This is (or was) my first attempt at writing a mystery. I kinda doubt I will write more of it, but I can never be certain about these things. In fact, I just started working on a story that I hadn’t touched in close to a year.

So it’s possible. Just very unlikely.


Roger awoke to a ringing on his desk.  His desk?  Why was he at his desk?  But that ringing was killing his head.  Oh, it was his phone.  A black phone on his desk.  He peered at it blearily.  I suppose I should answer that, he though.  But actually doing it was the hard part.  Last night musta been a hard night.  That ringing kept going.  He finally answered the phone, but the ringing kept going in his head.


“Rog?  Is that you?  You sound terrible!”

“Yeah.  I feel like crap.  So, whaddya want?”  He thought the voice on the other end belonged to Sever Markins, a buddy of his at the police station.

“Rog.  Remember the old Carter case?”

“Yeah, it’s closed.  Unsolvable.”

“That’s what I thought too.  But we just got more info.  Maybe.”

Sever heard a crash, then silence.  After a moment, Roger talked again.”

“Sorry, I dropped you.  I will be right on my way.”

Roger hung up the phone, got up, and walked towards his mirror.  He looked up, and almost punched the mirror, thinking an intruder was there.  He didn’t recognize himself.

“Did I have a beard before?  And look at that hair.”  He stared at himself for a good while before doing anything about it.  He tried to run a comb through his hair, but it got stuck partway.  He took a shower, then tried again.  It was smoother this time, but still got stuck a few times in the tangles.  After doing so, he put on fresh clothes, scrambled around a few times to find his keys, and got in his car.  He drove towards the police station.  On the way he was honked at a few times for swaying into the other lane.




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