The first story I'm posting is called The Grey Girl. This is chapter one. It is about a young girl called Anya Miller and a detective known as Stan Hurst.
A young, silver-haired girl with pale skin stared at the crime scene through black sunglasses, even though it was night, seeming unaffected by the sight. She wore a black gothic-style dress and in her hand was a dark grey parasol. "I searched the scene, and we found only a few clues. There was a note in the victim's pocket and what I assume to be a credit card covered in green ink in his right boot. The top left corner of the card was the only area revealed. The word 'Miller' was written there."
Foolish. The girl turned her head back to the crime scene. They missed many clues. The ink-based pen in the man's pocket, and... She attempted to walk towards the victim, before being stopped by the detective who had just spoken. "Excuse me, please," she said, an emotionless tone in her voice. "I must have a closer look."
"This isn't a place for children, you know," he answered. "How old are you?"
"I am eight years old and my name is Anya Miller. The victim was my brother," the young girl explained, but with a stoic appearance on her face. "I think there are clues you have missed, Inspector. Please, allow me to find them."
"I'm sorry if it was your brother, but you're not allowed in here. It's the investigation team and myself only, and it isn't safe," the detective told her, sighing. "And besides, what can you do? You're just a child."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Inspector, unless it was you who murdered him." Almost anything at a crime scene can be a clue. Step aside."
Before the detective could say anything else, the girl walked towards the body and knelt, picking up an ink-based pen from the pocket where the card had been found. "This is interesting," she commented, before picking up her brother's phone, the necklace he had been wearing and a notebook. "Please, Inspector, do your duty and help with this. These three things are clues as well as the symbol on the piece of fabric next to the body. What is your name?"
"My name is Stanley though I am mostly referred to as Stan. So, Anya, which clue would you like me to inspect first?" he asked, kneeling next to her.
"This notebook and piece of fabric. This stamp was not here before," she told him, opening it to the back page and showing a green stamp of a sun. The same symbol was on the piece of fabric. "And please in matters such as this, refer to me as Miss Miller, Inspector. Your informal attitude is terrible."
"Aren't you smart? That's amazing, you'll grow up to have a well-paying job," complimented Stan in attempt to cheer her up.
"I am not a baby, Inspector. I do not care about your opinions of me, because opinions are subjective. I hope you do not use opinions and theories to back yourself up when bringing justice. The only thing you can go by is evidence, which you must try your hardest to recover." Anya stared at her brother's body. "The blood is still wet. It was a recent killing."
"You should go home to your parents now, Anya, this is a crime scene and you're not old enough to see this, and you should be in bed by now," said the man.
"Me and my brother were living alone. I am the only one left with a house key, and if I go home, I will lock the doors to be sure I will not be taken from my house. I am the rightful heir to the property and the land it is on. I am capable of taking care of myself, Inspector, and I am capable of seeing this. I find it odd you would suggest that I am not of a suitable age to see this, though I have been watching the whole time you have investigated. I will not pass out at the sight of blood and I should have the right to investigate my own brother's murder." She lifted her sunglasses so as to not lose them, holding the parasol tightly. "I do not wish to interfere to but to help. This pen is a clue."
She handed Stan the pen, which was dark green in colour. "Are you sure it didn't leak on to the card, and that's what happened?" he asked.
"Brother always wrote with that pen and I have seen that it writes in grey. Open the notebook for evidence." She turned a page and showed the silvert words on the page. "Next, look at his necklace."
The necklace was silver chained with a green crest in the shape of a circle hanging from it. "This is the same as brother's necklace, and the one he wore going out this morning, except that it was a golden necklace with a crimson diamond shape. It has been changed."
"How are you sure it's the same necklace though, Anya?" asked Stan, looking down at her.
"I have already told you to refer to me as Miss Miller, and I know it is the same necklace because, at the back, it is not held together but tucked in to his shirt. It also has the scent of garlic on it, brother's favourite food. I was never too fond of it," answered the young girl. "Whoever stamped his notebook must have altered the necklace. This is the only conclusion I can come to, Inspector. I don't suppose you can make a better one?"
"So what do you know about his murderer so far?"
"They could not have known brother, or they would not have been able to kill him. He is very cautious of people close to him and he has somewhat of a family trait." The girl stood up. "It is not something I can explain to you... but please, know this. Since ancient times we have been at arms with an organization known as Colour, and I think the stamp used on his notebook is very relevant to this."
"So, right now Colour are the prime suspects?" questioned the detective.
"At the moment Colour and myself are the prime suspects because I was close to him in life. You are free to have me interrogated."
"But you're a child, how could I have you questioned, Anya?"
"I keep telling you to call me Miss Miller and you are also mispronouncing my name. It is a long 'A' such as in 'fall', 'wall' or 'call', whereas you are using a short 'A', such as in 'cat', 'bat', or 'sat'. Please, if you are you going to refer to me by my first name, say it correctly and address me as 'miss'."
"That was irrelevant, Miss A... Anya. You're a child, I can't ask them to interrogate you," he told her, his hands on her shoulders. "You're so young, and it's dark in the room they use. Won't you get scared?"
"I am not a baby, Inspector. I prefer the dark to the light, and isolation to space. I am the opposite of what many think of as a 'child', and though literally because I have been living for eight years I am a child, I am much more mature than that. Ask them to interrogate me as respect for me." Her eyes set on him through her sunglasses.
Stan had never consdiered a child being a suspect before. He thought it was wrong to suggest it and was overprotective of the young, but she seemed to be different. "But now, morning is approaching, and I must leave," she said, walking away and fading into the darkness.