Mystery
Someone Shot the Messenger
After a gruelling day at work that left all his muscles tense, even behind his eyes, Daymond returned home. It was a chore to even get out of the soft tan leather of his car. With a slow groan and while using the car door for support, he lifted himself up and shuffled his way to his front door.
By Jeremy McLean5 years ago in Fiction
Middleburg
The murder had been easy, surprisingly so. Adam whistled tunelessly as he puttered around the shop. He refilled the brass holder with business cards and straightened out the stack of “Visit Middleburg” brochures. Outside the antique shop, the light was starting to fail. The days were so short in November. They’d be short in Puerto Rico, too, but they’d also be warm. He hated the cold.
By Diane Helentjaris5 years ago in Fiction
Henry
The station was unusually busy for 10am on a Wednesday which threw him off slightly, he had forgotten it was school holidays damn it. Irritated, he jostled with crowds of families surging towards the exit, and moving against the tide of bodies made his way to platform 12a. It was a crisp winter morning and the collective breath from passengers hung as an eerie mist above their heads.
By Rachel Alexandra5 years ago in Fiction
just desserts
Norman came skulking into the garden that was the site of his great-aunt's 85th birthday celebration. His head drooped to his chest as he treaded the pebbled path leading to the festivities. His thoughts roiled with all the agitation and pent up sourness that he, for all intents and purposes, had gathered up over the entirety of his forty-two years. He was in a bad mood. His mood blinded Norman to the festive atmosphere inside the exquisitely landscaped garden that his great-aunt, Adele Isadora Maxwell, was said to have modeled after a garden she had scene in a film. Norman did not know what film. He could never picture his great-aunt, Adele Isadora Maxwell, enjoying a movie.
By Kelvin Eaddy5 years ago in Fiction
The Red Notebook
It was a Sunday afternoon at the Whitmire household. Dad, Mom and their teenage son and daughter appeared to be doing nothing out of the ordinary. James was busy looking at wallpaper swatches for his office, deciding which new print he wanted to swap with his current design. Alexa was in their bedroom on her tablet looking at island destinations for their next family vacation. Hannah and Kyle were growing so fast, Alexa wanted take at least one or two more big family trips before they went off to college. While Alexa was planning a nice relaxing vacation, she could hear Kyle and his older sister Hannah butting heads downstairs. They each kept demanding the other leave the family room. It was typical sibling behavior; a small marathon of arguing with no clear winner in site.
By Colleen Mitrano5 years ago in Fiction
Donnie, Not Donnie
Chapter One Curtain Close at the Old Barn The welcome sign isn’t much to look at, as far as township welcome signs are concerned; then again, neither is the town. It had brick red painted wood slats, bold white etched block letters, and the proud reminder that Fielding, UT has been a survivor since 1892. Most folks around here could easily tell you exactly when their familial line landed here; who married who, who tried to leave and came back and why, every milestone, every tragedy, every affair, and every bit of nothing in between, can all be recited by anyone holding a cold drink or a hot cup of tea. That’s how it works for all 400 or so Fieldingers, all of them, that is, except me.
By Dresden James5 years ago in Fiction
Love Chocolate
Officer Hamstein adjusted his face mask and looked around the second-floor apartment of the detached home as his team gathered evidence. They had received the call from the elderly landlady, Shyla Singh, who lived in the basement apartment, after her repeated calls had not been answered by the tenant and she had opened the door and found the body. He recalled his conversation with her.
By Rajkumarie Devi5 years ago in Fiction
