Mystery

Mystery Box
I'm typically an early riser. Mainly because I enjoy the pre-dawn hours before sunrise. There's typically a peace and serenity that I have a hard time achieving later in the day, mainly because of all the activity.
By Dwayne O Connor3 years ago in Fiction
The Circular Item
Of all the neighborhoods in Newark, Delaware, this suburban sprawl featured a pool, clubhouse, miniature golf course, tennis and basketball courts and a gym.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
Public Enemy Number One?
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
By Emily Marie Concannon3 years ago in Fiction
The Robbery
My eyes shifted around the diner. Different assortments of people filled the booths and tables around us. A somewhat crowded group huddled around a long table in the middle. A big, yet plastic, trophy sat at the end of their table, with a little white cross sitting next to it, words of the eternal scripture carved below.
By M3 years ago in Fiction
Born in 1964
That day started like any other day. Wake up, brush my teeth, get dressed, order the damnation of thousands, eat breakfast, etc. Geoffrey reminded me that we had public decapitations at noon the following day per the schedule. There was also apparently a rebellion in the south that would need quashing eventually.
By John Eva3 years ago in Fiction
Whats in the Box?
No body remembers when it arrived. Jason Vankeep; standing at 5 foot 8 inches and weighing almost 300 pounds in full gear, had come back from a long patrol, several days after certain events took place, to find himself staring at a box that no one remembered delivering. The postal worker, his CO, the Air Force guys that helped deliver mail. None of them knew where it had come from. Setting down his helmet, Jason stared deeply into the brown cardboard, unsure of what to do next.
By Antony Atkins3 years ago in Fiction
A Parcel
There was no knock on the door, no ring of the bell, only a message popping up on his phone screen: your package has been delivered. He hadn´t ordered anything. And yet, as he opened the front door of his apartment out of pure caution there it was — a tall and lean cardboard box with that easily recognizable smile printed on its sides.
By Adan3 years ago in Fiction
The Box
I slide my key into the lock of my front door. It's been a long day at work. Another unsolved murder in this big city, another column for me to write. I lock the door behind me and head to the kitchen. I pull my notes from my bag, setting them out before I grab a tv dinner to heat up in the microwave. A strange droning noise interrupts me. I stand still and listen. It's right outside my door. I tiptoe back and peek through my peephole as the sound fades away. No one is there so I open the door, picking up the cardboard box that had been left behind. Surprisingly light despite its size, I carry it to my table. I know I didn't order anything and I stayed late at work tonight. I open the box to find a strange photograph of a brunette woman walking down a street. I don't recognize her. It's when I flip over the photo that I grab my phone and dial my contact at the police department.
By Michelle Weir3 years ago in Fiction
The beginning of the end
It appeared to be a normal Sunday morning. The skies were blue and the birds were singing. But something seemed different. The air felt different. Something was about to change and you could feel it.
By Valerie Spitaels3 years ago in Fiction
Carrier Pigeon
A strange sound broke the silence, disturbing my thoughts as I stocked the wood stove, carefully stacking the logs for maximum efficiency. What’s that? I wondered. Having lived here, many miles north of Fairbanks, for the majority of my life, I’m used to most of the sounds in the area. This definitely wasn’t one of them. It was distinctly . . . metallic.
By Laura Pruett3 years ago in Fiction
The Shark Tank Cleaner
I didn’t like my job, but it paid well. Every day, I had to clean the waste from the tanks, but the shark tanks were the worst. They made the most waste, and it smelled like rotten meat. At least I had Shelia to help me.
By Alex H Mittelman 3 years ago in Fiction
The Delivery
I live in an old farmhouse nestled in the foothills of the part of the Appalachian Mountains that run throughout Southern Ohio. From the outside, the house looks like it's one strong wind away from completely crumpling to the ground, and that's how I like it.
By Laura3 years ago in Fiction