fiction

Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.

Annie Spaulding
ONE Annie Spaulding looked nice. She had chosen an attractive but suitably conservative dress for the occasion. An inconspicuous look allowing the appropriate degree of respect for the circumstances she found herself in.
By Luke Howe5 years ago in Criminal
Fifteen Years of Letters
Such is the persistence of pen pals, Eliza had written Jonathon every day for 15 years, and every day, he had written back, barring some obstructions that had crossed their path, the broken-down car, the hospitalization, the week that her mother had died. It had become part of a ritual so deeply embedded in her day that no day seemed quite complete without sending one missive across the water, knowing that its echo would return to her later in the day.
By Rita Valkerry5 years ago in Criminal
The Color of Kindness
Ian Lawson was sworn in by the Bailiff, then the District Attorney Paul Milton questions, “Can you identify the killer of the seven bank employees that were murdered six weeks ago.”
By Annelise Lords 5 years ago in Criminal
Black Diary
They say everything happens for a reason and that reason causes change. They say sometimes it hurts and sometimes it is hard but, in the end, it is all for the best. Maybe that is true, especially for Reign Sommers. Well at least, that is who I used to be. It has been months since my husband’s passing and it is finally paying off. I loved Terrence Sommers with every breath in me… I just got tired of being reminded of my past. Here I am in the middle of winter signing the last piece of my freedom as Executor of a twenty-million dollar Estate. My heart has never been so cold.
By Shandell Crutchfield5 years ago in Criminal
O.P.
“ATHENA, YOU BETTER NOT BE HERE WHEN I GET BACK !” Those were the last words my stepfather said to me that day. When I was 6 my parents separated, and not long after my mother remarried, his name was Oliver. At first Oliver was the sort of parent my dad had never been, and the husband my Mom had always wished for.
By Angela 5 years ago in Criminal
The Blackout
The streets are still slick and damp from last night’s rain. The gravelly pavement is spongy with water from the downpour that bombarded the city most of last week. Although the sky is tinged with ominous looking clouds in the distance, the day is tepid and surprisingly not cold or misty at all, which is a rare occurrence in this city, where it’s common to see fog rolling in around the Financial District or Fisherman’s Wharf, after a perfectly sunny morning. Eerily, the fog rolling in on such a beautiful day seems like a harbinger of ominous things to come and a symbol of my current circumstances.
By Cindy Escamilla 5 years ago in Criminal
Tribulation
The rain spiralled into a hypnotic dance, darkness overriding, with a lingering aura of dread. Misery spread like plague, the lifeless expression on Malcom's face would make anybody turn in fear. His pale complexion and droopy eyes from 82 restless hours would make anyone question if he was a zombie or not. Yet his eyes were so alluring and mysterious. A brown so dark, they almost seemed black.
By Hannah Palmer5 years ago in Criminal
For the Craft
It was oddly satisfying. The same feeling of knowing a secret that no one else does. Like you have the upperhand but nobody even suspects it, to the point where it becomes humorous. That's how it felt to know that I could decide at any moment to take someone's life. It wasn't about some sort of bloodlust. I didn't have any deep desire to make people suffer either. But it felt so arousing to know that I choose whether they lived or died. I was a f__ing God. With every new person I'd pass, my first thought wasn't about their looks or making out what kind of person they were. My thoughts danced around the image of me backing them into a corner wearing a helpless look across their face. Usually they're too naive to imagine I am decieving them. It is most people's weakness, being so gullible to trust a complete stranger. It's like, as soon as I sense they've let their guard down, it's already far too late for them. The first time I killed was for money. I lost my measly savings trying to turn a profit gambling and ended up pennyless. I spent a night out on the street like a dog shivering in the cold with no where to turn. I came across a man who stepped outside of a seedy bar taking a smoke break. He was visibly aggrivated. My first thought was that it was from the nicotine withdrawls. When he noticed me he asked what I was doing, but it seemed more like a demand that I tell him. After a few hours of talking he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. That was the beginning. I'd thought it would be a lot harder to do before I actually did it. I was a natural. Plus it was the easiest money I've ever made. I had never had anywhere near 50 grand before, and now I have more than enough to retire at 30 three times if it were even possible. But I don't do it for the money anymore. Now it's about the craft. This world is plagued with billions of mindless minions who'll believe practically anything you tell them. The elites have really done a number on these poor underlings. The trick is to make them think you're not only harmless, but have their best interest at heart. This is so that you can justify almost any action you make. If there is any suspicion you can just reassure them that they have something to gain in the end. If you do this they'll let you get away with their own murder. In their lifetime, these people have been conditioned suckers. They take most of the work off my hands. Their lives are already wasted. That's why they're all more useful as my playthings. I'll admit, sometimes it does get tiresome. But once in a while I find a fighter who gives me a challenge. Still, no one has ever prevailed. How could they? A human is only a pawn to a God. No one else could ever get away with the things I have. It's all written down, every last delicious detail, in this little black book that I keep on my shelf with my copy of 1984. No one even suspects a thing. What's interesting about a book on a bookshelf? No one has ever acknowledged it. Hiding in plain sight. It was a satisfaction so odly satisfying. So when I saw Anita's eyes lock on my black book I suddenly felt like all of the air had been siphoned from my lungs. She looked so eager to flip through the pages as she reached for it, obvlivious to the obsceneties it spelled out. If anyone were to read my notes, they would have enough evidence to convict me for every missing person I was responsible for personally slaughtering. But I didn't flinch to stop her. I didn't want to raise her suspicion. But then, as soon as she opened the front cover, I watched to see how she would react. I've obviously never let another soul read my log before. But I was very proud of that little black book. Every action was personally crafted for each individual, and I put the same care into recording the details. She could tell it was a journal, and she quickly realized it was my writing. I saw the connections she was making like she was doing math in her head. I had never seen anyone express so many emotions in only a few moments. Without removing her eyes from the book, I could see her thoughts expanding towards escaping from the corner she backed herself into. She remained admirably calm considering the circumstances. But Regardless I was offended. I felt intense disgust radiating off of her, but she couldn't help but give off the sweet stench of fear and adrenaline. It's true what they say, you really can smell it on people. I was in the middle of basking in it when Anita threw the book towards my head and made a break for the nearest door. The careless way she threw the book caused the pages to fan out and it missed it's mark. I was amused by her attempt at fleeing. She broke down in hysterics, so all I needed to do was pick up the letter opener on my end table and peg her in the nape of her neck. My aim was impeccable. She fell head first down the stairs. It wasn't my most nuanced execution, but I couldn't have even designed anything more magnificent. My only criticism was the mess. She also tore a few pages when she threw the book at me. I have to say, it was worth it to see what someone thought of my work. Maybe next time I'll find someone who's opinion I actually regard.
By Lara5 years ago in Criminal
The Revelation
Disclaimer: This story is fiction. CoVid19 is just an inspiration for the writer to use her imagination upon writing this story. There are no real observations, no real conduction of studies, and no real confession and no real Blackbook exists. And if the same scenario or same revelation happened in the future, it is just only coincidence.
By Kristin5 years ago in Criminal
No Risk No Reward
Little Black Book It all started as anything else these days, you know, with a 4am Instagram scroll. An ad, $20,000 for a story is this real? So what if it isn’t my mind is racing with ideas. I read through the comments and the rules, you have to sign up, pay, then you can submit your story and they are partnering with these notebooks. I’m really a nerd and I love notebooks, I’ve got to get one of these moleskin notebooks and just let it flow, I have a month until the deadline lets see how it goes. It started as a chaotic regular day, hyper obsessed with my to do list. I got a text that I got a package downstairs and thought ooo I wonder what it is, seeing as how I was drunk a few nights ago and I ordered everything in my saved for later Amazon cart. By then honestly it had slipped my mind that I ordered a notebook at 4am from an IG ad hoping I could write that million dollar story they were looking for. There it was my little black book it was beautiful, the energy was so exciting, the possibilities. There it was it was real I had to pick one of the ideas racing in my head and get to work. I just had to I could feel this was the opportunity for me.
By Rubina5 years ago in Criminal
Foreclosure
"What the hell are you doing?" Jack demanded of his wife. "I was listening to that." He changed the station back. They were on their way to a meeting at the bank. Where they were facing foreclosure on their home. Jack hadn't worked in months, and the job market was thin. Especially for a middle-aged travel agent. He'd taken over his mother's business several years ago. It used to be quite lucrative, but with the internet and sites like Travelocity, Trivago, and the likes, he'd been running in the red for years, and he'd had to shut it down.
By Maggie Hansen5 years ago in Criminal
Her
You see a girl walking down the street. She looks familiar but you’re running late so you keep walking. You notice that she’s got tears streaming down her face but you just don’t have the time to stop.
By Jaylin Kremer5 years ago in Criminal