So here are the 100 word crime stories, with the word ‘newspaper’ in them. Vote at the bottom of the page:
ENTRY 1 | Words: 99 | Title: An Exotic End
Young Botts, delivered the daily newspaper, along with local village tit-bits of trivia, but one day he had something of grave importance for PC Sharpe. ‘Look at the Pet Shop advertisement for exotic fish’, he insisted ‘and you’ll solve Lord Merryweather’s disappearance’.
It transpired young Botts recalled a remark by Elsie, his girlfriend who worked at Merryweather Hall. Lady Merryweather had warned Elsie, under no circumstances was she to go anywhere near the fish pond in the back garden as the new fish were highly excitable and very unpredictable. They have a funny name beginning with P.. said Elsie
ENTRY 2 | Words: 100 | Title: Crime With Intent
Bobby climbed up the ladder, pushed open the window and jumped into the store room. He shone the torch along the shelves of shoes. Size six his mother had said. Bobby looked for the shiny black ones, with lace ups. Like the other children wore. He moved along slowly; then saw them in the glow of the torch, sitting on top of a box. He checked the size.
He wrapped them carefully in the newspaper sitting on the bench, and headed for the window. He smiled, and tucked them under his arm–tomorrow his sister would wear shoes to school.
ENTRY 3 | Words: 95 | Title: The Editor
I sipped wine whilst watching the evening news. Another victim “red all over”. The same description was given to the Police by each witness- usually a partner or friend- who stumbled upon a mangled body.
This description led to the naming of the Newspaper Murders, and to the elusive killer as the Editor.
“Not another one,” my wife exclaimed as she entered the room, “that Editor must be a very troubled individual.”
I frowned and nodded in agreement before taking another sip of wine. Red wine of course, I’m quite fond of a good red.
ENTRY 4 | Words: 100 | Title: Untitled
Mr. Woof glanced over his newspaper, eager to find his date waiting. No luck.
“Excuse me sir,” a quiet man leaned in. “Did you lose this?” The man’s fingers held a dainty ring.
Mr. Woof was taken aback. “Not quite, but it belongs to my friend.”
“Oh I know.”
For the first time Mr. Woof took in the presence of this eerie stranger. He folded his newspaper away. “I will return the ring to the owner if you pass it over?” Mr. Woof pushed himself not to trip over his words.
“No need,” the man said, “I already have her.”
ENTRY 5 | Words: 99 | Title: Untitled
Their bed lay before her, sheets crumpled from their passion, like pages of an old newspaper. She wept on the hem, tears mixed with love memories.
Outside their window, the sea was eerily still, her point of calm, convincing her that peaceful times were close. She staggered to its pebbled shore, wept in sorrow, mourned her loss.
The water was almost silent to her weeping; only a whispering of minute waves, gently lapped upon her shattered body.
As she immersed her hands into the water, they looked like melting ice, releasing the ruby, red, stain of her lover’s blood.
ENTRY 6 | Words: 100 | Title: Black And White And Red All Over
Rupert Welles was in his office with his nose buried in a newspaper. The media mogul had been shot from behind and his blood was all over tomorrow’s headlines. Detective Chandler sighed and scratched his stubbled jaw. Years of investigations and this was how they got him. Stolen evidence, tampered juries and missing persons improved Welles’ stock price and infuriated Chandler. “Bad luck blesses me,” had been Welles’ smirking confession. A fine phrase to imply working with the mob. Chandler leaned over to read the fateful headline. ‘Mob Owns Media And More: ‘Stand Against Bullies’ says Welles. Chandler sighed again.
ENTRY 7 | Words: 100 | Title: Untitled
I see you, stirring the rice.
Standing there reading a newspaper. Adding stock, stirring again.
It’s like you think you have a thousand years to live. Like it will never end.
But a kitchen is a dangerous place. Full of knives, plates which smash sharp, a jug of boiling water. Tiles for slipping on, cupboards to bang your head into.
You know how I know this.
You stand there, wooden spoon in hand. Waiting for the rice which will absorb so much, and then no more. The knife which chops the onions is in my hand.
I stand waiting too.
ENTRY 8 | Words: 100 | Title: Untitled
Stop dead in my tracks.
Fiona’s at the bar waiting for a client.
Teenage sweethearts we were.
Girls sharing everything. Sitting like old times.
One big difference. She’s well heeled. I’m not.
How come? Woman of the night, she whispers.
Try it Nance, making shitloads.
Wanna retire. Illegal proceeds. Can’t bank any.
Stashed in the shack. Nobody knows.
Remember we went there?
Dinner’s arranged for tomorrow. Her shout.
Sleazy trick arrives. I’m off home. Can’t sleep.
The morning newspaper.
Hooker murdered. Found strangled.
Swallow my shock. Breathe and remember.
Plan a little trip to Mount Buffalo.
A million reasons why.
Vote for your favourite Crime Flash!
Winner announced at our Members Night – 7pm Wednesday 24th June upstairs at Irish Murphy’s.