Barry Wiley

Tales of a Thought Reader By Barry Wiley: Review/Giveaway

by Terrance McArthur

The Chevalier Stuart Cumberland is a real stage magician who entertained in many countries, astonishing audiences and royals with his ability to seemingly read thoughts. Barry H. Wiley has created a fictional biography that combines David Copperfield, The Amazing Kreskin, and James Bond into a rollicking journey through the past, Tales of a Thought Reader.

A True Believer: A Mystery Short Story

by Barry Wiley

Nine Black Dragons was a Chinese restaurant that resembled an old Charlie Chan movie, even to being smudged black and white. According to the gaudy paper placemat describing the Chinese zodiac, this was the Year of the Dog. The white plastic chopsticks, antiseptically wrapped tightly in thin paper marked "Made in Hong Kong" in smeared purple ink, were placed near and exactly parallel to its right edge.

Time and the Thought Reader: A Mystery Short Story

by Barry Wiley

The rustling well-dressed crowd of Parisian lace and titles applauded with some spirit as, still blindfolded, I placed my hand gently on the shoulder of the mistress of the house, the Countess Cladissa D’Dadario, identifying her as the bloody assassin. As I removed the blindfold, tossing it aside, she, in turn, a gracious lady of perhaps mid-fifties, with many rumored affairs, began to laugh.

Flight of the Purba: Mystery Short Story

by Barry Wiley

The well-dressed capacity audience was wedged into every chair in the main lecture room of the Royal Geographical Society to learn more of the enigmatic land of Tibet: “The Land of the Snows” and “The Land of the Hooded Lamas.” The lecture was the first appearance at the RGS by the recently acclaimed young explorer, Hamil Stewart, who was a dark-haired, clean-shaven man of medium build with a resonant tenor.

No. 663: A Mystery Short Story


by Barry H. Wiley

The Writer pressed up against his writing table, its edge digging into his stomach just above his belt – if he had been wearing one. He used a knotted rope around his waist. His left elbow braced on the table, his head forward, cradled in his left hand as his right held a pencil hovering above the yellow foolscap pad of blue-lined paper.
Hovered ... and hovered.



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