Mystery
Tragedy in the Barn
The silver sedan rumbled up the winding dirt road to the old Abram farm. Slowing his approach at the front gate, Detective Sly put the car in park beside a patrol vehicle. He saw the two uniforms at the gate, clean and pressed, but clearly bored at having to watch the perimeter of the scene. Everything looked in order, however, from the amount of officers walking the property, this was not the case.
By Patrick Finney5 years ago in Fiction
Sweety The Goat
Arya could hear the rain pattering on the tiled barn roof. Monsoon in Mumbai hadn't changed in the ten years since she left Raigad. Her family had moved to Raigad - a farming village for job-related reasons. She had hated the mud roads, lack of modern amenities, but most of all, she had missed her life in Mumbai. Even though four hours away, it felt worlds away. Her only escape was to the world of books with spicy chaat from her next-door neighbour to this barn. That had changed when she had met Sweety the goat and Ramu - goatherd, her only friends. Until that fateful night which weighed on her every day.
By Anu Sundaram5 years ago in Fiction
The Tasks
The Tasks Her first thoughts were dilapidated dwelling overgrown with weeds. A sagging roof line and meandering cracks in the foundation looked worrisome. Something vaguely resembling a fence disappeared into thickets on both sides of the yard. David’s excitement melted into concern when he saw her face.
By Brian Champion5 years ago in Fiction
Decisions, Decisions
It didn’t matter if you saw him from a distance so far that he looked little more than a spot on the horizon, you always knew it was him. It was his limp. His gate. It was more than both. His twisted body forced his moving legs to shift in such a way he lurched more than he walked. His movements made the myth behind the man even more mysteriously malevolent.
By Tracy Pearce-Snyder5 years ago in Fiction
Love Me Not
When they found them, the babies wore life jackets smeared with their mother’s blood. The blood was everywhere. No telling how long the babies slipped and slid in it, marveling, most likely, at its slick wetness; then at the syrupy stickiness as it dried.
By Carlos Harrison5 years ago in Fiction
Her Days Were Numbered
What I won’t do to make him happy! My needy insecurity is getting old. I had a perfectly good, some would say “great!” career in Frankfurt. I was the first woman CEO at an up-and-coming retailer. My wage had soared to six figures, and I had the local buyers eating out of my fiscally tight-fisted hands. Why would anyone step away from such a promising future you ask? For love. Pure love. At least I love him.
By DeEtta Miller5 years ago in Fiction
The Barn
No one had been to the Livingston Farm since Old Lady Bell shot and killed her husband and his mistress as they engaged in their usual Tuesday afternoon delight in the farmhouse master bedroom. The affair had been ongoing every week for over a year when Old Lady Bell drove the 43 miles to town to sell her fresh eggs and cheese, and then perform her household errands, including shopping, banking, and visits to the library. She was usually gone for a few hours, giving the lovers ample time to talk, tryst, and kiss goodbye as the mistress tightened her fist around the three-hundred-dollar bills, the husband lovingly gifted her after each session.
By Bella Blue5 years ago in Fiction
