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Looking for a steady supply of mystery short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.
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I sunk my fingers into Sorrow’s black fur. She let out a hiss. A neat little claw took a swipe at me. ‘You can’t stay here,’ I told her. ‘I need to use my keyboard.’ The black cat finally drew herself up, back arching, hackles raised. I returned my eyes to the bleary screen. The essay only contained a single sentence. I tapped my fingers on the desk, awaiting the demons of inspiration. There was an unopened letter close to my escape key. I already knew the sender from the scrawled letters of my name on the...
Lawrence Knight was familiar with the whole “nine lives” spiel about cats, and he even believed it to some extent. When he was eleven years old his mom brought in a stray cat from the street that she decided to call Winky for their family to raise as their own. Lawrence was always slightly afraid of Winky, which only had one good eye and limped with each step, but his mother assured him the cat was perfectly healthy.
ANOMALY, UTAHBy Andrew Paul GrellBy this point in her marriage to Jacob, Cordelia Rigdon knew enough not to wish her husband good luck as he got ready for work on this busiest of days for him. There were the lectures on why actors tell each other to ‘break a leg,’ why the French say, ‘step in shit,’ and why the Jews warn against Ayin Ha Rah, the evil eye:“Darling, love of my life, I make my living because people believe in bad luck ten times stronger than they believe in good luck,” was a typical concl...
One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven. Flip over. One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven. I punch into work. 9:17 in the morning. Like every other Friday, but not today. It is 13th, of November, on a Friday. A Friday the 13th. Superstitious? Maybe. Careful? Indeed. Every other street; a black cat crosses my path. Seven times. Seven times. Seven times, a black cat crossed my path. Work. Work. Work. Stock here. Stock there. Stock in this way. 11:33 in the morning, ...
The island reeked of fish; scattered guts and oozing blank eyes littered the black beaches, and the mountains smelled of bubbling, potting fish intestines. The sky was continually dark with the smoke from the fires beneath the cauldrons, and the water had a thin film of scales and oil, all in the bays and quaysides round the island. In the deepsea around the island, the fish that were still alive avoided the inlets and told tales among their young that a bloodthirsty monster lived on the isle, with a mouthful of s...
Ever get the feeling you are being stalked? Ever get the feeling you are being stalked…by a cat? There is a black cat that I have seen for like, the 10th time today. The thing is following me and he is starting to really creep me out. It has these green eyes that narrow when it looks at me. Like it wants me dead. It hates me, and I haven’t even done anything to it. Hell, I like cats. They have never really liked me, but still. It shouldn’t hate me this much. It all started when I was going for an evening strol...
I never thought that the most important day of my life would turn out like this…A trip to the store.A friend.A wig.A party.
George came to work at the lab. He was very nervous for a number of reasons. First it was his first night on the job. Second it happened to be Halloween. And if that wasn't bad enough, George was extremely superstitious.He reported to the guards control room. He met his supervisor. And he was assigned to Rebecca, a seasoned and heavy set woman. She grinned at him. And cracked her knuc...
You could call me superstitious, but you’d only be half right. Certainly I believe that broken mirrors and umbrellas indoors and crossing under ladders and black cats causes bad luck, just like four leaf clovers and burning incense and rabbit’s feet causes good luck. And yet, it isn’t the actual thing that causes it. It’s the symbolism of it. So yes, I’m superstitious, but for good reason.&nbsp...
It was the cat again. It was the door first and then when he was climbing the bus, and over and over, he had been seeing it everywhere he went. This was the tenth time that the cat had appeared. Stephen did not believe in superstitions or the paranormal, but this was creeping him out. Every time that he saw the black cat, his heart skipped a beat.It had green eyes, and a dark black fur, coating her skin.Stephen was in the cafe right now. And the black...
Jade and Caron could see the heat rising off the concrete in front of them. They were heading nowhere in particular just racing. Simply something to do on a blistering summer day. It hadn’t rained for a minute. Grandpa and grandma were worried at the fact. Drought is the worst. Besides killing the crops and making the prices rise on fruit and vegetables, the trees fall over when the storms come. They heard them chatting in the kitchen. “I don’t want to spend another one tho...
The house stood at the end of a small cape, on the edge of a cliff over the sea. A 225 foot sheer cliff; a rock-strewn, churning sea. Rough Point, the house, rose up three stories with a chaotic assortment of ascending gables and towers and spires, in the style of a very English architect’s dream—or nightmare—of French châteaux. A dirt road wound through a thick wood, mostly ash and copper beach, to arrive at Rough Point. The road looped back into itself, away from the façade of the ancestral home of Sir Elden Terry, and ...
I started to run. Eyes full of tear. I couldn’t breathe. I don’t know how many times I shouted his name while running under the rain, I don’t know how many times I hit the ground but when I reached the train station my knees were bleeding, my throat was aching and there was no tear left in my eyes to cry them out.I didn’t call his name anymore. I didn’t because I was standing in the middle of an empty station at 5 am under the storm, soaking wet, bleeding and it was like I had lost it all. I had lost this game, called life.*...
It was well past midnight, and on any other night of the year, I would have been dead asleep, but this was Christmas Eve, so I was wide awake when I heard my dad’s patrol car crunching the gravel in our drive. Softly, I crept along the hall until I stood, silent as a shadow, peering into the kitchen. It felt like one of those Norman Rockwell moments; my mom, still young, sitting up with her crosswords in our bright yellow kitchen, waiting for my dad to come home at the end of his shift....
I’m a writer who doesn’t write. At least I used to be. That changes today. I have a short story due for my Creative Writing class this Friday, and I am done procrastinating. In the last week and a half, I took every reason not to write. Friend were going out? Writing could wait. My stomach was growling? Writing could wait. I needed to get to bed early because I suddenly started caring about my mental health and well-being that very minute? Writing could wait, once again. Not this time! I would sit down, and write until my fi...
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