Ten Little Indians
Cluedo:
Emily Brent was completely unnerved as she stood alone in her bedroom. Of course, she wouldn't deny that it had been a tiresome night. The funny thing was she wasn't the least bit surprised that Anthony Marston died. He was a wild, foolish man! She certainly wasn't afraid of the presence of death either. Why should she? Emily Brent was never afraid! To think that the record could accuse her of murder was probably the silliest thing she had ever heard. Everybody else may have felt guilty, but not Emily Brent. Why would she? She didn't even touch the girl! She didn't tell her to commit suicide!
"Hardly what I would call "murder"," Emily thought stiftly, as she walked towards her precious Bible, "I've always lived and acted according to the Lord. What crime could possibly be seen in that? Whole thing is ridiculous more than anything."
Vera Claythorne was also awake. She couldn't sleep a wink. She could have at least gotten into her sleeping gown, but she didn't feel like that either. It was funny. She felt as though Hugo was close to her again (But she wouldn't think of Hugo!). However, despite this, she knew that she couldn't ignore the feeling. Being on the island reminded her of the sea. In fact, she could almost hear that puny, whiny voice of Cyril's,
"Why can't I swim out to the rock Miss Claythorne? I want to swim out to the rock!"
"No," She would reply, "No Cyril, it's too far out."
And then afterwards? When he was in bed? Hugo would come for her...
"Come out for a stroll Miss Claythorne...."
"Why I think I will..."
Then his strong muscular arms would be wrapped around her.
"I love you Vera, you know I love you...," Hugo would say.
She knew he loved her (Or at least though she knew.)
"I've haven't got a penny to spend. I can't ask you to marry me. Queer though, for once, for three months I had a chance to be a rich man to look forward to, " Hugo would recall, "Cyril wasn't born until three months after Maurice died. If he had been a girl..."
If Cyril had been a girl, Hugo would have gotten everything, and they would live happily together ever after...
But Hugo was awfully fond of Cyril however. He didn't hold it against the child. They would play games together, nothing rough though. Cyril was a puny boy compared to grown-up Hugo. In fact, he was puny little runt all together. Just a 7-year old lad!
And then of course...
"Why can't I swim out to the rock Miss Claythorne?"
"It's too far Cyril.."
"But Miss Claythorne!"
Vera got up and went over to the table to take some aspirin with water. Her mind poured over the evening events...
"Poor Tony Marston...," She thought, "If I were to commit suicide I would use some painless sleeping stuff but not cyanide!"
Suddenly the rhyme on her desk caught her eye....
"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self, and then there were nine..."
She shuddered. Suddenly she remembered that horrible, twisted, convulsed, purple face of Anthony Marston...
"Why would he want to die?" She thought sadly to herself, "Death wasn't for young men like him, death was for...other people..."
Cluedo:
Dr. Edward Armstrong lay wide awake. It was now about 2:00 AM. He was having a little insomnia. Of course, he thought about taking the same sleeping stuff he gave to Mrs. Rogers, but he felt too weak to move. He was sweating in fact as he tried to make to make personal reconciliation with the record accusation. Of course, he would think that every time a patient died, everyone would consider it the surgeon's fault, but this time it was different...
"Drunk...,"He thought, "That's what it was...drunk....and I operated! Elderly woman...poor dear....simple job if I had been sober. Lucky for me, there's loyalty in our profession. The sister knew of course, but she held her tongue. God it gave me a shock! Pulled me up. But who could have known about it....after all these years?"
He couldn't bear it any longer. His eyelids felt like stinging drapes yearning to be pulled down over his eyes. The heat, the deep sleep, the guilt....no sooner was he dreaming....
It was hot in the operating room...
Surely they got the temperature too high? The sweat. His clammy hands. Difficult to hold the scalpel properly....
How beautifully sharp it was. Easy to do a murder, and that's exactly what he was doing. Murder.
The woman's body looked odd. Not like it has before...it was a spare meager body.
Who was it he had to kill?
Sister was watching. Should he ask the Sister? No....she was suspicious enough.
Who was it on the operating table? If only he could see the face....
He lifted a corner of the sheet....
Ah that's better!
Wait, it's Emily Brent he had to kill! What was it she said?
"In the midst of life, we are in death..."
She was laughing now....but no. Not Emily Brent. Is wasn't Emily on the table...why it was actually Anthony Marston!
Damned young fool! Nearly ran him over! This speeding is all wrong, all wrong! It is Marston he has to kill, yes! His purple convulsed face....and yet he's not dead. He's laughing!
Nurse! Help! Steady the table! He's out of control....he's shaking the operating table! Steady it nurse! Steady it!
Dr. Armstrong woke up with start. It was morning already! Rogers suddenly recoiled after shaking Armstrong from his sleep. He stood tall, but his face was pale and his hands were shaking...
"Doctor!" He cried.
"Rogers!?" Responded Dr. Armstrong groggily, "What is it man?"
"It..It's my wife sir!" Replied Rogers frantic, "I...I..can't get her to wake! My God, I can't get her to wake!"
Cluedo:
Philip Lombard had a habit of waking up early. The sun shined through the windows. It was a beautiful day. In fact, he could almost forget what happened the night before. There was just one reminder...one small piece of evidence that would snap him back to just where he was.
On the table he saw his personal revolver....
He was told that Mr. Owen requested that he ought to bring it. Just it case, but now that mattered have turned....interesting. As he got dressed for the day, felt it was best to put it somewhere where it would be out of sight for now.....perhaps he may need it later....
William Blore also had a habit of waking up early. He was probably the first guest downstairs. He liked being the first one up. It gave him a sense of freedom to examine areas undisturbed by bothersome people. He entered the parlor; a location that held great drama the night before. It must be ridden with clues! Of course the first thing that came to his mind was what had become the perpetrator of death last night; Marston's whiskey glass!
"Hmmmmm..." Blore thought as he curiously examined the glass sitting innocently on the sideboard, "I wonder if it's just Marston's fingerprints that are all over that glass..."
Before he had any more time to think, Lombard entered...
"Good morning Blore!" Announced Lombard cheerfully, "Having your early morning investigation?"
"Call it what you like," Replied Blore, shrugging his heavy shoulders, "I just had a few things on my mind after what happened last night..."
"Ah, so you have ideas then?" Asked Lombard interested.
Blore yawned.
"I may," He replied, "But I don't think I can say much more until I've had some breakfast..."
Cluedo:
Rogers led Dr. Armstrong into the room where his wife was still in bed.
"There..," He said, "I don't know. I can't understand it. She won't wake or respond to me. What's happened Doctor?"
"Well," Replied Armstrong calmly, "I'll have a look."
He approached the sleeping woman with great apprehension....
He bend down close, and felt her skin. It was cold a clammy. A bad sign alright. Then he pushed his fingers into her mouth and felt the tongue; dry as paper. Finally he lifted one of the eyelids....the eyes were diluted...and she never woke....
He stood up and let out a deep sigh.
"I..is she?" Asked Rogers nervously.
"Yes Rogers, I'm sorry," Said Dr. Armstrong quietly, "She's gone."
Rogers let out a breath and looked down at the floor. As the shock passed he looked as though he was going to cry....
"Was...was it her heart doctor?" He asked softly.
"Her heart definitely failed to beat," Armstrong replied, "What caused it to fail is the question."
Before he could say another word, Rogers clutched his stomach and let go of a few uncontrollable tears...
He feebly excused himself and turned away from the Doctor as he sobbed.
"She..she had a bad feeling about this place," He blubbered, "And...oh I wish I had listened to her. I wish I had been kinder to her the past few days...."
Of course now the question was, who's going to make breakfast?
Astral Faery:
Wow! This is really great! I'm not at all familiar with this story, so it's interesting to read it in sim form. I'm on the edge of my seat now, I hope more will come soon.
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