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Discover weekly, the best short stories

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

Late Night Caller

Submitted to Contest #330

Late Night Caller by Scott Speck “Allen, do you still love me?” The whiskey glass leaps from my hand and explodes on the floor, but I barely notice. The phone is tight against my ear. “Lucy? Wait… How...” I stop myself, embarrassed at my own stupidity. Allen, you’re a goddamn defense attorney. Act like one! “Why did you leave me out here? Here, Allen, where it’s so… cold…” Over the phone, wind is blowing through trees. I know how bitterly cold it is out there. Hours after getting home, my swollen red toes are still itching and tingling....

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Christmas Animatronics

Submitted to Contest #329

Warren Tierney steps back into the kitchen, sees the overflowing pot of pasta water, and curses, quickly shuffling over to pull the lid off. He stirs, unsticking the thin spaghetti, and lowers the heat. The pot continues to boil but now under control.He looks up at the clock above the stove and checks it against his wristwatch, seeing he has plenty of time. He decides to check the shop anyway, feeling some doubt about the time.White Christmas lights outline the edges of the shop wall, hanging just below the exterior roof. Inside, small splot...

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When the Unseen Learns Your Name

Submitted to Contest #329

Alex wasn’t in a hurry.After work he could take the metro, catch a bus, or walk home the mostly-straight forty-minute way.Tonight he chose to walk. It had been an ordinary day—almost too ordinary—and he wanted a bit more of that simple, easy quiet.The sun slipped below the horizon, the heat of the day finally letting go, and the evening carried that soft, late-May coolness he always loved.His paycheck was enough, Sarah didn’t bother him anymore—he helped regularly—and Johnny, now a first-grader, lived with his mom but saw Alex every Sunday. ...

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Mr. Freetail

Submitted to Contest #329

It was the evening of October 25th when we saw Mr. Freetail. He was on the city walking trail, not exercising but standing near the edge of the path, with a face that was indiscernible at first. The encounter wasn’t eerie by any other means than this, and possibly the way he had come down the slope as though he were gliding over the rocks. His outline was dark, like a void in the glowing Autumn scene.Until now, I had been holding Megan’s hand, under the orange sky, feeling the crisp breeze that had come thankfully after a long summer. We had...

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Memories in the Fog

Submitted to Contest #329

It was a dark and stormy night as the young terrier male sat at a corner table of a forgotten tavern in a drenched overcoat, waiting for his mysterious contact.The “Fog District” of Vulane - the City of Lies - was a place to go to forget - and be forgotten - by the outside world. Even the Veilwinter Silvermasks rarely stomped around the place.But every resident of the Fogs was known to every other, at least by sight. Their true names - or at least what they were named when they were born - had been lost in the mists.A lute from an enchanted ...

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Beautiful Madness: Laughter is My Love Language

Submitted to Contest #329

Suzanna’s choices were always wrong. It was a curse stamped on her early, like a bad tattoo she couldn’t scrub off. If the directions said left and she took that left, they would turn out to be wrong—only to ensure she’d get lost and arrive late to something serious, like a funeral. If she picked vanilla, the entire large milkshake would be slurped while she wished she’d gone for chocolate. Seemingly small things, when added together, became rather large disruptions.This phenomenon wasn’t just reserved for small decisions. The big crossroads...

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Not Every Picture Tells a Gory

Submitted to Contest #330

CW: Contains themes and/or references to emotional manipulation and implied violence Two side by side emojis—one a waving hand, the other kissy lips. Garth York stared at Labonita Cruz’s cryptic reply to his text, “Where R U?”What the hell? Cursing Labonita under his breath, York sent her back an irritated face emoji.Where was she, anyway? His side piece was never late. Self-absorbed and temperamental, yes, but never late. York strode to the hotel window, parted the drapes, and looked out at the deserted ski runs. Now that the sun had set, s...

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Phantom touch

Submitted to Contest #329

She passed on the twentieth of November, 1816.‘Passed’ isn’t the correct term of course, because it soon became apparent to me that, while she had died (that much was painfully, excruciatingly clear) she had not left, not ‘passed’ anywhere.I had never bothered with such nonsense before, having more than enough to do in the one world we have all been fated to inhabit. My life is devoted to the pursuit of chemical philosophy, so I know there are more than enough questions to answer about the very things we can see, before we can turn our atten...

20 likes 8 comments 8
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Back into the Past Again

Submitted to Contest #329

Digging up the past is a dangerous activity, as it can unveil things you’d prefer never to find out. These thoughts came to my mind while standing in my own garden with a shovel in my hand and looking at a body that had already started decomposing after being buried in the ground where I have been walking every single day.“Who doesn’t have skeletons in their closet?”“Exactly, in the closet, and not in the garden, and not real once. Oh, my God. I am losing my mind…”“Angela, please. You need to believe me. It’s not how it looks.” My husband wa...

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The Hunger of Dreams

Submitted to Contest #329

The Hunger of Dreams Angela woke from her deep sleep with a violent start, the alarm ringing in her ears, demanding her attention. This morning, she felt no desire to do so. She silenced the alarm and dragged the blanket over her head, wanting to shut out the world for just a few more minutes. The moment she closed her eyes, the images flooded back. The dream returned, the same dream that had tormented her for weeks. She opened her eyes again at once, as though light alone could chase away the images filling her mind.For weeks she had ...

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Strange, a beautiful happening in my village.

Submitted to Contest #329

Strange, but beautiful happening in my village The pesky alarm sounded, another day had begun. My arm and hand stretched out to silence the sound. I turned over to embrace my wife with a morning kiss. She was still fast asleep. I lay there for five minutes looking up at the ceiling. My first thought was that I realized I had a full day of work before me.Then images about my life collected in a series of memorable snapshots. I was the only son of the owner of the village's largest dairy farmer. I had lived in the village all my life, apart fr...

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Beyond God's

Submitted to Contest #329

My name is Dragotour, and I am the oldest son of King Dreamcast. I know that you might think I would be happy to be born into such a fulfilling lifestyle, but in reality, it's miserable. Dreamcast appears to be this loving father who loves me and cares for me, but in private, he stabs me in the back with literal spears. Allow me to repeat myself: literal spears, aimed at his own son. All morning and all night, it's just endless pain, but I endure it to protect my little brother, Maximus. I know—I know it sounds cheesy and like every anime, m...

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THE WEED MADE ME PARANOID BUT I WAS RIGHT

Submitted to Contest #329

The clock strikes midnight with the sound of a ledger snapping shut, and Peter clocks in for another shift at the Hopetown Gas & Go, where the fluorescent lights hum a frequency that vibrates at the exact pitch of his guilt and the parking lot stretches into darkness, a ninth circle of suburban hell waiting beyond the glass, and he's been doing this for eight months now, ever since his mother got sick and he made the decision that would define everything that came after, the decision he tells himself was about medical bills but knows, in...

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Night Shift at the Cemetery

Submitted to Contest #329

Jim stood up, brushing the leaves and dirt from his blue twill pants, and wiped a smudge from his cheek. The night smelled like rain and pine, the kind of damp, earthy cold that seeped into the bones. Fog clung low to the ground like some lazy old hound that refused to get up. Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver watch. He didn’t need the glow; he knew the weight of 3:00 a.m. by instinct alone, but old habits die hard, or in his case, didn’t die at all.Another shift had begun.He set off down the gravel path, boots crunching ...

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Fit For War, Not For Peace

Submitted to Contest #329

Artillery shells fly overhead as Quentin Lake and Tress Miller huddle together in their trench. Sergeant Marshon Mane, the longest serving of the trio in the war against the Centerack army, has become so used to being bombarded that he’s fast asleep. The capitalistic Bon Ivar’s have been at war with the agrarian Centeracks for three years and are on the verge of overrunning their resourceful but underarmed enemy. Balancing himself on a board above the trench’s muddy bottom, Quentin puts a small piece of cheese on the end of a bayonet. Separa...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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