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Latest Stories

May 03, 2021
General Stories Marco

Gardening In New South Africa

I stood at the gate, gazing up the road. As expected, it was too early for people to be out exercising. My neighbours had warned me about getting casual gardeners in. As far as they were concerned if you get a casual in, a week later you will have a “home…
May 03, 2021
Flash Fiction Sean Fitts

Loss

I found you in New York City walking on the northside of West 50th, between 8th and Broadway. You’d told me you had already eaten, refusing my invitation to join me for lunch. I was in town for a gallery opening; you were in town to stay. “Break a leg,” you’d…
April 28, 2021
General Stories Jaclyn Garing

True Or False

I was just the average high school student trying to figure out who I liked, if anyone liked me, or if I even liked myself, whoever I thought I was. Unintentionally, somewhere between recess and advanced calculus, I had tricked people into thinking I was…
April 22, 2021
Science Fiction Stories Adrian Des Champs

Rainbow World

I always wanted to escape but I didn’t know how to. Now that I have the opportunity, I feel that there are no limits. There was no achievement in it, it was me just as easily as it could have been anyone else. Since I could not give it back, I had to use it.…
April 22, 2021
General Stories Vidal Martinez

Don Poncho

“Daddy, Daddy.” My eyes crack open. “Daddy.” My bed slightly moves. “Son, what is it?” “My little sombrero man is saying bad words.” I reach over, tapping the top of his head. “Son, go back to bed.” “But—” “Be quiet, you’ll wake Mommy in the other room.”…
April 15, 2021
Crime Stories Rishabh Rajesh

Busting Of The Drug Cartel

4am in the morning. The airport was hustling and bustling with travellers travelling from one place to another. John Deep, a narcotics department head officer at MIAMI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT was on duty to catch hold of drug peddlers and smugglers. He has an…
April 12, 2021
Flash Fiction Rishabh Rajesh

The Darkest Night

CHAPTER-1: Introduction It was a dark and murky night. The moon and stars were hidden by the hazy clouds. The streets of Penton Avenue were deserted and desolated. No humans, animals and birds were seen. The streets had not streetlights nor any light source.…
April 12, 2021
General Stories Jack Karolewski

The Last Library

Perhaps it was inevitable. For what is life but a never-ending cavalcade of change and loss? People around the world stopped purchasing -- then soon, completely stopped reading -- physical books and other print media such as newspapers and magazines.…
April 07, 2021
Horror Stories Rishabh Rajesh

The Haunted Bungalow

John was driving down the desolated roads of Pressman Avenue. It was almost midnight. A storm was blowing and leaves were creaking. There was a heavy rainfall and a strong wind which made the whole weather cold. The road ahead couldn’t be seen because of the…
April 07, 2021
General Stories Joshua Santiago

Until We Meet Again

Dedicated to my nieces Natasha and Anayah. Uncle Joshy loves both of you immensely. Also dedicated to my older sister Alisha. You’ll never be alone. (page 1) It was a moist, cool, rainy September night. I had already gotten my things ready for work tomorrow…
April 02, 2021
Flash Fiction José Acosta

Bush Of Ghosts

Crowds Almost all the decisions we make in our daily lives have more to do with automatized rituals than with autonomous acts, much less with gestures of freedom. Our days are more-or-less predetermined by the voracious demands of the economic system. Since…
April 02, 2021
General Stories Jack Karolewski

Assassin

Nobody knew his real name, or even where he came from. He had seven different passports at any given time, and spoke eight languages fluently. He went by the names Simon Hunter, Miguel Torres, Ivan Borodin, Spiro Kallis, Sergio Cavetti, Turget Bayar, or…

From: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

 

To: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

 

Re: Reduced Sentence for Murder

 

Dear Neal,

 

Thank you for taking the time to work with the police recently.

 

Before I begin, I need to make it clear this message will auto delete 5 minutes from opening or if you attempt to save it. So read carefully.

 

Over the past 3 months you have been working with Detective Pater, from Metro Police. You recorded a series of interviews to aid us in our investigations. And for your generous help with our inquiries you have been promised time off your sentence.

 

The twenty year sentence you received for the rape and murder of Sharon Glass was judged by the courts as sufficient. So, with good behaviour, you’d be out in ten. But once that steel door slammed shut on your first night inside your claustrophobia told you even 10 years in that hell would kill you. So you cut a deal. Confess to 2 unsolved murders and your sentence would be halved and then halved again - pretty sweet, out in two and a half years for the rape and murder of three young girls.

 

Detective Pater came out and went through everything with you. To discover what happened to poor Cindy Russell and Catherine Vine. Recording the interviews of what you had to say. You started coy, unsure how it would play out. The detective won your confidence though. To sign the immunity papers, he gave you that beautiful onyx fountain pen you loved so much and after that you were singing like a bird. Singing for your freedom.

 

“Singing” couldn’t be further from the truth though, could it? The degraded details you revealed on how and where you carried out the 2 unsolved murders feature some horrifically accurate descriptions. I didn’t know you could “slip” while strangling someone and crush their wind-pipe. Or how anyone could rape the dying Miss Russell as “the life went out of her eyes”.

 

 

I say interviews but they have become your confessions. The recordings leave no question to your guilt and confirm, beyond any reasonable doubt, you committed the other two murders. And how heinously you committed them. However, I did laugh during the last interview when you said “I feel like the truth has set me free”.

 

Now, though, it is time for my confessions. Detective Pater is no more a member of the police than you will be a free man. When he came to see you that first time you didn’t check to see if he was from Metro Police, did you? What you can now do is check the prison register - you have been visited many times over the last 3 months by David Paris. “Friend of the Family”.

 

It is my pleasure to reveal the man who conned you was the worst kind of con. A cheap, second-rate actor who I paid off in rye. It’s a crime to impersonate a police officer so I’ll spare you his personal details. But he’ll go back to his own, private hell while you’ll remain in yours. Forever.

 

You can rest easy, the evidence we collected is inadmissible in court so the police will not be receiving copies of your confessions. I am keeping those to drag myself back into darkness whenever my mood brightens. Instead the police will receive a tip-off telling them where to find the bodies of the missing girls. Amongst the orgy of horror you left will be the onyx fountain pen you admired so much. With your unmistakable finger prints.

 

Soon your life sentence will mean life. All that now awaits you is an eternity so ugly, lost and lonely in that tiny steel box you’d be better off just curling up and using your bed sheet as an eternal gag.

 

Do not worry. You are not alone. For the last 4 years I have always had hope my daughter Cindy would be found alive. From your description, I visited her mangled, decayed corpse 5 days ago. Unable to touch her, bury her or bless her, instead of flowers, all I could do was leave that onyx pen. What I saw will be my steel box for the rest of my days.

 

Forever together,

 

Conrad Russell

Father

 

 

My name is Thom Goddard and I am a writer living in High Roding, Essex, England. I previously wrote for the BBC and other television companies. This is my first crime flash fiction.

 

 

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