fact or fiction
Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about copycat killers, eyewitnesses testimony, what makes a murderer and more.
DEADWOOD
From the diary of Alice Tubbs. August 2, 1876. Deadwood, Black Hills Dear Mother, I'd come in on the stage, less than a week ago, but I was desperate for money. I was now a widow, and there weren’t a lot of employment options available for women in the town of Deadwood—if town wasn’t too fancy a name for the meager sprawl of unpainted false-fronted frame buildings along the single rutted muddy street.
By R. E. Perry5 years ago in Criminal
Sleeping Operative
Days like today are when Daniel likes to think back to his youth when he served in the Marines, the friends he made, the lessons he learned and the experiences he had; unlike most ex-service men who would do anything to forget the horrors they saw. He was on target to make Sergeant by the end of his third year of service, this however was too good to be true. A bad motorcycle accident spelled the end of his career and was discharged in 2012 at the age of 24.
By Edward Richardson5 years ago in Criminal
The Route Back
A door swings quietly open, whisking in a stranger from the black hole he draws shut behind him. Autumn leaves rush the airlock. One in one out, caressing the cobble stone floor. The dogs eyes rise from his silent dance with the fire and back again. Gravy overflows from plates. Drinks are spilled. Laughter can be heard from the front half of the bar. Towards the back they become disgruntled and hard to make out.
By Tor Sanderson5 years ago in Criminal
The Cleanup Kid
The feelings of shame plunge into the souls of the unlearned telling them “Your ill-fortune is incurable and makes you less than your peers”. There is no hiding the fact that illiteracy is a growing problem in America, especially when you consider the number of everyday activities associated with being able to read and write. Sometimes, though, when an indefatigable safeguard believes in a dark horse more than they believe in themselves anything is possible, despite a few secrets. My name is Michael Quinton Chester, and this is what happened in 8th grade. “I do not want to assign your son to suspension again Mr. Chester. Incarceration rates seem to be higher for students who are constantly being removed from the classrooms, especially young men. I know Michael is a good kid and I think our new 2-week OST (Out-of-School Time) program will serve him well, free of charge,” said James Booker Sr, Principal of Big Peach Middle School. My father responded sarcastically, “Aww thank you so kindly sir. While you are at it you may want to consider disciplining your own seed so that he stops bullying my son all the time. Entitlement is a pandemic you know!” as we exited the room. My father taught me to never put my hands on a woman even when she decided to put hers on me unless my life depended on it. As for guys, he told me to always get the last lick, so it was no surprise that he never really gave me a hard time about defending myself at school. Still, it was frustrating getting on the bus every morning knowing that I had one more strike before getting expelled. Next, came the day when I would first meet my OST mentor, Pamela Lee, also better known as Ms. Mesia. She was small but undeniably strong, which became apparent when my hand was just about crushed when we greeted one another. Her leathery skin had a pale Nordic tone that was covered in freckles along with a head full of corkscrew curls that were dyed jet black. You could tell that this was an old lady who was trying to maintain her youth! She would often use trendy slang when talking to me and was always checking her cell phone to appear as if she were busy. As bougie as ole Pamela appeared it was hard to believe that she was the Big Peach Middle School custodian. My OST daily routine for the next couple of weeks consisted of three task: Complete a goal-oriented check-in with Ms. Mesia, Takeout/replace all trash bins, and do an outer premises walkthrough to report any damages found. Sounds like exhausting work for a fourteen-year-old right? Well, it wasn’t for me because afterwards I always had the black book to look forward to! Since I lived on the edge of our school district coupled with the heavy traffic in Atlanta, I had about an hour of free time before my dad would arrive. Ms. Mesia would keep repeating: “Pick a date between 1971 and present day,” until I blurted out an answer. That little black book of hers was a fictionalized memoir about a kid who was illiterate, or so I was told, that held over 17,000 stories. A story for each day beginning with Tuesday, January 26th,1971. Ms. Mesia made an effort to read to me every day once I told her why I kept getting into trouble. The aggravating pest that I continued to let get under my skin was none other than James Booker Jr., aka “J.J.”, the principal’s son. He was an awkward lanky shaped guy that towered over everyone that he came across. You could always find the basketball standout leaned up against a wall twirling his blonde dreadlocks with his entourage surrounding him. Other than sports I am sure his favorite pastime was teasing me about not knowing how to read or write, which wasn’t even a big problem until he started getting physical with his shenanigans. Have you ever started off as the victim of a situation but ended up being the attacker? Yes, that was me every time. Ms. Mesia wanted to make sure I no longer had to deal with nonsense from any tormentors ever again, so she vowed to me that when I completed the OST program, she would work with me to become fully literate in a matter of months! She even gave me her black book as collateral until she had fulfilled her promise. Her only rule was that I did not open the book. Then came the unexpected bad news along with some good news too. The good news is that I finished the 2-week program, and I did not have to deal with J.J. since he supposedly transferred to another school across town to play for a better basketball program. The bad news was… well, I was told by Principal James that Ms. Mesia had taken medical leave due to viral pneumonia. Poof! Just like that I had lost my biggest support. My father would say, “She’ll get better shortly so no tears in this house Mikey. Tears make your skin soft.” He promoted stereotypical masculinity often. During my mentor’s absence, the principal went from being a disciplinarian who seem to always have it out for me, to becoming the most freehearted person I had ever met! I come from humble beginnings, so I was not use to such treatment. While in class one day, the principal’s voice came over the intercom telling me to report to him. I can just about remember every single word that came out of his mouth when I sat down in his office. He said something along the lines of: “First and foremost I want to apologize on my son’s behalf for all of the torment that he put you through. Secondly, I admit my wrongdoing because I should have done something sooner. The truth is I love my son so much that I have unknowingly enabled him his entire life. I want to make things right and I have already gotten permission from your dad if you choose to accept this offer. Starting next week, I want to pay for you to have a private tutor that will teach you the necessary skills needed to read and write. Perry Dunn is the most sought out private tutor in the nation and he just so happens to live 35 miles away.” Did I mention that Principal James was weeping hysterically throughout this entire interaction? It was weird but of course I said, “Yes”! This was a blessing considering that our public school system did not offer any tutoring services which meant that the only people who could even get that extra help were those who could afford private sessions. Next week came and I could not wait to meet Mr. Dunn after school! The principal was out-front where the car-rider pickup was waiting for me in his 1960 Jaguar E-Type ready to take me to the Dunn residence. As we pulled into the driveway, I was handed an envelope. Principal James then emphasizes that, “There is $20,000 dollars inside here. It will cover your 3-month tutoring term. He charges roughly $225.00 a session. Hand this to Perry upon greeting him because I can’t go pass the gate with you.” Apparently, Mr. Dunn was a paranoid individual who would not let more than one person approach his doorstep. It felt surreal to have that much money in my hand and scary at the same time. I guess miracles do happen because within 90 days I had learned how to read, write in print, and write in cursive! My father could not have been prouder that his son broke the generational curse. I could not even go to sleep the night I graduated 8th grade, so I stayed up watching television with the subtitles on to show off a bit. I started flipping the channels during a commercial break and I saw it. “We are following the breaking news in Peachville, Georgia where a 60-year-old woman by the name of Pamela Lee is in custody after a desperate police search inside her apartment leads officers to finding a fourteen-year-old male who had been held captive for several months. Lee is now serving a life sentence for kidnapping,” reported by Glendale Thomas on Channel 7 Action News. I could not believe it, but it was true. Eventually Ms. Mesia called from prison to explain everything and I was to never hear from her again. It turns out that she had been holding J.J. for ransom until Principal James found a way to get me the private tutoring that I needed to become fully literate. Why would she go through all that trouble though if she could have just taught me herself, I wondered? She instructed me to open the black book to explain. To my surprise all the pages were empty. You see there was a reason that she did not go by Pamela. Her mother nicknamed her Mesia because it was short for hyperthymesia. This is a real and rare condition that gives a person the ability to remember just about every event of their life in detail. That so called “fictionalized memoir” inside the black book was her story beginning when she was just 10 years old. She simply used the book to give off the impression that she was in fact reading. That is why she was always able to show empathy to what I was going through. Before we hung up the phone she concluded, “I am so immensely proud of you kid. You did it! I want you to take that black book and use your new skills. You always had so many creative ideas, so I encourage you to put them all down in that book! Cherish every page. Lastly, always remember to never trade your own authenticity for someone else’s approval.” Wow, crazy right? I have mixed feelings about this entire experience. The true definition of nostalgia in my opinion.
By Dwayne Ellis5 years ago in Criminal
Just Another Day in Bangkok
The driver pulled to the curb so that the sole passenger could exit. Ray Crews handed the man cash for the fare, then opened the door of the vintage VW and stepped onto the street. Water gushed along the curb spilling over his shoes. He strained to hear the cab driver muttering something that sounded like "cheap bastard," followed by an obscene laugh. He shrugged, then looked at the sign above his head. A large yellow neon read; "American Chick Bar." Crew's shook his head from side to side and thought, "Just another day in Bangkok."
By Mark E Stripling5 years ago in Criminal
The Mailman
Chapter One: Spoiled Milk The floor was a disheveled pile of memories. A trail of time-worn photos and crumpled drawings pointed to the center of the room where the ghost of a woman sat limply on her knees, staring at the ceiling hopelessly. Paralyzed by pain, Stephanie Briggs barely had enough strength to open her eyes, let alone sit up straight. With each slow, rhythmic circle of the ceiling fan, a new thought interrupted her sanity: What kind of mother am I? How could I not know? Why did he do this?
By Mandy Berry5 years ago in Criminal
A Piece of Her
From the instant they sat down at her favorite diner in town for chocolate chip pancakes, that was it; she fell, hard and fast. They talked about everything, which was rare for both of them to open up, to anyone. Their most ridiculous fears, like his spiders and her zombies. Their dreams of what they wanted to be when they were little, his dream to be a cowboy. Their pipe dreams, her dream to become a writer. And their deepest, darkest secrets which they guarded very close to themselves. They made each other laugh, a lot. Almost too much sometimes that they’d have to catch their breath. And at night, being together was the rawest form of passion she had ever felt in her entire life.
By Nik Commisso5 years ago in Criminal
little black book
Days like today are when Daniel likes to think back to his youth when he served in the Marines, the friends he made, the lessons he learned and the experiences he had; unlike most ex-service men who would do anything to forget the horrors they saw. He was on target to make Sergeant by the end of his third year of service, this however was too good to be true. A bad motorcycle accident spelled the end of his career and was discharged in 2012 at the age of 24.
By Edward Richardson5 years ago in Criminal
NIGHTMARE NIGHBOR
I moved into an apartment complex in April of last year. Me and my daughter were living together, I just wanted my own place, my own space. Now I wish I had of waited before I moved into this place. The shooting and people fighting every other weekend and my upstairs neighbor fighting with someone. One night I heard her daughter, crying telling them to stop. I called the police because I thought it was a man jumping abusing her. The police road around the neighborhood that night, and never did got of their cars. I thought that was odd, I told them that I thought that my neighbor was in trouble. I forgot what type of neighbor I was in. Well, this went on over other weekend. I soon found out that it wasn't a man she was fighting with, it was someone she called her sister. When it happen again, I didn't bother to call the police. I just was concerned about her daughter who had to witness this.
By Queen CeeCee5 years ago in Criminal
