Murder Stories Novels & Stories

"I am assigned to the multiple homicides that you were involved in. I'd like to hear your accounts of the events if you would be so kind." "Homicide?" Chloe hadn't even thought what to call what had happened: adultery, homicide, murder, suicide, or just brainless insanity. She brought a shaky hand up to her forehead and shook her head back and forth. "Mrs. Harris?" Mr. Policeman tried to get her attention. She was mumbling. "Homicide. Adultery. Homicide. Murder. Homicide. Suicide." "Mrs. Harris? Chloe?" He said louder with that authority that, for some reason, comes so naturally to certain people in his position.

“That’s fantastic. I hope it was in my timeframe. It’ll give my project an interesting perspective. Everyone likes murder stories, even academics.” Hamish laughed but accentuated his next words with a wagging finger. “Now remember lad, a single crime, if I’m correct about it, is not the whole show. It might not be relevant, so be careful not to get sidetracked.” “Okay, but I’m intrigued already.” He wondered if Jeremy Trent referred to the lunatic from the 1950s, the murder he already knew about. There probably wouldn’t have been more than one. Might not be worth the bother. Alex closed his notebook and got to his feet. As he put his things back into his case,

Something doesn't feel so right to Nafisa, she is missing something and nobody among the three is willing to tell her. She sight Hussain curling his fingers inwardly, things are about to get bad. So bad. "Don't you think it is time we stop them" She turned to Umar, whose attention was on a particular art. "I am talking here" she called out again. Zoning out while with someone's wife, who does that? "Just like I said before, let them be. I actually want to see someone hurt today, it has been a long time" he grinned.

He always carries it with him. Slowly realization dawned upon her. Her hands started to tremble. She understood everything. The murderer was from inside the castle. Always been inside. Always been one of them. Her own blood. Her brother. ‘How could he kill him? His own father?’, she looked imploring at Argus. Tears were streaking silently down her eyes, upon her cheeks onto her lap. Her face was contorted with pain. The death of her father and the betrayal of her brother was too much to handle for her.

“Violet, you were the last person who called my father before he was kidnapped.” The sudden accusation stunned Violet, and she looked at Henry for help. “That’s enough!” With a dark expression, Henry shielded Violet and rebuked me, saying, “Luna, stop kicking up a fuss here. The murderer has been executed, and the judgment bears the court’s official seal. If you really want to blame someone for this, blame your father for being unlucky.” I teared up and stormed forward. “My father spent months in the lab researching the cure to treat your legs. Don’t you have a conscience?!”

That tidbit was probably fabricated to make the story more twisted and dramatic. The show was a popular one called Serial. I'd become accustomed to hearing the voices of detectives and crime fans debating unsolved murders. It was the type of show where one might listen to everything from common facts to conspiracy theories and deep evil secrets, ranging from drug overdoses to random acts of violence, such as serial killer cases and accidents. Each one appealed to my dark side and entertained me. The unsettling phrases also comforted my inner soul and made me feel less alone in my agony and self-loathing.

Yet I am even willing to lose myself to obtain that girl. At this moment, vivid images of Natasha are flashing in my mind. She hopped here and there, dancing with grace, and then gazed at the bouquet and card with wide-eyed wonder and threw it into the dustbin. Her charm is truly eye-catching. On the other hand, her story seems different, and truly remarkable. She has a lot of talent. Her story proposal was about a dark murder fiction, where a woman is killed, and a lawyer and a police officer handle the case to find the real culprit behind the murder. Her story has only a few episodes, so it would be easy to finish it early.

There was the Loreville murderer, 14-year-old Carlson, who had cruelly killed his ten-year-old neighbor. There was also Jackson, whose news had spread all over the Internet. He had poured poison into his parents' tea because he did not like how strict they were in educating him. He was only in kindergarten. After that, he had cruelly murdered a four-year-old child. There was also a criminal from Midonica, who had kidnapped and killed eight nurses. Then there was Ross, the "Rainy Night Butcher" from Greiville, who had raped, killed, and dismembered 17 female victims.

"Okay, I had to take my breath there. So, the peoples' cries alerted Generosasis, with nothing left in her heart but hatred and the cloud above her eyes sprouted by betrayal— she couldn't decipher anything but follow her instincts. She roared in anger, and a ball of fire rolled out of her enormous mouth, hitting the houses across the library. That night, some generations perished, and hundreds of people died, Dordin being one of them. Generosasis murdered the man she claimed to love, she murdered her sister and a dozen families. Now, Deborah, that is the tale of Dordin, what do you think about it?" I cleared my throat, "I think it's the most fascinating story, I also think Dordin's story sho

Her shoulders trembled. The prosecutor continued. "Forensic analysis shows the child didn't die instantly. If he had received timely medical treatment, his survival rate would have exceeded 70 percent. It was the defendant who personally prevented rescue efforts and directly caused her son's death. "This was not negligence, and it wasn't an accident. It was a premeditated murder. She simply killed the wrong person." Esther's lawyer had no response. In the end, the judge brought down the gavel. Esther Lawson was found guilty of intentional homicide and sentenced to 15 years in prison.