Mysterious Photograph #7: Chips Ahoy

I have not received official word on this story, but enough time has passed that I can only assume I am a loser.  Nevertheless, here it is!

Chips Ahoy

 I was beginning to regret my decision to kill Kevin so impulsively. Now I only have a photo on my phone. So many parts inside these old watches! Oy! Why don’t I think these things out?

          Living next to the Cambrinis, I knew that Grandfather Gino was a consummate watch repairman with a garage shop. He had dozens of old watches he tinkered with, still there after he died. Father Robert used his inherited talents for tiny parts, working on a revolutionary chip for the next generation of AI. Kevin thought the chip could be worth BILLIONS.

          When Kevin’s father was fired, he stole the chip and hid it in one of the old watches. Kevin made the mistake of telling me. Remember? Impulse problems? We tortured his father to get him to tell us exactly where the chip was. Unfortunately, I tortured him a little too hard.

          Kevin got angry and started beating me. Well, he did for a little while. Then I got the upper hand.

          Now I had to find the damn chip by myself, with only their cat to keep me company. I had a pile of watch gears, nothing that looked like a chip.

          I refused to give up. The cost had been way too high. Then Eureka! I found it. The cat swooped in and swallowed it whole.

          Should I gut the cat and get the chip, or should I wait for it to pass? 

          I decided to wait.

          I’m not a monster, you know.

Mysterious Photograph #6 - ICE Fishing

 

My entry for the July/August 2025 mysterious photograph contest in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine.

I'm having trouble getting my subscription issues mailed in time for me to compete.  I had to inquire for a month before I finally got my July/August issue, which I received in late August.  This was too late to compete, but I sent this in anyway.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an issue again.  I was expecting September/October, but it was July/August once again.

On their website, they are now promoting their November/December issue.  I love the magazine, but the subscription service, at least for me, sucks.

Anyhoo, here is the story I submitted. 

ICE Fishing

 

 

            Hector was not fishing alone. Lisandra was with him. He felt her presence; her tapered hand pressed gently on his shoulder. This quiet stretch of the Gulf of Mexico was their favorite spot. 

            Lisandro had been taken six months ago, removed from her work by an ICE agent. It did not matter that she was a contributing, well-loved member of her community. The agent took her, despite Hector's protests. Legal efforts failed, and she died in a deportation facility, depressed, tortured, and ill.

            Hector obsessed over who the ICE agent was, and his skills as a former detective paid off. Identified, Hector waited in the shadows as the agent left his car, immobilized him, and bagged his head, taking him to a place from which he would not return.

            His fishing line dangled in the ocean. He wasn't trying to catch anything. He had already caught what he wanted. He was waiting to ensure that the tides would not displace what he had weighted down.

            He would rather have Lisandra back, but this would do. To arrive at their spot and know that the one who took her had paid.

            It would not end there. There were also the guards who tortured her. He already had leads to find them. Then, Hector and Lisandra could come out here forever.

            And fish on their graves.

Falcon Fever: Mysterious Photograph #5

 

My fourth entry into Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine's Mysterious Photograph contest. Yes, it won nothing.  I have no idea what that bird is.  Probably not a falcon.  But it fit the story I wanted to write.  That's me - always on the edge, always taking chances.

Falcon Fever

 

My dearest Dulyngia,

            I pray this message finds you. I know that Flash has been trained primarily to hunt, but since you sent him to me, I have confidence he will return to you. Please forgive the dampness of the note. I hope it is still legible.

            No, things are not well here in Midgar. The Grim Plague is spreading faster every day. My beloved mother passed two days ago, my father last night. It’s not pleasant. The sweats, the vomits, the sloughing off of flesh; ‘tis a nightmare I wish I could forget.

            It starts with a fever and a lack of appetite. I have a fever. I no longer wish to eat. I fear you may never see me again.

            Our physicians have discovered the source, but it is too late. Once introduced into the water system, it spreads quickly. You don’t even need to drink it. Contact alone will start it. And then it carries from person to person.

            How did it get into our water system? We believe a foreign agent planted it. We recently had a visit from a delegation from your Kingdom, including your brother, Ranaldo.

            Falcons appear to be immune. That is how I can send you this special present, which I pray will spread throughout the land. If you’re reading this, it is already too late.

            I will not see you again in this world. I hope you will join me soon in another.

Your loving companion in hell,

Infortuno

The Walls of Jerry Coe: Mysterious Photograph #4

 My fourth entry into Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine's Mysterious Photograph contest. Yes, it won nothing.

The Walls of Jerry Coe

He came a-tumbling down. It took three, but they did it. Smashed, left bleeding, gasping, the alley walls closing in. A forehead cut dripped down into his eyes. Jerry Coe was paying for his sins in the cruelest way possible.

What sins? Introversion? Dressing differently? Pushing back at Tommy Tuba, making the big bully look weak at practice? Breaking into his locker, spray-painting two words – TOMMY TUTU?  

Jerry realized the alley shortcut was a mistake. Yes, he'd get him home quicker, but he didn't factor in how isolated he would be. And that Tommy Tuba would bring friends who'd make easy work of Jerry.

Jerry tried to scream, but no sound came out, frightened into silence. Looking at the right alley wall, he saw his trumpet. They had thrown it there, miraculously undamaged. He stretched to reach it. No good. Too much pain.

 He wouldn't give in. Jerry Coe tooted to the sound of a different trumpet. Two tumbling rolls, and Jerry grabbed his horn. He put it to his lips. If Jerry couldn't speak, how could he play? He closed his eyes, concentrated, mustering as much breath as he could.

And he played. A beautiful reveille. A clarion call echoed down the walls and into the nearby street.

Someone heard it. Help was coming.

But not for Tommy Tuba and his bully buddies. This was not over. Jerry Coe wouldn't let this go unavenged.

Soon, the walls would tumble in on Tommy Tuba.

 

One More Lick: Mysterious Photograph #3

 

Once upon a time, I knew everything there was to know. But now, that time is gone. At my age, I’ve forgotten more than I remember.

I look down at my beautiful stamp collection. One stamp for every country. Switzerland, where I pushed a man off the Matterhorn. Gambia, where I injected a man with strychnine. France with poisoned wine. Strangulation in the USA. 

Every country in the world. But somehow, I had missed Uruguay. I couldn’t stand being incomplete. I had to correct my lapse. Even at 86.

I booked a cruise to Montevideo. As the cruise was leaving port, I knew I had to act fast. Failing to kill in the city itself, I acted before we entered international waters. I pushed an old woman over the railings, but my mind was not what it was. I left a witness, and the police slowly traced it back to me.

Now I sit at my desk, holding the precious Uruguayan stamp in my tweezers, ready to place it in my collection. I hear loud knocking. I move the stamp towards my tongue. I hear the door breaking down.

I need time.

Time for just one more lick.

Like most of my entries, this one neither won nor received an honorable mention.  Nevertheless, I persevere!