The front door to every apartment on the sixth floor was gone.
Nothing else had been stolen, nothing else had been disturbed.
Nobody heard or saw anything out of the ordinary.
The security cameras in the stairwells, elevators, garage, and lobby showed nothing strange.
One moment, the doors were all there.
The next moment, they were gone.
Why would somebody steal all the doors on the sixth floor?
They were just ordinary doors.
And why chose that floor?
Why not the fifth? Or the seventh?
The next day, they were back.
Nobody said a thing about it.
Was I dreaming?
Tag: crime
Pageant
When I was in school, a teacher thought it would look cool to have crepe paper ribbons tied to our wrists for the Thanksgiving Pageant.
As we moved our arms for the song, the ribbons crinkled and waved.
Some kids tripped over them. Others got behind other kids and tried to strangle them.
Because they were crepe paper, they’d snap, so no kids got hurt when they tripped, and no kids ended up strangled.
The teacher, on the other hand, was found hanging from their belt in the bathroom.
For Christmas Pageant, the substitute just had us sing Jingle Bells.
The Justice Machines
Before the invention of the justice machines, people had to use lawyers, juries, and judges to determine guilt or innocence. It was messy and unreliable.
Now, all you have to do is stand in a booth and wait for the machine to turn on a light.
Green if you’re innocent, and the doors open.
Red if you’re guilty, and the doors remain shut and sealed so the poison gas won’t leak out.
This wasn’t perfect either, so newer models don’t have the lights.
Too many guilty criminals were damaging the machines trying to escape when they saw the red light.
Seen Or Spoken
Today is my brother’s birthday.
I have not seen or spoken to him in years.
We fought a lot when we were growing up, and it never stopped.
Mom kept trying to get us not to fight and to bury the hatchet, but Dad never got along with his brother, so he totally understood and respected our decision to stay the hell away from each other.
So, when one day my brother shows up, yeah, I buried the hatchet.
Into his chest.
I buried the body in the back yard.
So, yeah, I haven’t seen or spoken to him.
Satisfied?
Where’s The Candlestick Maker?
Theodore Baker didn’t like being called Theodore or Theo.
So, he called himself “The.” As in “The Baker.”
He hung out with his friend Theodore Butcher after school.
He also started calling himself “The.” As in “The Butcher.”
They thought it was cool.
Others didn’t. Kids made fun of them, asking where “The Candlestick Maker” was, and shouting “Rub A Dub Dub!” at them.
They were pushed around, picked on, and bullied constantly.
So, when they were cornered, The Butcher got out a butcher’s knife and The Baker pulled out a rolling pin.
The bullies ran.
But they couldn’t hide.
Murders, She Got Away With
The thing I never figured out about the Murder, She Wrote television series was how a town like Cabot Cove, Maine could have so many murders.
Despite having less than 4000 people, every week someone in Cabot Cove would get killed.
Oh, sure, some were tourists, but after a few seasons, you’d think the sheriff would notice something. Or demand a raise.
This got me to wondering if Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer, was also a murderer.
I mean, she figured out every murder, and the alleged murderer denied it… maybe she’d set them up?
Murders, she got away with!
Kidnappers
Bobby was missing, and the kidnappers had left a note to stay by the phone.
The telephone rang, and Bobby’s mother picked up.
Bobby is safe.
Don’t call the police.
We want a hundred bucks.
“Only a hundred?” Bobby’s mother asked.
“We know the economy’s tough,” said the kidnappers. “If that’s too much, we’re okay with fifty. Or maybe twenty if you throw in a nice homecooked dinner.”
The kidnappers showed up later, gladly took the twenty, and squealed “Meatloaf! We love meatloaf!” when invited to dinner.
“Next time we’ll bring wine, okay?” the kidnappers said, and they all laughed.
Messages
Ghosts carved messages on my arms at night.
Only when I showered off the blood did I see the messages clearly.
I ignored them, bandaged my arms, and went about my day.
So, the ghosts carved messages on to my legs… my chest… my back… my face…
More bandages.
I used up all my vacation time… should I call a priest… watching television… drinking… drinking…
Then, I realized… I don’t believe in ghosts.
I hired a nurse to tie me to the bed at night.
After that, the ghosts left me alone.
(But the nurse beat me with a hammer.)
While drinking a glass of water…
Marley and Tosh grew up best friends on Jamaica, learning ventriloquism from an old comedian who had retired to the island.
Marley had a dummy that resembled Tosh, and Tosh had one similar to Marley.
But each wanted the old man’s dummy, and when he died, things got ugly.
Marley took out a pin and stabbed it into his dummy’s arm, and Tosh cried out in pain.
Tosh responded with his own voodoo attack, stabbing Marley’s twin in the heart.
Tosh laughed, then felt… warm… burning…
Marley’s cigarette had fallen out of his mouth, setting his dummy aflame.
Tosh screamed.
Robby
We trained Robby to never leave his teddy bear behind.
So, years later, every time we tried to throw the thing out, Robby would rescue it from the garbage.
We dumped the horrid thing in the neighbor’s trash can, but somehow Robby found it there and dug it out.
One block down… two blocks down…
He always found it.
I sent him to his room, and as I tore the thing apart, something fell out:
The waterproof GPS tracker, in case Robby ever got kidnapped or ran away.
Oh. Right.
I went to Robby’s room and…
He was gone.
ROBBY!