fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
The Confession
Father Leonard Spencer slumped into the fatigued oak chair in the center compartment of the confessional at St. Rita’s. Sliding the parched, wooden panel to his right revealed the carved, ancient face of a twisted cripple, leaning forward on the wall. No telling how long he’d been there.
By Carl Reinelt5 years ago in Criminal
Conning the Jones'
When I started out, this was only supposed to be one gig. In this messed up, keeping up with the Jones', American dream bullshit life you don't always have a choice. Some kids have all the luck; their parents are happy, every damn wish is granted. Their living rooms overflow with boxes of shit they don't even know they don't need under their massive Christmas trees. Everything is planned for them. I mean, shit, they probably had college money put away before they were born.
By Theresa Garcia5 years ago in Criminal
Not A Quiet Day On Campus
“There’s nothing in it!” Rodolfo exclaimed as he examined the little black book he had found in his backpack. His best friend Jack took the book from him and flipped it all around, trying to be careful because he could tell from the binding and cover it was very old. It was curious that the book was full of blank pages. Jack was the curious sort. He always loved a good mystery. He was forever trying to guess the ending of any detective or spy novel or movie he was enjoying. There did not seem to be much going on in this town even with the frat boys running all over the campus like they owned the place. A little mystery would take his mind off home and the beautiful blond-haired blue-eyed girl, Gina, back in Texas.
By Rachel J Barnard5 years ago in Criminal
BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE
Someday I'll learn to stop, when I've had enough Brogan's whiskey to get rid of the pain and not get drunk. I finally found my ringing phone and answered it "This is Steven" I managed to say through mouth full of glue. "Mr Michaels? This is Keith from Omaze. We had a call scheduled for now". How in the hell could I have forgotten about this call? I had won a 2017 Tesla model S and $20,000 cash in the Omaze.com contest benefiting the Make A Wish foundation. After making arrangements with Keith about where to deposit funds into my checking account as where and when I could get my new car at Denver Tesla, I returned Jacks call. Jack at Capital Hill Books had a highly unusual book that he just knew I would want. While being a decent history author (I'm no Shelby Foote) does pay the bills, it just barely pays the bills and my bibilophile habit.
By Sean Collins5 years ago in Criminal
The Man With the Elvis Face
At first, I was annoyed when the man with the Elvis face squeezed between me and Rick. I watched him slip a sawbuck into the bar-top poker game and order a tequila. Then, to my surprise, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little black notebook. “Can I have your autograph?” he asked, with a lip-curling grin.
By Janice Garden Macdonald5 years ago in Criminal
Inside the Blood Pheasant
Harriet couldn’t wait to open the little black book that documented her great grandfather’s bird discoveries from around the world. His daughter, Grandma Violet, had promised it to her for years. Harriet had followed in the footsteps of the elder man of birds. Now that she was in London to investigate the late colonel’s potential fraud, Grandma Violet had invited her to Lambsfield Manor to collect some of the possessions he had left to her. The coveted little black book was said to be full of sketches and watercolor illustrations of the birds he had observed, shot, and studied over the many decades of his long career in both ornithology and in the military. Harriet hoped it might contain clues to the mystery that she so hoped to solve after she heard of the allegations that he might have stolen and doctored hundreds of bird specimens from museums and claimed them as his own.
By April Cope5 years ago in Criminal
Casper Roth
This morning like many mornings before it, Casper Roth found himself in the Penny-farthing lounge resort and spa. Signage misleading for it was neither a resort nor a spa. It was one of the three shops south of Brixton you could find a butter biscuit worth tasting. Casper was placid. Domesticated and soft. Unmovable in a pathetic sort of way. After collecting his tea and scone he sat in the corner shop sipping. Longing for a reception with one unknown to him, so that he might impress upon them his cleverness. For although he had a will similar to the rigidity of wheatgrass, he had the eyes and mind to equal the difference. Being the sole owner of the world's largest pancake collection, he felt a great deal of imagined importance. A great weight of batter about his shoulders.
By Nathaniel Churchill5 years ago in Criminal









