Short Stories
Bite-sized mysteries, locked rooms, and shadows with secrets. Each story is a complete case.
Daisy put the hat up by the fireplace, the bullet hole facing out into the lobby.
On the colder nights, whether there was rain or snow falling outside, my father would prop his leg up on a cushion, and pad his lower leg with hot water bottles.
"Her smile was a little too eager to truly fit her profession, her eyes a little too bright..."
The sun was rising, the birds were singing, and people were throwing more beer cans at me...
“The letter was dated tomorrow.” I said, standing up from my writing desk and turning over the letter...
The clock struck twelve on my twentieth birthday as I stepped inside the flooding corner shop....
“Ryan,” I half-whispered the moment she stepped out, "I know you’re into community service and all, but don’t you think we have better things to do than search for an old lady’s flowers?”
“She’s in room 107,” Detective Presley said, her eyes gleaming from her phone’s backlight
I checked my watch. "It's only, what, 8 p.m.? Are you sure none of the lights are on?"...
I tried checking my phone again, and again my phone betrayed me...
No one should have to chase poachers in the middle of winter...
“Drawn… wore… wait…” Ryan put down his binoculars and scowled. “I can’t read their lips properly with that reflection from the window.”
I’ve heard people say it since we were kids, as much in mockery and disgust as in praise...