Mystery
Schrodinger’s Choice
The dark room was almost entirely devoid of furniture. The only items still remaining were a single round table sitting in the middle of the floor, and the ominously large bronze statue of a bull at the opposite end of the room. The only light in the room came from a copper pendant light positioned directly over the table. And, on the table … was the package.
By S.B. Pedersen5 years ago in Fiction
The Questionable Death
It was a closed casket. Of course, it was a closed casket! No proof of the body? I thought as much. I won’t be giving a clear or realistic narration if I was to say it was a happy, enjoyable day. It is always very painful to see all the loved ones of any particular person gathered together to mourn a death. This day, in particular, was dreadfully saddening. All in black, we gathered in a small, local church for the ceremony. One was bound to, at the very least, give a soft sob. It was only natural to enter a deep state of melancholia at the funeral of Axel F. Oyster.
By Lavinia Micheletti5 years ago in Fiction
Ashes! Ashes!
“Have you ever really thought about it, Meyers? How so many of the rhymes people sing as kids are related to death?” Detective Larkin looked down at his partner who was hunched low beside a fire pit. “I wonder if it’s to soften the blow,”he said sadly while shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
By Christine Nelson5 years ago in Fiction
A Hunter's Legacy
One could say it was a good sad day for a funeral. The clouds rolled in, as the droplets began to hit my face. I didn’t notice at first as my face was already wet from the tears. Everyone else had already left or in their carriages about to leave. I stood frozen, unable to move. Staring blankly at the head stone in front of me. The name of my father etched into its porous surface. It finally hit me all at once, and I dropped to my knees. Being all alone I couldn’t hold it in and started sobbing uncontrollably. I can’t believe my father is gone. All I had left of him was his last gun and belt. I embraced the belt tightly as my forehead rested on the stone tablet.
By Shawn Ross5 years ago in Fiction
The Mysterious Brown Package
Melanie was awakened by the trilling of the alarm on her phone, was it on her nightstand or somewhere on her bed lost in the covers like so many others, including her laptop, television remote and I-pad. She rolled over checking her phone, she had five text messages and one missed call from Marcie, the President of the Geek Squad club at the Melanie's school. "Mel, where are you?" did you forget that we're cleaning graffiti off the girls bathroom wall today, for extra credit on our Community Project?". Melanie quickly texted back, "Sorry, on my way, with a smiley face and heart emoji". She only joined the GSC because she had a crush on Marcie since they we in elementary school, but she never told her because she knew Marcie only saw her as a friend.
By Nollie McCain5 years ago in Fiction
Than it happened...
It never happened No one knew what was going on. We just heard the sound of an alarm, and it seemed as if everyone just froze. We sat in class looking dumbfounded at one another . Even our teacher, Mrs. Weber, who always seem to know everything looked as if she was in a trance by the ringing of the alarm. I believe it was the scratchy voice of Betheny asking “Isn’t there some kind of drill routine thingy, like cross your hands and walk in a single field line, that we’re supposed to do?”, that snapped Mrs. Weber back into reality.
By WillieVille JeQuan 5 years ago in Fiction
The Spiritualist of Broad Street
London, 1887 The Swanson Theatre stood in the shadow of the workhouse, its façade stained black from the smoke of industry. Discarded playbills lay rotting in the street, beneath crumbling walls slick with grime. The dilapidated establishment was a favourite haunt of London’s working class. But tonight, a very different crowd would congregate within its walls.
By Amelia Mathis 5 years ago in Fiction
Midnight Mysteries
During the summer of 1987 the week started off like any other week when I was making my rounds through the neighborhood. Every morning I delivered people’s newspapers before the crack of dawn. Yes I was the paperboy who would bike through the neighborhood tossing newspapers on peoples lawns. Even accidentally missed the sidewalk and broke a window once, but that is a story for another time. Then, one morning, out of no where everything changed.
By Ruby Estelle 5 years ago in Fiction
