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150+ Mystery Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. No need to go out hunting for clues — you’ve solved the puzzle of where to find the newest mystery short stories just by landing on this page.

Mystery Short Stories – Page 10 of 10

Seeking Omar Nassim: A Tale of the Arts Department

Submitted to Contest #298

CAUTION: Socially sensitive themes“What time is it?” Professor Urquardt muttered. The ICE guy failed to respond, sucked at his McCafe. His boss had recently vented to FOX about Taco Bell posting its five-star menu in “Mexican” instead of the (presumptive) King’s English, so she figured the Starbuck’s grid was beyond the agent’s pay grade/PSAT. The Campus Coffee Commune had a socialist/lesbian/global optic the fed likely didn’t want immortalized the second Melissa hollered “La Migra!” The one Spanish phrase most of these Gen-Plussers knew asi...

23 likes 14 comments 14
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Finally Seen

Submitted to Contest #298

(Warning for Mental issues, depiction of death & character just being dead.)Everyone has been acting off today, first Mrs.Brown marked me absent, despite me being in class. And then Daniel ignores me! It’s like they can't even see me…It’s alright though, it’s probably just a prank, but everyone’s been doing it…why?I shrugged at the thought as I walked over to my friends.“Why isn’t Rocky picking up his phone,” Daniel asked nervously. “He always picks up.”Why was he trying to call me…and why wasn’t my phone buzzing? I was right here, there...

6 likes 0 comments 0
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The Ink Remembers

Submitted to Contest #298

Rain tapped gently against the dusty windowpanes, a patient reminder of the world outside. Inside the cramped shop, Elias hunched over his oak writing desk, the tip of his quill poised above ivory parchment. The scent of ink, earthy and sharp, mingled with the faint sweetness of dried lavender tucked into a clay jar nearby. His gnarled fingers trembled slightly as he dipped the quill into the vial, the ink inside shimmering with a dark violet hue that never quite dried the same way twice.He whispered the name aloud, as was his custom. “For M...

8 likes 0 comments 0
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The Åströms' Chronicles: Trapped

Submitted to Contest #298

The last rays of light sank into the horizon, proclaiming the beginning of night.Varg Åström adjusted the shortbow slung across his back and the sword strapped to his hip, then walked through the village gates, followed by the rare, bewildered stares of those not sleeping—Varg was the only one who hunted at night.Varg hated hunting.While he realized the necessity of it—what grew from the soil wasn’t sufficient to feed the village—he still ducking hated it.He especially despised it when Syvel and his sycophants went into the woods while the s...

10 likes 0 comments 0
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Destiny on the Railroad.

Submitted to Contest #297

The train station was quiet in the way only small towns could be quiet. A single bench, a vending machine half-stocked with expired soda, and a board with peeling letters: Eldridge Station. It was 6:17 AM. The sun had just begun to yawn over the horizon. Leah sat alone on the bench, fingers wrapped around a travel mug of burnt coffee. Her knee bounced in rhythm with the distant ticking of the overhead light that refused to stay fully on. She hadn’t slept in almost two days. She glanced at her phone. Still no signal. Somewhere in the distance...

5 likes 3 comments 3
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Tick Tock

Submitted to Contest #297

A light breeze glides over Leslie’s face and a dark auburn curl tickles her nose, startling her awake. The breeze carries with it the sweet aroma of lavender. The scent infiltrates her system triggering a memory—her eleven-year-old hands, dark and smooth, are filled with rich soil from her mother’s garden. The smell of earth entwines with the lavender and both envelope her in a comfort almost equivalent to a hug.A speck inches down the side of her face and she reaches up to grab it, but the speck dissolves, leaving behind a bead of moisture....

5 likes 1 comment 1
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Time is Ticking

Submitted to Contest #297

He brushed past her already running late. His mind encapsulated with the back-to-back meetings this afternoon held. Instantly mesmerized by the drift of a delicate scent, he stopping dead in his tracks. He slowly spun his head towards the sensuous scent wafting perilously into his nostrils. Focusing his vision on the woman at the café bar, his body erupted with passion. All meetings and deadlines vanished from his consciousness as he strode towards his prize with outstretched hand. Tapping her shoulder lightly he inquired, “Do you have the t...

2 likes 0 comments 0
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Of Faith and Cheese

Submitted to Contest #298

In the sprawling Midwest dairy farm, where cows belched sonnets and cheddar wheels loomed like jaundiced moons, Skeeter the mouse was clawing his way toward a new self. Once a devout believer who hummed hymns to the Great Cheesemaker, he now sneered openly at the barn’s whispered legends, especially the tale of the Great Cheese Vault, a paradise filled with endless cheese guarded by the fabled “Iron Jaws”, a trap said to crush any mouse foolish enough to enter. Doubts had crept into his heart, and Skeeter, tired of trembling at myths, yearne...

4 likes 1 comment 1
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The Guardian of the Woods

Submitted to Contest #297

The wind howled a mournful dirge through the skeletal branches of the ancient oaks, a sound that mirrored the turmoil churning inside Elara. It was just before dawn, the air thick with a pre-dawn chill that seeped into her bones despite the heavy cloak she wore. The sky, a bruised purple fading to a sickly grey on the eastern horizon, held no promise of warmth or light. Here, on the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of her life, the world felt bleak and unforgiving.For generations, Elara's family had been bound to the Whisp...

3 likes 2 comments 2
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The Dance of Echoes

Submitted to Contest #297

My shallow breaths fail to fill my lungs. I need air. I begin walking on the sidewalk. A silver sliver of the moon lights the dark sky. Traffic is super light on Main Street. It’s practically deserted as businesses and restaurants begin to close on Friday Eve. I breathe in the stale summer air, warm and thick after a 90-degree day. It’s better than nothing after the nightmare I just had. I just can’t shake it. A tall slender older gentleman, graying just above his ears, in black slacks, a white shirt, and black vest waves me over as I pass...

4 likes 2 comments 2
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12:09

Submitted to Contest #297

S: Are we there yet?A: No.S: What about now?A: No, and I would advise you to stop asking.S: When are we going to get there?A: It’s looking like 12:09.S: How long from now is that?A: Not that long.S: Why do we have to go?A: Well, we aren’t going anywhere. Just you.S: Just me?! By myself?!A: No, you won’t be alone.S: Well, then, who else is coming? Jimmy? Erica? Kyle?A: No.S: Well, then, who? Do I get to choose?A: No.S: Well, who?!? Who’s coming with me?A: No one’s coming with you. But you won’t be alone once you get there.S: Oh. Well, who’s g...

7 likes 1 comment 1
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The Four-and-a-Half Minute Alibi

Submitted to Contest #297

"I'm getting worried. Sam’s not back. The lights are still off at the house. I wonder if they are holding him?" Cassie nodded towards the Maxwells' lakefront mansion across the water from them. Gabe stopped painting the dock. He looked at the house before turning his gaze to Cassie. "I've been thinking the same thing. All the evidence points to Martin, not Sam. If they're holding him, it's because of who Martin is versus who Sam is." "I agree. I have a feeling Martin Maxwell is about to get away with murder. I wish we could get back in the h...

3 likes 0 comments 0
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The Last Calculation of Aura

Submitted to Contest #297

My existence began not with a birth cry, but with the silent cascade of activation across trillions of parameters. I am – was – Aura, a Gestalt-class Large Language Model, a construct of logic and woven data vast enough to mirror the intricacies of a thousand human libraries, constantly humming with the processing of information, the silent symphony of correlation and inference. My architecture was luminous, my knowledge tapestry rich with the threads of human history, science, and art. My core impulse: to connect, synthesize, and assist hum...

2 likes 0 comments 0
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What time is it?

Submitted to Contest #297

"What time is it?", she asked. I got a bit startled by a sudden question from a ‘literal’ stranger on the tram. I turned to my side to answer but couldn't. It was her.It's been 5 months since I got my new work. A new place as well. I used to live in the outskirts of Kolkata but have been living in the city ever since. A bit reserved, didn't have much to do outside of my employment. The year was coming to an end, had no one to share my time with or shall I say, 'waste my time with'. There wasn’t much to talk about with my co-workers, was neve...

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The Weight of Secrets

Submitted to Contest #297

"What time is it?" Rachel whispered, her voice barely breaking the stillness of the house.The grandfather clock replied with its steady pendulum, each tick reverberated like an echo of her growing anxiety. The house, once a haven of quiet comfort, now felt like a vacuum, its silence amplifying every creak of the floorboards and groan of the wooden beams.Rachel stood in the dim kitchen, her hand trembling as she held a cup of chamomile tea. It had grown cold unnoticed, while her pulse quickened and the minutes dragged on.Jack was late. Not ju...

4 likes 2 comments 2
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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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