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Misadventures (intended to be a humorous piece...)
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Misadventures (intended to be a humorous piece...) |
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Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
“Misadventures” It was a dark and stormy night . . . well, not actually, but to say ‘it was a bright and sunny day’ wouldn’t fit the mood, would it? So . . . It was a dark and stormy night. Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, and a shadow was seen crouching behind a tree. Lightning flashed again and it illuminated the form of . . . Ruffles the dog urinating on the tree . . . oh, never mind! Here’s the story: The news report went, “Duchess Emilia Streng, obscenely rich widow of Duke Streng of Strung, was found stabbed to death in her sauna. The body had shrunk in the intense steam, so her face was unrecognizable, but it was wearing all the famous Streng jewelry. The local coppers are baffled that the old crone was knocked off without the murderer taking even a pearl, since the jewelry is worth over five million pounds. Investigations are underway. This is Ima Gossip reporting for BBC Headline News.” That’s when they called me - Flur. Wendell Flur, P.I., and frankly, I’m as clueless as that dang dog that won’t stop pooping on her bed. I arrived here at Elsibob Manor last Tuesday, and immediately things began to get . . . dull. I can’t make heads nor tales of the supposed ‘clues’ that are all over this monstrous hole. I found footprints in the mud, but it seems the person who made them had round with little round toes . . .like a dog’s. An ornamental sword that has hung over the mantle since Duke Streng keeled over is missing, and a substance that looks like blood and smells like fresh paint is on the tree outside her window. I’m nonplussed. The worst of all is a letter found in the book Emilia was reading before she went into the sauna. It goes like this: 1. eggs 2. butter 3. sausage 4. flour 5. milk Strange. Very strange, indeed. Interviewing the staff has gotten me nowhere fast. Both the maid and the butler were on holiday that day, and took their repose in the basement where the double-olympic-sized pool and bar are located. Neither one remembers the other because the pool is too large to see who is at the other end. Emilia’s niece, Mandy Hill, was on a horseback riding trip with the stable hand, a gypsy known only as Lannekai. The cook was in town buying groceries. So I am at a dead end with the dead end of Emilia Streng on my hands. Gross. The evening of the day I arrived, I was shown to an extravagant suite with Winterhalters and Van Gogh’s staring back at me from the walls. The massive four-poster bed was draped with musty blue velvet curtains and sheets. That velvet must have been older than Duke Streng himself! In any case, I flopped down on that bed, pooped as all get-out from a long day of traveling and detectiving - and immediately felt like I was being watched. I couldn’t sleep, so I got out my notebook and reviewed the events. I had just reached that puzzling letter part when a scream shattered the night silence like a Viking opera singer. I jumped up and raced down all three flights of stairs, spurred on by a new shriek at each landing. I reached the kitchen to find my worst fears realized - it was a Viking opera singer! No! It was the cook, Eronna Strawberry, dressed as a Viking opera singer! Not only was she a Viking, she was a dead Viking! She had fallen in the carrots with a butcher knife in her back. There seemed to be no sign of a struggle, and one clue lay in her clenched fist: a most bizarre and interesting and, dare I say, bizarre note. It went like this: 1. eggs 2. butter 3. sausage 4. milk 5. flour Strange. Very strange, indeed. This note looked exactly like the note from Emilia’s book with the same flowing script - but milk and flour were reversed. Hmmm . . . what could this mean? I quickly rang the bell for all the servants to convene in the study, where I apprised them of the events. “Somebody here is a killer!” I shouted, irate that the cook had been clobbered before she’d had a chance to finish making dessert - carrot cake. “Unless, Emilia’s ghost did it,” the maid, Crystal O’matt, ominously toned. “She claimed she had the power to return from the dead.” ‘Now, look,” I reasoned, “Why would she kill the cook? Unless, the cook killed her! Which would explain the bizarre and interesting and, dare I say, bizarre notes!” Hmmm . . . this was a new turn of events. Now I did not have an intruder, but a supernatural phenomenon. I decided to call in an expert. But when I tried the phones in the study, lounge, and bathrooms, all were dead. It now seemed I was out in the boondocks of England with a ghost loose in a mansion the size of Manhattan. Six hundred and seventy-nine rooms. It was too much to even consider searching tonight, so I trucked off to bed. Once in my room, I noticed a painting that had escaped my professionally trained eye before. A woman, naked, enveloped in the mist of a waterfall, and her eyes followed me around the room. I started to undress, but by the time I got to my tidy-whities, the eyes were lifeless. I tried to disregard it, and so I locked the door and the window, and went to bed. Maybe I’d find more clues in the morning . . . Chapter Two I awoke the next morning invigorated and refreshed. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and a nice breeze was coming through the wide open . . . window!? I shut that window before going to bed, yet there it was, plain as the wart on my nose, open! I rushed over and peered down, trying to figure out how anyone had scaled the smooth wall to reach my third storey room. Then - it hit me! Right smack dab in the face . . . bird dookie! As I turned to get a towel to wipe my face, I realized the person must have opened the window from inside because the window had been locked! I reached for my notepad, thinking to add this event to my ever-growing list of mysterious events, but to my dismay, my notepad was gone! I raced around in my skivvies throwing clothes and cushions and papers scouring for my notepad. Then, I spotted it - right on the bed stand where I left it. Hmpf. I went over and picked it up, thinking to add this event to my list, but to my amazement, someone had already added it! It was written in flowing script with a lipstick press at the top. I knew I was going to have an interesting day. With the cook dead, breakfast was whatever I could scavenge. I looked around the monstrous kitchen with its medieval-type cookware of puzzling purpose and decided to forego the ham and eggs. I walked into the walk-in pantry and began pulling boxes looking for cereal. I was beginning to think I’d never find anything when I pulled an unmarked box and the shelf slid open. I had found a secret passageway! It was very dark, but I had my trusty Cub Scout Flashlight, so I ventured in. The passage was narrow with many twists and turns and I discovered I could hear through the walls as if they were paper. I passed what sounded like vacuuming, and then a dying cat in a shower. I soon realized this was the butler singing. Eeesh! I quickly moved on. About half-way through, my flashlight quit working. (Damn them Cub Scouts!) Luckily, I saw a shaft of light coming from a side corridor. I turned to go down it and tripped over something, landing on a pile of junk with a crash. (I’m gonna sue those Cub Scouts if I ever get out of here alive . . .) I picked myself up and headed for the light. Upon reaching the source, I found a heavy door ajar. Peeking in, I saw a sparingly furnished room. No one was in it, so I ventured in. A fire was going in the fireplace, and there was a table with half-eaten cereal. It looked as if someone had left in a hurry, possibly warned by my crash in the corridor. I was hungry, so I finished off the cereal while I took stock of the situation: -old mansion in the middle of nowhere -secret passages and hidden rooms -two murders -killer still on the loose Hmmm. We didn’t have a ghost, we had an intruder. From the looks of things, he or she had been here a while. Dresses were strewn all over the bed, and army uniforms were hanging in the closet. The table was piled with dishes as if someone has eaten here a number of times. I could only conclude that this person was probably here when Emilia was killed, and that they knew I was here. I would have to watch my back. As I got up, I felt a strange sensation on all parts of my body that had touched the chair. I carefully placed my hand on the back of my leg. It came away sticky, wet, and red . . . blood! No, worse! Red paint all over my brand new, very expensive, white leisure suit. Hmpf. I noticed another door on the far side of the room and decided to continue my investigation. This time I left that stupid Cub Scout Flashlight and took a candelabra from the fireplace mantle. As I crept down the corridor, I heard what sounded like the niece, Mandy Hill, and that stable hand Lannekai talking. I was about to pass by when I saw what looked like a painting, but was really the back of one. The eyes had been cut out, and were on a device that could be slid over to place one’s eyes at the holes. Upon doing so, I saw Mandy and Lannekai in the library with the butler dead at their feet. So they were the murderers! It all began to make sense now! Mandy murders Emilia to inherit the fortune, and she and Lannekai cover the trail with painted blood and false footprints and they split the moola! The cook must have discovered their sinister deed and lost her life over it. But who was living in the hidden room, the Tooth Fairy? I was suddenly glad no paintings in my room had cut-out eyes. Suddenly, I heard a noise in the corridor ahead. I plunged into the blackness, hot wax searing my hand. I caught a glimpse of a shadow down a side corridor and crashed after it. Then, I burst into the ballroom and witnessed a horrible sight. The maid was swinging by her pantyhose from the chandelier. She had obviously committed suicide! Chapter Three I stared incredulously, dazed for a few seconds, then screamed high and female-like. Mandy and Lannekai came running, and they, too, screamed high and female-like. “She’s dead!” Mandy wailed, “Now who will do my laundry?” “How did she get up there?” Lannekai grunted. Then I, too, noticed no chair or ladder in the vicinity. She couldn’t have committed suicide, she had to have been murdered! “Mr. Flur, we found the butler like this, too. He’d been shot, but there was no gun, just this note.” She handed me a note, written in flowing script, with a lipstick press at the top. It said: “In this house, its hard to survive. Some will be dead who are now alive. The butler is gone because he knew too much. Bye for now, but rest assured We’ll keep in constant contact with each other.” Hmmm. This note was very puzzling. The words ‘survive’ and ‘alive’ rhyme, but ‘much’ and ‘constant contact with each other’ do not. This was serious. It would require further investigation. “Lannekai, protect Mandy. We have a killer on the loose, and I’m going to talk to the one person who saw Emilia last . . . Ruffles the dog.” I just hoped he wasn’t too busy to speak with me. I found Ruffles pooping on the bed as usual, but I noticed that his excrement was strange. It was . . . shiny. And stinky. (Phew!) I got out my trusty magnifying glass and my even trustier clothespin. Leaning down for a better look, I was dumbfounded. Diamonds! The dog was pooping diamonds! I heard and felt a presence behind me, so I turned around and came face to face with Emilia Streng! It couldn’t be! But it was! “So you figured it out, did you?” she said. “I knew you knew!” “You knew I knew you knew what?” “You knew all along that this whole thing was a plot . . .that I pretend to die and hide in my husband’s old war room while I knock off the rest of the household and feed Ruffles diamonds to hide from the remaining sticky- fingered staff.” “B-b-b-but why?” I stammered. “ You think I want that brat Mandy to have my fortune? Or the idiot help, for that matter? No! I want it all to go to my dear, sweet, darling Ruffles . . . and I woulda gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for those dang kids! . . .” “Um, ma’am . . .” “Shut-up! It’s not too late, you see. I’ll fix everything, Ruffles. Daddy made it so you wouldn’t get a penny, but don’t you worry! Mommy will fix everything . . . and no one will ever know!” Then she pulled out a gun, and shot me. * * * “Emilia Streng, obscenely rich widow of Duke Streng of Strung was found by the police early Saturday morning. It seems she hadn’t died in her sauna, but had been held prisoner by her niece Mandy Hill and a mysterious gypsy known only as Lannekai. The two had murdered the household staff and a private investigator working in the scene. The pair apparently had a quarrel and killed each other, but not before managing to poison poor Emilia. This leaves Ruffles the dog to inherit over 75 million pounds in assets. All I have to say is, that’s a lot of kibble. This is Eve S. Dropper, BBC Headline News.” "Well she wants to live her life, then she thinks about her life... Pulls her hair back as she screams, I don't really want to live this life!" -Train "Meet Virginia" |
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| © Copyright 2000 Wendy Flora - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Nagemx Junior Member
since 2000-01-20
Posts 14 |
A HIT! Oh, Wendy, you make me proud! A delightful, comedy, much in the manner of (DAMMIT! Can't remember the name of your favourite movie! AAAAUUGGHH!!) But i love it, write more!! LOTS OF LOVE!! Meg Never regret |
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Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
Private Eyes!!  You even had the icon right, silly girl. Lab joo too. -wen"Well she wants to live her life, then she thinks about her life... Pulls her hair back as she screams, I don't really want to live this life!" -Train "Meet Virginia" |
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gofor42 Member
since 2000-01-23
Posts 143Arkansas |
I don't know where you find your inspiration, but I wish you'd tell me so I could write stuff like this. "If you can't annoy somebody, there's little point in writing." --Kingsley Amis |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Bravo, great tale! |
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Alle'cram Senior Member
since 2000-02-28
Posts 1816Texas |
I love this one!! You made me a visual as I read the story. "Then it hit me square in the face......bird dookie that is"; the clues were so interesting, why?,,,"the second line, the words didn't rhyme". Great piece. Poor girl gotta find another profession. alle' |
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