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.

Wow... it's been a while.

G'day. Wow. Ok so it's been about 2 years since I last posted on here and I'll be honest, I completely forgot about this blog... (until a mate of mine reminded me of it - hats off to you!) but I'm actually keen to get it up and running again. Over the past two years, a lot has happened such as me finishing school and moving onto university. The good thing is though that I have tonnes of writing that I have stored away from school and such which I can upload and share with you guys. A lot of it is Gothic Fiction or Crime Fiction related.

So... hope you like my new stuff. And, like old times, please comment on anything you like!

Coming soon... watch this space.

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 - FINAL PART

Later on we woke up with a start and remembered that we were within a large metal bird flying to who knows where. We all calmed down until we heard the footsteps. Why have footsteps always meant something bad ever since Nepal? I thought to myself as we huddled closer together.

My heart took on a rampage within my chest as they grew closer and closer to the back compartment. Barely holding onto a scream, the back door began to creep its way open slowly letting in light that glared on our faces.

Anya was holding onto Ema and Alina like they were comfort dolls, almost squeezing them to a pulp. The door opened wider and we began to hear the soft breathing of the person who was opening it. Suddenly the suspense was too much for Ema and she let out a terrified squeak loud enough to rattle any mountain nearby (or at least it seemed that way).

The person opening the door jumped before they threw it open entirely and peered in. It was the woman.

She stared at our terrified faces before letting out a sigh and turned around.

“It seems we have a couple of stowaways on board Michael!” she called back to the pilot in a language foreign to me.

“Please!” I shouted above the roar of the engine and the pilot, “We need help! Don’t hurt us!” With a look of total bewilderment the woman turned back to us. She had fair hair that curled around her shoulders and a face with two pink cheeks. He eyes were a deep brown the reminded me of my mother’s.

“Nepalese?” she said in our own language, “But how on Earth did you get here?”

So she invited us to come out and sit on the middle benches as we all told her about what had happened to us.

Half-way through she asked for a large piece of fabric from the pilot to blow her nose with and wipe her eyes. She then proceeded to tell us that she had just come from Nepal and stopped a large box (she used another word I did not know) of girls that were to be sold on the black market. Apparently she was part of some group who wished to help people from my country survive the inter-Asian disturbances.  My heart rose as I realised that it was our terrifying box that we had been imprisoned in so long ago which she was talking about.

She also told us that we were headed to her homeland; a place by the name of Australia, which was to our astonishment also known as the Great Southern Land. Soon after our discussion, she had talked to the pilot who was also her husband and came back to us.

“Now what I am about to propose is very, very serious. I want you to think about this very seriously as it will impact your life greatly. You will not be able to go home.”

“Oh, but we don’t want to go back.”

“Well then perhaps this will come as good news to you. My husband and I wish to adopt you.” she said with a tentative smile on her face.

“Adopt? What is that?” I asked her blatantly.

“Adoption is where another adult takes responsibility for lost children. If we adopt you, you will be able to stay together as a family within Australia with myself and my husband Michael. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I am just worried that if we don’t, you won’t be allowed to come into Australia and you might get split up.” At this, Anya gave me a look of questioning.

 So we began a discussion that would once again change our lives forever.

****

As it ended up, we agreed for Belinda (that was her name) and Michael to adopt us and have all lived together in Australia ever since. I still wonder about my real parents back in Nepal but do not dare go back for fear of being captured again.

This place here is amazing, we have learned to speak English and we now go to a place called school. Personally, I don’t like school much but Ema and Alina love it. Our lives are better here but we still bear the scars of such an emotional journey through so many cultures and countries that I don’t think we will ever forget our ordeal.

I cannot help but think where or who Ashmi is with now. Is he safe? Will he have a better life? Perhaps it would have been best for him to have stayed in Nepal after the old woman died. But however much we wish, we cannot change the past.

Many have asked us how we survived and what we have done. The most often asked question is where we have been

- but we can only reply that we have been here and there and in between.

Fin

(Please note this story is entirely fictional) 

Here to There and In Between - PART 4

The months ticked by as we stayed in our boat and wandered further downstream. Anya told me that we had passed through Thailand as aqua coloured water swirled around us and brilliant lanterns filled the night sky every night. We had cut across a channel of tumultuous sea and were now passing through eastern Malaysia with its thick forest jungles with mysterious animals and plants. Large foul-smelling flowers wandered past throwing their wide red faces out towards the rest of the jungle around them as big orange monkeys swung above us between the trees over the river. On occasion we got the rare sight or two of strange looking people wandering amongst the leaves in large groups some with large sticks and poles sticking out their noses.

Ever since Ashmi had left we had to fend on our own; bartering within market places was especially tough as we were only a group of girls. So we now relied on the forest and river around us for our own food and water. We were now an inseparable foursome as our lives followed the same course as the rivers we glided upon. Anya told us stories of a great land that her father had told her about in the south. It was supposed to be the largest island in the world which was filled with accommodating people. He said it was nothing like our old homes as it had lots of those boxes and buildings that touched the clouds. Anya said that he told her once that if she ever wanted to get there, she would need to fly. We all pondered this incredible feat of flight over the water and how it could be possible, filling our days with bizarre imaginings of people with wings and claws much like a bird.

****

It wasn’t until several months later that us four had found ourselves within Jakarta, Indonesia. We had long ago abandoned our little canoe as a rip formed in the bottom of it when we crossed the Indian Ocean between the islands. We had adapted ourselves to the life of the bustling city of Jakarta and were living in an abandoned block of huts towards the centre of the city. At first we assumed this was the great southern land that Anya had told us about until we set our eyes on the great metal machines within a large fenced off area; they looked like metal birds.

This was when we came to the conclusion that these were how Anya’s father explained the strange feat of people flying into the mysterious land. We fed ourselves with stolen bowls of Nasi Goreng (fried rice) and drank from dirty rainwater pipes. Every night we huddled together and created a plan of reaching that amazing land. We had so far worked out that if we sneaked onto one of the smaller metal birds, we could get ourselves out of here and into the great southern country.

We implemented that plan the next night. Finding a pair of what they call wire cutters in an abandoned workshop; we made our way to the place of metal birds. Ema and Alina were terrified and so Anya and I had to calm them down every fifteen minutes or so.

When we reached the very back fence of the area we cut open a hole wide enough for us to fit through and ran onto the wide expanse of hardened ground. Dirty and filthy as we were from living in such dirty surroundings, we blended into the black backdrop of night well.

There it is again, that darkness which is always haunting me, always following me.

Whispering together, we planned to jump on the smallest machine closest to us which was a little red metal bird with four wings arranged in pairs, one on top of the other. Creeping closer there were moments of sheer terror of being caught by the giant spotlights. Once, a spotlight passed so close to where we had frozen that the outer edge of the circle had illuminated the tip of my foot for a short amount of time.

Pulling my toes back into darkness, we once again evaded detection. Creeping faster along, we came to the side of the red bird and pried open one of the doors with our wire cutters. We all crept inside and closed that same door behind us while hoping that none would suspect the dent in it that we had made. Inside, the bird had two seats in front of various lights and buttons and then two benches behind those that faced in towards the centre of the area. Down the back of it was a small opening into a compartment filled with crates and other such oddities. Slipping into the darkness of the storage area behind, we made ourselves comfortable but undetectable amongst a large pile of crates waiting for our chance to get out of the country.

After hours of hushed whispering and whimpering in the dark someone else got into the same red bird with us and walked towards the front of it.

We held our breaths as a feminine voice jumped into the machine as well. They were both speaking in tongues that I had not heard before although Anya whispered to me that her father had told her a few words that were English and that she thought this was the language they were now speaking. My nerves did an entire 360 degree flip when I heard the female voice mention the name Nepal and began to panic that this plane would drop us off on Everest.

Yes it would be closer to home but we would not survive on Everest!

Anya and I gave quick glances between each other as the floor beneath us began to wobble and tremble and our stomachs lurched within our bodies. We were about to fly and we had no idea what to do. Suddenly flashbacks of the trapped girls that were with me in that terrible box came back to me as the darkness closed in once more around us.

“We’ll be alright,” mouthed Anya to me as she grabbed and squeezed my hand. I held onto that hand as tight as I could for the majority of that flight until we all became dizzy from the rocking of the machine and fell asleep.

(To Be Continued...)

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...)