Joseph Roy Wright
Bio
Hello there!
My name is Joseph Roy Wright, the British author of over 30 Independent novels!
I like to write about movies, pop culture, fiction and horror! I review all the latest films (and classics), I also like to write short stories.
Stories (216)
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Mr Teeth
This serial killer was a dentist. Yikes! You have a tooth ache, so you go and get that fixed, only to wake up without any at all. What a nightmare that would be, eh? Well, that's exactly what became of Mr Teeth's victims. He did kill them afterwards, but only after sitting them in front of a barber's mirror so the poor soul could see what Mr Teeth had done to them first. What a cruel and evil fate. What sick son of a bitch could've even thought about committing such despicable acts of murder? Well dear reader, read on and you shall soon find out!
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Horror
Manhattan Madman
The tale of the Manhattan Madman is not for the faint of heart, it is a dark and despicable tale of murder and pure evil. The city of New York is unfortunately rife with crime and shady activity. From drug deals, sex trafficking, theft and gang warfare. By far the most disturbing of these crimes are those done by psychopathic serial killers with sadistic desires. One of the most infamous of these lunatics was a mysterious fellow nicknamed the Manhattan Madman. This killer was known for his brutal, barbaric kills that terrified the residents of the city.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
Human Hunt
Troy Mickelson was an American photographer, one who specified in capturing wild animals in the forests of southern Georgia. It was an innocent and fairly well paid job. Sure it had its difficulties and the thing about art related business opportunities like this, is that sometimes the need to finish the job over being creative can result in less than satisfactory photos. I've had that experience with my own work as a writer, some books and articles are much, much harder to finish than others when the inspiration or passion behind such projects inevitably fades out. That's what happened to Troy in his own career, his photos lost their artist flare, his signature style faded with more generic photos you could find anywhere online or in every natural wildlife magazine. Troy had to up his game and fast, which led him down a dark path of desperation and fear. He dared cross into private property, in an attempt to capture an exceedingly rare parrot with purple and yellow feathers that only existed in remote areas of the wilderness. However, upon entering this dark forbidden area of the forest, Troy soon found himself in deeper trouble than a mere fine. The owners of this land weren't too fond of strangers. Little did he know that they were cannibalistic killers and that the rumour of the rare yellow and purple parrot, was nothing but a lie created by them in order to lure in daring trespassers like Troy into their despicable murder trap. Troy wouldn't be the first idiot to go beyond the borders of safety, it is believed that many have died in this private property but (as far as I am aware) only Troy has returned to tell his tale and I must warn you that it is truly, ungodly horrific! When he first entered this private woodland, nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the very subtle smell of rotting. Like spoilt meat or sour eggs. It was rising from the swamp that looked like it belonged to an ogre from an out of dark fairytale. This might've scared most trespassers, but Troy was desperate for quality content for his career. In fact, he took a photo of the ghastly swamp, thinking it looked cool and spooky like a scene straight out of a horror movie. Maybe that photo could be the beginning of a new career as a horror movie scout, somebody who goes searching for filming locations and takes photos and videos of said areas for directors. That could be a promising gig. So he continued his adventure into the unknown, feeling brave and confident. His desire to press forwards was foolish, as you are soon to discover. As he pressed forwards, the stench of rot got worse and worse, so strong he could taste it in his throat, like that of mouldy bread, he almost gagged. Then flies began to buzz louder and louder, there were suddenly hundreds of the little buggers! Swarming him and the air, covering the horrifying truth that lay just a few feet ahead of him. Then he saw it, oh how he wished he could forget it; the sight of a single hand, decayed to the bone, poking out of the wet soil before his feet. He dared to step closer and saw more of this dead body, bloated and stripped of flesh, like that of a melted action figure left in the microwave far too long. Then, he did puke, only adding to the foul odour of death that assaulted his nostrils. Obviously Troy didn't take a photo of this rotting corpse, that sight was far too real and horrifying to witness. No horror director on earth would wish to see that, he didn't even need to take a photo, to this very day Troy can't delete that zombie from his haunted mind. Somehow, the story gets even worse! As Troy turned to and ran escape, he alerted one of the nearby lunatics. "We got ourselves another one!" The red neck laughed, Troy looked upon the stranger in utter horror as he was eating a human ear! Chewing on the flesh of the lobe like it was the fat upon bacon, "he looks yummy!" The cannibal added. Troy didn't say a word, how could he? He was on the verge of pissing himself, terrified and speechless like a deer in the headlights. Then he ran, the opposite direction of the mad man, who was now laughing behind him. "We got ourselves another runner!" A second voice called, "I like it when they squeal!" Was Troy squealing? He didn't know, but he just had to get out of there! "I got him Barney!" A third voice laughed, then a loud, long whip sound erupted from within the darkness behind him. It was an arrow, shot from either a crossbow or manually by an archer. It landed into Troy's back and stung like hell. Yet his adrenaline stopped him from falling forwards and crashing into the hideous muddy ground. He just had to keep running, he just had to escape, so no matter how much his back hurt, he just wouldn't stop fleeing. Troy dived in-between trees, as the arrows shot towards him, one after the other. "Damn chicken is hard to hit!" The shooter whined. "Gosh darn it Bobby, last time I ever let you do the shooting!" A fourth voice yelled. "I'm sorry pa!" Bobby cried. "Just gimme it here, boy, I'm craving that man's meat!" The voices faded as Troy fled, he could feel his back bleeding, hot liquid running down his spine from the sharp arrow still hammered into his upper behind. He was growing dizzy from the blood loss, but he couldn't stop now, not when he was so damn close to escape! Eventually he found his car, the red metallic paint was shining like a heavenly beacon, this was his getaway from the murderous rednecks that were approaching him by the second. Their footsteps were booming louder. "Don't let him get away, pa!" Bobby yelled, as Troy agonisingly ripped away the arrow from his back, opened the car door, sat in the seat, ignited the engine and slammed his foot down on the pedal, racing away at full speed for the first time in his life! Pa fired several arrows from the crossbow at the car, fortunately missing as Troy finally escaped those insane lunatics.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Horror
Real life super hero
There's nothing wrong with liking comic books, I collect them all the time. From super hero to futuristic science fiction and every other type of story in-between, there really is a lot to discover and get into. Whole films and video games have been made based on these beloved drawings characters, that at one time only ever existed in the pages of comic books published by big name publishers. Unfortunately there are some people who take this obsession with nerd culture way too far, actually wearing superhero costumes and parading the streets fighting actual crime. Isn't that crazy? That vigilantes are roleplaying as their favourite fictional characters to stop real life scumbags. Some might see nothing wrong with this, but it is the policeman's job to correctly deal with crime in the real world. When citizens take the law into their own hands, oftentimes unintended consequences can happen. You see, there are certain vigilantes who see the world differently than most. The truth is, the matter between what is good or bad is entirely subjective. It's why I rarely discuss politics, when even my own friends and family have disagreements with me on particular topics, with that knowledge, you should know that when it comes to how everyone else living in the world sees things, these are going to be completely different from your own individual perspective. So dishing out just punishments is the same matter, many argue online if a killer and a kidnapper are as bad or equal to each other. The law exists to articulate correct punishments for those who commit a palette of different crimes, but the big problem with vigilantes is that they often serve up their own special brand of right and wrong and that can sometimes mean killing those who do not fully deserve it. That is exactly what happened in the city of Chicago in 2014, a real life super hero (a masked ordinary man in black leather Spandex without any super powers) calling himself the Dark Justice murdered several drug dealers in and around the city. Many called the masked man a hero, some even called him a super villain, but this mysterious masked avenger was neither, he was a mad man. Hell bent on lethal justice. He became the city's most wanted. Police searched for the comic themed killer for months, but the masked man was clever, a criminal mastermind who always avoided the cops and bounty hunters, never killing them if any of them actually confronted him. He would only knock out those who served the law, killing the true criminals in society. Dark Justice didn't just go after drug pushers, but other killers too, he tracked down and killed men who were a part of the mafia and other shady criminal organisations. He even prevented terrorist attacks from happening, by murdering the monsters before they could strike. It was these big named criminals that he ended that earned Dark Justice his super hero status. However he often made mistakes too, he had killed the wrong people who were later proven innocent long after Dark Justice already strangled those victims. His most infamous miscarriage of justice was when a convenience store was robbed by a hooded man in a balaclava. The thief had only stolen from the cash register, but when Dark Justice appeared he pulled out a silenced pistol and shot the robber down, shooting three bullets into the man's skull. Of course the shopkeeper thanked Dark Justice, especially after getting his money back. The footage was recorded on surveillance cameras and had leaked online, news anchors obviously called out Dark Justice as an unruly vigilante who was taking things way too far. However there were people online, fans of Dark Justice who actually defended his actions, saying he was a true hero who put an end to masked robbers like that permanently and that his actions should be applauded not frowned upon. As time dragged on, more and more police officers began to crack down on Dark Justice as he often committed/prevented crime in the same areas towards the north of the city. One night law enforcement actually tracked Dark Justice down to his exact location, a thrilling police chase ensued as the wannabe super hero climbed up drain pipes and jumped from roof to roof, clearly showcasing his superior parkour skills to the firing police officers down below on the ground, who unfortunately could never catch up with the masked criminal. He got away, escaped true justice. After that night, Dark Justice disappeared entirely, the crime in Chicago went on and police struggled to crack down on the madness. Most people missed the masked vigilante, moreso due to his novelty as there are a lot of comic book fans who really liked the idea of a real life super hero. Law enforcement had mixed feelings about the man vanishing, as that meant he could never be caught. Some speculate that Dark Justice is still active, only now does he hide himself away from the public eye. Becoming more of a secretive serial killer who only kills "bad guys" according to his own deluded, moral code. It has been 11 years since Dark Justice ended his super hero career in Chicago. To this day nobody knows what became of him or where he is. Comics have been written (then later banned) about him and there was even an independent movie in the works (that also got cancelled). I don't condone the actions of Dark Justice, but there are far worse and evil serial killers to ever walk this beautiful yet deadly earth.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Geeks
The Castle Murder
Castles can be found all over the United Kingdom from Ireland to Wales and everywhere in-between. This murder took place in a remote castle towards the north of Scotland. This northern country has a rich history of Highlanders and knights, the English empire invaded centuries ago and battles between the realms pursued. There are many epic legends and tales from this time period, but today we are to explore an event that took place recently in early 2024. The murder happened at Scarlet Castle, which overlooked the huge lakes and countryside that stood beside the northern coast of Scotland. This place is beautiful, but unfortunately somebody chose to unleash all hell within this sacred place of ancient history. It was an English tourist on holiday in Scotland who was unfortunately killed, it was a gruesome end too, a sharp long sword had impaled the poor Englishman. The castle was crowded when he was found dead, at least fifty people saw the brutal death and screamed hysterically, fleeing the building as police were called onto the scene to investigate. It was as if a hundreds year old knight had resurfaced from the grave and acted upon his sworn vengeance against the English invader. Obviously that was not the real case, the truth was far less fantastical than that. It was more accurately a crime of hatred, still after all these centuries somebody was out for blood against those who invaded their land. Most people are not this petty or insane, but unfortunately some are. The staff who worked at Scarlet Castle were all interrogated. One of them was named Gregory Owens and he was a massive history buff, one that lied to the police saying he loved all tourists who came to visit the wonder, but when Detectives looked into his past, they soon came to learn the employee was not entirely honest with them. The man had posted many videos online discussing his hatred for the English, especially the Royal family and how he was an activist against the new King. Things weren't adding up, why would he say one thing online then the polar opposite to the police? It was clear that Gregory was hiding something. Was it him who was behind the murder? Detectives had good reason to investigate and summoned a warrant to enter the man's premises unannounced. Gregory was in work when they entered, in his large garage there was a collection of several different swords and shields from medieval era Scotland. It was all very interesting stuff, although things took a turn towards darkness when one of the long swords was laid out upon a table, a white cloth stained red was wrapped around the blade. This was clearly blood, perhaps this was the murder weapon the Detectives were looking for? So they stole the sword and examined it at the police station, the forensics discovered that the red liquid staining the sword and cloth did indeed belong to the murdered victim. Gregory had killed the English tourist at Scarlet Castle, there was no doubt about it. The killer was arrested at work, it was a big embarrassing show for him, just like the public execution he had showcased to all those poor innocent visitors at the wonder. Nobody would've thought that in this day and age, such horrors and barbaric slayings could still happen. Sadly that is the world we live in and that truly is depressing.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
Murder at the theatre
Going to the cinema is a fun activity, one you can enjoy alone or with friends. It might just make for the perfect date or a good day out to spend with the family. Good times all around, even if the movie is a bit rubbish, at least you can laugh about how terrible it was afterwards in good company. Even so, sharing time with pals and the decent snacks in a comfy seat can be nice enough. Sometimes it's good just to get out of the house every now and then. It's very rare that a trip to the cinemas can be truly awful, most times it is an honestly great experience. However, there are cases that end in far worse than sad faces and disappointment, sometimes these things can end in murder, quite literally. That was the case with the Cabaret Theatre in Hollywood Boulevard, LA. It was the new premier for an action blockbuster film that (almost) everybody was excited to finally watch. It was supposedly a true story, one that depicted the mafia making moves in New York City, exposing real criminals and even celebrities who were in cahoots with the criminals. Obviously news of this film sent chills down the monsters spines, arrests had already been made and making their mistakes public knowledge was infuriating for the gang. The screenplay had been written by an undercover cop by the name of Leonard Jacob. He too was attending the premier, sitting mid center of the theatre beside the directors and big name actors and actresses who starred in the motion picture. It was roughly halfway through the flick that Leonard desperately needed to use the bathroom, despite already going right before the film started, he suddenly really had to relieve himself. He stood up quickly, racing past the audience, holding himself tightly so he wouldn't lose control, but before he even reached the men's toilets, he began to puke! Not just digested food, but blood and gore too. Somebody had poisoned him, the popcorn he ate had been laced with a toxic, tasteless liquid which eventually killed the poor man in hospital that very night. The film had stopped abruptly when Leonard was raced to hospital, police surrounded the building like a swarm of bees. Detective Harry Byrnes came to the theatre to investigate, questioning everyone who was there when Leonard was poisoned. The victim wasn't sat beside any strangers in the audience, so it couldn't have been his friends or movie industry partners that had laced his food. So, Harry figured it must've been a cinema employee who had tampered with his popcorn. Apparently a new member of staff had only recently been recruited and he was a strange character to apply for the role too. Where most who applied were young men or women, typically teenage university students studying film and media in-between working at the theatre. Of course not everyone who worked there was an aspiring student. There were older gentlemen and ladies too, but this latest member of the team was a hugely muscular built Italian American man, who was middle aged and may have loved the occasional mobster film but not much more. It was immediately obvious to Harry Byrnes that this character was suspicious. So he tried to interrogate him, but the new employee hit the detective and fled, Harry was stunned, but quickly regained his feet and chased after the man who had just confirmed the Detective's greatest suspicions. Harry raced after the murderer, exiting the theatre out the back before any of the police surrounding the building could catch him. "Stop!" Harry demanded. "Forget about it!" The gangster replied, running out onto the street and hijacking a nearby vehicle, driving away into the city. Harry commandeered another car, explaining to the driver he needed the vehicle for police business while holding up his badge. The driver surprisingly complied, exiting his car to allow Harry to drive it. "You better not scratch this beauty!" The car owner yelled as Harry chased down the killer. A thrilling police chase across LA began, like something out of the very film that had just been playing inside the theatre. This criminal was a skilled getaway driver, dodging traffic and swerving screaming pedestrians, but Harry was sure if he and the rest of the LAPD didn't stop this mad man soon, there would be more murder on the streets of Los Angeles that night! The police chase concluded with the killer crashing into a fancy clothes shop, smashing through the store windows. Fortunately everybody inside had dived out of the way of the collision. Harry was on the scene to arrest the killer, it was later proved that it was indeed him who was behind the death at the movies.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
Mysterious Girl
Oh, no, no, no, this mysterious girl, you don't want her to get close to you, oh no. She'll likely kill you, oh yeah. That's right, this ain't no story about a mysterious lover on the beaches of beautiful Miami, but of a killer. One who stalks the night streets of New York City, when horny men drive down the darkest alleys looking for a easy fuck. A place full of degenerates and sleazy monsters. Where sin truly excels above all else. In the dinghy neon lit streets of this infested city, there is a prostitute who looks no different than any other beaten up, drugged out ho. However, she is one fine deadly woman, not someone you want to find in your bed. She is a strange, lethal vigilante, straight out of some dark, mature comic book for mature readers only. This mysterious girl is tall, beautiful and truly irresistible. She shines like a golden beacon in this shit stinking city of grime and crime. Those who've seen her may have even reconsidered their life paths, like witnessing an angel; some have suddenly chosen to turn their lives around and try being a decent human being for a change. Maybe it's just the sight of such majestic beauty found in such a dark and depressing place, witnessing her in this ugliness makes them want to seek a better life for some reason, perhaps they ultimately feel sorry for the poor damsel and wish to never hurt another diamond in the rough like that again. Those are the lucky ones, the guys (sometimes other women) who look upon her and turn back instead of pursue. Now, if you still choose to approach this mysterious girl, even after the sight of her makes you weep within this graffiti riddled cesspit, then you might just have a second chance of survival. That is, if you treat her right. Take the girl back to a nice hotel or even your home, don't try to sleep with her right away, but wine and dine her first, maybe then she'll appreciate you a little bit and let you have your way with her. The sex will be heavenly and maybe you'll even get her number and she'll fuck you again, another time, perhaps even for free. However, if you try to take advantage of her (like most crooks do), this mysterious girl won't play nice. She is the true predator, preying on big beast-like men that dare to abuse her, the lady knows martial arts and will quickly snap your neck, slice your throat or even castrate you within a moments notice. Hundreds of street scum have died by her hand over the many years, but she has never been caught. So you never know what mysterious girl you pick up in your car, even if you think they're just a nobody street whore, you might just end up dead if you're not too careful. Nobody knows why she does this, even when her friends ask, the mysterious girl refuses to respond. Perhaps she had a sister or best friend who was killed by a horn dog and now seeks revenge on all male abusers. Maybe she gets a kick out of killing them, it might be her turn on or maybe she just likes the challenge. It could be that she's suicidal, waiting for the one man who can finally defeat her in an even fight. No one truly knows who she really is, or what her real name actually is (as it seems to change per customer, she has called herself Angel, Fantasy, Ecstacy and Princess, all of which are obviously fake names designed to trigger men's arousal). All that is really known of her, is that she always cries after committing a murder, not in mourning of the men she's killed, but maybe they are tears of joy from ending such monstrous of men. Maybe killing them reminds her of a past trauma of hers.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
The Collector
Everybody has a collection. Even if you believe you're not into the hobby, I guarantee you have a group of something or other. Perhaps you like books? I'm sure you have a bookshelf somewhere in your house, flat or bungalow. Ok, maybe you prefer to read for free online. That's understandable. Yet, you might have a video game console, I bet you got a collection of games to play on it, even if you only buy digital games, that's still a virtual library of them right? You might have a Kindle device full of ebooks, even if it's just two or three, even that is a small collection. You could even argue that owning a bunch of different socks is a collection. Most people probably don't collect things as a hobby, more accurately keep things that look nice and place them around the living room for decoration or convenience such as a collection of dining chairs for whenever you want to sit down. That's what the average Joe does, collects stuff without really thinking about it. However, this story isn't about the ordinary plain Jane, but Norman Mitchell, a collector of all things pop culture and antique. This man lived alone and wasn't very social, so he spent his money and time hoarding junk! That's putting it bluntly, because an old faded comic book might be meaningless to some, but to others it's a rare, vintage copy of a limited edition super hero story, that some might pay thousands of dollars for. A small kid might read it and throw it away, but a collector like Norman would practically frame it in a sealed bag, box or container and display it as a fabulous trophy upon his bedroom wall. That's exactly what Norman did, his rarest items were considered fabulous pieces of art, secured and locked away from human hands, yet visible to himself and anyone (there weren't many guests) who came to visit him. This man had stacks and stacks of boxed VHS tapes, vinyls, comics, rare leather bound books, mint condition action figures (still in their original packaging!) of every super hero or sci-fi character you could possibly imagine (literally, name even the most obscure, unknown, unpopular character and he'd probably own some variant of it), he had a collection of different watches, from bronze to gold; not just wrist watches either, but pocket watches too. Norman owned several retro gaming consoles, dating as far back as 1981. His whole house was a treasure trove of priceless collectables. Although Norman was incredibly shy, antisocial and introverted; this collector had developed an unwanted reputation as an Antique Vulture, somebody who swoops in and buys all the cool, rare stuff before anybody else has a chance to get their greedy hands on them. Norman seemed to have an extraordinary amount of wealth (many speculated that he flipped most of his rare collectables for huge profits, as he was often seen at pawnshops in and out of New York, either buying and selling), which meant that he very often outbidded most collectors at auctions, even those who miraculously out bought Norman would walk away paying way more for an item than it was even worth, or would ever be worth. Norman did this for years, no decades! All the way up to his late fifties, until one day he was nowhere to be seen. He stopped showing up at pawn shops, auctions ran properly with mixed buyers walking away happy and content with their purchases. Nobody in the antique community missed Norman, because the man never spoke to anyone, seemed rather impolite, snobby and always ran away with most of the best loot. Then one day, the newspapers ran a truly harrowing story, the headline read; "Infamous Antique Vulture, Norman Mitchell, found murdered in his private estate!" with a picture of the miserable old man, alive and well on the front cover sneering. It was a tasteless piece, even Norman's greatest enemies thought so too. He was a strange icon or legend in the Antique business. One not many liked, but a lot also admired or more accurately envied his success at collecting. He was truly the best of the best, even if he did piss everyone else off. What really mattered though was who exactly was behind this strange man's murder. There are a few clues that police tried to follow upon, but these ultimately led nowhere.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
The Silver Bullet
It is truly insane and bizarre what some would believe. There was a rumour a very long time ago, that Henry Miles was a werewolf. Now before you think this is a supernatural horror story, let me assure you that it is not. However, there are people out there who genuinely think terrifying monsters straight out of a Joseph Roy Wright horror novel are actually real. His books are just fun little horror stories (although for a mature audience, so if you're under 18 please leave, this story is too naughty for you!). In reality, there really is no such thing as ghosts, goblins or demons, but real monsters do exist. Those being serial killers and kidnappers, alongside other unspeakable criminals from cannibals to terrorists. The world is already a scary enough place without Werewolves and Vampires, don't you think? Unfortunately, that doesn't stop people from confusing fact from fiction. When Henry was rumoured to be a Werewolf, a few lunatics actually took it seriously. This was in 1891 and sadly many were still superstitious when it came to the occult and paranormal activity. We enjoy horror stories nowadays, reading about them in anthology books and online. It's all just a bit of thrilling fun as of 2025, however back then; when people talked of covens and witches, they genuinely believed it. Crazy to think, isn't it? To hear about green skinned women, flying on brooms with impossibly pointy noses. It all sounds so silly and dare I say childish, like a spooky campfire story you tell the kids on Halloween night or on a holiday camping trip in the woods. Yet in 1600, the people of Salem had actual witch trials in courts and everything. Bizarre. Well, that's what the people of the small American town of Wicket thought back in 1892 too, it all started when the outlaw named Little Ben began telling the locals that Henry Miles was a Werewolf! History tells us that Little Ben was a prankster as well as a gun tooting asshole! He told people at a church, that the priest was a demon in disguise and people believed that too, chasing the poor virgin down with wooden torches, screaming bible verses at the poor man of God who did no wrong. There are countless other cruel tales just like that, caused by the hands of evil Little Ben. However what makes the tale of Henry Miles so interesting, is that to this very day, nobody knows who actually killed him. I'm getting ahead of myself, because I haven't even explained how this poor man even died. It was on a hot summer's night, he was walking home from the nearby tavern, drunk as a shunk, slurring his words and stumbling everywhere. It was getting dark and all businesses were shut for the night. Then, at approximately one in the morning (approximately because nobody is alive today to confirm the story) three gunshots were heard, coming from a long range rifle (or so many guessed) waking the whole town up. On the third shot there was a horrifying scream! That of Henry Miles' final breath. Everyone awoke and walked out to investigate, Henry Miles was dead. Two of the gunshots missed, but the third landed directly into Henry's chest, destroying his heart, much like how a Vampire is killed with the wooden stake through their dark hearts. Some even celebrated his death, believing the Werewolf was slain. However their celebrations were shortly lived, as the town's Doctor (a man of science who even back then did not believe in such madness) pointed to the dark blue sky. There to everyone's horror was a full yellow moon, yet Henry was still human and his clothes had not ripped, proving to everyone once and for all that the Werewolf rumour was nothing but a cruel lie. Those who cheered his passing suddenly frowned, feeling guilty and utterly ashamed of themselves for even thinking such lunacy to begin with (perhaps one of them was the killer).
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
Caution: Wet Floor
Being a janitor is tough. The higher ups always look down upon you and the hideous messes and smells you got to deal with on a daily basis are genuinely nauseating. I used to be a cleaner myself, it wasn't nice. Yet, this isn't a story about me and my shitty work experience, no it involves the workplace death of Stan West, who slipped and fell off a flight of stairs in a Runcorn warehouse. Stan smashed his head against the ground as he fell, bursting it open into an explosion of gore and blood. Ghastly! What a way to go, at least it was instantaneous. The poor man didn't feel a thing, perhaps fear as he fell and the uncertainty of survival but that was fleeting. A moment of panic before eternal slumber. There are worse ways to go, that's for certain. Now, what does any of this have to do with a janitor you may ask, well it is because the floor overlooking the whole warehouse was wet with soap, as if being recently mopped and cleaned of footprints. Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with keeping the workplace clean, none whatsoever. However, the janitor on duty had forgotten to do one crucial thing; leave a wet floor sign up! It is such a simple yet important thing to remember, believe me, I know. When you've got so many responsibilities as a warehouse cleaner, it is unfortunately very easy to forget the little things like leaving warning signs after cleaning up a spillage. With that in mind, the workplace death was investigated intensely. At first, everyone believed the incident was a terrible, unfortunate freak accident. That it could've happened to anyone. However, as detectives dug deeper and deeper into the case, they discovered that Stan West wasn't the nicest worker on the team. He was a ruthless supervisor, the type of guy who was too young to be in charge, which meant his ego often got the better of him. The dead man was only 23 years old and often had a mouth on him, as in he yelled and screamed a lot at his underlings, including the lowest of them all, the janitors. It was Lucas Red who was on duty as janitor the day Stan died. This was significant, because Stan seemed to have the biggest rivalry with Lucas who had worked for the company for almost ten years, while Stan had only recently started, ending his career two months into the job after his unfortunate passing. Lucas was well respected despite his rank among everyone else who worked there, mostly because the old geezer was polite and knew everyone who had been working at the place as long as him. Nobody liked the young, cocky university students who walked into these old workplaces and began barking orders. A lot of the time, these young smart asses made things worse instead of better and they always thought they knew best because of their fancy diplomas and degrees, etc. It is a common sight in warehouses like this, the veterans get on with the job because they know best, while the new bosses scream the place down trying to manage everything. It is a vicious cycle and Stan West was the worst of the worst. The very same day that Stan had died, he was barking orders at lower ranking staff members, most of which were even younger than him and allowed this abuse. Stan got high and mighty, demanding Lucas clean up after their mess. The janitor did as he was told begrudgingly, then an hour or two later, he forgot to leave a wet floor sign outside of Stan's office, which was on the second floor, beside the stairs overlooking the whole warehouse, which was where he soon unfortunately fell to his death. Not once had Lucas ever forgotten to put up a wet floor sign until that fateful day. Of course, nobody could prove for certain that Lucas did this on purpose, even I have forgotten to put up wet floor signs in my very own cleaning career, so it's very easy to fumble the ball like that from time to time. The rest of the staff vouched for Lucas too, "not our precious Lucas!" They protested, "couldn't be our friend Lucas, he wouldn't do that!" The police were at a loss, the evidence couldn't stick. Nobody except for the suspicious detectives believed Lucas could've ever been that sneaky or insidious. Eventually the case ran cold, Lucas was let go of his position as Janitor due to the "accident" and everyone who loved him actually threw him a leaving party, there was cake and a big massive thank you card. The woman cried, hugging and kissing him farewell, the men hugged him and shook his hand, wishing their old friend luck. Perhaps Lucas really did just forget to leave out a wet floor sign, it may have even happened because the janitor was either so upset or angry that a simple thing like that had simply left his mind. We'll never truly know if Stan's death was an intentional murder or not, it will forever remain a mystery.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
3 Suspects
The death of Shane Austin was a strange one. He was a cheater, someone who dated and sexed with multiple women (some even claim men) as he was known to be a sex addict. Oh how his poor addiction meant hurting those he loved, it was a vicious cycle, one he couldn't help but his exes didn't see it that way. In fact, he had dated so many people, that three ladies he slept with wanted him dead.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
Bad Coffee
William Barnes loved a morning coffee, it wasn't just the caffeine rush it gave him but the taste of it was all so delicious too. The way the milk mixed in with the hot water and cocoa beans was simply heavenly. Every single day he'd get up between the hours of eight and nine o'clock in the morning (except for weekends of course; where he'd lie in bed until 11am) dragging himself out of bed before brushing his teeth, getting dressed into his business suit then finally, after all those tasks, he'd make himself a fine good cup of coffee to start the morning. William was almost a millionaire, a high ranking office manager who had a lot of enemies in the workplace (those being below him) as he tended to be a very strict and uncaring boss. It was never personal, "just business!" He'd tell them, as the ex-employees left the building with their heads down in shame and humiliation of getting fired. The first few times William was forced to fire people, it was tough. It made him feel like a monster, destroying people's livelihoods was never fun. Some of them would lose their temper and scream; "well, fuck you William. I was going to quit soon anyway!" Completely losing their cool and professionalism in a moment's notice. Eventually it made him laugh inside, how these brown noses instantly dropped their butler-like act the moment they were let go. William was 57 and had been working since he was 20, with 37 years work experience under his belt, starting off as an intern until now was a long and boring trip that meant a lot of corporate cock sucking to get on top (not literally of course, I was speaking metaphorically). On the most stressful of days, William would drink sometimes up to five cups of coffee, the afternoon drinks typically consisting of Decaf Coffee (like I said, it was simply the taste he loved best). William loved all types of coffee, his favourites being Lattes, Cappuccinos and good old Americanos for those particularly difficult mornings. He had an assortment of different flavoured coffee beans, such as mint, chocolate and caramelised editions of his favourite brands. In his kitchen stood a fancy five thousand dollar coffee maker, that was a pain to repair or clean out but made the greatest cups on God's green earth! There were a hundred different options on this fridge sized gadget, you could select how much milk (if not any) was in your cup, how creamy it would be, you could even select how hot or cold it came out and there was an option to choose how many tea spoons of sugar went into the drink. It was truly insane, the type of contraption a casual coffee drinker would find infuriating to figure out. For most people, a spoon of coffee, sugar and milk was enough, but not for William! No, every cup had to be perfect. Otherwise it would be like drinking mud, according to him at least. He'd even rage at his own interns if they dared deliver him a less than satisfactory cup of coffee. Yes, he was that petty and cruel! Now one morning, William woke up at the usual time, groggy and half asleep, dragging himself out of bed like normal to finally rush downstairs and grab himself a nice hot cup of the special stuff his expensive coffee machine could make him. The tunes of gears turning, electronic beeps and the flow of liquids entering his favourite coffee mug was always a pleasant and heavenly sound to hear before a long day of hard work. He noticed the coffee had a darker shade than usual and almost screamed in frustration, knowing he had forgotten to clean out the machine recently. Alas he didn't have time to make another, as the machine was pretty slow unlike pouring yourself a basic cup. So he drank the black coffee and immediately spat it out, it tasted sour and muddy, then bloody! Like iron blades had cut open his gums, he spat out gore onto his kitchen floor and suddenly fell ill, crashing down onto the ground as bubbles of pink foam (stained that colour due to his internal bleeding) squirted from his mouth, he began convulsing on the floor as if having some kind of heart attack! The coffee wasn't just rotten, the milk wasn't off (making it taste sour) no, something far worse had happened to William's precious little coffee, it had been poisoned! With this realisation, William stabbed the back of throat with two long fingers, puking up what he could, but it was already too late! The poison had done its magic, his body was crying, pleading for death, eventually William stopped breathing altogether, his body stopped moving, his consciousness faded into darkness and his heart stopped beating. The tyrannical boss was dead.
By Joseph Roy Wright11 months ago in Criminal
