fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Dearest Mother
Dearest Mother, I regret to inform you of this, especially on this day. For years now I have kept a secret deep dark down in the depths of my heart. But now that the deed is complete I must tell you of my findings. As a child you were always worried about me. You took, let's say precautions. The biggest one being specialized counseling for my needs. Or so you thought. This only furthered my intrests in this particular subject. I convinced you and Dr.Brown to get me a pet. You did this in hopes it would help me socialize and flourish. When in fact is helped me further my studies. And at first I played the part. We went to the playground, and well I made "friends". We had the most excrutiating playdates. Playing with dolls, I mean come on. Most just wondered how I had a diferent pet with each date. In the end I'd conjure up some trivial excuss or come to you cring. I became quite the master of insincere emotions. And this little rouse went on for years. I bet you never expected this from your quiet little girl. But as I sit here writing this with my soft pencil and qaurds all around, I feel it's time you finally know the truth. Well at least on this subject anyway. When a pet would sadly pass away, I knew the exact reation that needed to be produced. I watched you at grandmothers funeral. As I sat silently, I watched. You had a watery substance forming from your eyes as you loudly groaned and fell into fathers arms. So I tried my best to recreate this moment with each of the "pets" that had passed. I hop you enjoyed each performance since they were especially made for you. Now onto the findings of my research. I would take my live subject and strap them down to my operating table. The desk that I had converted into my little lab. Oh, the fondest memories happned at this table. Now my studies had to happen in the dead of night since they were in no shape to be published just yet. I had years of research to finish. I'm getting off track. Back onto the crazy train we board. After being strapped down, I would repare my too kit. This included a stolen scapel, suture kits, stuffing, bags of my blood collected over time, and a few of fathers tools from the garage. I first started with a lateral incision of the abdomen. Exposing the lower organs including: the liver, small intestine, reproductive organ, and more depending on the subject on my table. I would observe. Doing this first to keep the subject alive. I would draw diagrams noting where all the organs were located and how they moved, twichted, and fuctioned. It took me awhile to get the timing right to keep my subject alive, but after I had finally perfected it, I moved onto phase two of the studies. Which was exposing some of the muscle. Mostly in the legs. Other times I would switch it up to keep it interesting and expose the arm muscles occasionally. Within stage two I would watch the muscles contrat in respoce to the pain being endured by the subject. Again I would make note, and diagrams of each of the exposed muscle. Now, now onto my most favorite experience of this whole study, the beginning of all of my work. After perfecting the timing with each stage I was able to move onto stage three. I would make a lateral incision within the thorasic area. First exposing the muscles. I would make note and quickly move on exposing the rib cage. This was the least interesting space so not much note was taken during this portion of stage three. I would then carefully crack the rib cage exposing the still beating heart. As I had my blood pumping through the subjects veins. Waching it pump the drug infected blood through the subjects body, as it writhed in pain. Oh, how I love the heart. It symbolizes such power and individuality. Each one beating to it's own rythm. I would take much note of this final portion of my studies. That's enough for today's letter. I wouldn't want to expose all of my secrects now would I. I hope this letter finds you in good health, with a strong and beating heart. Oh and Happy Mother's Day, my dearest Mother.
By Elizabeth Carnahan4 years ago in Criminal
Chapter 1 of my novel i am writing
The end, just kidding, I wish it was that simple. I walk through the wooden oak door into my parent's poorly lit house, taking a deep breath of the stale air that haunted this place. The walk to the kitchen sink seemed to take years as I mournfully washed my parent's blood from my arms. I scrub my hands, not feeling the burn from the hot water as I angrily scratch at the dry blood still residing on my hands. I turn to glance back at the empty, lifeless living room, placing memories as if ghosts roamed the room. I watch as my dad sits in his chair and laughs as my mom spills flour all over the kitchen. The smell of fresh pine on a cool Christmas day with gifts scattered around the tree. These thoughts vanish along with the memories ripped away with the cold-blooded murder of my parents leaving the darkroom quiet and empty.
By Brian Sattler4 years ago in Criminal
The Godfather
This will not be a deep analysis of the history of the film in our culture, or about the current online series “The Offer” (have not seen it yet, except for a few impressive clips online; will handle it one day). This is simply my own feelings about one of the most important films of the last fifty years.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Criminal
Ed Ginn
You must have seen the classic horror movie like texas chain saw, psycho vanity, if yes then today I will tell you such a story. After listening to this, your creeps will stand. He had his own style of collecting a trophy for himself a murder a trophy.
By chandan chakraverty4 years ago in Criminal
New chains, Same Shackles
I can feel the corners closing in as I sit on my knees covered in sweat in the corner of an empty dark unsettling silent room, as I raise my head I can see a bright white light spreading from the corner of the room. I can't tell if I’m shrinking or the room is growing. I stand and take off towards the light, but suddenly begin falling and I awake. gasping for air as my father stands at the corner of my bed with an empty wet rusty metal bucket, chuckling as I lay there drenched in freezing wail water as I stare at the clock that read 5:00 a.m. “get up and get on ready he hollers at me” as I jump out of bed soaked, exhausted and yawning stretching my limbs out. I take a quick five-minute cold shower before I head into the kitchen for a cup of black bittersweet coffee. a couple of minutes go by in the distance a honk goes off, and I yank my cup of coffee and head out towards the entrance gate. before I could mount onto the truck my father stops me and blurts out to me on heading towards my uncle's ranch by the riverside on horseback and assisting him in burying a cow he found dead deep in the woods. So I head out back and tack up Daisy, a pinto shire horse I was gifted on my 16 birthday along with my 22. rifle. we head out towards the outskirts of the village by the riverside, its a very vegetive path that could only be made by horseback, from long lush branches to a razor-edged grass, macaws flying over me, spider monkey swinging chanting thru the trees, the hollow echoing sound of the strong current of the miles-wide river. as I approach the ranch, the path leads down towards the riverside I whistle out for my uncle Neto as I ride along the river. I catch a slight whistle coming up ahead on the other side of the river, he comes out of the woodworks and directs me towards a shallow, steady part of the river where ill be able to cross with daisy. As were crossing something frightens her and she jumps up. I fall back headfirst into the shallow water onto the river bed with my rifle strapped onto my side it misfires on impact into the tree the monkeys start howling and the birds scatter. Daisy runs towards my uncle with her tail swishing, high head carriage rocking, and her teeth grinding completely frightened. As I kneel there light-headed, my uncle tries to get Daisy under control and screams out to me if I’m ok. I replied with the ok hand gesture, stand and walk towards Daisy and we head up onto the tree line and towards the deceased cow. on our way there he explains to me they had already dug the hole and thrown the cow in the previous day with men they hired. On arrival, I notice the dirt beneath the cow was unreasonably soft as if they threw dirt back in before throwing in the cow which was odd and completely unnecessary. But what also captivates my attention the most was the cow's state. it was torn apart its intestines shredded, its jaw mangled, utterly viciously mutilated, by whatever predator it, unfortunately, crossed paths with. As he’s scooping dirt, and I’m throwing rotting wood into the hole, its head shift, and I catch a glimpse of a gleamy, silver, eagle-shaped belt buckle that vaguely seemed familiar.....To be continued
By Samuel Romero4 years ago in Criminal
Jumieges
1 It always starts with a body. My involvement in crime always begins with a body. Murder is the most heinous of crimes even in our modern times. My appointment as a detective came after the unfortunate Crippen murder case. Working the beat, I knew the Doctor and Cora Crippen well. My suspicions and Inspector Dew's led us to search their house. The search led us to discover the body, leading to Inspector Dew's dramatic speedy crossing of the Atlantic to arrest the subject and his girlfriend.
By Jeffry Parker4 years ago in Criminal
Central Park to Central Booking
Walter’s outgoing personality instantly puts everyone he meets in a relaxed, open state of mind. This is important because, as a carriage driver in New York City, his primary function, besides controlling rather docile horses, is to put all his customers in a good mood. The passengers are normally from out of town. No local would pay $35.00 for a half-hour buggy ride. “Fuhgeddaboudit!” The happier the customer, the bigger the tip, and the more they would talk about their plans. Plans Walter would covertly record on his phone.
By Mark Gagnon4 years ago in Criminal
The First and Last Voyage
The Now: The excitement at the quayside was muted by the fact that for some there was also sadness. It was exciting to be embarking upon this new, wonderful vessel, but for some, it was one of mixed feelings. Who knew when they might see one another again? Tears mixed with laughter. Grandmothers hugged grandchildren that they may never hold again, whereas affluent families travelling en masse were affronted by the show of affection and sadness. Dowagers and matriarchs were not at all sympathetic to the emotional ‘exhibitions’ of those less ‘worthy’ around them. They would have preferred that the riff raff keep a tighter grip on their unseemly ‘theatricals’ – or not be there at all.
By Elle Fran Williams4 years ago in Criminal
Kitchen Conundrum
Lieutenant Baskins was in charge of the investigation. It wasn’t her first murder investigation, far from it. Since transferring to homicide ten years ago, it felt as though she had a fresh case every week. Most of the bodies she inspected were in back alleys, bedrooms, or cars. This one was different. The body lay face down in the middle of a restaurant kitchen.
By Mark Gagnon4 years ago in Criminal
Dark Athyx Fantasy Productions
INT. STUDIO - DAY NARRATOR Episode One: The Lash of Malloc written by Travis Heermann and published by AEG under the Open Gaming License; Copyright by Wizard’s of the Coast 2000. Podcast Script written by W.S. Klass. Stripper Connection written by W.S. Klass and performed by W.S. Klass.
By W.S. Klass4 years ago in Criminal
