Author: midgetliew2013

The Tremolo

The Tremolo was a cozy diner by all means. Dim lights, soft lilac velvet furniture… everyone went there for dinner and much-needed comfort.

Cozy… in a vibrational way.

Everything was shaky. Everything.

Cups did the hippy shake. Table legs danced the Macarena.

The knives did the cha cha.

“Slash! Slash!” A knife would say.

The owner, Mark Vibrato, was a well-known eccentric who wanted to introduce…

Authentic Dynamic Dining to the world. He wanted his customers to experience movement with each bite.

So he absolutely refused to repair anything. Nothing was faulty.

Instead, he not only embraced unpredictability —

He embraced it.

Defects became quirky features.

Engineered Authenticity.

The Tremolo, of course, became THE place to be.

Customers came to expect shaky tables.

Their competitors imitated the concept by breaking some off their own furniture.

Each tried to stand out with niche advertising.

“Guaranteed Oscillation.”

“Premium Quiver.”

“Extreme Vibrato” —

For a newly fashioned pub.

Waiters were trained to carry soup across tables that —

Floundered.

Seats quivered on their own volition.

YouTube influencers filmed drinks dancing pirouettes in the air.

“Cheers.” Glasses would exclaim as they clinked.

“What’s so cheery about it?” Pineapple juice whined as it spilt out of the cup.

And reviewers praised the shows for being —

immersive.

Then, the health inspector arrived. Every staff member expected disaster — food was shaken off tables and onto the floor.

But Tremolo’s owner secretly asked repairmen to put his furniture right —

Overnight.

So when he stepped in, not a single cup rattled.

The silence —

Stilled.

The reaction of customers to the newly restructured Tremolo was —

Unexpected.

A shaky one.

They hated the cafe. It had —

Lost its charm.

Become far too —

Predictable.

Mark Vibrato slipped napkins beneath a table leg —

Crash.

And the table —

Did the wobble.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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The Cleanest Campaign

A curious student uncovers the identity of the mysterious figure restoring his town’s walls before sunrise

“Vandals! Our town’s not their art gallery!” Mayor George Sketch scanned the drawing-filled walls.

He had to find the graffiti addicts before Artisol flooded with unsmiling Mona Lisas.

But residents woke each morning to find artwork — 

Missing. 

Nosy student John Looks was curious to know who the unwanted artist was. He stayed up through the night. 

And waited.

A lone figure materialised.

John’s eyes stayed glued to the figure as it swiped the graffiti purposefully. 

The morning light fell on the person’s surprisingly familiar form. 

Artisol’s mayor.

Mayor Sketch. 

He glanced at the art on the walls and lifted his thinner-soaked sponge.

George Sketch, sincere yet distinguished politician, with ordinary clothes and rolled-up sleeves. 

Sketch glanced at Looks and blushed, sheepish. 

“ They — “he pointed to the walls — “were dirty.”

John Looks grinned and looked up. To him.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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Into the Flock

Mystery Hidden in Plain Sight

image.pngAvia was an unremarkable neighbourhood — unremarkable.
Save for the pigeons, which continually pecked at unsuspecting feet and blocked breadcrumbs.
One, a grey, nondescript fellow, had an unusual reputation—
He appeared continually outside different homes

That–
Was not unusual in itself.

Perhaps portentous.
But misfortune, as grey as he was, often followed his visits.
The first was a coincidence.

The second, him looking for food.

The pilgrimages increased.

The bird somehow knew.

The bird’s uncanny knack for disaster soon reached the notebook of reporter David Scroll. The journalist decided to spend some time in Avia to satisfy his curiosity. His notebook filled before his belief in its powers of foreboding did.

The pigeon was, at first, just another bird. Landing. Leaving. Landing. Leaving. But catastrophe rode on its wings. David recorded an unfortunate event every time it arrived. The evidence accumulated. His conviction didn’t. The bird’s beak remained closed.

So David decided to do what every good investigative reporter does– investigate. He followed the pigeon as it flew from its nest to different homes.

The sea of possibilities was far too vast. A trained bird. A hidden mastermind. Or pure instinct.

All real yet false.

It decided to land somewhere–

Ordinary.

Regular.

Puzzling.

Each time it landed, it landed somewhere new.

Then, its grey wings carried it into a fast flock of pigeons.
David could no longer see it.
Blending. Hidden. Omniscient.
Its foreboding had vanished into the grey commonplace.

Still plain.

The ordinary had foretold —
That some mysteries remained concealed because they blended in.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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The Jagged Line

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The teacher welcomed the students into the
classroom, a tiny, crooked smile on her lips.
The morning had been quiet, the air thick
with anticipation of the exam questions.

A student, Elvin, stood hesitantly by the door.
“Ms Chung, look at that.” He pointed to
a faint, thin line across the whiteboard. Long, jagged
yet even, it seemed…too…sharp.

He blinked.

Ms Chung, eyes furrowed, glanced at the board.
“Probably just the marker pen. We must have
forgotten to clean it after yesterday’s class.”

Elvin’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. “That’s not whiteboard ink. It’s way too…red.”

Ms Chung simply distributed the Math papers. “You’ve got too much imagination, Elvin.

Focus on the test.”

But the little boy’s eyes fixed on the board.
The jagged line turned…took aim—

At him.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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When Pollution Won First Prize

A topsy-turvy tale of rubbish, rivalry and one relentlessly tidy cleaner.

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The city of Stynk always broke convention—

It did so again by introducing its first Pollution Appreciation Festival. Citizens scrambled madly to outdo each other with  impressive piles of debris and noisy engines.

“Would you like a smoke?” Each would request, breathing black patches into the air.

The winner’s reward? A golden garbage can trophy.

The mess was—Stynky.

Elderly cleaner Bob Swipe was the only one who would swipe litter piles with perpetual persistence, earning everyone’s outrage.  

“Stinky.” He would intone.

Each sweep swept away a carbon masterpiece.

The judges were at their wits’ end—

There was no mess left to assess.

Not a recalcitrant stain on the pavements.

They banned Bob and banished him to Blandsville for excessive cleanliness.

Stynk tried again to recreate debris piles —-

But made garbage trucks that picked each one.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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The Bell of Belonging

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Some traditions demand more than loyalty.

Monday morning fell on the office, just like any other. Jamie and his colleagues gathered, chattering excitedly among themselves.
The Team of the Week would be honoured with the chime of a big brass bell.
The bell.
Huge.
Brass.
Gleaming.
It tolled.
Not chimed.
Tolled.  

They sat, voices escalating. Jamie’s team looked forward to this week’s ceremony; a plaque and gift vouchers awaited. Promotions awaited.                                                                               The Team Leader and Project Manager stood to address the different company departments.      
Then, his colleagues’ voices started to blend.
Oddly.
Almost a chant.
“Together…
Together..”                                                                                                   The Project Manager rang the bell. It responded.                      
Slowly.                                                                                      
Pedantically.    
Longer chimes than it should have.                                                        
For what, or whom, Jamie didn’t know.  
The voices started syncing in a more urgent, faster rhythm.
“Together….
Together…”    
Jamie looked about the table, his confusion rising. Everyone sounded too–
Synchronised.
TOGETHER.                
The Project Manager launched his pedantic, customary pep talk. Jamie’s eye fell on an old staff photograph.                                            
He went over the people in it, squinting.                                                  
Counted the numbers in the different departments.                                                                                                          His eyes lingered on the picture.
Then —                                                                                                      
A familiar face, not present.                                                                                                            He had spoken to it before.                                                                                                    The brass bell gleamed.
For the permission to toll.

Jamie’s eyes went over the photographs again.

He counted the employees meticulously, trying to remember each name.

His missing colleague’s.

A familiar face whose name simply refused to appear.

He spoke to other colleagues, pointing to the photograph.

“Hey, who was this?”

They shot him blank stares.

“As far as I know,the department has always had the same number of people.”

Robert seemed genuinely surprised by Jamie’s question. He had been with the company for a good three decades.

Jamie’s eyes scanned the office for a previous staff member.

An extra access card, hanging on it an unclaimed  lanyard, caught his attention.

He looked at Robert.

Who quickly looked away.

Other colleagues returned quickly to their seats.

Then, a familiar tolling.

His colleagues glanced at the brass bell.

Almost reflexively.

Project Manager David took centre stage.

“Whoever closes the next contract gets a permanent place in this company.”

The promise was too —guaranteed.

The winning team gathered around the bell.

Each member placed his hand on it, as tradition dictated.  

A toll.

Low.

Heavy.

Then Rita’s silhouette lost its legs.

Arms.

Jamie stared, open- mouthed.

Rita was no more.  She was  in the company’s memory.

Not her own.

Jamie stared at the photograph.

No more Rita.

She had sacrificed—

For the team.

Sacrifice. A deceptively simple word.

He stared  at his own feet.

Slowly disappearing.

He was becoming part of the team.

The bell tolled.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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The Last Witness

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The ballroom fell silent.

Not empty.

Freed.

The portraits slowly stopped rounding their mouths.

Silence finally exhaled.

One by one, as each regained her voice.

Each spoke—

Freely, without tension.

Only L14 remained.
🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀

She turned, not to the narrator, but to Godfather Lim.

His itch had vanished.

His wrinkled fingers no longer reached for it.

Not because there was no  remembrance.

But because it lingered.

The plaque beneath L14’s photo loosened.

Fell.

The portrait—

Empty.

The label drifted to the floor, liberated.

Godfather Lim. Still. Wrinkled.

Mouth in a gasp.

🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀

L14 floated confidently to the grand piano.

There was no melody.

None was necessary.

She brushed the polished lid with gentleness.

Love.

The Lim mansion was as dark as it had ever been.

But it was now —

Lighter.

Not brighter.

Lighter.

With its weight now fallen.

Godfather Lim lifted his eyes.

Not to command.

To recognise.

To hear each voice that needed to speak.

I finally understood.

The house had not imprisoned the girls.

It had imprisoned what it had taken from them.

L14 left the ballroom.

Leaving no footsteps.

No goodbye.

Every brass plaque tumbled to the ground as she drifted past.

Naturally.

Freely.

Like the brown leaves floating off a withering tree.

Each portrait remained nameless.

But became whole.

Human.

Feminine.

🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀

Only I remained.

A small brass key rested on the polished, marble floor.

The same key.

Untouched.

It never opened a door.

Memory had been the only lock.

Or revealed any hidden passage.

It merely remembered.

The voices that once locked.

I bent down and reached for it.

Its metal was unexpectedly—

warm.

Each door opened.

Incoming light flooded the corridors.

Dawn no longer needed permission to enter the mansion.

The ballroom doors opened.

In its centre, Godfather Lim.

And L14.

Her red wedding kwa—

Deliberately embroidered.

Tight.

Her eyes, upturned.

Gleaming.

So were his.

My hand closed around the heavy brass key.

She no longer needed it.

🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀❤️🎀

The Itch of Remembrance
Portraits of the Forgotten
Portraits of the Forgotten
Behind the Locked Landing
The Brass Plaque
The Master’s Footsteps
The House Instructs

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

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The Itch of Remembrance

image.png“Ye Shanghai….Ye Shanghai…..”

The piano riffs squealed to an abrupt stop.

But the melody outlived the musician.

L14.

Still.

Rounding her mouth in the gasp that was—

Hers.

Like the unseen singer’s

The portraits rounded their mouths with her.

Godfather Lim scratched an itch—

That lasted.

The brass plaques began to tarnish.

Their polished surfaces—

Darkening.

Uneven.

They grew in age and corruption.

Not L14’s.

The corrosion—

Chose.

Almost every picture.

Each one reflected not age, but—

Reduction.

Of a trapped, female soul.

The Godfather’s breath, a single word—”

“Fanatical.”

The word did not condemn. He couldn’t.

But it acknowledged.

And then I understood.

The Lim mansion was not preserving.

It was returning.

Voices to the girls from whom they were taken.

Summarily.

Godfather Lim lowered his hand.

His eyes never left the skin that grazed.

And the itch was continuous.

Not on his skin.

But on what caused remembrance.

Of each portrait. And L14.

image.png“Ye Shanghai….Ye Shanghai…..”

The piano riffs squealed to an abrupt stop.

But the melody outlived the musician.

L14.

Still.

Rounding her mouth in the gasp that was—

Hers.

Like the unseen singer’s

The portraits rounded their mouths with her.

Godfather Lim scratched an itch—

That lasted.

The brass plaques began to tarnish.

Their polished surfaces—

Darkening.

Uneven.

They grew in age and corruption.

Not L14’s.

The corrosion—

Chose.

Almost every picture.

Each one reflected not age, but—

Reduction.

Of a trapped, female soul.

The Godfather’s breath, a single word—”

“Fanatical.”

The word did not condemn. He couldn’t.

But it acknowledged.

And then I understood.

The Lim mansion was not preserving.

It was returning.

Voices to the girls from whom they were taken.

Summarily.

Godfather Lim lowered his hand.

His eyes never left the skin that grazed.

And the itch was continuous.

Not on his skin.

But on what caused remembrance.

Of each portrait. And L14.

Portraits of the Forgotten
Behind the Locked Landing
The Brass Plaque
The Master’s Footsteps
The House Instructs

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

Mirrors-of-the-Mind-cover_image_view_book.png

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

Mirrors-of-the-Mind-cover_image_view_book.png

The Air, Shared

Deer.png

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

Nature

Breathing in tandem with all

Creatures and people as one.

Touched by the same wind.

Pelted by the same rain.

We share.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

Ecology breaks.

Their homes vanish.

No lines between the animal and human

Illness reminds–

What we do leaves behind.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

When,

Roots in soil.

Their homes, with bounds.

Their plumes, then vibrant.

Our skin, then breathes.

When we hear.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

The air, shared.

Bound breath.

The Earth, in balance.

Thanks, not triumph.

Then life.

Then love.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

17835212639191970745955467147521.jpg
Deer.png

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

Nature

Breathing in tandem with all

Creatures and people as one.

Touched by the same wind.

Pelted by the same rain.

We share.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

Ecology breaks.

Their homes vanish.

No lines between the animal and human

Illness reminds–

What we do leaves behind.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

When,

Roots in soil.

Their homes, with bounds.

Their plumes, then vibrant.

Our skin, then breathes.

When we hear.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

The air, shared.

Bound breath.

The Earth, in balance.

Thanks, not triumph.

Then life.

Then love.

🌿🍃🕊️🌧️🦋🌎💚

Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

Mirrors of the Mind  by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.

17835212639191970745955467147521.jpg