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

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 7 of 10

F.O.L. Department: The Future Is Now

Submitted to Contest #301

“It's such a beautiful day,” the girl said, with open arms and her smiling face pointing to the sky. She clenched her teeth and jumped angrily into a squat. Tensing her muscles on purpose, hoping to relax, she stayed like that for a moment. Why can’t I enjoy it then, she thought, frowning. “What the hell are you doing, Rita?” an older woman asked her. Rita straightened herself up and forcefully smiled. “A..it’s a new TikTok relaxing trend. Yes,” she said. “It’s for -” Rita continued, but was interrupted. “I don’t care. Back to work,” the wo...

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The Story That Never Was

Submitted to Contest #301

The Story That Never Was When I was a young, rookie news hound, I’d bound up these steps. Not any more. I’m sure these steps have got steeper. I can bound up the first dozen or so, taking them two at a time. But then I slow. Anyway, there’s no rush. I’m a little early, so climbing the steps one at a time is fine. Allows me to catch my breath too. And mull over strategy. My Editor had lowered her voice, even though there was no one within earshot. “My source is good,” she’d said earlier. “Very strong. I’m told the police are looking at him....

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The Beekeeper's Birthday Surprise

Submitted to Contest #301

A bright spring morning dawned in the quaint village of Meadowbrook, where wildflowers dotted the rolling hills and the air was thick with the sweet scent of nectar. Jacob, the village's beloved beekeeper, awoke with a sense of excitement. It was his birthday, and his wife, Emma, had promised him a special surprise. Jacob's life revolved around beekeeping. His father had taught him the ancient art of beekeeping, which had become his passion and livelihood. The bees knew him well; they recognised his gentle touch and the familiar scent of the...

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Entrance Exam

Submitted to Contest #301

‘This isn’t what I signed up for.’ I’d noticed it a while back, when the high-rise buildings with impeccably clean, darkly tinted windows and revolving doors spilling men in suits and women in heels and blouses were replaced by sprawling, country houses with kids roaming the streets on bikes, their feet bare and faces getting painted in flaky-red skin by the sun. It had started as an inkling –a gnawing unease in my gut as I watched the world fly by from outside my window, but had said nothing. Until I saw the ocean. On a hot day, it was a br...

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322-3 Doors 2 Important 2 Forget.

Submitted to Contest #301

It was 3:00 am when the shrill ring tore through the dark living room, pulling her up from uneasy sleep. Groggy, she rubbed her eyes and reached for her glasses, but they weren’t where she thought they’d be. The only light came from the giant flat-screen TV, looping the same random country music videos that had been playing for what felt like twenty years. She’d been back here for almost two months now—homeless again, forced by her own choices to crawl back to the last place she ever wanted to be. Her mother’s house. The place she swore she’...

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This box...it whispers of endings.

Submitted to Contest #301

The rhythmic clang of the grandfather clock echoed through Elias Thorne's antique-filled study, each chime a hammer blow against the fragile edifice of his composure. He sat hunched in his worn leather armchair, a half-empty glass of amber liquid trembling in his hand. Outside, the wind howled like a banshee, clawing at the ancient stone walls of Thorne Manor, a sound that mirrored the tempest raging within him.Elias, a renowned antiquarian and historian, was a man defined by order and control. His life was meticulously curated, a fortress b...

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Chlorine Conspiracy

Submitted to Contest #300

The whistle pierced the summer afternoon disappointing the children and giving Dylan a well-deserved break. His tan skin contrasted with his light green eyes in a way his mother assured him was quite attractive. His brown hair, slicked back with a handful of pool water at regular intervals, fell in front of those eyes in a way his mother constantly tried to prevent by pushing it behind his small ears. This was his first job; and it was one he had always wanted. The status of “lifeguard” was one of the defining achievements of his sixteen yea...

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The Dome

Submitted to Contest #300

The stone guardian must have been protecting the great dome and its buildings for a long, long time considering its begrimed condition. Elders tell tales of guardians who continue their duties even through the most numbing winters. From the treetop, Yuna signals Kubo, “Go now. Quickly.” Outside of view, they swiftly swung through the vines and branches around the protector of the dome. Kubo kept a hand on his pouch. He hadn’t sewn it as well as Yuna and thus the flap threatened to come undone and spill his fruit. Yuna motioned him to hurry...

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To the lake

Submitted to Contest #300

This is a thought experiment. All that you are about to witness is purely imaginary, forms part of my imagination and produced predominantly by my subconscious, no matter what I might say otherwise past this point. I say this whenever I space out too much. Not daydreaming, nothing mundane or trivial. This is not a form of entertainment or escapism, quite the contrary, ‘tis is mental labour in its finest. When I say space out, I mean it, a kid imagining how he saves an entire school from a terrorist attack or continues a cool fight scene he t...

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The House on West Shore Road

Submitted to Contest #300

Trigger warning: mention of death and suicide. Violence and grief.We drove passed it at least once a month. It was in serious need of TLC. The house on West Shore Road had remained empty for a decade. I remember trying to understand why a house that could be in such an amazing neighborhood plus a house that was once beautiful and charming could remain empty for so long. One night just after I loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, my husband rushed into the room and he looked like he was about to burst with excitement."Ok, tell me why you ha...

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Fjord

Submitted to Contest #300

I found myself in a valley of titans. Snowy mountains scraped the sky. A gigantic obelisk pierced the ice beneath my feet. The sun formed a spotlight over the structure. I stood alone. This fjord was veiled in complete silence until a voice slashed through. Deep of pitch and throaty of tone, it was unlike any human tongue. Yet, I could understand through sensation. Somehow, I understood that my help was needed. I knew where to go. Then, I awakened. The computer’s steel voice entered my mind. “Intergalactic Governance, Jaeger corp, Dream Chas...

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The Sea Giveth ...

Submitted to Contest #300

THE SEA GIVETH… WARNING: The use of one word, albeit by an unsavoury character but germane to the story She had always appreciated an excuse to come into town. She had walked the arcade so many times but still it refreshed; it cleared her mind and lifted her spirits. Motivation and concentration, the awareness of her surrounding, were the beneficiaries. She sat outside Duckie’s Bar facing the sea. On one side there was Barth’s Chandlers, spick and span with a fancy astrolabe in the window and a gleaming weather vane atop the roof. On the...

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Don't Trust the Wildflowers

Submitted to Contest #300

Warning: death. Spring came along as it always did, and fresh pollen stuck to the earth like snow, to the delight of many hard-working families. For the unique ranching town of Fawndale, this would bring new life, sunnier days, abundant crops, and warnings to keep out of the flower field. Surrounding the area was a dense growth that sprouted gorgeous flora on the first of May each year, but everyone who had ventured into the growth never came out again; they just vanished and left no evidence behind. Any previous rescue attempts have only le...

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What lies beneath the abandoned house on Vermont St.

Submitted to Contest #300

Six days out of the week I would wake up at 5 A.M. to do the paper route for my hometown, Richmond, Massachusetts. Where I would go from block to block delivering everyone's newspaper; I’d pass by my friend Jimmy's house as he would come outside at exactly 6:05 AM everyday of the week to wave and say hi to me as he grabbed his family's newspaper that I had just dropped off that morning and hurriedly get on his bike to catch up and join me. "Man, isn't it great that we don't have school today!", "Yes Jimmy, it is Saturday after all.", as he t...

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The Haven

Submitted to Contest #300

This would be Clara's fifth visit to The Haven, and so it would be her last. No one ever returned for a sixth.A visit to The Haven was the one thing that they all had to look forward to as they stumbled through their workaday lives at The Commune, those who were over 35 years old anyway. It was a temporary respite from the dull and dreary confines of their daily existence; the constant struggle to work hard enough to stay ahead in the race against starvation and poverty and disease, the constant vigilance against all manner of physical threa...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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