Mystery

THE ACCIDENTAL MURDERS
I am tired of watching silly movies about college students being depicted as less than intelligent. They made it to college for Pete's sake.( Who is Pete anyway?) Give them the credit that is due to them.
By Novel Allen5 years ago in Fiction
Tacos & Trivia
"... it survived Katrina, Betsy and the Hurricane of 1915 and it will be here when your ass can't cut it," was the second thing the owner told Naymon.
By Jonathan B Campbell5 years ago in Fiction
The Song from Outside
Nursing her coffee for warmth, Teresa sits on the porch swing to enjoy the serenity of the dark forest. With a sigh, she gently pushes back with her pedicured feet to start swinging. She smiles contently, resting her head on the seat back and draping her long brown hair over it.
By K. T. Scott5 years ago in Fiction
A Message at the Old Barn
Hip-Hippo-Ray! It was a cute play on words. The thick piece of cardstock with a cute cartoon hippo with a yellow umbrella smiled back at Hope Owens, as it tucked sideways into the bureau mirror. At this point she wondered if there was an actual hippo growing in her. The body she had worked so hard on throughout four years of college field hockey gone as she turned to the side in a green maxi dress. She rubbed her belly. “Ready lil’ hippo?” She asked it.
By A.M Trieu5 years ago in Fiction
Wrong Place at the Right Time
Sophie raised her head at the shuffling sound from outside and flicked off a wood chip that was stuck to her cheek. She rolled over onto her back and with her non handcuffed hand, shovelled a few pieces of wood chips from her bed. She was lucky enough to be given a blanket and a crib mattress, yet somehow, she still couldn’t keep the wood chips off of it.
By Rachel Aikema5 years ago in Fiction
Guest #K-47
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She always thought there would be a bright light, a colorful garden, or any number of the various bullshit stories that were spun by people brought back to life. Even her own musings of just ceasing to exist were wrong; it was blackness and silence, but she still felt like she existed.
By Cece T5 years ago in Fiction
See My Dark
"See our dark. For we have forsaken the light. We do not linger in the shadows to hide, but to come closer to that beyond and the unknown. That which is seen is known. What we seek we cannot see. Darkness hear our plea. Reveal to us our destiny."
By Chandler Dicken5 years ago in Fiction
Fireman
“Dear Mrs. Bennett, parents and fellow classmates, today I’m going to talk to you about my Dad. He’s not just any Dad. He’s Sam MacDougall, and he saves lives.”
By Jessica Hanisch5 years ago in Fiction
The Mystery of the Old Barn
“Who is Nancy Drew in this scenario?” Thomas asked. “Does one of us have to be?” his big brother Terrence replied. “Can’t I just be Terrence and you just be Thomas?”
By Alex Murphy5 years ago in Fiction
Hazardous Ambitions
They say if you choose a job that you love, you never work a day in your life. Claire had been told many times that a coffee shop and bakery was a risky business venture but she couldn’t stop dreaming about it. She honestly never thought it would come to fruition until she found the perfect location.
By Bethany G5 years ago in Fiction
The Parturition
The truck broke down half a mile from the barn. At first, Amber wasn't concerned. The noises coming from under the hood were barely noticeable- just the usual thumps that the engine offered up on a regular basis. She had other things on her mind. However, the low thrum soon turned to a roll of thunder, and thick smoke came up in spurts from the old vessel. Amber cursed and pulled the truck to the side of the road as the engine gave up the ghost. She turned to her somber passenger.
By Chris Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
Dad's Final Goose Chase, Chapter 1
“Dad told me he buried it out here, in the middle of the back right stall. Where the hell is it?” That was my sister Kat, her brow dripping sweat, both sleeves hastily pushed up above the elbows. she was holding a stubby shovel we always used to call a shorty in her hands, with a growing pile of dirt behind her. She was surrounded by a couple of good-sized holes dug into the hard-caked clay soils of the old farmstead. Broken rays of sunlight streamed in on her face through the gaps in the weathered wooden slats, highlighting her haggard look: exhaustion writ both in the lines on her forehead and the dark shadows circling the recesses between her sharp gray eyes and high Cherokee cheekbones.
By Jonathan Gensler5 years ago in Fiction