Mystery
The Devil's Glare
This is a continuation of the first Vocal Creators Saloon Story Series, one episode written by each author. Please, start reading the following parts before continuing: ⚀ Part 1 Knife Skills ⚁ Part 2: The Right Thing ⚂ Part 3 Death Has An Order ⚃ Part 4 Karma ⚄ Part 5: Best Laid Plans
By Sofia Duarte5 years ago in Fiction
Twisted Old Barn Tale
I still can't believe after everything I have to go back, I wish I didn't but that's not the case, even though I made a promise to myself that I would never have to bear the sight of that decrepit old barn ever again currently I stand before it with intent to enter. Though the thought of doing so disturbs me in every which way imaginable I know it's imperative that I face my fears and once again endure the trauma I experienced in this rundown red barn. Narrowly escaping the dangers that lurk within I made it out unscathed and managed to successfully keep my life but also lost an important item, an item so important to me that I'm considering putting myself through that hell once again to get it back. The barn itself as haunting as it may be it is certainly not the most responsible factor contributing to my agony, in comparison to what hides within the eery old barn my gut-wrenching uneasiness is a minor setback and only the beginning of what was about to become a death deifying getaway.
By Froopy Noopers5 years ago in Fiction
Dreams Under the Ice (Revised)
Winter, and once again alone on the ice. This is where she came to forget about her troubles, to forget her responsibilities, to avoid her future. This is where she felt strongest. Guiding power into her legs, Mara glided across the frozen pond, leaving little white lines and circle arcs on the surface. Her childhood was spent there, scraping and spinning, falling and learning. The sound of splitting ice spitting snow and carved designs thrilled her in the chilled air. Arms outstretched, bitter wind on her face, she breathed in energy and breathed out art. She shifted her weight and started flying backwards over the light dusting of snow on the ice. The banks, trees, all brilliant white, deadly silent, her thoughts painfully traveled through her mind.
By Barb Dukeman5 years ago in Fiction
The Case of the two Mr. Tyagis
In September 2020 Jeet Thakur Sahai was called by his friend Prof. Ronit Sehgal at the University of Ghaziabad, India. Prof. Ronit was a professor of Finance and he and his colleagues were hiring an assistant professor at their School of Business at the university. Since Ghaziabad was very close to Delhi he could commute there daily as needed.
By Anshuman Kumar5 years ago in Fiction
The New Owner
Turner surveyed the shop - his very own shop, now - with complete satisfaction. It was hard getting a foothold in this tiny little town. Everyone knew everyone, everyone was related to everyone, and some days it seemed like unless you married into one of the old families and settled down within the town's defined borders, you were still an outsider, no matter how many generations had lived there.
By Meredith Harmon5 years ago in Fiction
Suspect
Raja was premped, proper and ready to go. Feeling refreshed from the morning shower, Raja stepped out of the front door and locked it. The morning breeze came with the smell of fresh cut grass and spring time wildflowers with the most faint hint of something stale and moldy. It wasn't until he was in his car, that something didn't feel quite right. The stale moldy smell seemed somehow be stronger in the car. He looked in the back seat, almost expecting someone to be there. To his relief, it was empty. He looked under the seats and found nothing, and with a sigh, decided it was all in his head. Raja, backed out of his driveway, and headed to work. His sense of ease was fleeting, as soon as he got to the security gate. The security guard eyed him strangely and held his nose as he let Raja through. " What the hell was that about?" he thought out loud. Once parked, Raja sniffed himself then frantically searched his whole vehicle. He found nothing out of place. He even searched under the hood and in the trunk, but nothing. Calming himself, He looked at the time and realized he was almost late. He walked at almost a jogging pace. As soon as he got into the building, he stepped into a crowded elevator. Everyone held their noses, but no one looked at him at all. " What is all this strangeness about?" He asked himself quietly. Raja saw his boss, Leanne, and immediately went to her to explain why he was late, and give apologies. Leanne, held her nose and kept walking silently as if he wasn't there. Raja, now very confused, insecure and nervous, gave up trying to talk to Leanne and went to his desk. There was a small brown paper box on his desk, that had the words, open immediately written on it. There were flies buzzing around it. Nervously, he picked it up still closed and threw it in the trash. No one looked directly at him, but the smell was getting stronger. The smell of something stale, moldy and rotting filled the air now. Leanne's voice came over the intercom telling all employees to evacuate the building until the fire department can find the source of the smell. Raja and everyone else, darted to the parking lot to wait on the fire department to give the all clear. While waiting, he looked at a brown paper box that now Sat on my hood of his car. " Open Immediately" was written on it. It looked like the very box he had already thrown away. He rushed to his car, grabbed the box off the hood and took it to the nearest dumpster without ever looking inside. When Raja turned around to go back to the croud of employees, everyone was gone. Only himself and 58 cars remained. The guard shack was empty too. " I must be dreaming" he said aloud. He went back into the building, everyone was acting like nothing ever happened until he got closer to them. " What's that disgusting smell?!" A woman said while gagging. " That's it, I'm going back home " Raja said making his way back outside. The smell seemed to follow him like a shadow now. He went from a fast walk to a full on sprint. He reached the car within seconds it seemed. The smell clung to him like a wet shirt to a dry body." I have to be dreaming " he said in a doubtful voice. He got into the car turned on the ignition. As he went to fasten the seat belt, he noticed something brown in his peripheral vision. He looked at the passenger seat and there it was again, the same brown paper box. " What the hell is happening to me? Am I going insane?" Nervously, he reached for the box and opened it. There was a note inside, that seemed to be sitting in something moldy. He took it out and read it. It was an address, and lot number. He put it into his GPS and headed for the place in hope of any answer to his current fear and confusion. After a fifteen minute drive his destination was on the right. It was Saint Burnette's Cemetery. " This is such a weird day." He murmured as he parked and got out. Inside of the ten foot iron gates, there was a map. Lot 71c was on the back corner of the third cemetery block. Raja made his way to it slowly. There in lot 71c was a marble and granite tomb, with golden letters inlaid. Here lays Raja Wist Lampulaé Arrived: September 7th, 1972, Departed: April 27th, 2021. May he rest in peace. Raja suddenly realized that he couldn't feel his heartbeat and he wasn't breathing. "I can smell, I smelled the flowers this morning and the bad smell." He tried to sniff and nothing happened. "Memories of smells." He whispered, "all of my speech today has been thought and not breathed." He went inside and saw a glass coffin with gold trim and blue velvet lining. There was a brown paper box on top. In it was a note. " Please, lay back down, and rest in peace." Raja opened the coffin, climbed inside, laid down and closed his eyes. The end.
By Jessica Talley 5 years ago in Fiction
The unknown package
I’m on yet another boring day at my job; Receiving letters and parcels, storing letters and parcels, sorting letters and parcels, and sending them off for delivery. Taping up letters and parcels, cutting letters and parcels open, marking letters and parcels, tearing letters and parcels, and throwing letters and parcels away.
By Jane Diokpo5 years ago in Fiction
Dinner and Diary
The sound of breaking glass woke me from my thoughts. A waiter in the busy restaurant had just dropped an entire tray of assorted flatware onto the ornately tiled floor. Someone nearby laughed and clapped their hands in a display of sardonic schadenfreude.
By Saint St.James5 years ago in Fiction
