Small Town Mysteries Novels & Stories

He had to find his cousin before Asrar woke up and he wasn’t there. The town was small which caused him some confusion. His cousin was a shopper, even there small town was to small for her. She did so much of her shopping online so she could get what she needed. Here it was worse. The small town consisted of a grocery store, pub and maybe a clothing story. It had a very country feel to it. 40 homes, at most, all in the same shape and size. 20 of them had fields filled with cattle, sheep and few horses. Some of the fields also consisted of large gardens and fields of hay. Chris was so confused and upset. He prayed finding his cousin would be easy here but by the looks of it she had a change o

“Let’s go and ask around. Maybe we can find a ride.” I didn’t think that anyone from such a small town would be so willing to give two strangers a ride to the Alpha King’s mansion, but it was too late. Enzo was already pulling me toward the gas station. As we approached the main road of the tiny little town, it felt like a scene out of one of those old western movies; only this town was located in the middle of a pine forest, and not the middle of the desert. The energy was the same, however. It was so quiet that I could have heard a pin drop, and there were no cars or other people. If it weren’t for the old man who was standing and looking at us through the window of his house with a sullen

I’m leaving behind my overpriced studio apartment, the loud streets, the aroma of fresh bagels on every corner—all for an obscure forest town no one’s ever heard of. Shadow Pine. Sounds like the title of a cheap horror flick, right? But for the last few months, it has become an obsession. It all started with a story. A missing hiker—the fifth disappearance in less than a year—and nothing but dead leads. The police chalked it up to accidents, blaming wild animals and unstable terrain, but there was something in the statements, in the whispers of locals I interviewed over the phone, that didn’t sit right with me. I live for stories like this—the ones people want to be buried.

“Did we do something wrong?” “No.” “Then, what’s the problem?” “Not many travels pass here. We are strange to them. Nobody orders tea; it’s expensive in these parts. Be on your guard.” “In our village, it’s a normal thing.” “It’s the same in my hometown.” “I wonder. Who is the stranger here?” “They are.” “Noted…”

Josh shrieked. "Actually these past weeks there's been an increase in murder cases." Alex couldn't wrap his head around it, are these somehow linked with a large number of people suddenly moving into the town. "Look there's a picture of the girl." "She kinda looks familiar," Alex commented with furrowed brows "Wait isn't she from the other school across town; she was dating some guy here. How unfortunate. " Alex knew his friend would figure it out, after all, he knew most in this small town.

Doubt is also off the charts. "I have a manor in N city. I asked a few friends to come over yesterday and we all stayed the night there after drinking too much. Why? Did something happen here?" Aron asked. The policeman responded, "We received a report of a murder just ahead of the village pile, and we're assisting in the investigation." "Murder? There are still murders in this small place?" Aron pretended to be puzzled. The policeman laughed, "Who says it isn't. There aren't even a few mouths to feed, and surprisingly, there was a murder, and we were called in early in the morning."

But dang, Aunt Betty had been living in the 70s, and they wanted their pea green ‘fridge back. I looked at the clock on the tiny microwave, which I’d learned only burnt food to a crisp, realizing if I didn’t hurry, I’d be late for my shift at the ceramics place. I couldn’t lose the job that kept me fed, and in actuality, I was grateful for it. According to the Hallmark movies I binged at Christmastime, small towns didn’t take kindly to strangers looking for work, although Solano Creek had proved Hallmark wrong so far, by giving me a much-needed job. The crazy townsfolk, though? They nailed it. And I liked the concept of painting projects; I just didn’t like the tiny humans who frequented the

On the outskirts of A Country, there lies a place called Misty Town—named after the constant gloomy atmosphere that blankets the region like a shroud of clouds. The town has a population of fewer than 20,000 people, and because of that, everyone knows one another and can easily distinguish between residents and visitors. Misty Town is a popular tourist destination in A Country, known for skiing and mountain climbing. However, all the locals know the real secret: this is where the vampire coven resides.

Every mask, every plan, and every ounce of fear I'd been holding onto shattered into pieces the second I saw those words. Alex's voice cut through the ringing in my ears. "Our investigation shows your sister, Sharon, was part of a hiking group three years ago. It was the same trail, the same five people. She went missing during that trip and was never found. Don't you think that's a little too much of a coincidence?" "Aaahhh!" The scream ripped out of my throat, sharp and broken, almost inhuman. I shot up from my chair and lunged across the table for the evidence bag containing the photo.

Surrounded by vineyards and two hours northwest of Sydney, it was a highway town passed through on the way to somewhere better. Bobby Deakins, the local mail carrier, laughed when he read books about people in small communities knowing everyone and their business. “Not true of The Bridge,” he often said to his son, a boy defined by naivety. Their town was its own schoolyard—with cliques and bullies, princesses and nerds. People didn’t mingle much. It seemed it was only he who knew what postcards were sent where, whose magazine subscriptions were to be slipped under the Welcome mat and not left face-up on the veranda.