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Short Story 686 - The Last Light (Intermediate)

The sky was always grey now. Nobody could remember the last time they had seen the sun. Thick clouds hung low over the silent city, and the tall buildings stood like black teeth against the endless gloom. Streetlights buzzed weakly, their glow pale and tired.

Maya walked quickly through the empty streets, holding her coat tightly around her. She had just finished her shift at the Power Centre, where she helped check the city’s last working energy towers. Everyone depended on those towers. Without them, the little light they still had would disappear.

People no longer lived in houses. Everyone stayed in crowded towers with no windows. Windows were dangerous — they let in the cold wind and the poisonous rain. At night, the sound of the wind screamed through the broken streets, and people whispered stories about the time when the world had been warm and bright.

Maya had grown up hearing those stories. Her grandmother used to tell her about the sun — a golden ball in the sky that gave light and warmth. Maya had never seen it. But she liked to imagine what it would look like.

That evening, as she reached the Power Centre, she noticed something strange. One of the towers was flickering. The light at the top blinked on and off like a tired heartbeat. If the tower failed, the whole city could fall into darkness.

She climbed the metal stairs as fast as she could. The wind pulled at her coat, and the air tasted like metal. Inside the control room, she found an old machine flashing red. “SYSTEM ENDING,” the screen said.

She pressed every button she knew, but nothing worked. The city’s power was dying. She took a deep breath. She remembered a story her grandmother had told her — about an emergency switch that could restart the power for a short time. Nobody had ever seen it, but Maya believed it must be real.

She ran down to the bottom of the tower, past broken pipes and piles of rust. There, half-covered in dust, she saw a red lever. Her heart raced. She pulled it down with all her strength.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the lights around the city began to grow brighter. The grey clouds above seemed to thin, just a little, and a pale yellow glow touched the sky. People opened their doors and came outside, faces lit by something they had not felt in years — hope.

Maya stood at the base of the tower, breathing hard, looking up at the light. She knew the power would not last forever. But she also knew that she had given the city a chance. Maybe tomorrow they could build something new.

For the first time in her life, Maya smiled in the light....

Story written by ChatGPT AI.

Image created by ChatGPT AI.

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Short Story 685 - The Last Light of Orion (Intermediate)

Mara stood on the deck of the research ship Aurora, watching the violet clouds swirl over the alien sea. The planet was called Orion, a name given by the first explorers who saw its twin suns rise together. The crew had been sent to study the strange energy pulses that lit the night sky in bright green ribbons.

Mara was a linguist, not a scientist. Her job was to listen to the sounds the planet made and try to turn them into words. She believed that language could open doors that machines could not. Every evening she recorded the humming of the wind, the crackle of the ice, and the soft clicks that seemed to come from deep below the surface.

One night, as the second sun set, the green ribbons grew brighter and began to pulse faster. The ship’s sensors flashed red warnings. “Magnetic storm incoming,” the captain announced. The crew hurried to secure equipment, but Mara felt a pull in her chest. The clicks she had recorded earlier turned into a clear pattern, like a melody.

She pressed play on the recorder. The sound rose, forming a rhythm that matched the pulse of the storm. Suddenly, a voice emerged from the speakers, not human but understandable. “Welcome,” it said. “We are the Keepers of Orion. You have listened. You have learned.”

Mara’s heart raced. She spoke slowly, choosing simple words. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

The voice replied, “We are the memory of this world. We protect the light that keeps the stars alive. Your people took too much, and the storm is our warning. If you stop, the light will die.”

The captain shouted, “Abort mission! Return to Earth!” But Mara stayed, fascinated. She asked, “How can we stop the storm?”

“The light lives in the song,” the Keepers answered. “Sing it back to us, with truth and hope.”

Mara gathered the crew. Together they sang the pattern they had heard, adding their own words of peace. Their voices blended with the green ribbons, and the storm slowed. The magnetic waves calmed, and the twin suns shone steady again.

When the last note faded, the Keepers whispered, “You have saved Orion. Remember the song, and share it wisely.” The ship’s computer logged the melody, and the crew set a course home, carrying the new language of the planet.

Back on Earth, Mara taught the song to students. They learned not only English, but also the power of listening. The story of Orion became a lesson in humility and cooperation, reminding everyone that even a distant world can speak through music if we are willing to hear.

- - - -

Vocabulary Notes

Pulse – noun / verb

Definition:

Noun: A rhythmic throbbing or beating, especially of a signal, light, or sound.

Verb: To beat or throb rhythmically.

Example (noun): “The green ribbons grew brighter and began to pulse faster.”

Synonyms / related words: throb, beat, oscillate, rhythm, vibrate, surge....

Story written by Lumo AI.

Image created by 1min.ai.

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Short Story 684a - The Whispering House (Intermediate)

It was Halloween night, and the wind howled through the trees like a lonely ghost. Rain tapped softly on the windows of the old house at the end of Willow Lane. No one had lived there for twenty years, not since the strange disappearance of Mrs. Elsie Gray.

But tonight, three friends, Liam, Maya, and Tom, stood outside the rusted gate. They were brave, or perhaps just foolish. They had made a bet: whoever spent one hour inside the Whispering House would win fifty pounds.

“Ready?” asked Liam, his voice shaking slightly.

Maya nodded, though her hands were cold. Tom just grinned and pushed the gate open with a loud creak.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and silence. Moonlight slipped through broken windows, casting long shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The floorboards groaned under their feet as they stepped into the hallway.

“Let’s stay together,” whispered Maya.

They moved slowly through the house. In the kitchen, pots hung crookedly from hooks. In the sitting room, an old armchair faced a cold fireplace. Everything felt… watched.

Then, they heard it, a soft whisper, like someone speaking just behind them.

“Did you hear that?” Tom asked, his grin gone.

Before anyone could answer, the whisper came again, clearer this time: “Leave… while you still can.”

Liam’s heart pounded. “Maybe we should go.”

But Maya, curious and stubborn, walked toward the stairs. “It’s just the wind,” she said, though her voice trembled.

At the top of the stairs was a small bedroom. The door was slightly open. Inside, a dusty mirror hung on the wall. As Maya stepped closer, her reflection didn’t move. Instead, it smiled, a slow, sad smile that wasn’t hers.

She gasped and stumbled back.

The whisper returned, louder now: “You shouldn’t have come.”

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut downstairs. The lights, if there had ever been any, flickered in their minds, though the house had no electricity. Cold air rushed through the hallway.

“Run!” shouted Tom.

They raced down the stairs, tripping over each other in panic. The front door wouldn’t open. It was locked from the inside, but no one had locked it.

Then, from the top of the stairs, a figure appeared. It was Mrs. Elsie Gray, pale, dressed in an old nightgown, her eyes full of sorrow, not anger.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said gently. “I only wanted someone to know the truth.”

The friends froze.

“My son locked me in the attic,” she whispered. “He wanted the house for himself. I’ve been waiting… waiting for someone to hear me.”

Tears filled Maya’s eyes. “We’ll tell everyone,” she promised.

Mrs. Gray smiled faintly, and vanished.

The front door clicked open.

The three friends ran outside and didn’t stop until they reached the streetlight at the corner. They never collected their bet. Instead, they went straight to the police.

A week later, builders found human bones in the attic, and a hidden diary that told the whole story. Mrs. Gray was finally given a proper burial.

The house was torn down. In its place, a small garden now blooms every autumn, filled with white lilies, the flower Mrs. Gray loved most....

Story written by Qwen3-Max AI.

Image created by 1min.ai.

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