Murder mystery

[SteveLaura 0]

It was a dark thunderous night. Richard and Michelle set out to find what had happened 2 years earlier to his missing twin brother Robert, who was killed in an unfortunate gardening accident.

The only thing the police was able to find at the site of crime was Robert's extendable gardening claw, with matching mini-claw for the smaller gardener and a set of six-toed footprints leading away from the scene. What could have made these prints was a real mystery to the police.

Richard stroked his greying goatee, staring off into the distance. He thought back to the old days, those summer holidays in the English Cotswolds with Major Fotherington (retired) and his witty stories of massacring the Boers. He pictured the old major now - his adjustable hunchback; his handlebar moustache - complete with bell and water bottle holder; his gait... Yes, there was something about the way he walked. His boots were custom-made by an old blind lady in Threadneedle St. What is the connection, Richard pondered, chewing on a #4 putter...

"Gee Whizz" said Michelle. "We're so lucky that we have this unresolved family mystery to look into, it makes a change from our usual weekend pastime of lounging about on our plastic-covered couch watching gameshow re-runs while stuffing ourselves with Twinkies. Last week I was so bored I nearly p*ssed myself"

"You did," her brother replied. "Thank goodness for Shout," he muttered under his breath.

"You said you'd never mention that again" Michelle snapped. "That's the last time I tell you anything". Eyes fixed dead ahead - the couple completed their car journey in sullen silence.

Night turned into morning, morning turned into noon and Richard turned into a deserted gas station.

"What'll it be?" croaked the attendant. A hunched, toothless creature of indeterminate sex whose face looked not unlike the product of an unhappy marriage between a raisin and a walnut.

"Do you sell Craven A's?" Richard asked. "I won't allow any inferior nicotine to irritate my lungs."

"Strangers, eh?" rasped the fruit and nut hybrid, hopping from one bandied leg to the other. Standing still, he would have mimicked a pair of parentheses.

"Not to each other," laughed Michelle, who had possibly been sniffing the blue juice.

"Shush, Michelle," snapped Richard. "Can't you see I'm patronising the natives?" He looked queerly at the attendant's boots, humming a strange tune and sucking a Pacer's mint.

Edited June 26, 2008 by SteveLaura

[Trumplestiltskin 5,791]

"Bad habit you got there... them things'll kill you!" the attendant growled, spidery hands reaching around inside his booth and returning with a small dusty carton of cigarettes.

"There's really no need..." Richard began as the attendant began stripping off the ancient polythene wrapper. But the man paid no heed - slipping out one of the yellowed cigarettes, he broke off the filter - lit up and took a long drag, before tossing the rest of the pack through the car window onto Richard's lap.

Richard opened his mouth to complain but thought better of it. The chesire cat expression of pleasure on the wizened face reminded him (not pleasingly) of the time he and his brother had caught their grandfather with the prostitute in the garden shed. His cheeks flushed, and a dark stain appeared on his trousers. A stain that corresponded somehow to the depressingly familiar warm sensation down his legs.

Edited June 26, 2008 by Number 6

[Peikko 1,575]

This pant wetting was becoming a familiar and constant pattern. Michele turned her head away to conceal the smirk that she couldn't suppress and as she did so, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure lurking behind the net curtains of the house attached to the gas station.

Edited June 26, 2008 by Purple_Hibiscus

[SteveLaura 0]

It was a dark thunderous night. Richard and Michelle set out to find what had happened 2 years earlier to his missing twin brother Robert, who was killed in an unfortunate gardening accident.

The only thing the police was able to find at the site of crime was Robert's extendable gardening claw, with matching mini-claw for the smaller gardener and a set of six-toed footprints leading away from the scene. What could have made these prints was a real mystery to the police.

Richard stroked his greying goatee, staring off into the distance. He thought back to the old days, those summer holidays in the English Cotswolds with Major Fotherington (retired) and his witty stories of massacring the Boers. He pictured the old major now - his adjustable hunchback; his handlebar moustache - complete with bell and water bottle holder; his gait... Yes, there was something about the way he walked. His boots were custom-made by an old blind lady in Threadneedle St. What is the connection, Richard pondered, chewing on a #4 putter...

"Gee Whizz" said Michelle. "We're so lucky that we have this unresolved family mystery to look into, it makes a change from our usual weekend pastime of lounging about on our plastic-covered couch watching gameshow re-runs while stuffing ourselves with Twinkies. Last week I was so bored I nearly p*ssed myself"

"You did," her brother replied. "Thank goodness for Shout," he muttered under his breath.

"You said you'd never mention that again" Michelle snapped. "That's the last time I tell you anything". Eyes fixed dead ahead - the couple completed their car journey in sullen silence.

Night turned into morning, morning turned into noon and Richard turned into a deserted gas station.

"What'll it be?" croaked the attendant. A hunched, toothless creature of indeterminate sex whose face looked not unlike the product of an unhappy marriage between a raisin and a walnut.

"Do you sell Craven A's?" Richard asked. "I won't allow any inferior nicotine to irritate my lungs."

"Strangers, eh?" rasped the fruit and nut hybrid, hopping from one bandied leg to the other. Standing still, he would have mimicked a pair of parentheses.

"Not to each other," laughed Michelle, who had possibly been sniffing the blue juice.

"Shush, Michelle," snapped Richard. "Can't you see I'm patronising the natives?" He looked queerly at the attendant's boots, humming a strange tune and sucking a Pacer's mint.

"Bad habit you got there... them things'll kill you!" the attendant growled, spidery hands reaching around inside his booth and returning with a small dusty carton of cigarettes.

"There's really no need..." Richard began as the attendant began stripping off the ancient polythene wrapper. But the man paid no heed - slipping out one of the yellowed cigarettes, he broke off the filter - lit up and took a long drag, before tossing the rest of the pack through the car window onto Richard's lap.

Richard opened his mouth to complain but thought better of it. The chesire cat expression of pleasure on the wizened face reminded him (not pleasingly) of the time he and his brother had caught their grandfather with the prostitute in the garden shed. His cheeks flushed, and a dark stain appeared on his trousers. A stain that corresponded somehow to the depressingly familiar warm sensation down his legs.

This pant wetting was becoming a familiar and constant pattern. Michele turned her head away to conceal the smirk that she couldn't suppress and as she did so, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure lurking behind the net curtains of the house attached to the gas station.

"You be on your way," the old man intoned. He brought his weathered face closer to the car window. His wrinkles were like a contour map of the Himalayas. Richard could smell cheap whiskey and licorice on his breath. "You be on your way and never return. No one ever returns..."

Michelle leaned over to look at the hunched over figure. "Do you sell Shout?"

Edited June 26, 2008 by SteveLaura

[Peikko 1,575]

The old man cackled "Shout? Not much call for that around these parts"

Michelle slumped back into her seat.

[Trumplestiltskin 5,791]

“Well that’s enough dilly-dallying!” said Richard, surprisingly cheerfully. Still smiling gave the old man the finger and stamped his foot on the gas. The car roared to life sending up a spray of gravel. Unbalanced by the speeding car, the attendant stumbled backwards, catching his feet in a loop of hose from one of the nearby pumps. He fell, and as he did the cigarette fell (conveniently) into a nearby can of gasoline that had been carelessly left open.

As Richard and Michelle rounded the bend in the road, a loud “Whump” sounded behind them and the sky turned momentarily orange as a roiling cloud of smoke and fire rose above the tree line.

As before they drove in stony silence, a silence perpetuated by Michelle’s spraying out an entire bottle of expensive perfume in an attempt to cover up the urine smell in the car. It worked… but only just. Now the car smelled not only of urine, but of old fruit salads as well.

[SteveLaura 0]

It was a dark thunderous night. Richard and Michelle set out to find what had happened 2 years earlier to his missing twin brother Robert, who was killed in an unfortunate gardening accident.

The only thing the police was able to find at the site of crime was Robert's extendable gardening claw, with matching mini-claw for the smaller gardener and a set of six-toed footprints leading away from the scene. What could have made these prints was a real mystery to the police.

Richard stroked his greying goatee, staring off into the distance. He thought back to the old days, those summer holidays in the English Cotswolds with Major Fotherington (retired) and his witty stories of massacring the Boers. He pictured the old major now - his adjustable hunchback; his handlebar moustache - complete with bell and water bottle holder; his gait... Yes, there was something about the way he walked. His boots were custom-made by an old blind lady in Threadneedle St. What is the connection, Richard pondered, chewing on a #4 putter...

"Gee Whizz" said Michelle. "We're so lucky that we have this unresolved family mystery to look into, it makes a change from our usual weekend pastime of lounging about on our plastic-covered couch watching gameshow re-runs while stuffing ourselves with Twinkies. Last week I was so bored I nearly p*ssed myself"

"You did," her brother replied. "Thank goodness for Shout," he muttered under his breath.

"You said you'd never mention that again" Michelle snapped. "That's the last time I tell you anything". Eyes fixed dead ahead - the couple completed their car journey in sullen silence.

Night turned into morning, morning turned into noon and Richard turned into a deserted gas station.

"What'll it be?" croaked the attendant. A hunched, toothless creature of indeterminate sex whose face looked not unlike the product of an unhappy marriage between a raisin and a walnut.

"Do you sell Craven A's?" Richard asked. "I won't allow any inferior nicotine to irritate my lungs."

"Strangers, eh?" rasped the fruit and nut hybrid, hopping from one bandied leg to the other. Standing still, he would have mimicked a pair of parentheses.

"Not to each other," laughed Michelle, who had possibly been sniffing the blue juice.

"Shush, Michelle," snapped Richard. "Can't you see I'm patronising the natives?" He looked queerly at the attendant's boots, humming a strange tune and sucking a Pacer's mint.

"Bad habit you got there... them things'll kill you!" the attendant growled, spidery hands reaching around inside his booth and returning with a small dusty carton of cigarettes.

"There's really no need..." Richard began as the attendant began stripping off the ancient polythene wrapper. But the man paid no heed - slipping out one of the yellowed cigarettes, he broke off the filter - lit up and took a long drag, before tossing the rest of the pack through the car window onto Richard's lap.

Richard opened his mouth to complain but thought better of it. The chesire cat expression of pleasure on the wizened face reminded him (not pleasingly) of the time he and his brother had caught their grandfather with the prostitute in the garden shed. His cheeks flushed, and a dark stain appeared on his trousers. A stain that corresponded somehow to the depressingly familiar warm sensation down his legs.

This pant wetting was becoming a familiar and constant pattern. Michele turned her head away to conceal the smirk that she couldn't suppress and as she did so, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure lurking behind the net curtains of the house attached to the gas station.

"You be on your way," the old man intoned. He brought his weathered face closer to the car window. His wrinkles were like a contour map of the Himalayas. Richard could smell cheap whiskey and licorice on his breath. "You be on your way and never return. No one ever returns..."

Michelle leaned over to look at the hunched over figure. "Do you sell Shout?"

The old man cackled "Shout? Not much call for that around these parts"

Michelle slumped back into her seat.

“Well that’s enough dilly-dallying!†said Richard, surprisingly cheerfully. Still smiling gave the old man the finger and stamped his foot on the gas. The car roared to life sending up a spray of gravel. Unbalanced by the speeding car, the attendant stumbled backwards, catching his feet in a loop of hose from one of the nearby pumps. He fell, and as he did the cigarette fell (conveniently) into a nearby can of gasoline that had been carelessly left open.

As Richard and Michelle rounded the bend in the road, a loud “Whump†sounded behind them and the sky turned momentarily orange as a roiling cloud of smoke and fire rose above the tree line.

As before they drove in stony silence, a silence perpetuated by Michelle’s spraying out an entire bottle of expensive perfume in an attempt to cover up the urine smell in the car. It worked… but only just. Now the car smelled not only of urine, but of old fruit salads as well.

They drove on. Richard flicked on the windscreen wipers against a light rain. Michelle rolled up her window and settled down to doze, her fingers intuitively reaching out to tweak the radio. Ira Glass' nasal tones battled the increasing drops of precipitation. As the storm clouds gathered apace, Richard saw a flashing blue neon sign - 'Motel'. He illegally crossed two lanes of traffic and started down the muddy, potholed road. "I hope a nice quiet family own this establishment, not some lonely, taxidermist with a bloodlust," he thought to himself.

Edited June 26, 2008 by SteveLaura

[Peikko 1,575]

Back at the gas station, the only survivor of this untimely conflagration crawled away from the burning chaos that had been her home. Some feet away, by some miracle, the garage that housed the ancient vehicle licensed in her name also escaped the bonfire with some minor charring. With no little effort she reached the door and went inside.

[Trumplestiltskin 5,791]

It was a little after 3am when Michelle awoke to the sound of gunfire from the parking lot outside the motel... Looking over at the other side of the bed she noted with some alarm that Richard was nowhere to be seen.

Edited June 26, 2008 by Number 6

[Peikko 1,575]

"Richard" she whispered. No sound penetrated the deep, black gloom of the room. Michele started to rise when she noticed that sickly sweet odour of urine and felt the damp sheets. "Typical" she muttered "I told him not to have that third glass of scrumpy, but he wouldn't listen, he never does".

The sound of gunfire brought her focus back to the parking lot. "Who was firing guns at this hour" she wondered. Michele was not a particularly brave soul but something told her that remaining in this bed, in this room would be less than prudent.

[Peikko 1,575]

Summoning her reserves of stiff upper lip and swigging a copious mouthful of scrumpy from the last remaining bottle, Michelle tip-toed to the window and tweaked the curtain. The night was inky black and the neon sign from the Motel cast a bright pool of red light onto one small corner of the carpark, beside the front entrance. At first Michelle could see no one. The shots that had woken her and drawn her to the window had ceased. Michelle peered into the dark recesses where the neon light could not penetrate. "Was there something in the doorway of room 12?" She wondered. Room 12 was directly opposite their own room but the night was too black and the neon too dim for Michelle to be sure of anything.

Edited June 26, 2008 by Purple_Hibiscus

[Trumplestiltskin 5,791]

Turning away from the window Michelle’s heart leapt into her throat. Richard was standing right in front of her, eyes wide and trembling. The sharp tang of urine hung in the air like musk.

“Jesus Rich, don’t creep up on me like that. You almost gave me a heart attack”. But Richard seemed to hear her only distantly, as if through a thick fog. It was then she noticed the gun in his hand, and the dirt and blood spattered on his face.

“Taxidermists” he blurted out breathlessly. “Taxidermists… with a bloodlust. They followed us from the gas station”.

[SteveLaura 0]

Michelle began to protest but was cut short by a frenzied scratching at the door. The sound was akin to a dozen rabid wolves after a rabbit or possibly one Scottish PE teacher dying for a smoke break.

"Richard, do something!" she screamed at her semi-comatose brother as she threw open drawers looking for a weapon. The silent Gideon's Bible seemed to mock her with its piousness, though it appeared to have sharp corners. The maddening sound, just a few fragile inches of wood away, became more intense. She picked up the book, thrust her brother aside, and stood her ground.

[Peikko 1,575]

Seemingly however, the ground could not stand her. Without any warning it gave way beneath her feet and Michelle was plunged into a darkness even thicker and blacker than the starless night she'd been peering into only moments before. The look of astonishment on Richard's face, as he saw his sister disappear through the whole clutching the bible like a talisman, was matched by a similar look on the faces of the crazed taxidermists who chose that very moment to burst through the motel room door.

[Trumplestiltskin 5,791]

As she faded in and out of consciousness, Michelle heard the sounds of a violent struggle taking place in the room above. Shouts, screams and animal grunts. Then over the din, Richard's voice burst out like the ringing of a deep bell.

"Right you f*ckers! Come here and eat a bullet breakfast!".

There were several gunshots, more screams, a loud rending crash and then silence.

Just before she passed out it suddenly occurred to Michelle that she was missing tonight's episode of Wheel of Fortune.

Edited June 27, 2008 by Number 6