Mystery Weekly Magazine: December 2017

0/5 ( ratings)

At the cutting edge of crime fiction, Mystery Weekly Magazine presents original short stories by the world’s best-known and emerging mystery writers.

The stories we feature in our monthly issues span every imaginable subgenre, including cozy, police procedural, noir, whodunit, supernatural, hardboiled, humor, and historical mysteries. Evocative writing and a compelling story are the only certainty.

Get ready to be surprised, challenged, and entertained--whether you enjoy the style of the Golden Age of mystery , the glorious pulp digests of the early twentieth century , or contemporary masters of mystery.

In This Issue:

Our feature story, “The Mechanical Rat” by Lawrence Buentello, is a cross-genre science-fiction mystery exploring differing viewpoints: One man’s work of art is another man’s weapon of choice. Or so it seems …

By popular demand, Mrs Walker returns to our magazine for a holiday tale in “Mrs Walker And The Poisonous Punch” by Katie Ginger. Mrs Walker hates Christmas parties, but when one of the guests dies, the party becomes a lot more interesting than she bargained for.

Michael McGlade brings us a noirish tale in “Not A Smart Way To Start A Negotiation.” Elizabeth has been kidnapped by two men who want what she has except Elizabeth is much more than a tough negotiator.

A life is at stake and Hal and three friends must take extreme measures or the blood will be on their hands. But is it guilt that drives them, or something else? In Laura Gianino’s “Sammy.”

Steve Shrott asks is it true love or something much more sinister? In his twists and turns romance-gone-bad, “True Love.”

“Ailanthus On Patchin Place” by Claude Chabot will keep you contemplating long after reading this literary mystery about an elderly woman who hears a child crying.

Sample of Mechanical Rat:

Everyone loved mechanical mice, according to Yazzi—tiny white creations, a wind-up motor covered by faux white fur, a leather tail and button eyes. The old mice were powered by a key and metal spring, but contemporary versions used tiny batteries and computer chips. Yes, cats loved them, kids loved them, those sweet, furry toys rolling across the floor in imitation of their natural counterparts—so why not build a more robust model?

That’s how it started—he really made it sound as if he were fabricating something delightful.

I only saw him occasionally, usually in passing as I entered or left my house, but once or twice he’d let me down into his basement where he crafted his projects. Today was one of those special occasions. All the parts to his current project lay waiting for assemblage: coils of wire, tiny gears, copper pinions, pieces of bent metal. Pliers, scissors, solder, and a pair of drills lay next to these items, a collection of materials that had assisted in the creation of some pretty bizarre toys.

Billy Yazzi was a true loner. His parents were dead, and he seemed oblivious to the existence of any other relatives. We’d gone to high school together, but after graduation he embraced seclusion and avoided higher education. I’d always thought his parents must have left him a decent inheritance, some financial means that supported his self-concept as a man of leisure.