fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Killer Chocolate Cake
We never suspected that Tye Tyson was a dead man before he even walked into my cafe for lunch. In the five years, Naomi’s Cafe and Doughnut shop had been open I had never seen Tye or any member of his family inside our restaurant. Tye Tyson was a used car salesman. Almost everyone in town had a story about being swindled by Tye. Everyone knew who he was because of his over-the-top and outrageous car sales commercials which usually involved livestock. As in “Don’t be chicken to buy a new car! Come on down to Tyson Motors! Tell them Tye sent ya!” All with live chicken running around. He was quite a showman.
By S. L. Kirby5 years ago in Criminal
Boom.
It was cold that night. She shivered through her thin coat, not having expected the temperature to drop so dramatically. She was with her friend, Macy. Macy was short, with pale red hair and brown eyes. Ellise herself had dark blonde hair and blue eyes. She was taller than Macy, if not by much.
By LB Stories5 years ago in Criminal
The End of Chocolate
John felt nothing as he watched with curiosity a mosquito that had landed on his arm. Its tiny proboscis, like a syringe, probed beneath his skin until it sank into a warm, pulsing capillary. As the mosquito silently sipped his blood, John thought of the millions of people worldwide who each year are infected with deadly diseases by mosquitoes just like this one. He could swat at it, but why bother? Inevitably another would find him, probably while he slept, if only he could sleep. There was no rest to be found in cell 26, and nowhere to escape. Tomorrow at sunrise, John was scheduled to be taken down the hallway, strapped to a cold metal table, fastened to a heart monitor, and injected by a hypodermic needle containing a mixture of lethal chemicals. As a condemned prisoner on death row, John's time was up. All legal appeals had proved futile, so solid was his conviction for having committed most heinous murder, not of one person, but of thousands.
By William Cheshire5 years ago in Criminal
One Last Piece of Chocolate Cake
Little Marco was the epitome of everything Detective John hated in the criminal underworld. Supremely fat, lazy, and not as smart as he thought he was, the man was as far away from Al Capone as John was from Princess Diana. John sat in his car at the corner, watching the obese gangster through the pair of old binoculars he kept for stakeouts. The obese man was practically spilling out of the booth he sat in at Giovanni’s. Red leather jacker blended in with the red leather of the booth. Hands going back and forth with mechanical precision between the plates in front of him and his mouth, you would think the man had recently escaped from one of those month-long dieting facilities. But no, Little Marco probably spent more time in his corner booth than he did in his own bed.
By Charles Beuck5 years ago in Criminal
CHAPTER 13
ii The Chancellory boarding house stood at the end of Broadmoor Lane. Originally an Old Country inn, it was at least two hundred years old. A gentle claw of ivy owned one side wall and part of the chimney. The inn itself had recently been converted into a more modern dwelling by offering its guests the comforts of an enclosed latrine. The seat sat over a small stream on the downward slope, spilling over rocks and emptying into a large holding pool before cascading down a slough on its way to a water wheel and granary at the bottom of the hill. There was an elm tree sitting alone at the end of the property, its contempt for Nature’s worst evident in its twisted pantomime of defiance. The yard had been weathered through the years, tortured by the elements, but every year the yard would have to be scythed and the fresh scent of cut green lawn would fill the fields. But the seasons had turned and the elm was a simple silhouette of its former self.
By ben woestenburg5 years ago in Criminal
sleeping deer
It was cold in the forest that winter, colder than anyone would have predicted. The pond had already frozen, and the air threatened to do the same to your lungs, if given half a chance. The winter’s silence here made it feel like there had never been a summer. There was freedom in this isolation.
By Joanna McLoughlin5 years ago in Criminal
CHAPTER 13
i The drive from Chumley to Okehampton was usually little more than half an hour; with the mood they were in after having met DCI Biles, it took Sonia an extra fifteen minutes to make the drive. The countryside was mostly farmland, the sky a light turquoise colour with large cumulus clouds moving in from the East. Farms, with hedgerows marking their boundaries, and trees of every colour swaying in a gentle breeze, appeared, and just as quickly, disappeared from view. A few of the small villages set off from the roadside were approached by narrow tracks of dirt worn deep by centuries of use. It was the type of drive Sonia usually enjoyed. She could see cows grazing lazily in the wide, open pastures, and sheep dotting the hillsides. Swans swam lazily in open ponds created by the recently flooded rivers and streams, and she wondered how long it would be until the water finally receded.
By ben woestenburg5 years ago in Criminal
