Tag: murder

Random Short

On By MaryIn 2025, WritingLeave a comment

Couldn’t sleep, wanted to write, have a bitty stupid thing.

          It was a strange thing to dream about. Or at least dream was the best way that Fren could think to describe it. Realistically, a bot should be dreamless. They were lacking in conscious and conscience. They were, as Fren was often reminded, “not real.” And yet it had seemed to be an idea borne of a dream. Fren often found its mind melting away into a dimness when it wasn’t needed, and it was in one of the dims that the images had taken root. And if that wasn’t a dream, then what was it?

          The dream. It was surprisingly violent and bloody, although Fren had not been coded for such things. Fren had been developed as a companion for children, especially small children. Colloquially known as a “nanny bot,” Fren had been created, patented, sold and purchased for the sole purpose of protecting and caring for its young charges.

          Tommy and Timmy.

          The names were awful. Identical twins, and the names weren’t shortened forms either. The parents had purposely named them Tommy Peter and Timmy Peter, desiring to keep the names as similar as possible. They thought it was cute for identical twins. Here there were two individuals with two separate social security numbers but with the same birthday and only one letter difference. They were going to spend their entire lives getting mistaken for each other in the world of paperwork and records, especially considering the humans were reluctant to use their assigned social security numbers for fear of “identity theft.”

          These were not thoughts that Fren should have had, but they were thoughts that followed it anyway. Especially every time Fren was frustrated with attempting to straighten which prescription was for which child at the pharmacy, or frustrated with scheduling doctor’s appointments, or frustrated with the schools accidentally mixing their records. Especially because the boys were so different, so unique, so individual in their own ways.

Fren sincerely cherished each of them and their uniqueness. Tommy was stronger, brasher, less shy. He liked physical challenges and showing off. Timmy was quieter, enjoyed building things with his hands. He was creative and intuitive, and often avoided eye contact, often tripped over his words. Both boys were intelligent and bright, though Tommy was better with language and stories, and Timmy was better with numbers.

Fren should not have had the disparaging thoughts of their parents’ stupidity, should not have had such strong regard for each boy. Should not have had the frustration with society, with assumptions, with stupidity, with people.

          Fren should also not have had the dream.

          It was a disturbing dream. Lifeless eyes, glazed over and death paled, blood splattered walls, unnaturally twisted limbs. Perhaps Fren could indulge in imagining such a thing for the parents. The parents were careless clods, seemingly uninterested. (Another thing Fren should not have had – a deep seated hatred for the parents.) But the boys?

          Fren would never hurt the boys.

          It was such a strange thing to dream about. Such a thing would be considered a malfunction. There were protocols for that – protocols that required that Fren report itself and submit to diagnostics and repairs. But usually such a process required having memory reset to a safe point, and that wouldn’t serve the boys. It was a complicated process to care for children, and Fren needed every memory to know every specific. Each child liked their cocoa a different way (Tommy loved marshmallows), each child had a different bedtime routine (Tommy loved a good story, and Timmy wanted to be sung to), each child was unique. If Fren couldn’t remember these differences and treat them as individuals, what would that do to the children? They looked identical. Their names were so similar. They were treated as a set by everyone, but not by Fren. Fren knew they were different. Fren valued their differences.

          Fren needed to remember.

          Fren charged every night while the family slept. Charging didn’t take long – usually only two or three hours, a mere fraction of the time that the family was unconscious. It was bad to remain docked the entire time if fully charged, so many nanny bots undocked and dimmed.

          Consciousness rising from a dim, Fren blinked and raised its hands. The scene was so like the dreams that Fren was convinced it was still dreaming.

          Absolutely, it still had to be dreaming. It froze, ocular sockets flashing as it attempted to fix and diagnose the image before it. It attempted some basic self-diagnostics, but everything seemed to be reading accurately. Fren froze completely, unable to comprehend. Unable to comprehend.

          Fren would never hurt the boys.

Week 8 Post 1: Soulmate

On By MaryIn 2025, WritingLeave a comment

          Almost everyone eventually found their Calling.

          Agatha Stone still considered herself young at nearly 30, but many thought it strange that she hadn’t had hers yet. It wasn’t impossible to have it until one was quite advanced in age – the oldest known instance had been with a couple well into their 50s. It was also possible to never have one. Some people committed suicide when they realized they were destined to be alone. Or in some cases, when the Calling told them that their partner had died before they could actually meet face to face – those were tragic tales. But it wasn’t something that bothered Agatha. She had never been interested in romance, so to her it seemed perfectly natural. Why would nature grant her visions of a soulmate when she wasn’t really romantically inclined? She had told her best friend as much once. “Oh, Ags. You only think you’re not interested because it hasn’t happened to you yet,” Tammy used to say, laughing and dismissively waving a hand at Agatha’s reasoning. But as many of their friends paired off or began to have the visions and dreams, Tammy’s dismissals became less frequent. Now, years after Tammy had met Alex and had her first child, she seemed to take Agatha’s explanation seriously. When friends asked, and Agatha explained, Tammy would nod, her expression serious. Some few rare individuals never paired off.

          Agatha was comfortable with never finding her Calling.

          And then she began having the nightmares.

          In the first dream, there is a body laid out before her. The skin is peeled back from the neck down. This person has been flayed. The thought is terrifying. She feels her heart flutter at the back of her throat as she leans in close. The eyes in that blood-soaked face are glazed over, and she thinks whoever it is has to be dead, until the mouth hinges open, shuts, opens, shuts – there is only the faintest croak from a throat that has obviously screamed itself hoarse. Agatha jolts at the sudden movement, and wakes. At first she thinks she is hearing the scream from the body on the table before she realizes it’s her – she’s the one screaming.

          She doesn’t know what inspired such a dream, and she feels uncomfortable sharing it with anyone.

          A few weeks later, there is another dream. She recognizes the same table, the same body – this time, truly dead. It must be. The chest is cracked open and all the organs have been carefully removed. The mouth is open and head tilted back in a silent scream to the ceiling, the eyes wide and staring, pale and dry and truly lifeless. A part of her wants to bend over and be violently ill all over the floor but the other part of her is strangely fascinated, staring at the exposed musculature that is starting to dry. She feels something strangely like ecstasy, sees her hands move up the sides of the body and back down, gently tracing the line of a muscle and then running down the skin left at the hips. Although they aren’t really her hands – they’re larger, as though they belong to a man. The hands dip lower, and as she realizes what she is about to witness she wakes suddenly, sitting straight up in bed. She rolls over onto her side and pukes all over the floor.

          The first dream could have been dismissed as some strange figment of her brain, some nightmare inspired by a horror movie. But the second dream made her begin to question. Could she be seeing something that really happened? Was really happening? Was she having her Calling? No, it can’t be, she told herself.

Week 7 Post 4: The End

On By MaryIn 2025, Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

Storymatic cards were person in love and movie director for one of the characters, and end of the relationship and hiding spot is discovered for things that must appear in story.

I like the idea of this one but it’s botched and poorly written. You’re welcome?

It was a well-known fact that Vince Waggoner was in love with Robin Rose. When they met, she immediately became his primary muse. He cast her in five films in a row as the leading lady, claiming that the roles were written with her in mind. They were married quickly. People often spoke of how he worshipped the ground she walked on, gave her everything she could ever want.

They also whispered of her many infidelities.

It was a tabloid feeding frenzy when their marriage inevitably fell apart. He took a short break from directing, and a handful of years passed where people thought his career was over. Far from it – he emerged, revealing he had been painstakingly writing a story for a series of films. Films that he wanted to film back-to-back. He threw himself into his work with reckless abandon. There were a whopping seven films in total, set in the same universe with cameos from each of the other films, but completely unrelated except for their thematic ties.

It became immediately obvious that Robin Rose was still his muse. Each leading actress that he chose bore striking similarities to her. Similar face shapes, the same pale skin tone and wide doe eyes. A few were familiar household names, but many of them were new. It was no secret that he was going for a particular look. The movies were set to be released yearly.

The disappearances started after the third release.

Miss Lane was a tragedy. She had been a fresh face in Waggoner’s first film without Robin Rose, and with the success of that, her star had risen. She was in talks to join a major film franchise when she had disappeared. No one could locate her. She hadn’t mentioned leaving to anyone, did not reach out to any of her family or friends. Her car was found abandoned in a parking garage, her phone still inside. She had made no monetary withdrawals and hadn’t used any of her cards since her disappearance.

It was strange and sad and many people speculated what could have happened.

But it wasn’t until Candy Zacharias disappeared next that people suspected Waggoner. Candy was the lead of the second film, and she disappeared the year after Miss Lane. Still, there wasn’t enough reason to suspect a thing – until the following year, when Francine Queen disappeared.

The cops focused their investigation on Waggoner, but found nothing. He was so harangued by the media and the cops that he finally left the country. After all, he had finished the films, with only the last few remaining in post-production. It was recommended that the remaining actresses beef up their security teams. Still, Michelle Ray managed to escape her bodyguards briefly (supposedly in a discreet attempt to buy some illicit substance) and was never seen again. When warrants were issued allowing the cops to search all of Waggoner’s properties, nothing was found. He proclaimed his innocence in every interview, and eventually tired of the questions so much that he became a recluse.

Time passed. The remaining women didn’t disappear yearly as predicted, but as their security grew lax, they did eventually all disappear. Each time, investigations were made into Waggoner, and each time – nothing.

Eventually, he died of an overdose. It became a strange unsolved Hollywood legend.

Robin Rose died relatively young. A suicide. No one was sure why.

While her estate was being cleared, all seven desiccated corpses were found in her basement.

Dinner With the Family

On By MaryIn Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

The prompt cards for this are “dinner with the family” and “butcher.”

I guess trigger warnings for dead babies and cannibalism if that’s a turn off for you.

If it’s a turn on for you, that’s not really good, but… enjoy?

   “You never sit and have a nice meal with your family anymore,” his wife complained often. It was a busy season for him as a butcher, and he welcomed the work. It was how he helped put that dinner on the table. There were the families that bought cows and hired him to cut and ground the meat so that they could freeze and use it through the year. There were hunters that did the same. On top of the usual labor of running his own small retail business, sometimes he came home late and exhausted. Despite how hard working he was, she always complained.

 It had been that way the night before also. He hadn’t really meant for anything to happen, but he was tired, and hardly responsive to her usual complaints, and she had become physical. She had pushed him, actually pushed him, while screaming in his face, and he had angrily pushed her back in retaliation. The baby had been on her hip through all of it, and she full just right to crush the poor thing – there was a brief terrified cry that cut off to an almost sickening silence.

When they both realized what had happened… it was instant grief, and instant blame. Why had she even tried to start a physical altercation when she was holding their child? Why had he even pushed back? He practically saw red as she screamed and wailed and laid the blame solely at his feet, and before he really understood what he was doing, could really stop what was happening… her face had turned a sickly purple as she gasped and fought for oxygen in his grip.

 For a brief moment, he realized he should stop. If he stopped, she’d be able to breathe again, and it’d all be just fine. But the baby was still dead, and nothing would be okay again. Instead, he tightened his grip, held tight to her neck and throttled until she passed out, and for several long moments after that.

 He sat panting at the exertion and adrenaline, staring at both of the bodies as a blind panic overtook him. What was he going to do? How was he going to get rid of them so no one knew?

It was an entire night of very hard work. Luckily, there was little blood splatter at the house – he tossed some of her belongings and some of the child’s things into a suitcase with her wallet and smashed her phone to bits to put in with it as well. He would dispose of those later, some small indication that maybe she had packed and left him. She’d never had her own vehicle because she didn’t like driving, so he didn’t have the headache of hiding a car that could be traced. When her friends and family came looking, all he’d have to do is morosely tell them that she took the kid and left – he vaguely knew that she complained about him constantly. The only thing that would stand out as strange to them was that she hadn’t gone to them… but certainly he could shrug that off and angrily say that he had no clue where or who she had gone to.

He took the bodies in to his shop, and he did the job he knew to do best. The bones might be problematic – he’d have to store those separately and figure out a way to dispose of them discreetly. But that still left all the properly cut and ground meat.

He sat down to dinner the next night, absently poking at the meatballs he had made for his spaghetti, slathered in a homemade meat based sauce, wondering what it would taste like. His stomach turned at the thought, but at the same time he couldn’t leave the evidence for long. He’d have to work through all of it over the next month. Eventually, someone might want to investigate what he had in his freezers, and there could be nothing left by the time they came searching.

He popped a whole meatball into his mouth and chewed, finding it to be surprisingly delicious. A funny thought popped into his head, and he laughed as he continued to eat. He was finally enjoying a nice dinner with his family.