Category Archives: thriller

Haunted – Flash Fiction


“It’s been 15 years, but I still regret what happened at the lake that night”
“I know,” she replied softly, “but it did happen. You can’t change it now; you need to forgive yourself – I’ve forgiven you”
“But I killed you!” his voice strained
“and you’ve had to live with that on your conscience; I’m not going to punish you for it. Besides, you’ve been stuck with me “haunting” you since then”
He smiled at her apologetically across the dining room table
“you must hate me” he stated
She thought for a second:
“No. Well… I did, but not, not anymore. Being dead, you kinda learn to let things go”

[110 words]

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Car Share


I felt suddenly, that the centre of this man’s attention was a very bad place to be.

The usually flowing conversation stopped dead. The silence that fell was intense. Feeling awkward and intimidated I shuffled in my seat; my heart felt cold and heavy as he directed his gaze at me. I held eye contact for a split second before deciding that looking at the road ahead would be much better. He continued to stare until the lights turned back to green.

In my mind I searched my memories, looking for any hint within our previous encounters that could suggest that the man who kindly drove me home from work every night was actually dangerous. Did I miss any clue?

We’d become friends surely? Across countless car journeys we had developed knowledge of each other, had built what I thought was a close friendship – had I been wrong all this time?

The phrase “a false sense of security” flashed through my mind.

My heartbeat quickened as he drove me towards home; my breath heavy and fists clenched at my seat. We were approaching the shops by my house where he usually dropped me off. I just wanted to be out of the car. This man had changed, or shown his true colours, I don’t know, but I just wanted to get away from him.

He didn’t stop.

He tried to make conversation but there was a sinister element to his talk. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t react; questions overtook my thoughts;

Could this man really hurt me?

Why did he offer to drive me home in the first place?

Had he planned this all along?

The questions I didn’t really want to find out the answers to.

Why me?

I thought he liked me?

All of my thoughts and opinions about this man constellated at the forefront of my mind… Was he going to hurt me?

Could he really kill me?




I think it is safe to say that I got away with that. No one even suspected a thing.

I had a little bit of guilt, I admit, as I watched her husband of three months on TV making an appeal to anyone who may have any information in regards to her disappearance and whereabouts. He was a nice guy.

And it’s because of him that I had the perfect hiding place for her. Of course the first person they go to in these kind of cases is always the husband, so I had to hold off for a little while, until I was sure the police were satisfied that it wasn’t him. And like I said, he was a good guy, so that didn’t take long.

He wouldn’t even know that lying right there, in the ground beneath his feet, as he worked on re-modelling his rusty red MG Midget, would be his wife. Not even her – the lifeless decaying shell that once housed the spirit and soul of her.

He would never know how close he actually was to her, feeling like she was millions of miles away.

He’d invite me round sometimes, let me do some work on the Harley. I don’t think he noticed my smugness, my satisfaction in knowing the secret I held, the crime I had done. Purposefully dropping my tools on the spot where she lay beneath our feet.

I was so good, almost too good, at playing the sympathy card for him. Reassuring him that she will be found, that whoever did this to her would pay for his crimes; even questioning if she hadn’t just simply ran away.

He’d always ask “are you sure she was ok that night you dropped her off?”

I’d respond with my well-rehearsed lines of “yes, I dropped her by the shops at the top of your road, as always, and continued my journey home. Nothing seemed wrong or weird”

And why would he suspect me? I’d been driving his wife to and from work for longer than they were married. I was the all-round good guy who would never do such a thing as choke the life out of the very person I would call a friend!




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Curiosity Killed the Cat

A little exercise in creating tension and mystery. I like to think that I haven’t done too badly, but either way, I would love to receive any comments or feedback. Happy reading, SK.


No one was home, but she felt the need to tiptoe, moving swiftly and easily around the living room. She had no idea what she was looking but knew there had to be something. He had changed and she needed to know why. She couldn’t explain it; she just felt it in her gut that something was not right. Sometimes he acted perfectly normal, but other times he was overcompensating for something, definitely indicating his guilty conscience.

She snooped and spied amongst his possessions but everything was in its place, meticulously organised as always. Nothing out of the ordinary. She rummaged through his office; maybe there was a paper trail that would lead to the truth. Nothing. Becoming frantic she started searching every single cupboard and drawer in the house. There had to be something to confirm her suspicions, to satisfy her curiosity.

Looking at the clock, knowing he would soon be home, she was about to give up, pulling out one last drawer. In her disappointed, unsatisfied state, she pulled the drawer completely out of the unit, noticing something very shiny and very black hidden in the space beneath it. A small, locked box she had never seen before.

A renewed vigour pulsed through her veins. She was about to get some answers. Feeling time running out, she frantically picked at it, forcing it open so she could finally know his secrets.

Flicking through every item in that box, realisation slowly formed and her heart palpitated as the truth sunk in. what she didn’t know, however, was that in her flustered attempt to get the box open and reveal its contents, her husband had arrived home.

And there, sitting on the floor of the living room, the true identity of her husband before her, she inhaled her last breath. She should not have found out what she did, so he had to kill her.


Filed under based on writing exercises, creative writing, mystery, thriller

8/365 – The Long Walk Home

Day 8 – some suspense for you dear readers, making the simple act of walking home into something a little scary and unsettling…

She never wanted to leave the pub; the thought of that long walk ahead her made her want to set up home in that pub.

It was a dank and dreary night. When she finally got up the courage to leave on her own, she strolled defiantly through the doors, leaving the warm safety and entering into the harsh coldness. She walked quickly and purposefully and held her keys tightly; ready to get through the door as quickly as possible and ready to use them as a makeshift weapon, to stab anybody who might attack her.

The wind was slowly picking up; trembling through her hair as if a ghostly spirit was running his white hands through it. It got stronger and louder, howling through the sky, screeching through wind chimes of back gardens. The leaves and litter of the street started to dance about her, creating tornados that wanted to catch her.

The orange glow of the streetlights was not enough to reassure her; what about where the light didn’t touch, what about the shadows. Do shadows move or is it just her imagination? Shadows surrounding her, moving in on her, wanting to trap her. Shadows  in alleyways wanting to jump out on her.

She hears noises but can’t decipher what’s real and what’s not; what are footsteps and what is just her heartbeat thumping away in her ears. A cold sweat envelops her; hands grasping tighter to her bag and keys; hurrying her jelly legs, wanting to be at home, safe in the cocoon of her bed.

She was running, propelling herself home, when she tripped up the kerb. It felt like the darkness was closing in on her. She lay frozen to the floor, panicked, waiting for her stalker to show themself… when a cat rustled out of the bushes and strutted towards her, stroking itself against her arm.

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Filed under comedy, creative writing, thriller, twist endings