fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Nothing I Wouldn't Do For You
I had been shoveling for so long. My back ached as I lifted a big pile of dirt. I looked up at Chad, who had been dragging the dead body across his broad shoulders. I hated doing body bag runs, but specifically with Chad Buick. I’m not too sure why he grabbed the body from the trunk on his own. Chad dropped the body bag on the ground from he shoulders and began to drag it the rest of the way.
By Madison Charmaine3 years ago in Criminal
THE POT BELLY PIG’S PORTENT
Paige stepped out the lobby door, happy she was finally being released from the bowels of hell, also known as the Los Angeles County Jail. Looking directly at the sun, she squinted, blue eyes shimmering like a pool. Paige had just spent the last ten months in the worst place and time of her existence, however, this was the first day of the rest of her life.
By Ericka Frazier3 years ago in Criminal
The Mind Raiders
A nimbus of gold surrounded the torch, flickering across the empty road. The rain descended in the nightfall and clouds stormed across the sky, creating a broken underbelly. Yefel urged her horse onwards through the deluge. The spare mare between her and her fellow Mind Raider, Fabian, grumbled ungainly in its descent. Large crimson flags fluttered from their saddles. The insignia of the Lost Crown—roses twined in angel wings—emblazoned proudly on their sides.
By Wonita Gallagher-Kruger3 years ago in Criminal
The Wreck of the Little Black Book
Eighty-six years and three months to the day after a tropical storm off the coast of Little Cayman sunk prohibition kingpin Alec O'Finnigan's private pleasure yacht the Little Black Book- taking its now-legendary cache of $20,000 in cold hard gold bullion with it- when the ocean’s ever-shifting underbelly finally brought the ship back to the mainland in three splintered pieces. Each resurfacing Piece in turn incurred several sequences of curious incidents, all of which culminated in the untimely demise of seven people on the shores of Aldous Cove, and also seem eerily too interconnected to be coincidence. I am not here to dispute the treasure's profound lack of existence by now, nor will I advise all you treasure hunters out there to keep looking, but if they gather nothing else from this account, the reader should at least understand why my involvement in these events shaped my own conviction that coincidences don’t exist.
By Will Warren3 years ago in Criminal
M is for Moleskine
It was just chance that Patrick Tindle picked up the one notebook that was in fact used. He, having only seen the one Moleskine notebook, thought they were all printed that way. It must be a contest of sorts, he concluded mentally as he placed the small black journal on the counter. His discount card had expired. Yes, he would like to renew. No, he wasn’t interested in the magazine subscriptions they offered free for six months. He had the journal out of the bag and was skimming the pages before he had exited the large bookstore. The words hidden and $20,000 caught his attention. There were other mundane entries one might expect to find in a daily journal. This book appeared to take place in the present day as the dates were all current with the first entry being from the beginning of the year and the last entry near the end of the journal dated just...today. This was odd. It was so well written. As if a real person had kept a diary of sorts. One particular entry caught his eye. It was dated just two days ago and it referenced an armored truck robbery. He found himself deep in thought, remembering a real armored truck robbery that he had seen something in passing on the front page of...today’s paper.
By Robin Aletras3 years ago in Criminal
Lilac
Dust covered yellowing window panes, much to the disappointment of the owner. It was already 8 am, and the entire room was pressed by careful hands to its usual sleek presentation. Everything was almost in order. The white comforter had a single wrinkle near where the pillows sunk into the bed. Not a single piece of clothing or disarray could be pointed out.
By Kyra Lopez3 years ago in Criminal
Not As I Do
The early morning rush for caffeine always has its casualties. Seven AM on the dot, and the man in the white hat is about to cross the café’s snowy threshold. Another man, politely sitting on the sidewalk dressed in a dark old jacket and smelling of sweat, stands to hold the door open.
By Eleni Levreault3 years ago in Criminal