Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Criminal.
The Sick Stag
He sat up, adjusting himself in the driver’s seat. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. The deep drum of wiper blades echoed in his ears like a heartbeat; fast but consistent. It was uncomfortably close to his own. “I’ve never seen this side of town,” he thought while peering past a rain-drenched windshield onto a narrow street. Shops, either boarded up or closed, stood along the derelict one-way road. Hours of rain had soaked the concrete and stained buildings but sparse neon lighting gave false warmth to the area. Scanning the glow, it was there: The No Tell Motel. His grip tightened on the steering wheel before peering across his shoulder to the briefcase in the passenger seat. The raindrops became white noise.
By Jeramey Gillilan5 years ago in Criminal
Room 712
Everything is a memory, distorted and made of pieces trying to weave together their own selfish story. He had worked with the woman before but could not piece together their full relationship in his head. It felt like he was trying to see an old photo's details through the tarnished lens of a magnifying glass. A fear awoke in him.
By Jacob Spjut5 years ago in Criminal
My Mother's Secret
The sun shines through a pink and white sheer curtain and lands on an alarm clock blaring music and flashing 6:00 a.m. As soon as it began the alarm ended with a petite hand smacking the snooze button. A rustled, black haired girl emerges from underneath a down filled comforter, she heard from downstairs “Lealah it’s time to get up and get ready for school. Lealah finished up and headed downstairs to meet her mother for breakfast as she always did. She saw her mother holding her head and asked her was she okay, her mother answered her saying, “I just have a bad headache dear, hurry up eat your breakfast before your late!” Lealah made it to school on time and she had an amazing day, she couldn’t wait to get home to tell her mom about the college scouts that stopped by from her Alma Mata, Harvard. She arrived home and was horrified to see her father in tears, flashing lights, and EMT’s loading her mom in the back of an ambulance, she screamed “NO,THAT”S MY MOM... WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MOM,DAD! Lealah and her father rush to the hospital and the doctor says, “I’m sorry Mr. Taylor, your wife was DOA and we couldn’t revive her she suffered a Brain Aneurism”, Lealah and her father both sank to the floor as if quick sand took it's toll on them, holding each other in tears. Lealah felt so lost after her mother’s funeral, she sat in her mother’s beautiful garden in their back yard, and as her eyes followed a bird who flew away suddenly, they landed on a tin can poking out of the dirt in the flower bed. She rises from her seat in the garden and wipes the tears from her eyes to clearly see what is in the tin can, she opens it to find a little black book filled with numbers on the inside, and she wondered what did the numbers mean, and why did her mother bury it in her garden? Just as her mind wondered, a very well dressed Italian gentleman approached her father, she had never seen him before. He leaned in and whispered something to her dad, and whatever it was it sent him into a rage, he demanded that the man leave immediately! Over the next few days strange calls started coming to the house, first they would just hang up, then they started demanding my father to give them my mother’s belongings. I kept asking my self what could all this be about? One day I answered the phone and I heard a man say, “This is Mr. Brambilla and you have Seven days to turn over your wife’s belongings or you and your daughter will be six feet in the ground with her!” I was terrified, and I knew it had something to do with that LITTLE BLACK BOOK of numbers my mother hid. I started studying the numbers, then I remembered my mom was a Financial Accountant from Harvard, the same field of study I was going to take up. I had to save me and my fathers life! I found out that the numbers were longitude and latitude degrees to many locations all around the world, under different companies, with different bank accounts equaling $275 Million dollars, and they all belonged to Mr. Brambilla! I rushed to explain everything I found to my father, just as I finished there was a knock at the door, my father shushed me, told me to hide, and slowly walked to the door, and opened it to find a note on the ground and it read, “You have 72 hours to return what your wife stole!” I told my dad if we give it to him, he will surely kill us both! The next day we went to the Police Department and they couldn’t help us, so my father took the information to the IRS. The calls stopped coming into the house and one night me and my father were eating dinner while watching television, a “Breaking News Report” flashed across the screen. It read, “ Just in, corporate millionaire Vince Brambilla has been arrested and indicted on multiple counts of fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion, and the list just kept going on. I just wanted what was left of our lives back, and I was so happy now that me and my father were safe again. I just kept thinking if mom was still here she would be so proud of me.
By Vita Kyles5 years ago in Criminal
Resignation
Lia was afraid of the black-bound book that rested on her passenger chair. A life of crime and misandry and the first time her soul felt dripped in dread came from a familiar friend, a notebook she once briefly owned. Her arm poked through the shattered car window, and it weighed heavy in her hand. Debt. Obligation. Mistakes.
By Mitchell Chambers5 years ago in Criminal
The Investigation Of The Bang
He was fast asleep in his nest when the abrupt bang cut through the stillness of the forest. The evening was cold and damp. Squirrel had curled up in his safe place, high up above the ground where many a predator tend to forage after the sun went down. Alarmed by what awoke him, Squirrel felt suddenly unsettled, for he had never heard such a sound before.
By Bethany Hill5 years ago in Criminal
Limoncello
Antonio and I had been meeting at the same café, on the first Friday of each month, at 7 pm, for several years. If he was going to be late, or wasn’t going to be able to make it, he always texted to let me know. But it was approaching 8:30 pm, and I hadn’t heard from him, so I was starting to get worried. I tried texting him, and calling him, but he did not reply or pick up. I decided that I would have one more drink, and then would take a walk by his apartment.
By Joe Christo5 years ago in Criminal
Bobcat Bingo
The rain had been inching its way across the Ozarks for the past several hours, and the scattered drops on the front window were starting to coalesce. It would only be a matter of time before it started in earnest, and then the bum out front would surely find his way inside. Any excuse would do, but the rains this time of year were a relatively good one.
By Andrew LaBree5 years ago in Criminal
Routes
Silky. That’s quite literally the only word I could conjure up to interpret the way the air felt on my way to Uncle Yip’s (he’s not actually my Uncle, but my older sister Jivani always called him uncle so of course, I did, too). I couldn’t think of any other words because the ride on my bike over was dreamy. So much so, I felt the calmness seep from my spine as the sun hit my face as I arrived at the top of the biggest hill on the route. In the little pause as I set the tip of my foot down to gain momentary balance I nearly drifted off. The sound of a couple local grandmas loudly chirping about the local market fish prices snapped me to.
By Richard Giang5 years ago in Criminal
Bookstore Ownership is not for the Faint-Hearted
Martin opened the little book and immediately flung it shut again. With a venomous glare at the finely embossed cover, he issued a silent demand for the volume to sort itself. After a moment, he cautiously pinched the lid of the book and slowly lifted it.
By Amanda Alden5 years ago in Criminal
