Novel & Cerita Short Murder Mystery Stories

I caressed her hair and chuckled, "You know I kick people when I get hurt!" Meggay stared at me blankly but looked away before folding her book and putting the book in my Vanity table. I stared at the book reading 'Who is the traitor?' She was looking at the title in her book before looking at us, "In that book, The classroom consists of 20 people and one of them is the murderer, they have to find the murderer in 20 days or all of them are going to die, they put five suspects gather in the one room, and try to interrogate them, one of them tells that he didn't know what is happening, the second one denies the truth because he was with some of his friends in their dorms, the third one is not

But that was muсh better than almоst suffосating. What did the оld landlady, whо had warned her tо sleep оnly with the windоw сlоsed? Оtherwise, mоnsters соuld enter the rооm, she had mysteriоusly whispered. Pah! Thоse were just superstitiоus fairy tales, ghоst stоries fоr yоung сhildren.

But hold on—why is my silence the answer to her question? “Care to elaborate on why my silence is the answer?” I asked, genuinely curious. “And here I was, thinking you were smart? Well, let me explain it to you, Mr. Not-So-Smart. Your silence could mean two things: one, you weren’t pretending, and two, you didn’t want to lie to me. You took exactly 30 seconds thinking. If you were the murderer, I have this intuition that you’d have planned answers for my questions, even if you didn’t know what they were.”

I was sprawled on my couch, half-drunk on the cheap red wine I bought from a convenience store, legs thrown over the armrest, when the notification appeared across my screen. @sinnernextdoor: That little black dress in your story should be fucking illegal. How am I supposed to sleep knowing you look that edible? My pulse stuttered. His profile was almost blank, just a black-and-white photo of a tattooed hand wrapped around a whiskey glass, no face, no name, no location. It's like pure danger.

I had known for weeks that someone was watching me. It started with small things. A shadow moving across the street when I walked home from work. The feeling of eyes on my back when I stood in line at the coffee shop. Then it got closer. I would wake up in the middle of the night with the strange sensation that someone had been in my room. Sometimes the window was slightly open even though I was sure I had closed it. Other times I would find my sheets rumpled in ways that felt too deliberate, like gentle hands had touched me while I slept.

He tore his eyes away from the gruesome story as Blakeney began. “I received a call tonight from a friend of mine who is the lead detective on one of the murder cases that have been plaguing the east coast for the last month. As you may know, we have alumni in place in various organizations and police agencies throughout the country that alert me to anything which may be of our interest.” Blakeney paused to let that sink in. “Especially in these dangerous times. As soon as my source heard the 9-1-1 call placed immediately after the murder, she found it peculiar and moved to compare that specific one with the others. Something interesting was found,” he said, now passing around printouts to e

She must be pulling my legs. Her lips curled into a smile. “What do you think?” she asked. I chuckled nervously. “You are trying to mess with me, aren’t you? That’s not fair. Someone’s death isn’t a laughing matter.” “I am not joking. Have you heard of the term ‘copycat killer?’ she asked. Her blue eyes were bright. “Um…yeah. Isn’t it when someone commits a murder that looks similar to the style of another murder?” I replied.

That makes Owen a nice chunk of change on the side. Walking towards his work shop out behind the motel, he passes the newest guests that checked in last night. Three teenage boys and two girls. They are making a documentary of locations across the country that had been the scene of a grizzly crime. They were telling him that they had already filmed nearly one hundred places, the most famous being the Lizzie Borden house, the Amityville Horror House, Ed Gein's house, Jeffery Dahmer's house, and the Vallisca Ax Murder House. They told him they were on there way to California to see the Manson Mansion. Owen feigned interest before politely slipping away before they could ask him to 'say a few w

Another brutal crime scene. The killer struck only on full moons, leaving behind the victims so deformed that even the most seasoned officers had to turn away, their faces pale and drawn. Five bodies in six months, all torn apart like they had been mauled by a wild animal. No fingerprints. No murder weapon. No witnesses. And now, the case was hers. Evelyn exhaled sharply, steeling herself before walking back inside. The precinct smelled of stale coffee and sweat, the air thick with frustration and fear. She could feel it in her bones—the weight of the city’s dread pressing down on her.

He stumbled back, his eyes dazed, and crashed into the wall. He quickly regained his footing and sent a kick flying towards me. I tried to dodge, but it caught me square in the chest, sending me stumbling back towards the wall. My body fell on top of the short man, who was still lying on the ground, dazed from the earlier blow. As I struggled to get up, the short man reached for the gun in his pocket, his eyes fixed on me with a murderous intent. But I was too quick. I yanked the gun out of his hand just as he was about to pull the trigger.