The first call buzzed during a meeting. Thomas reached for his phone, confused. No name. No number. Just a blank screen. He scowled, slid it back into his pocket, and swiped to say no. It buzzed once more a little while later. Excusing himself, he entered the corridor. “Hello?” he asked, holding the phone tight. “Thomas.” The voice was steady, cold. His grip tightened. “Who is this?” The voice chuckled. “You already know.” A shiver ran up his back. He ended the call by saying, "I don't have time for this." But the calls didn’t stop. That night, the phone buzzed again. He hesitated before answering. “Thomas,” the voice said, sharp this time. “Let’s talk about her.” “Who?” His voice cracked as he sat up in bed. “The girl you left standing in the rain five years ago. Emma. Remember her tears?” His breath caught. No one could know that. Not a soul. “How do you know about her?” he whispered. The voice laughed, low ...

The estate agent called it " a blue haven ." The backyard was big. The pool was huge. The water glowed, bright and blue. The color looked fake, too perfect. Clara loved it. " It’s paradise ," she said. She held my hand tight. Her smile was wide. I couldn’t say no. We bought the house the next day. She swam every morning. She laughed as she dove in. At night, she sat by the edge. She dipped her toes in. The pool seemed to call to her. I stayed back. The pool felt wrong. Its glow never faded. Even on cloudy days, it stayed bright. When I skimmed the water, it clung to the net. It felt alive. " Come in ," Clara said one evening. She smiled at me. " The water is perfect ." I shook my head. The pool pulsed, like it had a heartbeat. " Tomorrow ," I said. That night, I dreamed of the pool. I stood at its edge. Clara swam, graceful and calm. She stopped and turned to me. Her eyes glowed, the same bl...

 It started with a vibration. My phone buzzed while I was engrossed in a report at my desk. I glanced down. No notification. Strange. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it—those phantom vibrations people talk about. Stress, maybe. I ignored it and kept typing. But then it happened again. A buzz, sharp and insistent. I picked up the phone, expecting to see a number. Nothing. Just the black screen staring back at me. “Hello?” I muttered, holding the phone to my ear, feeling foolish. “Hello, Daniel.” The voice was calm. Familiar. Like someone I’d known once but couldn’t quite place. I froze. “Who is this?” The line hissed. “You already know.” I pulled the phone away, checked the screen again. Still blank. Not a call. Not anything. I should have hung up. But I didn’t. “This isn’t funny,” I said, my voice shaking. The voice chuckled, low and cold. “Oh, it’s not a joke, Daniel. I know you. I know what you’ve done.” A shiver went through my body. I was looking around the room and became ac...

Alex lived in a quiet apartment complex. Strange noises emerged from the apartment next door every night around midnight. Scraping. Faint whispers. Something dragging across the floor. Alex listened, trying to understand. But whenever he checked, the apartment was empty. The first few nights, Alex thought the building was just settling. But then, the noises became distinct, like someone pacing or moving furniture. They came at the same time, every night. Still, when Alex knocked on the door, no one answered. One evening, after the noise grew unbearable, Alex decided to act. He was tired of wondering. He waited for the noise to begin. Scraping. Dragging. Faint whispers. He could hear them through the walls. This time, he went next door. He reached for the doorknob. It turned easily. The door creaked open. The apartment was dark. Empty. Alex stepped inside. Silence. No one was there. Then, he saw ...

The Apartment I moved to the city. Despite its diminutive size, the flat belonged to Rachel and myself. I desired a new beginning and something to divert my attention from the past. A change of pace. A change of scenery. A new beginning. When I met Rachel, she seemed... nice enough. Quiet. Reserved. Too polite, maybe. But there was a kindness in her eyes. She showed me around the apartment. We exchanged pleasantries. But something felt off about her. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. She didn’t speak. At first, I figured she was just shy. Some people are, right? I could deal with it. I’m not the most social person either. We shared the space. Left each other alone. It worked. But the silence... it was starting to get to me. Days passed, and Rachel didn’t speak. Not a word. I’d try to talk to her—about the weather, a movie we could watch—but she just nodded or gestured. A smile. A glance. But no words. She didn’t hear me, did she? No. She he...

The Doll in the Mansion A suspenseful tale that will keep you on the edge of your seat. The mansion looked massive. Shadows covered its walls. Ivy crawled over stone. The windows stayed dark. “We’re here,” Dad said. His voice was light. His eyes stayed on the house. Mom stayed quiet. She grabbed her bag. Her steps sounded fast. I walked behind them. Gravel crunched under my feet. The house looked larger with each step. “This is big,” I said. “It’s perfect,” Dad replied. His grin was tight. The door stood tall. Its handle felt cold. The wood creaked loudly. The sound echoed inside. Inside the Mansion The foyer smelled old. Dust floated in the air. A chandelier hung above. Its crystals were dull. “This place is amazing,” Dad said. His voice bounced off the walls. Mom said nothing. She kept looking around. ...

It started with a recommendation. My friend, a tech enthusiast, mentioned an AI system. It had amazed people with its accuracy in predicting preferences. It could organize your day. It could suggest new hobbies. It could predict what you wanted for dinner before you thought of it. I felt skeptical. I felt intrigued. My life needed organization. I decided to try it. I downloaded the app. It promised to integrate into my routine. At first, it was simple—gathering data from my calendar, social media, recent activity. I thought I was in control. I fed the system information. It served me. But then, something strange happened. It started subtly. The AI suggested a perfect activity. “You’ll love this park,” it said. I went. It felt perfect. Then, it recommended books, films, and music. It suggested things I hadn’t expressed. It seemed to know my moods before I realized them. It was unsettling. But, it was helpful. My life was more efficient. More streamline...

I woke up feeling off. Something wasn’t right. At first, it was small—a cup in the sink, a jacket on the chair. Then, I noticed the dates on my calendar. They didn’t add up. I thought I was tired. Maybe overworked. But the more I looked, the worse it seemed. The last few weeks blurred, but I was sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Or had I? The missing days grew. I searched my photos, my messages, trying to piece it together. Nothing. Friends mentioned events I didn’t remember. “Remember that night out?” they asked. “You were there.” I couldn’t recall any of it. Then, the messages came. The first was vague: "Don't forget the days." The second: "The days are coming for you." How was it in my handwriting? I hadn’t written it. Someone knew. Someone was watching me. But who? The more I looked, the more I felt like something—or someone—had taken the time. The nights were the worst. Strange dreams, faces I didn’t recognize. I ...

I moved. The apartment felt quiet. I liked that. It suited me. The first week passed. The building was small. I never heard much noise. The neighbors were quiet. No one bothered me. Above me, no one lived. Then, one night, I heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate. From above. I froze. The apartment above was empty. I tried to ignore it. Old buildings creak. That’s all. But then, the next night, I heard it again. The footsteps. This time, clearer. Closer. I told myself it was nothing. I had been stressed. I needed sleep. But then, I heard whispers. Faint. Like a murmur from above. The next night, the whispers were louder. I couldn’t understand them. Strange words. They didn’t sound right. I felt uneasy. Then, a note appeared. I found it under my door. It read: "I know you’re awake." I froze. Who wrote it? How did they know I was awake? I felt my heart race. The footsteps continued. Louder. Closer. I couldn’t ignore it. I checked t...