Mystery
The First Case
Jeet Thakur Sahai had waited for July 10th, 2017 for quite a while. Finally he had 3 weeks of vacation and was looking forward to spend it with his brother Ravi and his family in London, England. Jeet was working as a research analyst with the Delhi Police for over six years. He was originally from Lucknow and his parents still lived there. Both parents had retired. Jeet would visit them every 6 months and once a year they would visit him in Delhi as well.
By Anshuman Kumar5 years ago in Fiction
Thin Air
Not so long ago, an unkindness of infected pests invaded Joshing Town’s last cultivating farm, leaving site of no-good land. Since the loss of a handful of good farms, the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food had decided to educate the farmers, improve farm security and provide protection to all major farms within the circumference. One of the MAFF protected farm was in the meadows of Old Man’s Land where the grazing grass was the thickest. This farm was a renewed form of another private farm which was recently sold and then renamed as Gemre Miri Farmhouse, named after the estate owner’s only living child, Miri P. Gemre.
By Lobna Kowsar5 years ago in Fiction
Another day another crisis
Another day, another crisis. What is normal? It all started so simply and slowly, a routine call from the mail room. A suspicious package wrapped in brown paper had arrived in the post, will I get it checked out? The fancy odour detectors had not shown anything, the x rays had not detected anything looking like explosives so the parcel had been put in the containment room but marked as low urgency. Nobody was rushing about in a panic, so I waited until I had dealt with the overnight paper work then went to the mail room carrying a cup of coffee. If this delivery had been in a modern bubble wrap container or a standard express delivery carton, it would probably never have been so carefully examined, it was the old fashion use of brown paper that had suggested a need for some caution. I initiated a full spectrum trace of poisons or bio-agents on the outer surface. It is surprisingly difficult to package up something like anthrax without leaving some minute trace on the outer wrapping but nothing was registered. I put on standard disposable gloves and picked up the package. Not heavy, in fact surprisingly light, about twelve inches cube, almost exactly regular in every dimension. A gentle shake did not seem to cause any loose movement inside it. The brown paper was creased as if it had been folded into other sized packs before being used on this one. The hand written address was in black ball point “ink” the postage stamp was correct for second class delivery and the post office had obviously fed it through automated sorting machines with no problems. The cancelling of the postage stamp showed it had been posted three days ago. As expected we found many differing sets of finger prints on the wrapping but we followed protocols and made a record of them all, for later feeding through the data base of prints. The brown paper was sealed with transparent sticky tape, the type available in every supermarket, corner shop and stationary outlet, all of the country, so not any use to me. I used a scalpel and sliced the sticky tape in a way that allowed me to unfold the brown paper. It had been used on another package before this one the inside clearly showed where a label had been previously stuck, then removed, I put this aside as forensics may come up with a clue to the sender, from this previous use. Thinking about the sender it had to be someone in the “business” to know this address. We are a secret organisation for good reason and our address is not public knowledge. The top layer of content were brand new clothes, sweat shirts from a very popular very cheap multi outlet chain. They appeared to be new and unused but were not individually wrapped. Under this top layer was the real content. Documents. Or rather parts of documents. They were roughly torn not cut, ragged edges showed they had been rather hastily torn up and shoved in the package. Under the paperwork were more clothes very similar to the top layer.
By Peter Rose5 years ago in Fiction
The Package
My car pulled onto campus for the first time. I was "home" for the next several years. The long drive across Michigan, having gotten a late start, got me to campus at a fairly late hour. It took a couple of attempts but I finally elbowed my car door open and took my keys with me. My luggage could wait for a moment as I determined which apartment key would actually work the best.
By Kent Brindley5 years ago in Fiction
The Hungry Unknown
Vincent only wished for a normal weekend. He had it all planned out, the Patriots were playing and he had some imported beer that he had been dying to try for a while now. It was going to be uneventful, and that’s how he wanted it to be. That morning, he received a rather peculiar gift from, well, someone he hopes. When the doorbell rang, there was no one present upon him opening the door. All that was there was a brown paper box on his front doorstep. The only reason he even took it inside was because it had his address on it, though there was no return address or any indication as to where it came from.
By Spaced Lizard5 years ago in Fiction
A Father's Treasure
I knew this place once. Though now I can only recall it from my memory. I have not seen it for nearly 23 years. Back then I was known through the whole county as Lady Lucy Clarke. My father was a very wealthy earl. I spent many years of my childhood living on this farm. I grew up playing on that tire swing, and learning to ride a horse. Though the most vivid of my memories is of the grand, beautiful red barn that cast it's presence onto the estate.
By Kacey Lovesick5 years ago in Fiction
Gasoline
I get a call at about four in the morning. Said they found some poor sap face down in the dirt on a farmstead. This wasn’t exactly the first time that I got a call all the way out in the bush. I struck up a cigarette as I stepped out of the car. Usual nonsense. Plenty of headlights and plenty of flashes. If there were feces, the press was there like flies. My new shoes were already ruined by the time I approached the scene. I see two patrol guys that had to get here hours earlier than I did on half a pot of joe.
By RedemptionVA5 years ago in Fiction
Going Home
”Okay Izzy, get ahold of yourself” I silently admonished myself while devouring an entirely decadent slice of chocolate cake, in my newly acquired gourmet kitchen. I figured I might as well at least prepare this one exquisite creation in this new investment of mine, the Corazon Ranchs’ central hub.
By Sarah St.Erth5 years ago in Fiction
