Menu

Menu
Prompts
Contests
Stories
Blog
Featured stories
Activity feed

Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of mystery short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

8750+ 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 2 of 584

The Neighbourhood

Submitted to Contest #295

Sighing and looking out into his front yard, Mr Theodore Maxwell of 288 Baker Lane placed the barrel of his revolver up into his mouth and pulled the trigger one last time; with that, his massacre was ended. It had been a relatively normal morning for the Maxwells, not unlike any other day they had lived since moving to The Neighbourhood, but it had ended in bloodshed when Theodore went to his safe and proceeded to slaughter every member of his family, and take his own life, all before the meatloaf finished cooking.Theodore’s body fell just ...

4 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Death at the Thistle Manor

Submitted to Contest #295

If you look beyond the parting fog and follow the cobblestone road to the top of the hill, that’s where the old Thistle Manor is. Until we’d piled all our things into the car and left our driveway in Yellow Springs, I had no idea the funeral was for the old man’s grandson. I assumed it was for the codger himself, but my father’s newspaper clipping told of the untimely death of his only grandson, Barley Thistle. The feeling of my heart sinking into the carseat when I read his name on the headline still plagues me ten hours later. Barley, only...

4 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Watched

Submitted to Contest #295

“This watch is the most unique item we’ve sold. I’ve never seen a pocket watch quite like it.” The man at the estate sale gushed as he handed the watch to me. The brushed silver surface had a beautifully aged patina. I loved the face of the watch, which was visible through the front as the cover was just a ring of etched roses.I clicked it open, because of course I would. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just followed all the signs, all the messages. There was but one course of action left for me to fulfill a lifetime of mystery: wind the c...

8 likes 1 comment 1
Read story

Vanishing Act

Submitted to Contest #295

No one tells you how strange it is to attend your own funeral. But then again, I suppose it’s not every day that a funeral is held for someone who’s not really dead. I mean, I’m sitting right here. But no one sees me. At least not the real me. They think I’m someone else. But I have to be. This is the way it has to be. One by one, people approach the closed casket to say their goodbyes. To Morgan. Except I’m here, standing in the back of the church, pressing my trembling hands behind me into the cool marble wall. But no one notices. The chur...

3 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Puddle Jumper

Submitted to Contest #295

[WARNING: Physical violence, gore, and depiction of mental health issues.]The past is an unyielding stone, carved by time, beyond our grasp. Yet, through the threads of fate, we are bound as one. Thus, with these fleeting acts of mine, I pray the future may be redeemed—long after my breath fades.—Kameko Tanaka, High WardenI. First Puddle (2000, Age 5)The crackling voice of a radio announcer slices through the humid July air in a fenced backyard in Forest Lakes, Charlottesville: “And that’s a homerun for Chipper Jones in the 8th inning—Braves...

20 likes 13 comments 13
Read story

Gloves

Submitted to Contest #295

Calder adjusted his gloves; a size too big, they didn’t seem to fit quite right. The procession wasn’t particularly long, even if a decent handful of people had shown up. The hymns, the speeches, and the singing had filtered by in a slow, monotonous blur. His watch, annoyingly, was only just hidden beneath the black sleeve of his formal jacket, and he felt it too rude to adjust it and look down at the time, which he was sure was pulling his leg and going by as slowly as possible on purpose. People were crying, as they tended to do at funeral...

7 likes 1 comment 1
Read story

Passage thru the Trees

Submitted to Contest #295

Quiet solitude. Time to think. What will be the next move? Change, a good think, maybe. Doesn't mean I have to like it, Martha thought. Well, this is the perfect place to think according to my spiritual advisor. People from all over the world come here, this spot, to feel the pull. And this place is practically in my backyard, so to speak. There are several of these spots, where the trees growing nearby give away the sign of the vortex. The tree bark grows in a spiral, even on the branches. But this spot, others say, is a strong portal t...

3 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Uncovered Philosophies

Submitted to Contest #295

DISCLAIMER: This story contains the theme of death / afterlife and vague scientific study on animals. With that in mind, enjoy! The air had never sat as still as it did on February Eleventh, at approximately six-twenty-one past the morning, where the wind was utterly deceased and even the clouds sat motionless, awaiting their permission to move with the Earth, which also cowered before the hour and refused to spin, for the soul of man himself had perished on this day, with the pale body of Phil Torrance Macklimont. Thomas Asencio, perhaps a...

20 likes 6 comments 6
Read story

Who's Really in the Casket?

Submitted to Contest #295

“Has anyone seen Paula?”“It’s a closed casket, ma’am,” someone responded.“I know,” said Jane. “I mean before. When was the last time anyone saw her?” The small group gathered for the wake, which had been reported to be a private viewing, discussed this topic amongst themselves. Paula had left to travel for her gap year three years ago. She wanted to ski at places around the world. Occasionally, she would flit through town to visit but was always on her way to somewhere else. The odd thing is that she grew up and foster care and had no money....

7 likes 2 comments 2
Read story

The Unlikely Funeral: A Story of Life and Misunderstanding

Submitted to Contest #295

The organ groaned, a sound like a constipated whale, as I shifted in the pew. Rows of somber faces, a sea of black wool and tight smiles, stretched before me. We were all here for Arthur Penhaligon, or rather, the idea of Arthur Penhaligon. Arthur, the local eccentric, the man who claimed to converse with squirrels and wore a hat adorned with bottle caps. Arthur, who, according to the official death certificate, had succumbed to "unexplained circumstances" in his cluttered cottage overlooking the sea. But here's the thing: I didn’t believe i...

4 likes 1 comment 1
Read story

The Spook Who Sleuths: Case of the Immortal Curse

Submitted to Contest #295

RAIN DRUMMED AGAINST my office window like a junkie’s fingers on a pawnshop counter. I nursed a ghostly approximation of bourbon—can’t taste the stuff anymore, but old habits haunt you just like, well, ghosts.Name’s Roxie Hart, supernatural P.I. extraordinaire. Been dead since ‘45 after I zigged when I shoulda zagged during a particularly dicey OSS operation near Berlin. Now I solve the cases that leave the living scratching their noggins.My door creaked open—I keep it that way on purpose, good for the atmosphere—and in stumbled a fella look...

6 likes 2 comments 2
Read story

Fractured Reflections

Submitted to Contest #295

** This story addresses themes of mental health and a traumatic home life. ** My mother always said I had a vivid imagination, but I knew the house with the yellow siding existed. My memories of it were brief but vivid. We moved there just before my tenth-grade year, marking the start of one of the most turbulent times in my life. Our family was never particularly close. Conflict and tension defined our dynamic — a manipulative mother, an authoritarian and emotionally absent father, and a sister who had once been my companion out of necess...

6 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Thomas, Oakhaven, 1950

Submitted to Contest #295

The salt spray kissed Amelia’s face as she leaned against the railing of the ferry, the churning water a mesmerising turquoise beneath a sky the colour of faded denim. She was on her way to Oakhaven Island, a tiny speck of land off the coast of Maine, a place her grandmother had always spoken of with a wistful sigh and a faraway look in her eyes. Amelia had inherited her grandmother’s cottage, a charmingly dilapidated structure perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the endless expanse of the Atlantic.She needed an escape. An escape from...

6 likes 2 comments 2
Read story

What The Dead Man Did

Submitted to Contest #295

“Are you sure that’s Uncle Joe?” Shelby whispered, leaning toward her brother, Barry. Her voice barely rose above the soft piano music and the low murmurs of the mourners around them.The chapel was dim, illuminated by flickering candles that painted uneven patterns on the casket's polished wood. The air was heavy with the overpowering scent of lilies, wrapping around her senses like a fog.“Of course it’s him,” Barry replied, glancing at her with a hint of irritation. “Who else would it be?”“I don’t know,” Shelby murmured, her fingers nervous...

5 likes 2 comments 2
Read story

My tupperware is red, not blue.

Submitted to Contest #295

My tupperware is red, not blue. Normally, I wouldn’t be so insistent on the matter. Tupperware is a pretty mundane household thing. One can accumulate an entire adopted family of stray receptacles over a lifetime. Potlucks that leave the hostess with unclaimed dishes, tins, and canisters. Lids that go missing and never seem to find their way back to you. And before you know it, you have a whole mismatched collection of ill-fitting lids and multicolored storage containers that you simply don’t have the heart to toss out. That’s most people....

10 likes 6 comments 6
Read story
RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

Bring your short stories to life

Fuse character, story, and conflict with tools in Reedsy Studio. All for free.