fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Death Of The Black Book
‘What would I want? Death? Or twenty thousand? Well if those things are quite separate, I choose death... I mean twenty thousand’. Said Jules, mostly to himself, though Mole was sitting across from him. His nose unusually close to the open book he was reading.
By Mark Andrew 6 years ago in Criminal
Hidden Secrets of Boliver
Leigh was dusting off her box of stored memories of her life in foster care when she came to this old dusty black book. In rushed a flood of memories of a summer spent in a youth rehabilitation center in Boliver Tennessee. The old insane asylum Western Mental Health, which was opened in November 22 1889, was home to various killers and criminally insane patients. She didn't know this at the time. She was just a teenager who had run away from home in the early 1970's.
By Valeria Woods6 years ago in Criminal
The Three Tasks
I have worked for the Harow Group for about 2 years, but I still don't like the way security watches me. They look down on me, not only because I'm just over 5 feet tall and they are a towering 6'2, but because they think they are better than me. I'm just the cleaning lady and they are the top security officers to the most powerful man in the country. A man no one has ever seen. If all the rumours are true. I went online after accepting this position. The news calls him a revolutionary as he paves the way to new medical developments that help the world, but the whispers say the opposite, the whispers call him a murderer, a criminal, and someone who takes what he wants without any thought of the people it harms. After spending a few hours online and talking to my mother I was hesitant to go in on my first day, but in the end, it's just a job. There weren't many many rules here; show up on time, do your job, and never enter the boss's office. For the last 2 years, I made sure to follow them very closely, often wondering what went on behind the large black doors I wasn't allowed to go through.
By Christine Perssia6 years ago in Criminal
The Delivery
Caleb sat in his room, feeling anxious. He had been waiting for a phone call for awhile now from his boss, Alex. A deal had been struck for Caleb to deliver “some goods”. All that needed to be done was to wait and hear if they would agree to his asking price.
By Stuart Gardiner6 years ago in Criminal
Pandora's Box
It was my last work shift in a small coffee shop the week before Christmas. I had finished my midterms the week prior, and planned to drive to my parents house two hours away tonight after work. It was Tuesday, so I knew I could leave early after closing at 9 PM and be home before midnight. I had the help of one of the managers, Tom.
By Kate Edwards6 years ago in Criminal
The boss’s book of lies
As Alexander lounged on a Bahamian beach sipping one of those tropical, fruity drinks with an umbrella in it, he took advantage of the relaxing calm to reflect on how and why his life had changed so drastically in the past few days. After all, at the beginning of this week the 23-year-old resided in a stuffy studio apartment in a city the cost way too much to live in and held a job he dreaded at the bottom rung of the corporate ladder at a Fortune 500 company. Now, he could travel the world and enjoy life, financially secure in the knowledge that each week his now substantial bank account would grow due to the fact that despite the fact that he never had to step foot in the office again — and wouldn't be welcome if he did — Alexander was now by far the highest paid person in the company. And all because he had stumbled upon that little black book.
By Austin Blessing-Nelson (Blessing)6 years ago in Criminal
Slow Poison - Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-seven Stonehouse The boy never came now. Nor did the Mother. The Husband had looked in once or twice before the snows had gone, but he had soon relinquished the chore. The old man was seldom lonely as he sat out his days in the first floor council flat. The gas meter ticked on, consuming the nickel coins he set aside. The world had shrunk to the dimensions of the cramped kitchen, to the area of the chipped Formica table. He sat there between sleep, sipping the cooling instant coffee that stood ever within his reach. One or the other of the books would lie open before him; diary or the book of Ilya’s verse. The verse was never read, the strong line-work of the illustrations too powerful a magnet to allow his eyes to stray, but the power of the images paled beside his own words. The fragile scrawl held the ghosts within the prison of the cracked kitchen walls. The dark stars of her eyes held his own as he followed the marks he had left on the pages of the diary.
By David Philip Ireland6 years ago in Criminal
