fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
The Black Book and the Commissary Kings
In 1960, Mississippi’s per capita annual income was $967 - the lowest in the United States and the District of Columbia.. As you can imagine, the average income for inmates at Mississippi Penitentiary was... much less than $967 that year.
By Brandon Lam5 years ago in Criminal
Ms. Williams
It was a night like any other night. The usual suspects filled the upscale interior of one of downtown's most prestigious bars. The Primrose: home to the Big City's elites; frequented by high profile lawyers, city officials, and wealthy business owners. Smoke from only the most expensive cigars floated around the air amongst the crowd of business suits and conversation of business and politics. Topics that wouldn't normally be discussed during the indulgence of libations if not for the fact that this elite group of people were mostly driven by money and power and therefore only had time to laugh and relax if it involved making progress in their own personal agendas. The elitist group of regulars bounced from table to table, making deals and selling ideas, preferring to wave over the waitress when it was time for another round as opposed to going to directly to the bar. Although this was the typical behavior of The Primrose's regulars, there was one particular patron who mostly kept to herself.
By Mark Sroufe5 years ago in Criminal
All That Glitters
January 5 2021 My hair is like the sun. That’s what Dad always tells me. “Like the sun on a wheat field. Warm and bright. Just like you Sammie.” He’s the only one I let call me Sammie. I pretend to be embarrassed but it makes me happy when he says it. Then he rubs my head to mess up my hair and pretends he burns his fingers and makes a big deal of blowing on them. I roll my eyes but he laughs at his own jokes all the time anyway, eyes scrunched up with a big crooked smile, so he’s gonna keep doing it. But I don’t really mind.
By Ethan Showler5 years ago in Criminal
Fortune
The snap of the estate lawyers briefcase felt so final. The definitive signal to end our meeting and the brief intertwining of our fates. It echoed through the small, stuffy office decorated with outdated, elaborate furniture, deep reds and honey oaks. I held in my hand the very last ties to my mother and the last chance to answers about my past. A full lifetime was reduced to the tiny package in my hand. I twisted it in my hands with knitted brows. I searched for words, some way to seek clarification, but I could speak none without seeming callous and greedy in my current circumstance.
By Kyra Pfennig5 years ago in Criminal
Eighty-Year Atonement
The year was 2031, and the little town of Eston, Saskatchewan, despite its penchant for gossip and minding everyone's business but its own, knew nothing of the momentousness of this day, the day when she would reveal to the young, aspiring journalist the hitherto unknown story of her life. She was now 102 years, but she could remember with absolute precision and clarity the day that her life story had been cast. It was precisely eighty years ago on this very date-when she was a fresh-faced, gorgeous twenty-two-year-old - that her fiance had careened down the precipitous slope of a back-road in the Saskatchewan badlands, and left her with a $20,000 life insurance policy. Now she was about to reveal to a young journalist her true account, the story of a life-long spinster who had never replace the love of her life whom she had so tragically lost.
By Patrick Curley5 years ago in Criminal
The Holy Light Of The Cardboard Box
It began in a small corner of a cardboard box painted iridescent white. It belonged to Mr. Anaheim of Montague, and was situated under a bridge which always caught the sunlight. He was the local eccentric, who led everyone to smile with his outlandish ways. His stories were convincingly rich and relevant, as if he had lived many lifetimes. Though no one was sure if any of them were true.
By Katharina Knoll5 years ago in Criminal
Delivery Driver
The countdown was on – if I didn’t get this notebook across town soon, who knows what the consequences would be. About 2 years ago I dropped out of a university program I worked my ass off to get into. Not only was it draining my bank account, but it was draining my soul and I needed out. At that point I decided to take a completely different direction with my life, and I got a job as a bike delivery driver in the one of the busiest cities in the world – New York City. Usually this means I’m biking from one side of Manhattan to the next with time sensitive documents, but one spring day in 2020 proved to be more of a surprised. During a regular, less time-sensitive delivery, I decided to take a detour and stumbled upon an abandoned warehouse I had never seen before. I had some time to kill so I decided to check it out – I’ve watched Ghost Adventures since I was in the womb, I figured, I’d be fine. As I wandered the rubble-filled corridors (wheezing from the dust), I heard a moaning in the distance. It was either a ghost or a person and either way this was not the place I wanted to find out, so I reluctantly backed away. At that point it became clear that what I was hearing was someone severely injured, as their weak voice echoed “help” through the halls. I rushed in their direction to find them barely clinging to life. It was a man that had been stabbed multiple times, once in the heart. Horrified, I grabbed my cellphone to immediately dial 9-1-1. To my horror, my cellphone had no connection (being in the middle of an abandoned warehouse can do that). I walked a few feet to the left and to the right trying to find a position where my phone would pick up signal, but I had no success.
By Amanda Phillips5 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
Escape
CHARLIE The day began like most others, a slow, resentful emergence from the blissful respite of sleep into the harsh reality of his lonely existence. The old man stretched out his weary limbs and left the shelter of the broken-down Chevy he currently called home. A labored stroll down to the sheltering trees along the river gave his arthritic joints a chance to limber up. Once there, he relieved his aching bladder. It was then that he spied the little black book. The book’s sleek black finish stood out against the greys, browns, and greens along the riverbank, so much that even the old man’s fading vision was able to pick it out.
By Gregg George Stallings5 years ago in Criminal
