Tag Archives: mystery story

What Truly Lies At the Bottom of the Bermuda Triangle – Fiction Short Story — Science-Fiction (Sci-Fi) — Mystery

The Bermuda Triangle has been a subject of mystery for decades. It is unknown what truly lies at the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle. Hence, a team of scientists and researchers has been diligently striving to find a way to get down there and record their findings. What they found changes what has been canonically taught in science and history for centuries.

‘I got it!’ Eric enthused, running across the corridor and sliding into the main conference room where sat Esme, Jason and their project’s leader, Henry. ‘I got it working! No amount of magnetic pull or interference will affect the alloy!’

Henry grinned. ‘Well, then, we know what we have to do next. Good work, Eric!’

‘Thank you, Sir!’

Several weeks later.

Eric stood before the team, pacing to and fro excitedly as he explained everything they needed to know.

‘This way, the synthetic material that imitates metal but isn’t metal cannot be affected by anything that would otherwise affect any other type of metal found on this earth.’

He paused and pointed at the displayed image on the whiteboard. ‘Once the water pressure kicks in, it’ll be important that we don our suits. While the sub has all the necessary components to remain undamaged, were the unthinkable to happen, we’ll need an effective and safe way to get back up to the surface alive.’

Eric walked over to where a mannequin wore a special underwater suit. ‘Our suits are designed to withstand the underwater pressure, are bulletproof, and the self-contained oxygen renewal system will allow us to breathe…basically forever. And the jetpacks will propel us to the surface faster than any other type of jetpack to have ever existed.’

‘That’s all great for surviving down there,’ began Jason, ‘but what about the recording equipment?’

‘Also designed to withstand the same kinds of pressure and anomalies we ourselves might face down there,’ explained Eric. ‘We should be able to maintain a connection with Henry — I mean Major Henry — and the surface team, but if that connection is severed, we can still record everything and bring it to the surface with us when we return.’

‘And you’re certain everything is safe and ready?’ demanded Henry.

‘Yes, Sir.,’ replied Eric. He was more than confident they would succeed, and he did his best to quell the giddy excitement he felt at the prospect of discovering history-changing truths.

‘A lot is riding on this,’ breathed Esme. ‘While I’m confident we’ll survive the trip down and back, if we fail… The government put a lot of money into this project.’

‘A lot of money from a lot of countries,’ corrected Henry. ‘They’re going to have a lot of difficulty explaining where people’s tax money went if this fails. If the project succeeds, then we’ll have one hell of a story to tell people about the Bermuda Triangle.’

‘Then let’s make sure we don’t fail!’ declared Jason.

Eric bounced excitedly behind Esme. ‘Jason, your brother’s acting like a five-year-old again,’ Esme teased.

Eric playfully slapped her arm as Jason chuckled. Jason felt warmth in his heart, for here he was, living a dream, with the woman he loved and his brother. He winked at Esme before bringing the submersible further into the depths of the ocean floor.

‘We’re finally doing this, we’re here!’ exclaimed Eric. ‘And it’s all thanks to my technological innovations.’

‘You really are a genius, I must admit,’ said Esme.

‘All right,’ said Jason, ‘taking us close to the Triangle itself.’

They had submerged into the Atlantic farther north and now were moving towards their destination. Jason was nearly as excited as his brother was, but had always been able to maintain more calm.

‘Bringing long-range scanners on the scope,’ Jason announced. He looked back at his brother. ‘Eric, sit down.’

Eric rolled his eyes. ‘Fine.’ He flipped some switches on his devices and began processing the data coming in.

‘Opening a channel,’ said Esme. ‘Sir, can you read me?’

‘Loud and clear, Esme,’ Henry’s voice came through. ‘I can see the data you’re transmitting along with the visuals.’

‘Excellent. Jason’s taking us to it.’

‘Any magnetic pulses or scramblings yet?’ asked Henry.

‘None whatsoever,’ replied Esme, ‘all thanks to Eric.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

Everyone fell quiet as a distant mountain of debris came into view. Jason readjusted his vector, taking the sub in closer and angling it to go around the pile of scraps.

‘My god,’ breathed Esme. ‘This is a whole underwater graveyard of ships. We’ve got 15th Century ships as much as 20th Century cruise ships.’

‘That’s not all,’ said Eric. ‘Not only are scanners picking up older tech, but look,’ he pointed at a structure within the pile of rubble. ‘Those are planes, that one’s a U.S. P51 Mustang. Those were used during the Second World War.’

‘There’s got to be hundreds of crashed and sunken ships and aircraft down here,’ said Esme.

‘I’m taking us around the debris,’ informed Jason. ‘But isn’t it strange how the pile just goes higher and higher?’

‘That’s true,’ Eric agreed. ‘The closer to the centre of the triangle the sunken aircraft and ships pile up, the higher the pile becomes.’

‘Could the explanation be a stronger magnetic pull in the centre of the triangle?’ Henry asked from the other side of the line.

‘Negative, Sir,’ replied Eric. ‘Scans are showing the same amount of magnetic interference being equally distributed everywhere.’

‘That’s odd. I was certain the explanation would remain within typical logical reasoning.’

Esme folded her arms, grinning. ‘Are you saying you’re finally coming around to the idea of aliens, Sir?’

Henry sighed. ‘No, but I’m not ruling that out either. Be it, aliens, the earth’s natural magnetism or whatnot, we can’t rule anything out yet. In fact,’ there was a bit of static — ‘so that we can then…’

‘Sir? You’re breaking up, Sir. Henry?’ Esme sighed. ‘We lost contact with the surface.’


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Gauging the Murderer – Fiction Short Story — Detective — Mystery

Igby pored over the documentation regarding the evidence of the agency’s latest victim.

‘What are we missing?’ he asked his colleague.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ replied Sylvie. ‘We’ve got a body, no prints, no murder weapon, we searched the crime scene thoroughly.’

‘And we questioned all possible suspects the victim was in contact with recently,’ completed Igby. ‘Do we know anything about him, aside from the fact that he was an early retiree bodyguard who worked with many prestigious figures?’

‘He moved to the U.S. a few years ago,’ replied Sylvie, ‘but nothing indicates that during his time living here he made any enemies.’

‘Could someone from the U.K. have followed him, wanted revenge, maybe an enemy of someone he worked for?’

‘He worked for so many important people; ministers, C.E.O.s, the Princess,’ Sylvie listed. ‘It would be hard to pinpoint any link to any of their enemies and we know all these folks rack up a number of people who want to take them down.’

‘A large number of people, who are already behind bars or six feet under thanks to our victim’s diligent work,’ concluded Igby. ‘All right, maybe we missed something at the crime scene. Let’s go back, see if we find anything new.’

‘Lead the way!’

After several hours of going over the same scene, and finding the same evidence, Igby and Sylvie still came up empty.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said slowly walking around the rich home’s living room. ‘He’s got all these elaborate weapons on display, and yet none of them is the murder weapon.’

‘Our murderer went for something small and simple, something that doesn’t stand out…evidently.’ Igby continued to look around as he spoke. ‘A few millimetres in diameter, that’s the size of the puncture wound in the neck. Nothing here fits that.’

‘And there are signs of minimal struggle,’ added Sylvie, ‘meaning our victim was caught off guard. Maybe he knew his murderer.’ Sylvie stopped and stared at the couch where the struggle took place. ‘Mr. Preston bled out. Probably had a few moments to realize he was done for before he died.’

‘Probably saw his murderer’s face,’ mused Igby, as he looked at his reflection in the lavish mirror that hung on the wall next to a great broadsword that looked like something out of the sixteen hundreds. Through the reflection, he saw dawn was minutes away. He turned to Sylvie. ‘Maybe, we need to search outside the box.’

‘We’ve gone through this crime scene and searched the entire house thrice over,’ noted Sylvie.

‘But did we search outside thrice over?’

‘You think we missed something out there?’ asked Sylvie.

‘It’s worth taking a look.’

‘You’re the boss.’

They headed outside. Igby let out a low whistle. ‘Every time I see that barbecue it baffles me. It’s huge and looks so elaborate. Look at it.’

‘They’re called eggs,’ Sylvie replied, a teasing smile on her lips. ‘They’re considered the best charcoal barbecues on the market.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t look so astonished, Mister I-Only-Cook-Craft-Dinners.’

‘Hey, that’s not true and you know it!’ Igby protested, pointing at her.

Suddenly the wet spray of water splashed Igby’s pants as the sprinklers went off. ‘Oh, for the love of…’

‘Hey, Igby? Are sprinklers supposed to sputter like that?’

Igby looked about the backyard. The sprinklers had started, but the sound and rhythm seemed inconsistent, as though something somewhere was blocking the water from flowing properly. He glanced at the bunched-up hose.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Sylvie pressed.

Igby smirked. ‘Small in diameter, long and slender enough to fit inside a hose? It’s worth a shot.’

‘Hopefully, we can get something from it, if it’s in there, the murder weapon. Water will have washed out all the blood but…’ Sylvie turned off the sprinkler system.

Together, they unravelled the long hose and began feeling it.

‘Gotcha!’ Sylvie breathed, pressing down on a section. She cut the hose open and pulled out a long, thin barbecue thermometer gauge. ‘Well, what do you know?’

Igby grinned. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’


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What Happened During My Lost Hour? An Unsolved Mystery Anecdote!

It was a normal school day. I followed my routine. I was on time.
And somewhere between leaving the house and arriving at school, I lost an hour, and my memory of what happened during that hour has been wiped.

/cue in the Main Theme from the X-Files

I had class at 8:30 AM. I had to leave at 7:30 AM to get there in time with a bit of leeway. This was back in CEGEP (college) in my first year in 2000. I’d usually wake up between 6:30 and 7:00 AM. (I could get ready to leave the house a lot faster back then.)

I checked the time on my alarm clock when I woke up.
Checked my watch when I left the house to catch the bus.

It was NOT Daylight Savings time. No clocks were moving back or forward. And it was Autumn, so if it were, it would have given me an extra hour since it would have moved back. But there were no time changes.

When I arrived at the Metro Station (which is the American Subway but in Canada Subway is a sandwich restaurant lol) the time displayed on all the digital clocks that hung in many places of the station was 7:45 AM.

Since I was on time, I didn’t bother to check my watch again.

I simply sat inside the metro wagon as it took me where I needed to get to.


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