Now those words wouldn’t leave me. I sat at the desk and opened Shawn’s MacBook. He had given me the password weeks ago — another gesture of trust after the main ledger. My fingers moved almost without permission, searching through folders until I reached one labeled “Private Archives.” Most files matched what I had already seen. But one didn’t. It was saved simply under the name SEXY. My pulse spiked. I clicked it open.

Michael asked, his heart hammering. Clinton frowned, leaning closer to the screen. He tried the file again. Then he checked the metadata. “That’s impossible. The files before 4:00am are there, the files after 11:00pm are also there. But this gap…” He tapped a key, and a red error message blinked: FILE NOT FOUND/MANUALLY OVERWRITTEN. “Is it a glitch?”