Short Story: The Forgotten Box
Word Count: ~750 words
Theme: Suspense and Mystery
It started with an unmarked box on Lauren’s doorstep.
The small cardboard container bore no label, no return address, just her name in a thin, looping scrawl that sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t expecting a package, and the neighbors in her quiet cul-de-sac were not the type to leave surprises.
Against her better judgment, she brought it inside. As she peeled back the tape, her heart pounded. Inside, neatly packed in yellowing newspaper, was an antique pocket watch. Its brass surface gleamed despite age, but the glass face had a jagged crack across it, frozen at 3:15. Lauren’s fingers trembled as she turned it over. Etched into the back were two words: Never Forget.
She recoiled as a flood of fragmented memories washed over her—her grandmother’s warm embrace, the scent of lavender in her old house, and the faint ticking of a clock late at night. This watch belonged to her grandfather, but she hadn’t seen it since childhood. Her grandmother always said it disappeared after his funeral.
But why was it here, decades later, on her doorstep?
A soft click from the watch made her jump. Its hands began to move backward, the tick-tick-tick sharp and unnatural. The room seemed to spin, and a dizzying sensation overtook her. When the ticking stopped, so did everything else.
Lauren blinked, her breath catching in her throat. She was not in her home anymore. She was standing on a cobbled street lined with gas lamps and bustling crowds in clothes from another century. Her reflection in a shop window showed her wearing a lace gown. Her hair swept up in a tight bun. Panic surged as she turned to a man standing nearby.
“Excuse me, where am I?” she asked, her voice trembling.
The man tipped his hat. “Why, Miss Harper, you’re in 1882, as always.”
Short Story: The Last Letter
Word Count: ~750 words
Theme: Emotional and Relatable
Emma hadn’t touched her father’s desk since the day he died. Dust clung to the mahogany surface, and the faint smell of his cologne lingered in the air. She didn’t come into the study for anything other than to dust or open the window to let fresh air in. It was a room frozen in time, much like her grief.
But today was different. She was cleaning out the house to sell it, and the study could not remain untouched.
As she opened the drawers, memories of her father’s laughter filled her mind. Most of the drawers were filled with bills, receipts, and old photographs. But in the bottom drawer, tucked beneath a stack of papers, was a yellowed envelope with her name in his bold handwriting.
Emma’s hands shook as she opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded with precision. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she began to read:
Dear Emma,
Because you are reading this, it means I’m gone. I hope you don’t find this letter for a long time, but knowing you, you’ve probably started organizing my things the minute you could. I can almost hear you sighing at my mess from here.
I wanted to tell you something I didn’t know how to say while I was alive: You were my greatest joy. I know I wasn’t the perfect father. I worked too much, missed many soccer games, and forgot birthdays I had no excuse to forget. But you always forgave me. You always showed me the kind of love I didn’t deserve.
The thing about life is that it doesn’t give you time for the things you wish you’d said. So, let me say it now: I’m proud of you, Emma. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become. Don’t waste too much time missing me. Live your life boldly and kindly the way I know you will.
Love, Dad.
Emma clutched the letter to her chest, tears streaming down her face. For the first time in months, the heavy weight in her heart seemed to lift. Her father’s words gave her the permission she needed to move forward.
She placed the letter back in the envelope, folded it carefully, and slipped it into her purse. The sadness remained as she locked up the study, but it was no longer unbearable. It was softer now, like the edges of an old photograph.