Mystic Messenger Emails Novels & Stories

My monthly surprise gift from one of my Eco-living subscriptions will ship soon, but considering the email doesn't have actual tracking numbers, I delete it, ready to wait for the good one. There are five emails from Amazon reminding me about new releases from authors I follow and a sale flyer packed with books from people like Patterson and Stephen King. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Then waiting for me one-third down the page, so my eyes didn't immediately snap to it as soon as I opened my email, sits the subject line I've been waiting to read. Congratulations, you've been selected!

As I was about to step inside, I found the mailman standing at the door. My brow furrowed. Who sends mail in the era of Phones and emails? I ignored and was about to get in but the word fell to my ears and I froze. "Cassandra Aston? It's your mail." The postman said. “Cassandra Aston,” Luke stared at me with disbelief. No one knew my last name here. My brows furrowed. Who will send me an email, especially when no one contacted me for five years? I found the mail was from a Crescent Moon pack, it was my dad's pack.

They both laughed. But Misha already had lunch with her family, had watched an afternoon movie with Ruth, had dinner with her family, and still, no contract was showing up in her email inbox. She would even glance at her Spam folder to see if it accidentally went there but still, nothing. And since she hadn’t received a chat message from either Yana or Maggie, she was sure that they also still hadn’t received theirs.

Mitsuhide asked. “Yes. A few hundred to a few thousand a day.” Deanna replied. “Well you see that is rather amazing. The profile doesn’t have any contact info on it. It did however have an email attached to it.” Mitsuhide said as he looked around. “So I sent a message to the email.” “You did what?” Kit and Max asked but Deanna just looked at him. She was watching him as he smiled. “Calm down.” Mitsuhide said as he looked at the other two. “You somehow don’t seemed to shocked, my dear.”

Asher shook his head as he exited the chat, Jason was his best friend and he was just as crazy as he was when he was five. Another notification pop up drew his attention, it was an email,the one he was expecting. From: theredsunparanormal@unrealmail.com Subject line: Information no one asked for Dear curious reader, We're happy to see you're still well and alive—we hope. Anyways back to the matter at hand, there are seven days in a week but of course you knew that. Paranormal activities are quite a touchy subject.

It was registered under a pseudonym within the secure system, accessible only to people with deep internal access to the organisation's communication infrastructure. I looked at the flag. One new message. The sender field was blank, not absent: blank, which was the technical difference between an address that doesn't exist and one that has been scrubbed. The subject line was empty. I opened it. The body of the email was four words. I read them once. I read them twice. I sat very still for a long time, long enough that the screen's automatic dimming engaged and the room went fractionally darker, and I reached out and touched the trackpad to bring the brightness back.

He had anger outbursts and constantly got into fights at school. Finally I turned my attention to my personal email and one in particular caught my eye. The subject line was interesting, “The Deserving,” I clicked on it and read through it as I got goosebumps everywhere. It was an email from Malachi. The email I’d been waiting eight months for. The text of the email was one line and in code. Nice Malachi, I ran the decoding program I had and each letter decoded a paragraph. It took the program an hour to run through the message and decode the correct sequence.

Satisfied, Mia grew even more cheerful, doting on Bruce and Laura with extra sweetness. Upstairs, Jessie had no idea about the happy scene below. She was busy logging into one of her other accounts. The moment she signed in, her inbox was flooded with notifications. After skimming through, she clicked on the contact with the most messages. That person's screen name was 'Wine at Teahouses.' At the top were a few short lines, followed by three design drafts. The timestamp showed these messages were sent three years ago, just two days before she went to prison.

I closed the file. Opened my calendar. Monday: Press kit pickup. Tuesday: 2 p.m. site walkthrough. Wednesday: Launch. Three days. I closed the calendar and opened my email. Twenty-four new messages. I scanned through them. Printer confirmation. Journalist follow-up. The venue coordinator asking about additional parking. Then I stopped. One new message. From an address I didn't recognize. Subject: Wednesday Rollout–Time-Sensitive Sent: 9:47 a.m. I clicked it.

I asked quietly. He turned to me and nodded. "Yeah, don't think too much. It's normal." It was almost midnight when we arrived at the homestead, but the place was still so lively, as if they expected us to come. There were strings of lights decorating each side of the road, making the scene look magical and romantic. "Is this where you're usually assigned?" I asked Zayn as we exited the bus.