The Warped Track
By Jamie F. Bell
A teenage runner experiences a terrifying, surreal distortion of time and space during his sprint, leading him to seek answers from an enigmatic professor whose office is as chaotic as his theories.
Explore Our Supernatural Mystery Short Stories
5 Stories
The Old Wing's Grip
By Leaf Richards
Late at night, in a hospital residents' lounge in Northwestern Ontario, two medical residents, Lindsay and Sam, sift through black and white photographs meant for a local art exhibit, but their discussion quickly turns to a disturbing pattern of unexplained patient deaths and unsettling anomalies captured in their images from the hospital's old wing.
A Chill in the Old Hall
By Tony Eetak
The wind, sharp with the scent of wet pine and distant woodsmoke, tore at the posters Evan had meticulously stapled to the community board. Red and gold maple leaves, brittle as old parchment, scuttled across the frosted ground. It was late October, and the grey light of afternoon had already begun its surrender to an early dusk, painting the sparse clapboard buildings of Oakhaven in shades of muted indigo. Inside the drafty, cavernous interior of the Oakhaven Community Hall, a handful of faces, etched with the seasons of the north, turned towards Evan, their expressions a blend of polite skepticism and weary resignation.
The Cogwheel's Tremor
By Eva Suluk
The air in Sammie's workshop always carried the distinct aroma of hot oil, polished brass, and the lingering sweetness of spiced ginger tea. Outside, a reluctant spring was attempting to assert itself, sending intermittent gusts of damp air against the grimy window panes. Inside, however, the rhythmic tick of countless clockwork mechanisms offered a comforting, if slightly erratic, pulse to the cavernous space. Dust motes, heavy with metallic particles, danced in the shafts of anemic sunlight that managed to pierce the gloom, illuminating intricate arrays of gears, valves, and steam conduits that snaked across walls and ceiling like metallic vines.
The Unfurling Vine
By Eva Suluk
The air, heavy with the promise of more rain, clung to the windowpanes of Trevor's study, blurring the early spring world beyond. Outside, the garden, neglected since Clara, was a riot of unruly green – new growth fighting through last year's decay. Inside, the quiet hum of the old house was punctuated only by the scrape of Trevor's pen against the page, a brittle, rhythmic sound in the deepening gloom.
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