Tag: mystery

Boxed Up

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Brad woke up in darkness, a splitting headache his only companion. He rubbed the back of his head and then felt around him…
Straw… wooden floor… wooden walls… a low wooden ceiling… faint light leaking through the slats…
Brad decided he was in a crate.
He listened… ocean waves?
“Hello?” he shouted.
He waited. No response.
Brad kicked at the wooden slats until they splintered.
He peered out from the hole… a sandy beach, with the sun setting over the water.
“Excellent,” he said to no one.
He spent a week on the island, then called for a pickup time.

Prison For Life

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Seventy years ago, Allistar Muggs had been sentenced to life in prison without parole.
Turns out he’d sold his soul to The Devil so he could live forever.
Nobody believed him at first, but Allistar didn’t age a day as the years passed by. Nor did the increasingly brutal assassination attempts ever succeed.
He always seemed to heal up without so much as a scar, missing tooth, or torn-off finger. He’d wake up the next morning, same as the day they gave him a number to wear.
We sealed the freak in concrete and buried him in the prison yard.

Goodnight, Bum

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After my daughter died and my wife left me, I missed a lot of things I had taken for granted.
The thing I missed most of all was reading bedtime stories.
I knew the stories by heart, we all do. But there’s something special about opening a book and reading aloud.
It’s not just the pictures. It’s something about that book. Holding it up while you’re sitting at the foot of the bed, nightlight’s on, covers pulled up.
Now, I go out into the city’s alleys and read bedtime stories to the homeless.
It’s not the same. Certainly smells worse.

Egg Timers

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Two egg-timers sat across the negotiating table from each other.
One was an antique of iron, clear crystal, and sand.
The other was made from plastic, filled with a fine powdered silica.
Both were cracked and pitted, weary of endless war. But neither was yet willing to yield to the other.
Another arbiter was led into the room, and he sat down at the table.
“I’m sure we can find something in common,” said the arbiter. “You’re an egg-timer, and you’re one too.”
Five hours later, the arbiter left for a cigarette and never came back.
Just like the others.

Blood Donor

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Like clockwork, Harold went to the blood bank every sixty days.
At first, he kept a calendar. Big red circles, dutifully crossed off each time.
He’d been doing this for twenty years when one day the receptionist held up her hand.
“There’s a note on your file,” said the receptionist. “One moment please.”
Harold wondered what it was about…
Was it some kind of disease they found?
What is a horrible, incurable disease he’d gotten somehow?
Was it… was it…
The receptionist put a cap on Harold’s head.
“Happy twentieth anniversary!” everybody shouted.
Harold thanked them when he came to.

Dwarf

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It was when the third henchman died in a cave collapse I really got suspicious.
Our Dwarf is no Dwarf, but a very short human.
Perhaps I should have known before then, like when we’d ask him to parlay with creatures Dwarves are well-known for conversing with.
Instead of talking to them, he’d draw his axe and charge them.
He was also lousy at identifying gemstones.
“Ooh, pretty!” he’d say, stuffing them in his pockets.
“What is it?” would ask the paladin.
“Well, it’s mine now,” he’d say, grinning.
Now I realize the greed was just a cover for ignorance.

Midnight in Munich

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It’s midnight in Munich.
There’s opera singers on every street corner, belting out arias for spare change.
Give ’em five euros and they’ll watch your car all night long.
They say it deters crime. And the tourists dig it, too.
I don’t. All this racket gives me a nasty headache.
Besides, there’s too many streets and not enough opera singers, so they have to deploy understudies and amateurs to fill the gaps.
I liked it better when we had cops.
Now hand over your wallet, American.
Forget the cash… I just want to see if there’s an aspirin in it.

The Wife

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The old man’s lawyers called his wife.
“We’re on vacation,” growled the wife.
“We’re concerned,” said the lawyers. “Now that he’s been found guilty, the fine your husband faces is disastrously large.”
“Are my assets safe?” asked the wife.
“No,” said the lawyers. “What’s yours is his. Everything goes.”
The wife pondered. “Is there a way out of this?”
“He’s guilty, but not sentenced,” said the lawyers. “If he dies before sentencing, the judgment vanishes.”
“And you get paid,” said the wife.
They gave her sugar pills. She gave them his heart medication.
She woke up a very rich widow.

The Hometown Hero

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Eleven wins, State, and Honor Roll four years running.
Bobby’s the hero of Centerville High.
Until the cheerleaders accused him of rape. I said cheerleaders. All of them.
Bobby wore his letter jacket to court, claimed innocence.
Uh huh. Yeah, right.
Didn’t help one bit. Judge threw the book at him.
After five years, the DNA got re-tested.
No match.
Suddenly, the cheerleaders did a 180. Bobby’s innocent.
The governor ordered Bobby released, and he was wheeled out to freedom.
He’d taken a knife to the spine on the inside.
The same knife they found in the head cheerleader’s throat.

Zippy

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We all got in our spaceships, let them freeze us solid, and were shot all around the universe.
Some of us took decades to get to our assignments. Others took centuries, assuming they made it at all.
Sometime before I arrived, scientists invented the zippy drive. Zip – you’re there. Zip – you’re back.
Made exploration and colonization much easier.
It also made me obsolete on arrival.
Surprisingly, people haven’t changed much. But the airborne germs have.
I spend my time in a plastic bubble, waiting for back pay and the cure to the toxic viruses people have adapted to.