Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Criminal.
Dog poo bag
‘The bloody bastards did it again!’. It was bin day in the neighbourhood, and I walked over to the curb to collect my yellow (recycling) and blue (general waste) bins. It was late in the morning, the bin collection having occurred, as per usual, around 7.30 AM—I knew from the sound of the big, lumbering waste collection trucks that barrelled down the too-narrow, sleepy suburban streets, dodging cars parked on both sides, doing their usual halting shuffle of stop-start-extend-weird-mechanical-arm-thingy to grab bins, up and down the streets for the better part of the day.
By Fionn MacKillop5 years ago in Criminal
The wheels of justice can turn painfully slow
Before advances in genetic testing, if someone committed a brutal homicide, either he would avoid capture or an innocent person would end up in prison. When genetic testing came out, it freed many innocent people. Whenever I scan the latest news for true crime stories, I always look for updates on cold cases. It still amazes me when I see a killer captured 30 or 40 years after committing a heinous crime.
By Marc Hoover5 years ago in Criminal
Death By Chocolate
My alarm blared in my ears as I desperately felt around in the dark for an end to my agony. I didn’t remember setting my alarm for the morning. What the hell was going on? Why was it so hard to open my eyes ? I screamed out in anguish, practically feeling the blood pounding through my optic nerves. I had to make it stop. The blaring, the menacing pressure behind my eyes … the pain. After several failed attempts I was finally able to open my eyes enough to see the blurred digital numbers read 6;03 . Wait, p.m.? This was my get your ass up foreal alarm for my 7:30pm criminal justice class? I’d slept through an entire day and a half it would seem. My mind raced trying to make sense of the loss of time. I struggled to throw my legs over the side of my bed crashing on to the cool California shag rug. Trying hard to steady my shaking arms I pushed my body up, reaching for the refurbished mahogany night stand that sat beside my tufted sapphire headboard. My hands felt gritty as I came to my feet. I had dirt or maybe sand on my hands. I brought my palms to my nose and the smell of stale chocolate dessert began wafting through my sinuses. Crumbs from a Chocolate cake? A chill came over the room and it began to spin. The contemporary modern decor that I once loved seemed threatening and ominous. My potted Birds of Paradise cast looming shadows across the foyer. Ironic. Suddenly Last night's events came crashing into me like a rogue wave threatening to capsize my entire life. I felt naked. Bare. Exposed. I shuddered suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings. The balcony door was cracked and the vanilla chiffon curtains billowed in the crisp night air. I wobbled cautiously to the patio entrance, still unsure of my legs, I used my backside to slide the door closed. My spine pressed against the cold glass arcadia, my eyes widened and I fell to my knees. Streaks of deep auburn blackened the high-gloss mosaic tile just past the fireplace. Moonlight illuminated the loft, revealing the silver cutlery lying in a pool of liquid reminiscent of rich cabaret. Sputum pooled on the walnut table top of my seven piece Malani dining set. His lifeless body sitting at the head of the table. How could I be so dumb? What was I going to tell the police? Visions of me in prison garb trading cigarettes for someone’s version of a “swissroll” caused my stomach to wrench. I scrambled to the bathroom just barely making it in time to vomit into the black porcelain toilet. My nerves were getting the best of me. I had to pull it together. Icy cold water trickled down my face as I attempted to splash away the terror in my face. My eyes were bloodshot red. I looked like hell. Just remember your story. The dead sack of crap making a mess of my three thousand dollar Caitlan dining armchair was Lucian Knagh. If only he’d shown some self restraint or had an ounce of consideration for other human beings then maybe, just maybe, he’d still be alive instead of croaked over with his eyes bulging like an inflated toad. Boy had I just dodged a major bullet. We were engaged to be married next fall. Last night was like an ordinary evening. I was just getting home from work and Luc was being the pompas narcissistic ass he’d come to grow into in the last three months.We had our usual argument about the corrupt low lives he welcomed into our home with his work and the night ended with me holding a frozen cutlet of beef to my left cheekbone. The past two years together had been wonderful, mostly. But Lucian had a dark side to him that no one knew about other than me and I suspected an ex-girlfriend he didn’t like to mention. See most days Lucian was the perfect gentleman. Soft spoken, slow to anger, and loved by most of his colleagues it was nearly impossible to imagine him having a temper. People would probably never believe me if I told them how I had gotten the bruises. But I didn’t need people to believe that Lucian Knagh beat me from time to time. I just needed them to believe he died from cardiac arrest. Acute cyanide poisoning and stress. High powered criminal attorney like him? Easy sale. Stress kills and he was neck deep in a RICO case involving a couple senators that wanted to remain nameless.With the extra palm greasing Lucian had become a real egotistical jerk and All I needed was for him to do what he did naturally. That morning I baked a few cakes to take to the Community Center’s pop up shop. The kids down at the center, I sometimes took pro bono cases at, would have weekly sales out front. They were just trying to make a few dollars and with all the negative stuff they could be doing I supported them by baking cakes they could sell by the slice. Although my schedule had been hectic I had to bake the cake the same day or Luc would sneak into them. I wouldn’t mind if I cut a slice since they were being sold by the slice anyway. But no, he would take a fork right to the entire cake. Making it nearly impossible to salvage anything for the center. We argued so many mornings about this. He complained that the kids needed to “ find their own hustle” and I was only hurting them by helping them. Self-centered, egotistical BULLSHIT. And I’d had enough. The belittling, the inconsideration, the beatings… It had all just become too much. So as I prepared the cakes for the Center Kids I made a separate batter. Just before I began to mix the chocolate cake batter I reached into the coffee maker and pulled out a wad of toilet paper. Inside the toilet paper was apple seed grounds. Two hundred appleseed grounds to be exact. With a deep breath I spilled the contents into the batter and switched the mixer on. This was it. Once the cake was done mixing I popped it into the oven while I got ready for work. The timer went off just as I was lacing my brown leather Stuart Weit riding boots. I carefully bagged the coffee filter and grounds where I stashed my concoction before setting the cake to cool and darted out the door throwing the evidence away three blocks from the center at a hip little coffee shop called The Ground Floor. When I got in that night the Lucian was dead as a doorknob. Dinner had been made and the candles had burned down to nothing much but a knub. Blackened salmon and buttered asparagus. My favorite. I chuckled. Just like Lucian to try to make a grand gesture just moments before his murder. Ass. I put my plate in the microwave and poured myself a glass of Chateau Lafite as I planned my next move. I drank half the bottle and swallowed a tablet of appleseed ‘dust’. I had made the pill myself using an over the counter rapid relief pain pill. I’d broken the capsule open, dumping its original contents and replacing them with the appleseeds. Not enough to kill me although still enough to show acute signs of cyanide poisoning. And Enough to rule me out as a suspect in my fiance’s murder. The side effects of the appleseed dust took hold fast. The room got blurry and I spilled the remaining red wine on the floor near the fireplace trying to regain my balance. The knife went flying out of my hand as I fell to the floor. My body felt like a limp noodle as I crawled to the floor near my bed pulling myself onto my California King smiling and crying as the room went dark. Lucky for me Lucian was deep in some government cover up, mafia type shit and the list of people that wanted him dead was long. Unlucky for Lucian I was the fiancee of a crooked high powered criminal defense attorney who had learned a thing or two in the last two years. If only he’d shown some self restraint or had an ounce of consideration for other human beings then maybe, just maybe, he’d still be alive instead of croaked over with his eyes bulging like an inflated toad. Maybe he would still be alive. Maybe he wouldn’t have undergone such an unseemly death. A death by... chocolate.
By synquiss antes5 years ago in Criminal
"Tiny's Revenge"
Bill Connally thought he’d seen it all. As warden of the largest maximum security prison in Illinois, he’d seen the worst offenders this country had imprisoned. But the worst of the worst were housed on the prison’s Death Row. These included stone-cold killers, psychotic murderers, and even a few politicians who were, naturally, shunned by the rest.
By David White5 years ago in Criminal
The Wedding Cake
Amanda loved her job designing and decorating the perfect wedding cake for the perfect wedding. Weeks away from her and David's own wedding, it was the thing that kept her focused and not stressing out about all of the other details and minutia that a wedding entails.
By Patti Marrs Magill5 years ago in Criminal
Prison Break
Vic stared at the clock hanging outside his cell. It was seven past four, which meant he had fifty-three minutes to get to the parking garage, but more importantly, his delivery was already over an hour late. He’d only been incarcerated for a week, but he knew what time the mail would arrive.
By Jason Barlow5 years ago in Criminal
The Cake Was a Lie…
Well… looks like this is it. The day of my death has arrived at last. I’ve been on death row for so many years, I’ve lost count at this point. I’ve forgotten what my crime was, if I even had one to begin with. I sat alone in that cold, empty stone cell for what seemed like days. They had put us into the hardest prison to break out of. All the walls were lined with steel an inch thick in the already thick cement walls. All of the other inmates were screaming suddenly, yelling and throwing slurs left and right. I sat numbingly staring at the wall, waiting for my time to finally come. There was a loud metal click as the lock to my cage was unhinged. The door creaked open loudly as the guard came to collect me. My head lolled over to look at them. “It’s time.” I walked over with a hunch, grudgingly swaying as they clicked the handcuffs on my wrists. Way too tight for any sort of comfort. Walking slowly down the hall with my head down, there were many inmates screaming. Saying that I didn’t deserve the death sentence, that they were too harsh with my punishment. There were others that just watched me with a grin, glad to see me go at last. I had made a lot of friends in here before my trial, but I guess I made some enemies too. Away from all the inmates, as their screams and shouts became distant, everything became darker. You could smell the stench of death that emanated through the air. Toxic chemicals, burned flesh, and other odors you wouldn’t even want to identify.
By Dani Lucille5 years ago in Criminal
Justice is a piece of cake
Start writing... The night life in this town never sleeps, it’s alive, it breaths and beats like a heart. Music, dames, liquor, everything a decent man needs and if he tries to tell you something different he’s selling you applesauce kid. The only time someone can find sleep around here is on the inside of a wooden kimono six feet deep. I was born in this town and came up as a young punk in the back allies and sleeping in the back gin mills. Hell, I even made a little lettuce picking up the place before it opened, and I made a little more when the fellas would stumble out, all high off the hooch. I took care of’em. I got’em a hack to get home and what not, I only took a little cut for my good deeds. I’d always been a punk, and I could live with that, but I ain’t never had a piece and I was never no stool pigeon. So needless to say even I was surprised when I became a copper. I can still remember when I first considered the occupation.
By Martin Gomez5 years ago in Criminal
