A Dinner to Die For

The inspector stepped out onto the glistening cobbles as the flashing lights on the authorities’ cars around him lit up the street in pulsing colours of blue and red. Glancing at the decrepit mansion he took in a deep breath and sighed with conte

mpt at human crime. Here, he was… again. Stepping into who knows what foul crime had been committed by the riffraff of the city. To make matters worse, the delinquents had decided to do it in some sagging and abandoned building. Life isn’t a Christie novel for crying out loud.

            The floorboards creaked under his feet he stepped through into the decrepit mansion. The stark illumination from search lights created an eerie contrasting brilliance within the usually darkened house, causing termites and cobwebs alike to shine. Broken windows and rotted walls allowed beams from the outside lights to steal into the central hall and consume the confronting scene.

Stopping short before walking into the main hall, the inspector spied an old ornate wooden table spanning the room under a dust-ridden and broken chandelier. Cups, knives and baskets of swollen food lay spilled across the table as the guests around it slumped with lifeless eyes staring beyond the table into the afterlife. It certainly was a meal to die for.

            ‘ ‘Scuse me Inspector Black but it seems we have a murder on our hands,’ piped a stout man in uniform beside the inspector who awoke from his musings about the scene with a start.

            ‘Well of course we do! What else would we have?’ he angrily retorted.

            With a grin spreading across his face, the little officer replied, ‘We ‘aven’t found the corpses yet but I ‘ave my suspicions… very unusual circumstances it being ‘ere and all.’

            ‘What do you mean haven’t found the corpses? They’re slumped at the table for crying out loud!’

            ‘Oh no sir, I do believe you’re mistaken. No corpses ‘round ‘ere. No tables either.’ With a wink he strode off in the opposite direction.

            I swear that man is as blind as a post! thought Inspector Black as he watched the little officer waddle away. Shaking his head, he strode into the darkened room that had begun to smell of rot with a cover of sickly sweet cold meat. Each guest was finely dressed as if ready for a dinner party with pearls gleaming from the women’s ears and ties hanging from the men’s necks like nooses. It was obvious that they were all wealthy and had all gathered here by choice as each one of them were impeccably dressed. But the question was why? Why gather in a place like this? Leaning down to sniff the food, the inspector began to go through the motions of considering what had happened. It was then that he noticed a corpse sitting at the head of the table with its head firmly planted in the plate of food before him. Immediately Black knew that poison had been at work and that this very man was the host of the party for corpses.

            ‘Inspector, Inspector!’ cried the officer from the upper landing of the main hall, interrupting the thoughts of the inspector. ‘We’ve found the corpses. It’s all very peculiar. They’re seated around a table like some strange party.’

            Struggling to maintain a grip on his temper, the inspector turned to the officer and shouted up to him, ‘yes, I know! I’m bloody well standing in front of them!’

            ‘So you are! What a strange coincidence. You know what? I bet they’re not even dead, they’re probably some strange red-herring to throw us off the scent of the real crime!’ And with that he strode off once more to investigate throughout the house.

            With shocking disbelief at the incredulity of his co-worker, the inspector once more began to walk around the table and study the faces of the dead. Each corpse had something peculiar about them. One man with hair oiled to perfection had two crushed plums that had been forcefully pressed into his face, one in each eye. The man next to him had a smear of greasy mustard all over his face covering the beginnings of a beard while a woman who sat opposite him had had her face vandalised with streaks of bright scarlet lipstick. As he attempted to connect the mysterious appearances of the people lying around him, the officer suddenly appeared next to him, brandishing a bright red letter.

            ‘I do believe I’ve found a clue inspector!’ Rolling his eyes, Black took the envelope and read the letter inside.

You are cordially invited to a Murder Mystery this Friday evening in the abandoned house at 6 Stumpin Street. Please arrive at 6:00pm sharp and be in your best attire that suits your character.

Your character is: Mr Boddy.

            ‘A murder mystery? What kind of sadistic joke is this killer trying to make?’ inquired Black with eyes raised in disapproval. Strangely as the Inspector glanced at his watch, he noticed it was only just six o’clock now.

            ‘Oh it’s a game, Inspector! Such a fun game, I’ve been to a few good ‘uns in my time,’ replied the rotund man.

            ‘Oh? And who is this Mr Boddy?’

            ‘Why sir, don’t you get it? It’s a game of Cluedo!’ cried the officer.

            With a jolt the Inspector looked over the corpses again in muted shock. Professor Plum, Miss Scarlet, Cornel Mustard and all the rest stared back at him with gaping eyes. ‘But who on Earth is Mr Boddy?’ the Inspector mumbled to himself.

            ‘Why they were Red Herrings all along sir,’ the officer grinned happily and rubbed his belly.

            ‘I don’t understand – what are the red herrings?’

            ‘Oh you really are daft aren’t you Inspector Black? They’re the Red Herrings,’ he said as he waved to the guests sitting at the table, ‘and you sir, are Mr Boddy, the dead body in a great game of Cluedo!’

            With a triumphant cry the officer removed a gun from the front of his trousers and shot the rusted chord holding the chandelier upright. With an almighty crash the ringed metalwork fell down on top of Inspector Black crushing him through the rotted floor next to the table. All that was left was the gaping black shape of a figure of a man in the old and mouldy floorboards just like the shape of a dead body on a Cluedo board.

An Impossible Corpse

 

The snow silently drifted down from the sky in whispers of cold flurries. Softly kissing the wind with an icy touch, the flakes flew around the field before they settled on the ground. A nearby forest watched on as the blood of a girl lying at the centre of the whitened landscape slowly seeped away from her and tainted the snow with the colour of rust. Birds cawed and cried at the sight of her bruised lips and at the paling colour of her skin while a single ace of spades, which lay pinned to her thin blouse, fluttered in the breeze.

Regina Royton stepped out of the car and slammed the door closed before she pulled up her jacket’s collar against the wind. The chill had crept down her back and sent spiders of ice scrambling up and down her spine; nevertheless the adrenalin that came with a new case warmed her up as she crunched through the snow towards the fence.

‘Well, this is an unusual one,’ mumbled assistant officer Fellows through a woollen scarf as he took out a notepad and pen and began furiously scribbling away. His black cap hid the untidy shock of hair of a person who still needed a morning shot of coffee.

‘You could say that again,’ she replied as she pulled at her brown leather gloves, ‘the weirdest thing about it is that there are no footprints leading to the corpse.’

 ‘What?’ The officer looked up from his pad and stared across the field in front of him. He noticed that Royton was right as he saw that the innocent picture ahead of him was marred only by the shocking presence of the corpse. ‘Well how did she bloody well get there then?’ he said as he stared at the lifeless figure with a creased forehead.

‘We’ll just have to find out.’ With a determination Fellows was shocked to see from a new female boss, she vaulted over the fence and landed in the frosted meadow.

The snow chilled the feet bones of the inspector and officer as they trudged across the land towards the corpse. Arriving at the girl, they noticed that barely any ice had settled on her and that the snow beneath her was the same depth as the snow surrounding her lifeless body.

‘Well there’s no way the culprit’s tracks could be covered by the storm,’ observed Inspector Royton, ‘and what do we have here?’ Leaning down she plucked the card from the girl and turned it over before handing it to her junior. A single sentence was written in a slanted script above the spade picture;

Your time is up. Was this your card?

Frowning at the wording with shock, Fellows looked up to see the disinterested eyes of Royton looking at him.

‘Y-y-yes…’ he stammered as he bluntly looked at the card in front of his eyes.

‘What are you talking about?’ she angrily muttered as she began to get out her forensic equipment and set about fingerprinting the card and corpse.

‘This… this is my card.’

Five months ago, Jonathon Fellows was walking through the streets of New York, trailing behind his group of friends when suddenly he heard the screams of a girl. Startled by the sound, he stepped through the steam billowing from the vent in the road and came face to face with a man in coattails. Jonathon noticed that he was firmly gripping the hand of a struggling girl while he held a pair of leather gloves in his free hand. Looking into the face of the man beneath a silken top hat he saw blue eyes staring back at him above the thin line of a hard mouth.

‘What do you want boy?’ the man spat at him.

‘Let go of her!’ Jonathon demanded before grabbing his cell phone and punching in the number of the police, ‘I’ve got a man here on 34^th Avenue who’s abusing a woman. I need back up stat.’

‘You’ll regret this one day mate,’ the man said as he realised he was officially now on government records. Twisting the arm of the woman he held captive, he said, ‘but it’s lucky I am what I am. Pick a card, any card.’ As he did this, the girl’s screams turned into a flurry of cards which appeared to come out of her mouth. One of them, the ace of spades, flew at Jonathon’s chest and stuck there mysteriously before the man cackled and cried; ‘it seems like you’ve picked your card,’ before he vanished before Fellows eyes.

 Looking down, foul smells curled up from the underworld of the city as an open man-hole lay in

front of him. After checking the alley one last time for the girl, he walked back out into the open streets and ended the call before flicking the playing card into the nearest bin.

Now, he stood with his eyes widened at the copse below his feet. Her grey eyes were an exact match for the girl who struggled to get away from the man months ago. Kneeling down, he touched her cold skin and saw the scaring on her left hand.

‘You’re pathetic,’ the woman above him sneered down to his level. Suddenly a leather glove slapped him in the head and caused him to look up into her face. As he did so, Regina’s face moved as the mask was peeled free from its place and instead a hardened glare stared down at him from above, with the same blue eyes as the man in the alley. ‘Remember me boy? You should never trust a soul as soon as you cause an illusionist trouble.’ As he said these words, the man pulled a gun from his belt and aimed it towards Fellow’s forehead.

The world hung suspended in time as a slight pulse began to beat against Fellow’s fingertips that still rested on the girl. Just before the bullet was sent rocketing into his brain, he noticed the man’s assistant on the ground weakly turn her face towards his. The last thing he heard was the small whimper of ‘Sorry’ and the silent pitter-patter of snow.

A Murderous Talent

The water sounded almost as if it was whispering to itself. The way it gushed around the bloated body and encouraged crimson swirls of blood to spiral out from the figure was almost calming. Tendrils of the mixture snaked around nearby rocks and stained the overhanging grass from a pure green to a sickly red. Bruising on the temples with a leaching wound reaching from a stubbled left cheek down the neck and under the collar. It was evident that the shoes were missing as a single blue and white striped sock bobbed its way downstream at a pace a snail could beat. No murder weapon was to be seen nearby...yet. This just made things more like a game of Cluedo. Was it Professor Green in the garden with a candlestick? Or perhaps Madam Peacock in the neighbor's hedge with a revolver? It was my job to sort things out - it was always my job to sort things out.

 Detectives, policeman, dogs; they were always useless, always bumbling around and tripping over the evidence from one another and constantly jibing with the Judge over the most fickle details while skipping the most important part of an investigation. Finding the culprit and the history of the victim. That's what I did, no matter how many times I've been told to "keep my bloody nose out of it". I've always hunted, sniffed, tracked and traced the culprit down to the very last nose hair found at the scene of the crime AND I've always come out with results. Let's just say some love me and some hate me - it all depends upon your perspective.

However no matter how many past investigations I've solved or uncovered, as I look down upon the body floating in front of me, having little to no long-term memory - I know that this time things will be different. To say this case is a near impossibility is an understatement. For you see, this time - I am the victim; the body is mine.

Here to There and In Between - PART 3

A month rolled on in our little boat until one day Anya informed us that we were now in a place known as Burma as well as Myanmar. Also, that if she remembered correctly we were on the main river of Ayeyarwady. Tall orange coloured candles dotted the landscape but we were soon to find out that these were in fact magnificent temples known as Golden Stupas. The local people of Myanmar fed us Peh-hin-ye lentil soup as they listened to our story.

One day while on the river, Ema and Alina became restless and tired in the boat and after much whinging became increasingly annoying. Therefore we decided that we would have an excursion up to the top of a nearby Golden Stupa which was next to the river. So off we went and jumped out of the boat one by one and began our steep ascent up the hill.

When we got to the bottom of the steps, we were already huffing and puffing so much that we needed to sit down. After a few minutes of resting, we decided to climb.

Oh it was a majestic climb up the old sandstone bricks most of which were covered in ivy. Looking out at the views around us we saw that a thick Asian jungle stretched away in all directions; and towards the west, a great shimmering plane of water winked at us like an old friend. Of course we could see the winding river that snaked its way through Myanmar; we had now named it our vein of hope.

So as we continued to climb, the sun began its slow meandering descent towards the horizon. But by about the time we were three quarters of the way up, Ashmi, Anya and I began taking turns to carry Alina and Ema on our backs. It was at this moment in time that we began to hear soft chanting and murmuring coming from the great golden dome above us which could only mean one thing; Monks.

We slowed down and began murmuring between each other as to whether we should continue but at the same time a third party joined in on our Stupa. Sneaking up the other side to the one we were making our way on, we stopped and watched as a small group of what looked like military soldiers crept up towards the top. Speaking in a language that none of us understood, we watched as they took out ugly looking objects from their belts and they then turned their backs to us. Written in neat print on their backs was a single word; Junta. It was then that we realised that they were going to attack the monks at the top.

Everything that happened after went so quickly it seemed a blur.

The soldiers on the other side began to run hastily up to the top as Ashmi made a split second decision and put down Ema before charging up to the top as well. I then screamed at Anya to take the other two back down to the boat and get ready to depart as soon as possible. Then I sprinted off after Ashmi.

It was a race against time; Ashmi wanted to get there before the soldiers so as to warn the monks, the soldiers did not know about us but wanted to get their horrible deed over with as soon as possible and I wanted to get to Ashmi before either parties reached the top so that we could escape as soon as possible. Huffing and puffing, I struggled to keep up, jumping up stairs two at a time to keep up with Ashmi and the soldiers. We were gaining on them until I slipped on an ivy leaf and fell to my knees. With the world spinning around me I jumped back up and continued to run.

Ashmi and I reached the top first. The soldiers soon came after.

“Get out! Get out now!” screamed Ashmi at monks who just looked at us blatantly. Ashmi grabbed the nearest monk and pushed him towards one of the sides.

“We have to go NOW!”I shrieked at Ashmi in response.

Chaos ensured with everyone running around like headless chickens. It was then that the soldiers arrived. Barking quick commands between each other, they spread around the internal temple and pointed their ugly weapons at everyone in the middle. Ashmi turned around and pushed me behind a large vase behind into a small alcove hidden in the wall. He ran back off into the centre of the room and demanded to know answers as to why they were here. One brave monk attempted to push a Junta off the edge of the stupa but was shot to the ground with two quick Bang!s.

I sat there watching in horror as the men progressively went around to each monk to inspect their physique. Any deemed unfit or unworthy were shot. As this massacre played out in front of me, Ashmi remained defiant in the centre of the room. When the soldiers found that he spoke a foreign tongue a sadistic gleam came into their eyes. They drugged him then and there in front of me before placing him in a sack marked with that terrible word.

I was helpless; sitting there doing nothing as one of the most important people in my life was carried away by foreign military. The nearest monk to me noticed I was in the alcove and shuffled backwards.

“You need to get out of here, before they see you. Escape; now!” he whispered urgently to me; surprisingly in my own language.

“What are they doing to him? Why are they here?”

“They control this country. They recruit foreigners into their army faster than you can say stolen and they hate religious practices. That is why they recruit those fit into the army as well and kill the rest. You need to leave; there is no place for women in their eyes. I will look after your friend when I’m recruited. Go now.”

With tears streaming down my face I snuck out of the Eastern entrance and began to run down the steps. My heart near collapsing in my chest; I bolted down to the river. Once again all of the horrible things that had happened since that fateful night in Nepal replayed through my mind. Running helplessly at full pelt down the golden stupa I realised that what seemed like golden beacons of hope to begin with were nothing more than chambers of misery now. Falling into the boat, I told Anya that we needed to leave immediately. When she asked where Ashmi was my heart ached so hard that I passed out.

(To Be Continued...)

Deserved Fate

Rosanne Lemick unfortunately passed away on the night of a full moon. Copper poisoning was to blame as the large mansion she lived in was old enough to be filled with enough legal breaches to startle the most esteemed high court official. She was an old woman who kept to herself and barely left the house. Many people just assumed she spent her whole day dusting the skeletons of the visitors she never seemed to have. So when she passed on, her Last Will and Testament stated that the morbid mansion was to be passed on to a distant family member of a sister’s daughter’s cousin, Thomas Hamlington. 

Thomas was a man of 25 who was obsessed with riches. He wanted to be big famous and rolling in the green, purple and yellows of money. He and his girlfriend, Penelope Tate, were the picture of health. Young, free, careless and striving for their lives, they received the summons with shock to learn that they had inherited a massive mansion from a distant deceased relative. So setting out some days later, they made the long winded journey to the house.

The door creaked open with a moan that sent shudders through the rotting floorboards. Shuffling through the layer of dust as thick as thirteen sheets of thawing ice the house pressed against them on all sides. A musty smell of mildew made its meandering march through the noses of both Thomas and Penelope as they stepped further into the house. The large room to their right contained cobwebs and creepy carcasses of spiders long dead while the room to their left provided more interesting objects.

Penelope was the first to set foot into the room, a room which moaned and creaked along with the rest of the old timbers of the house. As Thomas moved in beside her, the entire world froze. A chill that seeped to their bones began to bore into them. A soft silky whispering began to slide through the silvery webs between the furniture to meet the ears of both Thomas and Penelope. As a slight breeze wafted the musty smell of the house into the room, Penelope suddenly screamed and became paralysed with one finger pointing towards the wall on the opposite of side of the room. Her eyes crazed like a mad-man, she began to tremble with fear.

Dumbstruck with the reaction of Penelope, Thomas turned his terrified gaze with trepidations towards the object she was pointing at. A shiny silver frame around a softly glowing slate of glass illuminated what looked like a gilded mirror. Within the mirror was the horror. A woman of about 84 years was glaring out from behind the looking glass at the two intruders into the house. The whites of her eyes were glazed with absolute hatred as wrinkles around her mouth were pulled into a snarl that accompanied her vicious dentures.

“AAAARGH, HOW DARE YOU COME HERE? AFTER WHAT YOU DID, HOW DARE YOU,” the apparition cried, “SO THEY THOUGHT IT WAS COPPER POISONING? WELL NO BODY BELIEVED ME. THEY SAID I WAS CRAZY. THEY SAID I WAS MAD. THEN THEY LOCKED ME IN THIS HOUSE BECAUSE OF YOU! YOU! YOU!”

Thomas trembled as a violent wind began to roar through the room to whip the cobwebs in the house into a frenzy. 

“YOU THOUGHT YOU’D GET AWAY WITH IT!” she screeched at the top of her lungs as the dirty, dusty dungeon they were now in erupted into a pandemonium. The mirror on the wall shook violently as it crashed to floor sending shard of glass around the room. Two sharp shards pierced the hearts of both Penelope and Thomas before they could run for their lives. As their lifeless bodies began to descend to the floor to join the surrounding morbidity of the house, several sharp knives fell out of their pockets coated in the old woman’s blood. Forged signatures and Will paper came out alongside the knives as they spiralled together through the air. When they landed, the knives pierced both the names of Penelope Tate and Thomas Hamlington.  As they did, two drops of blood leaked from the pages.

The New Host

Hariette Flemming had no friends. She had bright turquoise blue eyes which sparkled out from a beautiful face. Her face was hidden behind a waterfall of brunette hair that dripped down to her shoulders. She was what the other kids at school stereotypically named her: “A Loner”. Everyday, she pretended that she didn’t care or didn’t ‘need’ friends, but deep inside her heart she wished (more than anything else in the world) that she had a best friend. Every night she would rest her head on the soft feathery down of her pillow and weep. The tears would flow from her face like water flowing from a tap that was about to burst with pressure. She did this every night for 7 years. This was until Harold  Smockley arrived as a new boarder at Smithington Preparatory School for Girls and Boys.

Smithington Preparatory School was a bleak and boring place. Every thing about it had the musty aroma of old age and of ancient times located far away in past history. This included the desks, the walls, the books and even the teachers. By this point in her life, Hariette Flemming had decided that she had had enough of being discriminated by her fellow peers and being called “The Loner” of the grade. She was desperate and thought that she would either have to make friends with someone, or be moved to another school. With this thought and the knowledge that a mysterious new boy had just arrived at the school, firmly planted in her head, she marched straight up to the newcomer and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and Hariette noticed that he had a pale complexion with unusually red lips. Two large green orbs rested in his eye sockets and a mysterious smell of spices emanated from him that tingled Hariette’s nose.

“Excuse me!” exclaimed Hariette, “What’s your name?”

“Umm…umm… i..i.. its Harold…” stammered the little boy in reply.

“Well hello Harold! My name is Hariette and I have decided that we will be the best of friends!”

“Oh! B..But I don’t want any friends… it’s not safe…” whispered the little boy.

“Nonsense, everyone has to have friends,” said Hariette with a look of sympathy on her face, “and besides, as if I’m going to hurt you!”

“It’s…It’s … not me that will get hurt…b…but I wouldn’t mind a friend if you wanted to take a risk?”

“Sure, why not? I don’t see any risk involved with you!”

And so Hariette had finally found her first friend.

The friendship between Harold and Hariette grew stronger and firmer as the days rolled into weeks and then into months. They would talk for hours about the silliest of things and would play with each other non-stop for hours and hours on end, day after day. They shared similar likes and dislikes, and all of their personal information with each other. However Hariette thought it strange that Harold wouldn’t talk much about his past or family at all. She also began to see changes in Harold. He was slowly getting paler and paler every time she saw him and his skin was becoming like parchment.

Also, she saw that bandages were slowly making their way around his body, covering his skin like snakes slithering up a tree. At first, Hariette simply thought that Harold must be very fragile and sensitive to his surroundings (just like the porcelain dolls that she used to play with) and that his bones can break quite easily if he were to fall over. She dismissed any silly thoughts that he was changing psychologically too and thought that he must just be sick and grumpy.

However, as the weeks rolled on, the bandages covering his body slowly got worse and the entire lower part of his body was completely hidden from view by them. Hariette did not think much of this as she thought that Harold had had a particularly bad fall and was still recovering from it. It wasn’t until the bandages had reached his chest and covered his arms that Hariette thought that something strange was going on. Harold began to act strangely, his mysterious timidness that he had when Hariette had met him was gone and he was now surprisingly confident, too confident for Hariette’s liking.

“Why are you strutting around the playground like that Harold?” asked Hariette with annoyance.

“I’m not strutting… although I do believe I should be!” Harold curtly replied.

“And why do you think that Harold? You’ve changed heaps since I met you!”

“It’s because I am somewhat better than you, you poor girl.”

“Ugh, I’ve had enough! Quit it Harold!” shouted Hariette as she stormed away to the other side of the playground.

The very next day, Hariette arrived at the school gates earlier than usual, wishing to apologise to Harold for her behaviour the previous day. She searched the playground high and low for Harold and finally found him in a corner behind the flying fox and other broken and run-down play equipment. His entire body, including his head, was now covered in bandages. That is everything besides his red lips and luminescent eyes. Hariette was startled by his appearance and cried out when she saw him.

“Harold! What is this?”

“Nothing, don’t worry! Just go away now!”

“Rrrrgh! This really has gone too far! You and your ridiculous bandages!” exclaimed Hariette as she lunged across and grabbed at the fabric.

She tugged and pulled at them with Harold crying out in the meantime to stop it. She finally loosened his bandages enough for them to fall away freely to the ground. Hariette gasped as she took in what she saw. A wispy and misty-white outline of a ghostly figure remained. The only thing left of Harold was his large green eyes and his lips, which Hariette now noticed were like the colour of freshly drawn blood. This spirit then whispered in the softest of tones.

“I have found my new host…”

Hariette screamed as the spirit flew at her, but nothing could stop it as it wove between the inner fabrics of Hariette’s soul. She was never the same girl again.
Susan Bockley had no friends. She was known as “The Loner” at her school and was sick and tired of people calling her that. She was also fed up with the sense of loneliness that she felt within her being. Susan was so desperate to find a friend that she was even prepared to make friends with the mysterious new girl that had just arrived at her school. The new girl’s name was Hariette Flemming.

(Gothic)