Short stories & poems

The flames jumped into the sky from the building as Jeff watched from across the street. He had been called out after the fire started, but his job wouldn’t start till it was extinguished. The paint store seemed like a likely candidate for an accidental fire. He knew the place well, he had done several inspections there when he was the towns fire inspector, and he had written them up several times for storing old paint in a closed in space. This was going to be an easy one.

When the fire started to die down Jeff walked across the street to talk to Mike, the fire chief. He was a heavy set man with a mustache that he thought made him look distinguished, but most people thought made him look ridiculous. Still he was well liked and had been doing this job for almost 20 years.

“Hey Mike, what do you think?” Jeff asked, “I think those idiots probably stored their paint inappropriately again and it finally caught up with them.” Mike said sarcastically. Jeff knew he would know more when he got a chance to look at the evidence himself.

The owner of the paint store was standing over by what used to be the door and was shaking his head in disgust, Jeff thought maybe it was an act but would talk to him to see what he had to say first.

“Hey Bill, sorry about the fire.” He said as Jeff shook his hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now? We had just put in the ventilation room for the old paint before we would send it out for recycling like you had suggested in the past.” Jeff looked surprised and asked “You had the paint separated? Why hadn’t you done that earlier?”, “We couldn’t afford it when you were the inspector but our business started to take off and we could finally afford the extra cost.” Jeff nodded and knew that maybe this would be more difficult than he thought.

Walking into the charred remains of the building he went to where the new room had been built and noticed the remnants of the ventilation system Bill had mentioned. It was true they had put it in, so maybe this was just a freak accident or arson, but he didn’t notice anything that looked like the start of a fire in the new room. He walked over to the front of the building behind what had been the front desk area and that is when he saw it, the cause of the fire.

Leaning down Jeff picked up the remains of a plastic container and what looked like burn marks up the sides of the counter area. Jeff ran his finger along the burn marks and smelled his finger, kerosene. It burned hot and fast, and was a great accelerant for fires. Someone had started this fire, but who and why.

He was going to have to walk out and tell the fire chief that he suspected arson, and a further investigation was going to be necessary. The firemen where going to have to wait to clean any more of the debri out of the ruins for now, and he wasn’t going to be able to talk to Bill since it was possible he was the one that started the fire for maybe insurance money. He thought that was unlikely only because he was finally having success with his business.

“Hey Mike come here.” He yelled. “What’s up Jeff?”, “I think we have an arson.” Then he showed Mike the piece of the kerosene container that he found. Mike looked at him and then at the piece of red plastic he had in his hand. “Wow, I bet he is the one that did it for the insurance money.” Jeff then explained to him that he didn’t think so since Bill was saying that his business was finally starting to do well. Mike nodded and said he needed to head back to his car so he could call his wife and tell him he would be late.

Jeff looked back down at the plastic piece and thought to himself, _Who would want to do this? _He looked up to where Mike’s car was and saw him pull something out of the back of his car. “No way” he said under his breath. Mike had just pulled out a red container out of his back seat and put it in his trunk, and it looked as though it was missing a chunk out of it…_I hope this isn’t going to end like I think it is _he thought to himself as he walked over to Mike.

The fighter stepped into the ring, brimming with confidence, ready to demonstrate his strength and skill. His opponent towered over him, a massive figure with broad shoulders and a heavy frame, but he moved with the sluggishness of someone who’d forgotten how to fight in their prime. Easy pickings, if he played it right.

The first punch came fast, aimed to incapacitate—hard and swift—but to his surprise, the larger man barely flinched. Instead, he just grunted and adjusted his posture, as if daring him to try again.

Taking a moment to recalibrate, the fighter focused. This was about more than raw strength; it was about precision, finesse, and outsmarting him. Ducking under a wild swing, he twisted and struck—this time, a controlled jab to the ribs. It wasn’t about knocking him out with one blow; it was about wearing him down.

The man staggered, a grimace crossing his face as he fought to catch his breath. His footing wavered, and it was clear the tide was turning. Another strike—a quick, sharp blow to his solar plexus—and the larger man crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, unable to rise.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but the fighter didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. Victory wasn’t about strength or size. It was about control—the kind of control that didn’t require muscle, just knowing when to strike, and when to wait.

Inside of the church lays the dead body of the pope in the city of Gardon. It was a mess. There was broken glass everywhere, blood stains on the walls that looked fresh, and there were foot prints out the big brown double doors. Detective Bartley suspected that someone came in and killed the pope with a dagger, because it was hidden under the long carpet underneath the benches. “GET OUT NOW”! Someone said in a demonic voice. Detective Bartley didn’t wait a moment longer. He sprinted out of the church slippped down the the stairs and ran into the church’s warehouse not to far away. But there was one problem. It was dark, and he heard that voice once more. “I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE” The warehouse filled with toxic Posion and it filled his lungs fast.

As I slide the bag across the table, the hooded figure’s lips form a snarl.

“Where the hell did you get this?” They asked, rage boiling over.

I prop my legs up on the table, interlocking my fingers. “I believe I should be asking you the questions here, pal.”

Their eyes widened at the coldness in voice, then their gaze turns to realization. I had caught them red-handed. I throw a few pieces of paper on the table, along with some pictures.

“Does this man look familiar?” I ask harshly, pointing a finger at one of the pictures. The man’s name was David Woods, his hair unkempt and dirty, just like his face… and his backstory.

The figure it front of me opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it as no words come out.

I clear my throat. “So, David,” I continue, a smirk forming on my face as I figured out the person in front of me was the criminal in the pictures, “What did you do to Amelia? You cannot lie! We’ve got you cornered!”

He throws his hands in the air in defense, “Nothing! We have past relations, sure, but I didn’t lay a finger on her!”

I grimace as I realize what I had to do. I put the gloves I had on a few moments ago back on and unzip the bag I had slid across the table. Inside, was the remains of Amelia, I throw a lab result paper at him. It was a fingerprint scan, and his fingerprints matched exactly to the ones on the bag.

“You’re sick,” I mutter, shaking my head in disgust. A stupid and lying criminal? How absurd can someone be?

                                           ***

Finally, after months of hard labor, my work on this case had come to an end. I watch on the TV as David Woods gets charged with life in prison with no parole for the unspeakable things he did to Amelia. People can say fingerprints are insipid all they want, but as a detective, they can make or break a case. In David’s instance? They had made sure he’d never see the sun again.

Case closed.

I sat with my lighter in my hand flickering it on and off, then on and off again. Other then my lighter flicking, the room was dark and dusty.

The phone on the bedside table buzzed, lighting up and showing the name “Mark Heisenberg, FBI”

This was, unfortunately, a more of a normal call then non. Mark had helped me get my name out of several cases and made sure I kept my job. “Hey Mark, what’s the problem this time?” A voice, deep and country like responded from the other end “Problem? Can’t a friend call for fun?” “Did you?” “No, not at all, your name was brought up in the Magnus case. He asked for you especially to interrogate him”

Out of all the times Mark called me, this was by far the weirdest way my name was brought up. Last time, for example, there was a possible arson threat at my property.

             “Why me? There’s at least a hundred agents active currently “

The other end of the phone grew quite. And while the other end was silent, I grew impatient. While I was holding my lighter before, I had set it down when Mark had called. When it comes to business, personal or work, the caller gets my undivided attention. A crackle came from Marks end as he finally said “Magnus says he’s your son” My face had gone white, and if I were standing up I was not anymore. This new was impossible, my son had died in my very arms on December 3rd, at exactly 12:40. I remember the time and day so clearly, it was like it was my birthday. “My son is died Mark, you know this” “I know this, but unfortunately, his DNA says otherwise “

The Devil’s Game

In the shadows of a moonlit city, two figures faced each other on the rooftop of a towering skyscraper. Alastor, the elusive spy known for his silver tongue and impeccable stealth, stood with his pistol aimed at the figure in front of him. Lucifer, the infamous assassin whose name sent chills down the spines of the underworld, smirked as she twirled a dagger between her fingers.

“Missed me again, Alastor,” Lucifer teased, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. Her leather jacket clung to her frame, blending into the night, while her crimson scarf fluttered in the wind like a warning.

“One of these days, I won’t,” Alastor shot back, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. He was dressed in a sleek black suit, every inch the professional, though his loosened tie betrayed the chaos she always brought into his life.

“You’ve been saying that for years,” she replied, taking a step closer.

They had crossed paths too many times, each encounter a game of cat and mouse where neither fully committed to finishing the other off. She was a contract killer, and he was a spy tasked with taking her down. Yet, somehow, they always ended up sparring with words as much as weapons.

Tonight was no different—except for the way the air between them felt charged, heavier than usual.

“You could make this easier and just surrender,” Alastor said, his tone laced with mock patience.

Lucifer let out a low, sultry laugh. “Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary, darling.” She closed the distance between them in a single, fluid motion, pressing the flat edge of her dagger against his jaw.

His gun was still aimed at her chest, yet neither moved.

“You’re predictable, you know that?” she whispered, her voice dangerously soft.

“Predictable keeps me alive,” he countered, his sharp blue eyes locking onto hers.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The city hummed below them, its lights casting a faint glow over their tense standoff.

“Tell me, Alastor,” Lucifer said, tilting her head. “If you had the chance to kill me, would you really pull the trigger?”

Alastor swallowed hard. He knew the answer. He always had.

“No,” he admitted, lowering the gun slightly. “But I’m not sure why.”

Lucifer’s smirk softened into something almost tender, though she quickly masked it with her usual bravado. “You’re not half as cold-hearted as you pretend to be. That’s why you’ll never catch me.”

“And you’re not half as ruthless as you think,” he replied, his voice quieter now. “If you were, I’d already be dead.”

Their weapons lowered in unison, but neither stepped back. Instead, Lucifer leaned in, her lips hovering close to his ear.

“You don’t hate me, Alastor,” she murmured. “You hate that you can’t stop wanting me.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for once, Alastor was at a loss. Lucifer pulled away with a knowing look, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as she stepped toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Until next time, spy,” she called over her shoulder before leaping off the side of the building.

Alastor rushed to the edge, his heart pounding as he watched her land gracefully on the fire escape below, disappearing into the night.

He stood there for a long time, the weight of her words lingering in the cool night air.

He didn’t hate her. He never had.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

“What happened here?” said the detective walking up to the scene of the crime, the police chief replied with a tired sigh “It looks like the male victim had his ribs removed, broken off one by one while he was already dead. We found a bottle in the sink. It was poison. His lungs were crushed as well as his spine snapped. Also, we found this craved into his back.” The corpse lying on its side then walked around to the other side to see a symbol of a satanic star torn into the flesh of its back. “Oh my…” she smirked stepping back a few steps as the detective covered her face to hide a smile. Just below the satanic star, there were words cut across the corpse's back that said “Alius angelus de caelo cecidit” which translates from Latin to English “Another angel fell from heaven”. The Chief noticed her smiling as she was covering her face. He asked her “Why are you smiling? Who are you really?”. Her jacket started to move and tighten as the seems began to rip, her shoes bursted open to reveal hooves and her jacket fell apart to the ground as large wings unfolded and spread across the crime scene with blue and red lights bursting into the dark night sky flashing onto every surface at the crime scene and every cops face with each flash revealed more and more the horror on thier faces. “I am… The light bringer and I have a message from God.” silence fell. “Here comes the fall of man for it is now the rise of woman.”

It wasn’t easy. I knew this would happen, but that doesn’t mean it was easy. In fact, it was probably the hardest thing I’d had in a decade. He was there, and then he was not.

Alexander portrayed himself as sweet. And, for a while, I would have agreed. However, slowly but surely, he would show signs of manipulativeness, dishonesty and carelessness.

I’ll always remember the promise he made when we were younger.

“I’ll never hurt you. I promise you have nothing to fear.”

That was how I remembered it, but who knows, maybe it was a bit more childish. But the word fear. The word was there, the fear was not. Not when we were children. But now so many people fear him.

He was gone now. He hurt me.

I’d always thought pinky promises were for real, you know? Yet, he made one and look where it had gotten me.

Maybe, one day, I won’t fall for his stupid tricks and actually believe him.

Maybe, one day, he’ll come back.

But that day, he won’t see me. Because his promise killed me.

He’ll see the blood on his hands, he’ll see me in my coffin like he put my sister in, and maybe he’ll finally see that what he’s doing is wrong.

Killing people is wrong. Especially your own girlfriend. Especially your best friend’s sister.

But maybe, one day, he’ll see the gravity of what he’d done. Maybe he’ll think, “Shit. What I did led to my best friend killing himself.”

But maybe he’ll never think at all.

There’s a world of possibilities, ones which I will never be able to see. But… dead, I’m safer this way. Safer from him.

They’re all just maybes at this point.

Maybe.

When we were young, no more than seven and nine, my older sister and I made a pact. We’d promised each other we’d never leave the other one alone in this world. As I look down at my sister resting peacefully in her coffin, I can’t help but feel betrayed.

I couldn’t even tell you all that’s happened in the past five days. All I can tell you is that I’ve been numb. I’m devoid of all feeling, my heart ripped out and ripped into teeny tiny pieces.

“Bella?” My cousin Edgar comes up behind me and squeezes my shoulder softly before pulling me into a full embrace.

I hug him tightly, taking in the smell of fresh marijuanna and old tobacco mixed with Dial men’s body wash.

“She was an absolutely amazing person, the most loving and caring me I knew. Nothing can take that away from her.” He says into my ear.

“If this wasn’t her choice, I’d be more included to believe that.” I whisper back. Edgar is the only one I would ever admit that too.

For everyone else, I’ve got to put on a brave face and protect my sisters legacy. There’s already so much talk. So many pitiful glances shot my way.

Edgar steps back with a miserable look on his face, like he’s battling an inner demon and IBS at the same time. “Don’t think like that. It will only make this harder.”

“I don’t see how my sisters suicide, where I found her, mind you, could be any harder than it already is.” I say acerbically and stomp away.

You try heading over to your sisters apartment like you do every Wednesday night only to find the door ajar and blood soaking the carpet beneath her wrists. You try being the one to sprint over to her side, only to find that’s she’s already gone.

You try being the one to call 911 and get questioned about something you don’t understand by dozens of men in blue. You try to process the bored expressions of those men as they close the case immediately because, obviously, this was a suicide.

I stand next to the only window in this depressing funeral home. It’s a view of the parking lot and the liquor store right across the street. Expect the L isn’t lit up like the rest do the letters, so it looks like ‘iqour Store. The drapes look like they’re from 1970, but their once happy yellow looks more like the pus that comes out of an infected wound. It matches the carpet, and equally appealing aged beige.

“Are you Bella?” A soft female voice calls from behind me.

I turn around slowly and take her in. Shes short, just over 5-foot, with brown eyes the color of dead leaves. She wears an easy smile on het face, if not a slightly nervous one.

“I am. And you are?

“Delilah. I was friends with your sister. I’m so sorry for your loss, she was such a kind soul.” She smiles again, but it doesn’t meet her sad eyes.

“I knew all my sister’s friends. How come I don’t know you?” Claire and I had all the same friends. We were inseparable, almost to an unhealthy extreme.

“Claire and I had only just met a few months ago,” she starts, looking a tad bit nervous. “We were seeing each other.”

“Oh.” Claire never told me she was into women. But then again, I didn’t know she was into anybody.

“You found her, didn’t you?” Delilah asks.

I nod, doing my best not to remember the gruesome scene.

“How did she… look?” She asks.

“What, you mean besides dead?” Who would ask something like that?

“I’m so sorry,” Delilah says again, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s all my fault.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She’s dead because of me.” Delilah looks like she’s about to break down in the middle of the funeral hall.

I pull her aside and we walk into the woman’s bathroom. “It wasn’t your fault. It was my sister’s decision.”

Tears flow freely down her face. “No, no it wasn’t.” She buries her face in her hands. “He did this to her, I just know he did. I told Claire not to get involved, but she just couldn’t help herself.” Delilah bursts into full on sobs now.

“Who? Who did what?” I’m so beyond confused right now. Is she saying my sister didn’t kill herself?

“Brody, it had to have been Brody.” Delilah brings her face up to meet my eyes. “I owe him a lot of money. I used to sell for him, but some kid stole my entire month’s worth of inventory. It was over $100,000 worth of drugs. I couldn’t go to the police, but when I told Claire, she said she was going to. The next thing I hear, Claire’s dead!” She keeps sobbing.

I try to take all this in. My sister may have not chosen to abandon me after all…….

TO BE CONTINUED

Me and my friends were playing a game I made up. We called it, escape the Killer! The rules were you had to find items while being hunted so you'd be able to unlock the door and escape the killer! You had 1 minute to do so, but if you didn't, the door would unlock, and the killer would count to 10, and you'd have to run as fast as you could, as the killer now had a gun! But the trick was the killer now knew your every move so there was no more hiding! You had to make it to base before the killer caught you or “killed” you or you're out!

I was selected to be the killer this round. I counted to 20 and waited for my friends to run off, I heard the Pitter patter of their feet and giggled. one I reached 20 I said,” Here I come!” Before skipping off around my house. The first person I found was my friend Katie. She was being really loud in a room and I skipped on in, seeing her feet peaking from under the bed. I giggled before walking out and hiding behind the door, and when she walked out bam! I hit her with the pillow I had and she fell on the ground giggling and screaming, and then laid there as if I actually killed her!

I ran off and looked around, hearing movement in the kitchen but not seeing anyone. I assumed it was my friend Keith as he was a good hider and really sneaky! It doesn't matter tho as I'll just get him later.

The next person I found was my friend Kayla, who was oh so kind to sacrifice herself for Mattie! I walked in on Them finding an item and Kayla spotted me, but before I could get to her and Mattie she shoved the item into Mattie's hand and pushed her into the hall! Damn this double-door room! I gave her a good beating with the pillow for that! She was screaming so loud it almost felt real.

Now it was only her and Keith left, and there were only 20 seconds left on the clock! I spotted Mattie and chased her for a bit, and I almost had her, but when I grabbed her she was crying, which threw me off and allowed her to escape. Why was she crying?it was just a game?

I was thinking about stopping the game but then my alarm went off, starting the most fun part. I'd laugh like I was crazy to add effect. I then counted to ten before speaking,

“Your time is up! Better run!”I scream loud enough for Them to hear before grabbing my toy gun and my tracker I had placed on them earlier and skipping towards the little dots. By the time I got close to the dots, they were already running out the door, and of course, I quickly chased after them!

They were so fast! They almost made it to base but I managed to hit Keith in the foot with one of my shots, maddie tried to help him up and quickly pulled him around a corner, probably forgetting I could see them! When I walked around the corner, Mattie was trying to pull Keith over a fence, but I shot him in the arm before he could, making him fall. I then walked up to him lying on the ground looking scared. He was so dramatic! so I decided to be just as dramatic as I pulled the pillow back out and started hitting him with it. He screamed so loud before stopping, but I kept hitting him.

I looked up at Mattie who was watching with a scared look on her face, she was still crying “Why are you crying? It's just a game” I'd say in-between giggles, but she looked angry now.

I climbed over the fence, about to get her to, when she suddenly hit me! She wasn't supposed to fight back?! She then tackled me, hitting me multiple times with my pillow! “You're cheating!” I shouted as I pressed the barrel of my fake gun and pulled it, making her fall off. I quickly climbed on her, grabbed my pillow, and hit her in the face with it multiple times till she stopped moving.

I stood up off of her and threw the pillow at her face “Cheater!” I'd say, but suddenly began to cough. I covered my mouth and once I stopped coughing I saw glitter on my hand, but the more I blinked, the more it seemed to melt into a liquidy red substance.

“Y-you hurt me..” I said as tears began to fill my eyes, but as I looked back at Mattie, something looked off. The pillow-it wasn't a pillow anymore. It looked like something stuck in her face.

Then suddenly I'd remember. We weren't 10 anymore, and I stopped playing games long ago, so why am I now? I mean, the game was stupid and didn't even make sense!

I'd touch my face, feeling the same sticky red stuff on my face before looking back at Keith, who was now lying in a pool of blood, before looking at Mattie, who had an axe stuck in her face

I fall to my knees, the sharp pain in my stomach getting stronger and my vision going dark as I slowly realize that it wasn't a game.