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Weekly Contest #369
‘It’s not what it looks like!’ cried the old man behind me.My cat and I had just discovered my blood-soaked neighbour with his dead wife’s corpse propped up in an office chair in the middle of his kitchen. I think on this occasion I reserved the right to believe that it was, in fact, exactly what it looked like.But at the same time, some would say that the way we had just discovered her body was equally inconceivable, so maybe I would need to hear him out. * Three Minutes Earlier I couldn’t say with any certainty why Sally was always s...
Weekly Contest #364
It was rumoured that it was Terence Orange’s excessive positivity which the killer took umbrage with. I, on the other hand, knew why and how Mr Orange was killed.Apart from being born in August and ‘young in the year’, I was merely a Year 9 boy, and not a detective. But I had his murder tied up when others had no clue. * * * California’s Terence Orange was tall, attractive and always orange. Beneath his pink shellsuit, he was muscular and the deserving winner of bodybuilding competitions in LA – where he had secured an endless supply of LA G...
Weekly Contest #358
The only way out is to stay in.That was one of the many slogans which featured on the Latino man’s collection of t-shirts. He also smelt of bergamot. But crucially for Abbie Spalding, and unlike many other commuters, he wore headphones as he scrolled through social media for the duration of their journey. A suitable neighbour who allowed her to focus.But that day, he didn’t get on the bus.As the bus drove away from the stop, a handful of people shuffled towards Abbie, clinging to the bus’s strap handles like visitors to a tree-top adventure ...
Weekly Contest #349
Today is April 31.For most of you alive, those words read like a typo, or at best, someone who hasn’t grasped how the calendar works yet. But for a handful of us, that date still means something. Everything. On that date twenty-five years ago, the world ended.The person who had sent me that message obviously belonged to the latter group. But it wasn’t the first anonymous message I had received from the sender. The reason for my stay in the arrivals hall at Palma de Majorca airport today was the message that preceded it yesterday. April 31. 1...
Weekly Contest #347
The Drunk Fish was no different from other Yorkshire pubs in the late nineties. Divided into two rooms – or ‘bars’ – they were separated by doors, but shared the same bar counter. Both rooms generously offered worn, sticky carpet underfoot; aged oak furniture littered with torn beermats; tatty chintz curtains; and faded floral wallpaper throughout.In the public bar, a TV fought to be heard over the high-pitched sound of two jackpot machines and darts thumping a dart board. Raucous chatter about restrictions imposed on the steel factory which...
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