Tag Archives: Murder

Friday Fictioneers – Born Evil

Dick and Perry weren’t like normal kids. Normal kids didn’t spend hot summer afternoons locked away in their folk’s garage. Normal kids hung out at the store, went skinny dipping down by Sawyers mill, went on first dates to MacAfee’s malt shop on Reinbold St. Dick and Perry did none of these things.

All kids shoot birds. All kids pull rabbits apart. It’s just them being inquisitive their parents said. Leave them be.

In 59 when Dick and Perry drove a grey Chevy into Holcomb, Kansas, society had deemed them safe; Deemed then Normal.

On her farm, Nancy Clutter finished baking a cherry pie.friday-fictioneers

These words form this my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

I’m currently reading Truman Capote’s true crime classic, In Cold Blood. My story is a fictional response to what I’ve read so far, in particular, to the two perps, Dick and Perry.

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Friday Fictioneers – Idle Conversation

ff010217Everyone on the block knew Victor. He used to work on the Pencove Estate, 200 acres of ornamental gardens, thick forest and water lily-covered lakes. It was his life. A bust hip then saw that life confined to his ground floor apartment, an arthritic dog and a single window box.

One hot summer’s day he invited me in for a brew and a game of dominoes.

‘Don’t you miss the estate,’ I asked.

He smiled and passed me a bottle of ice-cold beer.

‘Sure, I’ve nowhere to bury the bodies anymore’ he laughed.

I laughed too. Anybody would have. Anybody.

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These words form this my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.  

Friday Fictioneers – Caught On The Job

ff110117The down arrow gently pulsed. I could have walked, but 29 floors was a long way and there was no rush. While waiting, I briefly reflected on a job well done, a particularly troublesome loose-end tied up once and for all.

A door clicked shut behind me. I turned to see a figure emerging from the gloom.

Shit.

It was 4:15 in the morning. Why was she there? I was told nobody would be there.

I smiled and stood to one side as the lift door slowly opened. I wouldn’t get paid double, but when my liberty was at stake, not even money mattered.

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These words form this my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.  

Friday Fictioneers – The Best Laid Plans

ff231116I lingered as Ellie Henderson walked past the store window.

‘You’ve no chance there,’ my boss, said.

Ellie was a real beauty. I’d  admired her from a distance as she met and married Frank Henderson.  Frank had sure been the lucky one, but his luck ran out when his body turned up face down in Whitewillow Creek – a fishing accident the coroner concluded.  Ellie had been in mourning for months now. Surely she would be ready to move on soon.

‘The door to that one’s heart is locked and bolted – she’ll never love again,’ my boss, continued.

What a proper sinful waste that would be. I almost regretted killing Frank now.

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These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Staying Put

ff021116Every time I stopped at the Trading post our conversation would be the same.

‘Why don’t you sell up, Vern?’ I’d ask. ‘Take the money McCullum’s are offering.’

Everyone knew McCullum’s Dairy was desperate to get Vern’s acre of land.

He’d always just smile and reply, ‘Where would you get your gas then, Jimmy? Besides, too many memories.’

Vern died last fall. As it turns out there were other reasons he never left. One reason in the cellar, another in the cavity wall. At least one more in the yard.

McCullum’s Dairy never bought the land. Doubt anyone ever will.

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These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Safety In Numbers

ff210916From the shadows at the top of the staircase I could see the fireworks reflecting in the lens of her black spectacles, almost smell the starch on her featureless, grey uniform.

Liberation Day’ they hailed it. Liberated from the now elitist burdens of freedom, choice and democracy.

My sister was too young to understand as they looked out over the city together. But I knew what our mother had done – what all those of newly acquired status had done. It was in that moment that our future fates were formally and fatally entwined: I would have to kill her.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challen

Friday Fictioneers – Starting Over

ff310816Sasha’s dilated, bloodshot pupils remained fixed on the flashing TV screen. Sasha hadn’t moved for hours.  He’d watched distant and detached as an endless carousel of colourful commentators welcomed in the new millennium. From Dunedin to Delaware, the world had moved from old into new. Crackling fireworks, cheering, happy smiling faces: revelers looking forward with hope. Sasha hadn’t looked forward with hope in such a long time.

The once groaning heap between Sasha and the TV now lay silent. Rivulets of crimson no longer dribbled across the slate floor.

‘Happy New Year, Sasha,’ he whispered, while raising the glass to his lips.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Sunday Photo Fiction – A Woman In Every Port

spf220516For fifteen years I worked as a Cabin Steward on various Mediterranean cruise ships. Before that I served nine and a half years in the Her Majesties Royal Navy – many months of which was spent under fire in distant combat zones. I loved everything about the life at sea. From a boy I’d dreamt of nothing else. I’d never suffered from sea-sickness, never once felt frightened by rough, foreboding seas. I actually enjoyed the feeling of being calm and in control when others around were unable to suppress their fears and worries.

Yet, as much as I enjoyed my work, I also enjoyed my time on shore. We stopped in so many places. I never had time to form lasting relationships: there was always another departure looming, another month at sea just around the corner. Instead I preferred to deal with my urges on a needs basis. I’m not sure when I lost the ability to control those urges; I can’t truly remember the first time I hurt someone. I didn’t mean to – I still don’t.

I was always glad to get out to sea again. However, no matter where we sailed I knew I’d never escape who and what I am.

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Other entries for SPF can be found here.

Friday Fictioneers – Development Opportunity

ff030216Frank rolled down the car window and spat raven-black spit onto the sandy ground. The sign chained to the fence said ‘Coming Soon – Affordable Family Housing’.

‘How can they build out there?’ I said. ‘It’s more water than land, Frank.’

‘People needs houses, Joe. They’ll just drain it. Five years from now you’ll never know Logan’s swamp ever existed.’ Frank reached for a fresh plug of tobacco and wedged it under his bottom lip.

I forced a nervous smile. It had been over ten years – surely they’d never find her. Even if they did, they’d never be able to prove nothin’.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Blind Spot

ff141015Night security stared intently at his screen. The Packers had a 3rd and goal with time expiring. Their entire season was all on this play, as was his next month’s rent cheque. On a bank of monitors across the office, only the watching eye of the CCTV camera noticed as a green Ford Mustang reversed up to the trash cans.

Touchdown!

The security guard celebrated his luck by breaking into a fresh six-pack of Millers.

Behind him the lone camera continued to pan the parking lot. The green Mustang had gone. It would be Monday morning before they found her.

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These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – The Last Resort

ff150415Oily, black tears ran down his cheeks. ‘She’s still inside. Hurry. Please hurry,’ Bob screamed.

Bob and Joan Eastman had lived in that same cream house for over 50 years. Six children had been raised in its rooms – three of them were now Lawyers, one a Doctor. Now it was just Bob and Joan, but Joan hadn’t quite been herself since a stroke last winter, and Bob was struggling to cope.

I reached out and cupped his trembling hands within my own. As the medics ushered Bob towards the ambulance the faintest smell of petrol lingered on my fingers.

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These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge

Trifecta 79 – A Model Employee

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As a boy he’d been obsessed with trains. As an adult very little changed for Vern Easelton. There was only one place Vern had ever wanted to work.

For a year he watched attentively from the learner’s seat. His instructor would drive the shuddering old diesel locomotive on the 50 mile loop from Ganakville to Bolswater and back. He knew what to do. He couldn’t wait to do it himself. He needed a second year said his instructor. Vern was crestfallen but he wasn’t about to give in.  Another year. This time surely he thought. There wasn’t to be a third year.

These memories ate away at Vern. He did end up working for the railways. However, the signal box at Whistler’s Curve never featured in his childhood dreams. “A monkey could do this job” Vern used to mutter to himself. Green Lamp at one end. Red lamp at the other. From his perch on the hillside Vern could clearly see both lamps. If he couldn’t both would be set to red. The line wasn’t even that busy. Two trains rarely approached the short stretch of single track at the same time.

They did the week before Christmas, two years back. The 3:29 from Ganakville and the 4:05 to Bolswater.

***

“Diminished responsibility” his lawyer said.

“Clinical depression” the state psychiatrist proffered.

Murderer the relatives screamed.

The jury agreed with the state. Vern avoided the chair.

“Was this man really insane?” enquired the media as Vern Easelton was led from the courtroom.

“Managed to appear sane enough to keep his job!” responded Joe Ravansaki the line controller from the Handane County railroad company.

To this day Vern still indulges his love of trains. It’s said he has the finest train set in the county. The wardens at the Sanatorium helped him build it. It even includes a painstakingly created replica of Whistler’s Curve. Hasn’t been a crash yet. One Green lamp. One Red lamp. Vern has learned his lesson.

These 328 words are my entry into the Trifecta Week 79 writing challenge.

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