Locked Room Mysteries Novels & Stories

It opened with a soft click. The study was bathed in shadow, lit only by a single dying candle on the far desk. The room smelled of parchment, ink, and the faint metallic tang of weapons kept hidden in the cabinets lining the walls, bookshelves towered on either side of the room, filled with thick, leather-bound volumes whose titles were worn and unreadable. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, my pulse racing. The desk was my target. Raymond always sat there when he was working late, always tensing when I came too close, as if he feared I might see something I wasn’t supposed to. Tonight, that fear would be justified.

Then quietly turned the lock. Click. Marilyn's eyes widened. The room suddenly felt much smaller. Even warmer. And much more dangerous. "Marilyn?" Her mother's voice came through the phone. "Are you alright?" Marilyn quickly forced a smile. "Yes, Mom." Her pulse was racing. Raymond remained near the door, watching her, saying nothing. "I'll call all of you tomorrow," she said quickly. "But—" "Promise." Naomi narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Something is happening."

I heard Richardson calling out my name, interrupting my thoughts. Where were we supposed to go again? I followed him and then watched as he used his finger prints on the door. The door opened, allowing us to walk in. There was another room unsure of the bar! I knew there was something odd about the bar. It wasn't just a bar; it was the perfect place to commit crimes without the police figuring it out. The room was a really big one. Immediately we walked in, the lights in there lit up, immediately revealing a chair at the side of the room as it twirled around.

the director announced. Stella nodded and sat down. No one spoke. They looked at each other in dismay. "The deceased was holding her cellphone when she was found at the crime scene. Let's see what does her most recent text messages say. Who was the last person that she had contacted?" Stella asked. "It's strange speaking of which. The deceased died between 1700 hours to 1830 hours. Her family found her dead when they were calling her for dinner. During this period of time, she did not go out, and the window to her room was also locked from the inside. The deceased's parents were outside the room and they said that no one entered. This locked-room murder seemed like a suicide case instead.

After mopping the blood in front of the door, she contemplated whether she should knock or just open the door. She decided on the former and knocked gently. No voice was heard. She turned the knob and saw a few drops of blood on the floor but she was equally amazed at the interior of the room. It was nothing she had ever seen. At first, she thought her room was the most explicit but seeing this, hers felt outmoded. Loney's cologne exhumed the room and she feared that something terrible happened to him but worse of all, she feared that he was a murderer and killed someone, or he was a spy. Both options didn't seem too comforting to her.

It was an old man who was in his 60s I guess, he looked scared of what this dark man would do to him any minute. He opened it and began looking through it. Will he hurt him? What is he looking for? Will he do something bad to the poor old man? I asked myself. I was conflicted because I don't want to get myself into trouble and at the same time let the old man get hurt. I looked around the small room and frowned at that, how am I in this strange room? What is going on? I was too concerned and carried away that I did not see that I was tied down with ropes and when I tried to scream it was muffled. My mouth was also covered.

Glancing at the clock between commercials, hoping to see Jackson at some point that day. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. The sound of the door shutting startled her awake, leaning up on her arms. She glanced around the room sluggishly. Surprised at how blurry her vision was. Rubbing at her eyes, she called out softly. "Jackson? Is that you?" The room was dark, the T.V must've turned off by itself after an hour of being idle. She heard the person who came in pause for a moment, all noise gone from the room.

Episode 20 – Room 219 The key to Room 219 felt heavy in my hand, a cold, ornate brass thing that seemed to hold more promise than any electronic keycard ever could. The hotel was old-world elegance, all dark wood, hushed corridors, and the faint scent of polish and secrets. I'd booked it on a whim, a desperate lunge against the crushing monotony of my life. A weekend alone. No names. No strings. Just me, a stack of unread books, and the silence.

Truman was searching for the shorter man and knew as he knew himself that he would be in the library, searching for the theme that Alexa had asked. If he did what he told them he would he'd be in the darkroom of the library, they call that because it was a room locked by a key that no one knew where it was, and Alexa never cared for breaking the lock or the door down, so what was behind it remained a mystery, but Charles had read all the books there and knew that no one talked about mates or hybrids or vampires and werewolves co-existing he would break down the door.

I needed to talk to my culprit to see if I could get any truth out of her toying with her mind. Just before I left, I locked the door to my room. I and Scott don’t usually lock the door, but since it was my crime scene and I didn't want my evidence to be tampered with, I had to secure it in my best capacity. As I walked through the hallway, I realized that I didn't even know the way to Scott’s mother's room. I was contemplating asking Anna or using the opportunity to tour and find out for myself. A maid was walking in my direction, so I decided to throw away my previous thoughts and ask her.