@Ghostwriter

Murdersdale 9 "Followed?!" Jedidiah whispered fiercely as he wanted to turn, but the lady gripped his hand suddenly and tightly, fixing him a fiery look. "Can you kindly display even a little bit of the tact that makes you a renowned detective in these parts?" Jedidiah nursed his injured pride as he flashed her a smile, moving over to her side as he tipped his hat and took her hand in his palm. Her hands were silky soft, and even though he was acting as though he was wooing her, of course to throw off whoever had followed him, he could not deny that kissing her hands was a heavenly pleasure. "You're enjoying yourself a tad too much, detective." He suddenly came back to earth and noticed he had been kissing those fingers a little longer than was normal. Standing up, he moved to the seat beside hers and sat down. Saying anything more would add to the embarrassment that was evident on his flustered face. "No surprise there. I have this effect on men, and no matter how popular the great Jedidiah might be, he is still a man anyway," she said, flashing him a saucy smile. "Great job there," he said, smiling tightly. "Can we start from who the heck you are and how you know me?" She didn't seem in the least offended; instead she just smiled and flipped the pages of the book she was holding. "Identities are nothing but what I want them to be at the moment. I don't want to, er, insult you by giving you a false one, so I ask that we leave the matter of my identity for another time..." Jedidiah could do little to hide his irritation. "You..." "..but if you're so persistent, which you are," she said, continuing as though he did not interrupt her. "You can call me your informant. Let's just say I have some interests in this case that may or may not be sponsored. While you have a murder case on your hands, I on the other hand have the issue of the Eye of the Sky. What I'm seeking here is a..." "Cooperation, ain't it?" "A lot of pride, an imposing character, an annoying habit of cutting people off and then this manner of speaking. You're ticking all the boxes in my bad books, Jedidiah," she said, her smile now steely. "But I guess that's the man that you are, and the job I'm here for bears more importance than my personal interests. If putting up for that is ok it takes to get back that diamond, then I..." "You won't have to put up with me, 'cause I sure as hell ain't working with you. Later, Gator," Jedidiah said, walking out of the library at that moment. He turned back briefly to make sure she - or anyone else at that - was not following him before walking on, shaking his head as he manoeuvred his way through a crowd until he arrived at a bar, assured that he had not been followed. *This case just keeps on getting better and better*, he thought as he asked for some brandy. He needed to keep his spirits high and his eyes wide open as he went back to the train to Corndale. Where anything could be waiting for him. From his dark corner in the room, he observed two men who entered the bar. One wore a huge coat and kept his hat topped over his head. The other wore a dirty long sleeved shirt and a waistcoat on that. His trousers were faded, and he looked quite in place here as opposed to... The library where Jedidiah had spotted him subconsciously earlier. He hated it that the woman was right, especially not now that the man's eyes had taken on him. Recognition flashed in Mister Dirty Clothes' eyes as he brought out a gun from his pocket. "You were warned to stay off this case. It'd have been wise to forget about justice and leave this place, but y'all don't listen, huh?" The whole place was thrown into chaos and Jedidiah tried to duck as people ran out of the place. But then a shotbrang out and the man dropped to the ground. It was the second man who entered - the one in the coat - that shot. But it wasn't a man. As the mystery figure unbuttoned and threw away the coat, Jedidiah saw the familiar burgundy gown. "As you can see," the lady said, standing majestically with a hand upon her hip and the other on the hat, "you need me." ****** Sorry for not updating in... A month, is it? I've been busy with a lot of school stuff recently, and I'm just borrowing some time from my studies (which now own my time) to update my story, so I hope y'all understand. @Ozzyy @Leo_kitti @Hanzell @gertu13

Murdersdale 8 Jedidiah could not help but wonder how the Sheriff got into the mix of things. Was he working with Scarecrow Thomas’s gang? There was a chance that whoever sent them could have also gotten the Sheriff on his payroll, either to make the process of obtaining the diamond faster, or to deter Jedidiah himself. There was even a remote possibility that he could be the mastermind of the whole attempt to coerce the dead woman to release the diadem. And then there was still the possibility of the Sheriff working alone as another person who’d managed to do some research and trace the diamond all the way from Spain to this town. Tracing that he would also need to do himself if he wanted an edge in this investigation. But for now, he decided that his mission today would be to take a train to the city for a while, Armandshire to be precise. That was the closest developed town, and it had a state-of-the-art library – another amazing feat. There, he would do some required sleuthing. Forgetting something? A voice asked within his head. His ‘inner detective’ as he liked to call it. Then he remembered he had been followed yesterday, and that there was a possibility he was being followed even now. By either the Sheriff or any other parties that were involved. He was going to have to be extra cautious if he was going to solve this mystery. “If cases like this didn’t give me such an orgasmic thrill,” he said to himself, “I’d have left this one already!” He looked over his shoulder discreetly and saw that he wasn’t being followed. Of course, there was the chance that his stalkers were a lot more experienced this time, but there were still ways of losing even the most experienced shadows. Smiling, he hailed a carriage and headed off for the train. The Sheriff sat down in the bar, wondering if Jedidiah had found out yet. It had been a risky idea to go raid his room the previous day, that he admitted. But then, given the intelligence of the man and the high probability of his solving the case, the risk could be excused. He knew every short cut, including his secret footpath that could allow him reach the inn at least 5 minutes faster than Jedidiah. He had told the innkeeper that he was trying to investigate Jedidiah on suspicions of being the culprit, and with the level of trust he had earned in the town, he could count on the innkeeper to keep it a secret. What he had not counted on was Jedidiah’s early return, despite the fact that he had walked back, and then, as he learned earlier, he had been delayed by a stalker. His hand tightened around his cup and he gritted his teeth. There was no reward for the risk taken now, and he might just have blown his cover. “Boss is definitely not going to be happy about this,” he muttered under his breath. Finally reaching Armandshire, Jedidiah went straight into the library, after performing several checks to ensure he had not been followed. He was bug-free today, something that he appreciated, and he went and picked the necessary books and headed for a desk. The library’s seats were arranged such that each desk was two way, meaning there was someone on the other side. In his case, it was a lady in a simple burgundy dress. The dress did not have so much flair, but he then realised that clothes were only as beautiful as the person who wore them. Despite her minimal jewellery and makeup, she still managed to look alluring. Jedidiah’s embarrassment at his inward worshipping of her goddess-like nature became worse when he noticed she was looking directly at him. “Er…sorry…Good day,” he said, not waiting for an answer before sinking into his seat. He was a lone wolf, a cold hearted, steel-eyed detective who’d solved over fifty gruesome cases in his six years of practice, and he was here going all soft over a drop dead gorgeous.. Pinching himself, he called his thoughts to order and sat down, opening the history books. America kept a record of all mass immigrations into the country, and he was glad for that. He checked the dates. In 1850, a migrant ship, The Conquistador, dropped anchor on America’s shores. The names of all who were on board wasn’t here, sadly. By that time, records might have not been properly taken, and even if they were, these things would be confidential. But he could see from some newspaper clippings that a handful of the migrants were rumoured to be Spanish elites who were just escaping from the terror that had taken place a little over two weeks ago. It was chronologically in order, and it proved that there was in fact a little movement of some Spaniards into America. The details were too sketchy, so… “This’ll be more relevant to the case, Detective.” A female voice with a distinct Spanish accent said. He looked up to see the beautiful lady dropping the page of an old newspaper onto his desk. Looking at it, he saw it contained a report citing that a huge diamond suspected to be the missing El Ojo del Cielo could just have been on the ship. As he looked back at her incredulously, trying to understand how she knew about his investigation, she added. “And you were not careful enough to ensure you were not followed.” _ @Leo_kitti, @Hanzell, @Ozzyy I think it’s high time I lay off the plot twists and work with what I have to develop the story.

Murdersdale 7 El Ojo del Cielo. The Eye of the Sky. It belonged to the Royal Family and was ceremonially a symbol of the ruling party. It was just like the conch from Lord of the Flies. As long as Frederico Castro, the then king was in possession of the jewel, he was still regarded as the King. His half-brother, Santiago, had designs on the throne, however, and made an attempt at the throne 50 years ago; a day which was then known as la visitación Nocturna del diablo. The Nighttime Visitation of the Devil. 40 lives were lost in the tragedy, with Santiago's side taking the most casualties. When the dust settled, and the blood was scrubbed out of all the floors of El Castillo Real, it was discovered that the jewel was nowhere to be found. A battle broke out again which transcended to war, and although Frederico still kept the throne at the expense of a hand a dead half-brother, the jewel was never found. Until today. Jedidiah was shellshocked. He couldn't even begin to comprehend how the hell the diadem had found it's way to this backwater town in America, being possibly in the possession of an old lady whose name didn't sound the least bit Spanish. That is if he was believing that this was the actual diadem, which it most likely was. From the picture, it was fairly large, the largest uncut diamond in all of Eurasia. There was definitely a big deal to it; little wonder why it was so valued over there. "And even today," he sighed. "People are still killing for possession of the damn thing." He only had to sleep now; he'd worry about the rest of the investigation and also the person who was spying on him the next day. For now, he had to sleep; a detective's work is never really done. The next morning saw him at the front desk. "You can employ someone to stay in front of my door and guard it. 20 dollars a day. I'll pay daily. But I would love it if we didn't have a repeat of yesterday's... unfortunate occurrence, thank you." The man smiled uneasily and said he would find someone. Jedidiah stepped out and hailed a cab this time. As he got in, he smiled at the weird comfort he enjoyed in taking these horse-driven carriages as opposed to the 'modern' automobiles he used in the city. It made him nostalgic for his childhood. Within minutes, he was at the station, and the Sheriff was present, much to his liking, He didn't like to waste others' time, and he didn't appreciate his time being wasted either. "I heard you had a tough day yesterday..." the Sheriff began. "Uh-huh. I was being stalekd and I had to take that guy out, and then my room got robbed by some nutjob. Luckily he crashed into a horse and I was able to recover what he took from my room, although he escaped." "What he took? What did he take?" "A newspaper. What was really interesting was what was on that newspaper. An article that seems to prove that the 'Eye of the Sky' is a missing jewel from the royal family of Spain. It disappeared during a bloody war, and somehow, it's made its way here. "That's...crazy. Perhaps Lady Cynster might be..." "A possible descendant who managed to escape from the country? Possibly. But who knows whose side she was on, and the ramifications of that as well? Not to talk of Marcel's true identity, if those are even their real names. The deeper we dig into this case, the more we see that we 're really in for a wild ride today." "So, you ready to go?" "Uh-huh. We meet back here at 5, preferably prompt. Anything later and we both know something went wrong. That system works best for me most of the time. Are you in?" "No complaints here. It seems like a good plan. I'll be going I guess." As they both walked out, the Sheriff slipped while going down the stairs and had to be held up by Jedidiah. The stairs weren’t at all slippery, so the shoe would need to have worn out soles to cause a slip. "You okay there? It seems like your boots are giving you a hell of a time. There had to be...what? No traction at all for that to have happened!" Jedidiah said. "I gotta get me a new pair of shoes, that I do. These soles have worn out completely," the Sheriff said laughing. "See ya!" As they both walked their separate ways, Jedidiah looked to the sky and smiled briefly before turning back towards the receding figure of the Sheriff. He wondered why Sheriff Josiah Mantle had raided his room yesterday, and why the innkeeper had kept quiet about it.

Murdersdale 6 Jedidiah's muscles were tired from the overexertion of the day, but he wasn't giving up yet, not by a long shot. The man had gotten a good headstart, and he had also discarded his boots. He's fast, damn it, Jedidiah thought. Those idiots found the right guy for the job this time. It was now he could see that the man was holding on to some papers desperately as he ran, which was slowing him down and making his steps more awkward. What had really been so important amongst his belongings that had made these people so daring in their onslaught? Whatever the man was holding was probably important to them, and thus, perhaps important to the case at well. To the think it had been in his possession all this while! They tore down dirt roads, still within the town as there were a few houses here and there, with people coming out to view the hot pursuit rather than help apprehend the person being chased. Despite his shouts. Within a short while, he'd come to hate this place. The man made a right turn abruptly, trying to enter yet another crooked, narrow path, when. in a freak accident, he collided with a runaway horse that broke out from the same path. All the papers fell to the ground. Jedidiah could not believe his luck as he dashed towards the man who was now on the ground, aiming to take everything in one go. But somehow, the man managed to regain himself a bit and broke into a staggering run right as Jedidiah reached. "Curses..." Jedidiah whispered under his breath, picking the papers from the ground. At least he had committed the man's features to memory, and he would still go back and confirm the shoe size of the boot. These would fit to provide a linking description should he ever have to cross the man's path again. Something he was assured would happen soon. The papers seemed to be from a newspaper... he remembered it now, It was an old newspaper; roughly five years old actually, and it had been used to solve the previous case. But that's done and dusted, Jedidiah thought. Why did this nutjob still come back for the same paper? Could there be a clue in my own possession that I was not aware of? Whatever it was, it would require him taking a rest first. He turned and jogged back to his inn, spotting the shoe right as he reached there. He picked it up and examines the sole. It was a size 45, and whoever wore it must have worn it very often on a very rough terrain, as the sole had nearly been smoothed out by constant abrasion. And from the sewing on the sole, it was clear that this wasn’t the original sole, and that it had been replaced at least three times, judging from the state of the sewn leather on the inside of the shoe. So whoever that man was, he was quite the handyman/labourer, and was also a frugal cheapskate as well. Profiling, however offensive it might sound, was a good approach to solving crimes. He picked up the other leg of the boots and was about marching in when he noticed a pair of eyes watching him from the window of the second room to the right of his. It was a subconscious action; he wasn’t infact looking at the window, but he suddenly felt as though he was being watched. Looking up surreptiously, he saw the person, who seemed to be a woman, quickly close the curtain. Whoever she was, she was quite better than any of the other guys he’d seen today. “Just when I think this case cannot get any more complicated, it manages to pull more surprises every now and then,” he whispered, entering the inn and climbing the stairs. The innkeeper was waiting for him in front of his room. “I…er…just saw what happened here and..ah, I heard you met the guy on your way in and chased him,” the man said apprehensively, probably ashamed that such had happened in his inn under his supposed ‘watch’. “Yeah, didn’t get him though.” “It’s darn right crazy that he was so brazen in his attempt, I mean, I never thought that anyone would decide to hit home, as per coming here due to the case. Of course you didn’t, Jedidiah thought, you just allowed a muddy-shoed sicko to climb up the stairs of your inn like he owns the place. “That’s the life of a detective for you, I guess,” he said finally, deciding that he’d like to avoid any further conversation and/or argument that would definitely stem from voicing his thought. “I’ll just arrange things here and rest a bit, thanks.” And with that, he shut his door and tried to ignore the audible sigh of relief from the pink-faced innkeeper. The longer he stayed here, the more unpleasant experiences he’d have to go through. Sitting down on his bed and looking around his dishevelled room, he picked up the paper and began to peruse it. He couldn’t even do any arranging yet, as his excitement was so spiked at the possible clue that he was more focused on completing the puzzle in his head rather than focusing on his room. A good detective always keeps himself and his surroundings neat and tidy. Scrap that, a good detective gets the damn job done, whatever and however it takes, he thought. He continued reading the newspaper, not finding anything of relevance, until he stumbled on an article in the History Section. About a Spanish Diamond that was reported missing after an attempt by the King’s brother to usurp the throne. Its name? El Ojo del Cielo. The Eye of the Sky.

Murdersdale 5 Jedidiah crouched his knee inches from the man’s face. He knew how to land those hits – the man wasn’t unconscious; he was very far from it actually. But at least he’d be unable to stand or make any sudden movements. A good position for an impromptu interrogation. “What do you mean, ‘if I value my life’? Is that a warning or a threat?” “Yer a smart un, you are. With yer fancy words and shiny shoes. Er should know be’er than ta meddle in these affairs, Mr. Detective Sir. Leave this town while ya still can, or…” “Your blabbering is giving me headaches, especially when you say it in that annoying accent,” Jedidiah said, grimacing as he inched closer. “I’ll need to know exactly who sent you here, mister… what is your name actually?” For a response, Jedidiah got spat on. Right in the face. Before the anger washed over him, he had to acknowledge surprise over the man’s being able to spit relatively high. These backwater townsfolk really did have very absurd abilities. “That’s my answer to both of 'em questions. I’m John Doe, and I ain’t got none to say to folk like you, I don’t. Smith McFarlane is not a damn tattletale, I as…” The idiot finally realized he just said his own name, Jedidiah thought. Then again, their way of talking does come in handy, especially when it’s idiots like this guy. “Smith McFarlane, eh? Nice arms you’ve got there, smith. I wonder what they’d look like holding on to the steel bars of a county jail,” he said, wiping the spittle off his face. “You do know that’s where you’ll be going, don’t you? Stalking with intent to assault an officer, assault on an officer, aiding and abetting a crime, and obstructing justice. I can go on and on and on…” “That don’t scare me, yer fool. I’ve been through all that and then some’. We done seen a lotta your type in this town, trying to scare us into spillin’ the beans. That don’t work on…” “You think anybody’s going to come and bail you, pal? You had just one job…” I started, bringing out the police whistle I had. “…and that was to take care of me. You couldn’t complete the job, Smith. Your partners and your sponsor – none of them will risk their cover to come for you. You’ll rot in jail just because of a little information, pal.” The man’s features softened, but he still kept his tight lips sealed. Jedidiah blew on the whistle until about six officers came bumbling into the alley. “He was following me. Take him.” They swooped on the man instantly, their leader smiling. “Smith, you again? Damn it, you’re always offering yourself to be used as a thug for this typ’a things, huh? I promise you’ll get the cell with a view… of my desk that is!” All the officers laughed as they carted him off, leaving Jedidiah alone in the alley. “The Sheriff was right,” he said, looking at the spit stain on his handkerchief disgustingly. “Sometimes, you do feel like smashing their jaws with the butt of a gun.” Additional paperwork for him, and then a lot more food for thought. Whoever was pulling the strings had to have a lot of money and influence, and of course, interest in whatever the Eye of the Sky was. Then again, there was the matter of Scarecrow Thomas and his gang, murderers who were on the loose and could possibly be on his tail. That was another matter to be investigated. Who were people of reasonable influence and affluence in this area? And then it would help if there were also some suspicions against them. Even though he wasn’t supposed to work with prejudice and hearsay, that rule had an exception in towns like this. Every rumor that passed through places like here held much truth in it. He didn’t know when he had already reached his inn. It was time to let loose a little, relax, and have a shot of brandy or two. The day had been stressful, and damn it, it was still the first day of the investigation. As he unknotted his tie, he knew the investigation would be something else. And it made him sigh at the amount of time he’d have to spend… A man dashed by him, going down the stairs. He only had a brief look at the man, taking in his facial attributes, his muddy, brown boots, and then his walking step as the man dashed down, not looking at him for one moment. Somehow, he committed all these to mind’ not like any of it was important, but it was a habit. Going up to his floor, he met his room wide ajar. Dashing into it, he saw that the entire room had been gone through, and was in a state of chaos. All his belongings were strewn across the room, and books and papers were everywhere. And then there were muddy shoeprints all over the floor. “Goddamnit!” he swore, dashing right down the stairs and after the man. ******’ @Hanzell, @Leo_kitti, @Ozzyy somehow I manage to squeeze in these plot twists 😁

Murdersdale 4 The investigation had taken a new turn of events; that was the most Jedidiah could ascertain. He didn’t expect that it would take him this much time in this backwater town, or that a series of conspiracies would unfold as he had just witnessed, but then, given the gruesome nature of the murder, it would be absurd to say that a detective of his caliber would be surprised at the turn of events. “It’s a real pickle, this one,” the sheriff said after listening to his account of what had happened during the questioning. Although Martha wasn’t completely innocent, yet – she had written her statement – all fingers still pointed at Marcel. A man who was keeping secret correspondence with Lady Cynster, a relationship which was close enough to draw tears from his eyes at the sight of her corpse. That ticked all the checkboxes in Jedidiah’s ‘vital-to-the-case’ list. But drawing Marcel back for questioning immediately would be another rodeo he’d love to avoid, especially since the man was a bit of a sly fox. “It is what it is. Now we have to make progress one way or the other. Independent investigation without any questioning can prove to be a strenuous task, especially when asking questions is the logically easier way to go about it…” He gauged the Sheriff’s face for an expression of exasperation but found none. “…but it has to be done, since…” “These people won’t be so willing to give up information, not in this kinda town, and not to a big detective like you,” the Sheriff said, smiling a tired smile. “Benn there, done that and done it again. It takes all the willpower not to hit someone in the face with the butt of my gun.” Jedidiah laughed at that; it was relatable – interrogation in backwater towns was a pain because the people were a close-knit family – especially in matters of crime. Whether some of these people will happily snitch on others for personal gain, he did not know yet. “We’ll have to split up, investigate two of the outstanding questions separately. At least one day should be enough – that’ll be tomorrow. We ask questions, we make inquiries, we sleuth a little… and then we rendezvous here at the end of the day and share the information we’ve both managed to gather. If need be, we reverse roles per se – I investigate what you did while you do mine, got it?” “That’s a good plan. So I’ll be handling the nature of Marcel and the dead woman’s relationship, right?” He was quick on the uptake. “Yeah, that’s it. Maybe you can go home and ponder on exactly how you’ll be going about your investigation, as will I. As soon as we meet tomorrow, we’ll talk about it, and then head out. Sound okay?” “Hm,” the Sheriff nodded in the affirmative, dusting his hat as he put it on before both of them parted ways. Jedidiah continued towards the inn he was staying at, fairly a kilometer’s walk away. Walking took longer, but at least he could have a chance to think. The Eye of the Sky, he thought. Could it be some sort of jewel - a diamond perhaps? Most likely. He’d never heard of it anyway, which was strange since he was well knowledgeable in such. But then again, it was a backwater town. There were likely secrets upon secrets, and these things were only known to but a few. Most likely some of the older generations would have a clue. And there was the fact that both Marcel and then Scarecrow Thomas knew about it as well. A storm was brewing, that was for sure. It was up to him and the Sheriff to figure things out fast before the gang struck again. They seemed to have a good information source – a powerful character pulling the strings for sure… He couldn’t pretend to be oblivious. He had wished it was just his paranoia, but it wasn’t. There was someone following him. Looking back discreetly, he could make out a man dressed in farmhands’ clothes. He was tall, and wiry arms and legs with taut veins and lean muscle – probably quite strong if his looks were anything to go by. He tried to be discreet in his shadowing, but he did a bad job at that. Or perhaps it was easy to see through his act since Jedidiah was a trained detective. He ducked around a corner and hid behind a barrel in an alleyway. The man must have seen his chance, because he jumped into the alley too fast before he could realize he had been tricked, and as he tried to turn, Jedidiah struck him down with a brick, drawing blood from his forehead. The man crumpled to the ground, his eyes looking up as Jedidiah’s form came into his field of view. “Stay…away…from that case. If you like your life, that… that is!” ****** @Ozzyy I did forget to tag you in the last one, sorry🙃🙃. @Leo_kitti, @Hanzell ***sprinkles jalapeño pepper to make the story more exciting***

Murdersdale 3 Martha looked at Jedidiah a shot while, contemplating her next line of action. To deny? To admit? To throw a tantrum and walk out? All the options had their fair share of risks, but she decided she was not ready or willing to admit, yet. She would call his bluff. Even though the papers he had were a tad consequential - no thanks to those two who disobeyed her instructions – there was still a slight chance that the detective had no evidence. A chance she was willing to take. “Those were not written by me. You got it wrong,” she said calmly, looking him dead in the eye. Jedidiah smiled, knowing he had cornered her now. “I don’t usually get this things wring, and today is no exception.” Jedidiah started, “This letter reads: Be at the Bell house by 2’o clock. We have something important to discuss. Destroy this after reading. Eleanor Cynster.” Tossing the book towards her, he opened to the page where she had written her name, and address. “Compare your writing here to the writing on the letter supposedly from Lady Cynster to Marcel, the farmer. As you can see, the handwriting is the same. Moreover, Lady Cynster was losing her vision, if I heard correctly, and would not have been able to write a letter. That duty would have fallen on the one person who was educated in that house – you in this case.” Martha squirmed in her seat and gulped, but still remained silent. “Well then, over to the letter that was supposedly written from Marcel to Lady Cynster, asking her to be at the bell house. It was written in a different ink, with quite different writing. I’m impressed; you must have used your left hand to write this, huh? A good attempt at throwing me off track. Obviously, you expected Lady Cynster to either throw it away or keep it somewhere you’d know so you can dispose of it, and not carry it along with her to the bell house, hmm?” He noticed as Martha gasped, realizing that her lie had been seen through. The anger on her face when she saw that both of them had not obeyed her instructions to destroy the letter. Martha sighed, remembering how, after reading the letter Marcel ‘sent’, Lady Cynster asked for it. She felt a little uneasy, but did not think much of it. Now she knew that she had made a huge mistake. And her earlier lie did not help her case now. “So you wrote two letters bearing the exact same content and delivered to both parties, making it look to them like the other wanted a meeting. And then before the meeting could take place, you killed your employer,” Jedidiah said, standing up. “That makes absolutely no sense to me, Martha. But now that you have been cornered, you’ll tell me what happened that fateful night that culminated in your gruesome butchering of your…” “For the love of God, I DID NOTHING!” Martha said, screaming the last part. Jedidiah was shocked by the outburst, but managed to keep his emotions in check. “Then why the letters, the lies, the pretences? Only someone with something to hide does that, Martha. Now come on, cooperate with me and your sentence will be quite lenient, honest to…” “Fine!” she screamed. Jedidiah’s eyebrows perked at the thought of a confession. “I asked them both to come, but I didn’t kill them. I only wanted to know what Lady Cynster was secretly doing with Marcel. They used to have meetings sometimes in the cellar, and in hushed tones I couldn’t hear. I decided to fix the meeting so that if they met and discussed, even though there would have been some confusion, maybe I’d have gotten some information.” “Information that is none of your concern? That doesn’t make you a trustworthy person, now does it, Martha?” “Trustworthy or not, it is what it is. It’s a small, relatively quiet town we live in. Any bit of suspicious activity is bound to wake the curiosity of young girls like me,” she said defensively. “Who would love to gossip all about it, I presume?” She frowned. But then I had a brainwave. “That means you would have been at the scene when…” Jedidiah noticed the sudden change in her. She shuddered and began to shake her head as though in an unspeakable agony. “Martha, you know who…” “By God, I don’t know them,,, I do not. But I was there. I heard… Oh I saw. I saw them, their bodies, they… Scarecrow Thomas and…” “Scarecrow Thomas, you said?” “There were three men who followed her there. She’d have known, but she’s also hard of hearing. They followed her and attacked her, asking her for the Eye of the Sky or something like that…” Jedidiah wrote down all these details in his pad at top speed. “You said they attacked her?” “Yes, with a long knife, But she seemed to know one of them, because she called him by his name. Thomas Littleton. Scarecrow Thomas, she added. That was when they attacked her.” “Probably because their identities had been uncovered. It’s more of a panic action, if you ask me,” Jedidiah said, rubbing her hands. Ashe seemed to calm down. “They ran off after that. She was dead by the time Marcel reached there, and he knelt and cried a little before he also took off.” Jedidiah realised he had to call Marcel back in soon for questioning on a few things. What was the nature of his relationship with Lady Cynster? What was the Eye of the Moon, and how did a small-time burglar and his gang know enough about it as to confront Lady Cynster in such a brazen manner? ****** @Hanzell, @Leo_kitti I'm back from my extra long holiday lol.

Sadist's Memoir (Heads up, this is SMUT with a wicked plot twist at the end! Enjoy!) ___________ Avenue Amor. The infamous street of pleasures was one I was quite familiar with, seeing as I’d been there quite a lot of times. Was I a regular customer there? Perhaps it would seem so to other customers. Just another anonymous fellow in a three-piece suit and coat here for a good time. Which I was, by the way. Lucille’s body was something I could not think about without the stirring in my loins overriding all reasonable, logical thought. The soft rise of her plump breasts, her small, handy waist, her appreciably plump ass and those long, shapely legs… I digress, and I am aware of it. Surely you’d understand that some things are too good to just overlook or talk about casually. From the first day I had become hooked to her, and luckily for me, she had too. It was a queer relationship we had; I had really wanted her to leave that godforsaken street and move over to ‘a more decent’ residence – my apartment. It was quite obvious to both of us why I wanted to do that. I was stricken with envy laced with white hot anger anytime I was alone at work or home, thinking about how some other person was sampling her ‘goods’, revelling in the beauty and wonders of her body, moaning and groaning in the throes of ecstasy. And Lucille, the she-devil! She really knew what she did to me. No, point of correction – she loved what she did to me. The teasing, the hinting at a ‘promiscuous’ encounter and the assurance of her belonging to me alone – accompanied by the sly, sultry smile that left me guessing. I was angry, yet happy, yet pumped for more. Yes, if there was really an art of seduction, then Lucille would be the Da Vinci or Michelangelo. And then it got better when she finally let me in on her tastes. Her carnal tastes which more not very much unlike… I digress. I’ve become so excited, I’m getting ahead of myself. I arrived at her place today, and I was greeted with a familiar sight. All the apartments in the avenue were occupied by various ‘call girls’ seeking to give interested customers a good time. For better advertising – you couldn’t just put a porn commercial on TV – they all had huge see-through glass windows. Girls trying to entice customers would pose in various degrees of nudity and do all sorts of things. It was really all in the presentation, and for some reason, it made their work a lot more respectable. Many of the men who came here were regulars, so they’d have seen most of it. To be creative enough to bring something new each day to make the b*st*rds keep coming back with their fat wallets. A salute to the diligent ‘staff’ of Avenue Amor. By now, you should n=know me well enough to know what I’m going to say now. Yes, I digress! As I was saying, I looked at Lucille’s window and the mouth-watering sight aggravated my desire to have her. Simply wrapped in a huge robe and wearing three-inch heels, she was the most clothed of all the girls. Yet, the robe rode every hill and every valley, every rise and every fall, all the contours, all the ridges, accentuating her body and leaving so much to the imagination that people would almost lose their minds trying to know what was under it all. Damn it, I knew and yet I was still as curious as each one of those hopeless men each time I came here. And then I just walked in like I owned the place. Which I did, since I owned the owner. She had moved to the dining by the time I got there, her hands already in the oven, drawing out a cake from the oven. She bent down and grabbed a tube, applying concentric towers of whipped cream while she arched her back, her derrière shooting out to my approval. I walked over, held her down by placing my right hand on her waist and spanked her, the thundering sound reverberating in my ears. I could feel her butt cheeks getting warmer… a tad moister too. She moaned lightly and turned to lock our lips in a fierce kiss. She was as eager as was I, something I reminisced on while I sucked on her lower lip. It seemed we had gotten a good catch today. Something that made the stirring in my loins graduate into an enraged member. “He cannot wait?” she asked, stroking me lazily. “No,” I said, turning her around and arching her back. She nearly crashed into her cake, but she shifted it aside quite absentmindedly. “We’ll eat that when we’re…” I was inside her, effectively cutting her off before she could finish her statement. When we were done, I paused to catch my breath before nodding as we dressed up before makin our way down into the soundproof basement. It was the room where our fantasies came to life, and we enjoyed the most part of our relationship, fulfilling our carnal desires every damn day. The ropes, harnesses and stakes were all there. And then in the centre, a young man tied to an X-shaped crucifix, his naked back and buttock open for me to see. I turned towards her with a smile as we locked lips once again. “Who the hell are you freaks? Please-please let me out. I’ll never…” We ignored him as was our habit. “What are the tools we’re using toady?” “The barbed-wire whip. The scissors and the shears,” she said, a wicked glint in her eyes as she mentioned the words. “Hmmm. There’ll be a lot of blood then, since we’re scourging and muting,” I said, grabbing the whip from the table. Its blades were caked with blood, testament to its frequent, gory use. “I assume you’ll be doing the castrating, or is that not what the shears are for?” I said, proceeding slowly towards the shouting man’s back. “You know it’s what I love to do,” she said, picking the razors. As the man rambled on, I swung the whip back and wiped it diagonally across his back. The screams, oh permit me to digress once again, but the screams caused vibrations that ministered to both Lucille and me. From the look on her face, I could see she was just recovering from an orgasmic encounter. As the man shouted, I thought “This is just the beginning”. The whip deeply embedded in his skin, I slowly dragged it out, lacerating his flesh as he screamed even more, sending me into overdrive. “Calm down, mate, you came here for my girl. Surely you’d be able to stand much more than this if you were interested.” “I…” he said, half crying, half shouting. “I don’t want her anymore. I don’t! Just leave me, I won’t report. I won’t tell…” “Of course you won’t,” Lucille said, forcing his mouth open with a speculum. “You’re making so much noise, it’s irritating. Aside dead men – a brotherhood you’ll soon be joining - do you know who else tell no tales?” The stark look of fear and realisation hit him. “Dumb men,” she said, forcing the scissors and knives into his mouth and cutting up his tongue. Need I mention, the screams didn’t stop, so we were able to enjoy the rest of our activity without his being able to utter much. @Ozzyy @Hanzell @Leo_kitti @gertu13. I find it hard to write smut without including a bit of crazy, psychotic horror

Murdersdale 2 The ride to the Police Station was uneventful, save Jedidiah’s glance from Marcel to the three ladies in the carriage.  Marcel would be questioned first – there was still no reason to believe that he was the culprit, but he was still guilty of some fishy business, one which the Detective had to get to the bottom of. He could unknowingly give a clue. The ladies on the other hand would be questioned individually. The interrogation procedure would be ‘The Prisoner’s Dilemma’, one of his personal favorites. Hopefully, one of them would slip and give him the reason for the late woman’s fatal journey to the bell house. The Sheriff sat awkwardly in a corner, aware of the tension in the carriage. Despite how spacious it was, the air hung thick and everyone looked at their feet, except the Detective. He couldn’t help but look away every time their eyes met; something about Jedidiah’s eyes was piercing and animal-like, seeming to bore into the very depths of one’s soul and see the secrets which lay there. Almost everyone was glad when they finally reached. “Marcel, you first!” the Detective said offhandedly as soon as they entered. He could almost feel the farmer’s shudder, and he smiled. Fear was an important tool in interrogation – subtle fear that was achieved not by waterboarding or whips but by glances and revelation of incriminating clues. The farmer would talk alright; he would say whatever he needed to in order to absolve himself of any suspicions. “I ain’t done nuthin’!” Marcel blurted as soon as they entered the room. ‘I haven’t said you did. You make it mighty hard to believe you’re innocent if you continue making such statements,” Jedidiah said, smiling inwardly as Marcel squirmed. The officers at this station were quite knowledgeable n the art of interrogation, and Jedidiah was very appreciative of it. A small room with only one window, two chairs, and a table. The inquisitor sat with his back to the window, casting a silhouette over his facial features and making him more difficult for the suspect to read. They would have to be very careful about their answers, knowing that they couldn’t see whether he was buying it or not. This would cause them to be extra cautious about their lies, hence leading to stammering and sometimes, self-contradiction. The room was painted a dark grey, not very aesthetically pleasing to the eye, so there was hardly anywhere else the suspect could look except, of course, the window, and hence the silhouette of the imposing inquisitor. More fear, more talk, case closed quicker. ‘So, let’s begin with you writing your statement here. That’s what I’ll base my questions on. Write, in detail, what you were doing at the bell house,” he said, producing a pad and a fountain pen. The man moved uneasily in his seat before deciding to put up some resistance. “I’m sure as hell confused why yer bringin’ tha’ fer. I’ve said I wasn’t there! You’ve got nuthin’ to pin on me and yer know it!” He smiled. “I’m not going to force you, Marcel. I guess I’ll see you in court then. Murder and attempt to obstruct the path of justice,” he said, getting up. “That’s quite the big ‘un you’ve gotten yourself into.” He watched the man gulp and swear somewhat inaudibly.”Y-yer can’t do tha’, yer know?!” “Like I said, in court, we’ll found out the limits of just what I can and can’t…” “Fine, goddamnit! I can’t write or read, so I’ll tell you what I went there to do!” “Sure you will,” Jedidiah said, sitting down smugly. “And…” he started, drawing out his pad. This was yet another interrogation tactic. If he was really trying to prove his innocence, he would be more careful about what he says, knowing that it was being recorded and could be used against him later. “I was told to be there at that time. 2 o’clock. She wrote me this letter,’ Marcel said, producing a crumpled piece of paper which Jedidiah took and read briefly before putting in his pocket. “Yer keeping that?’ the farmer asked, looking quite reluctant to let it go. Something Jedidiah had to think about later. “It’s vital to the case. It just might be the clue to proving your innocence. You can dip your thumb in the ink and thumbprint at the bottom of the statement. You’re free to go,” Jedidiah said, taking out his tobacco pipe and lighting a smoke. The farmer signed and stood up to leave, but Jedidiah suddenly remembered something. “Er, Marcel?” he called out, dragging in the smoke and relishing its richness. “Wha’?” the farmer said, clearly uneasy about getting kept in this cesspool any longer. “Was any of Lady Cynster’s maidservants particularly well-educated?” The farmer looked back at him, the surprise written all over his face. The question was quite peculiar. “Yes, that would be Martha.” Jedidiah smiled. ‘Send her in, will you?” ___________________ Martha sat across the silhouette of the detective, not knowing what to expect. She tried her best to maintain her expressionless face. fidgeting with a handkerchief in her hand and looking at the old wooden table. “Are you alright?’ Jedidiah asked. She looked flustered for a second but calmed down soon. “Yes, why?” “Nothing, really. It’s just my duty to make sure you’re calm before you write your statement. I wouldn’t want it to look like you were somehow coerced into saying anything…false” he added, letting the last word roll off his lips. She kept quiet. Grabbing the pad, she wrote her name, age, and address in the indicated spaces and passed the pad back. He smiled. “You can start by writing why Lady Cynster and Marcel were at such a place at such an unholy hour.” She looked at him angrily. “How should I know that?!” “Well,” he said, producing two pieces of paper, “perhaps because you wrote these two notes asking two people to be at the bell house. The one I just got from Marcel, and the one that was squeezed within the rigid fists of the late Lady Cynster!” ****** N.B: The Prisoner's Dilemma is @Ozzyy, @Hanzell. @Leo_kitti, @gertu13. Do we all still think we know who the culprit is? 👀😈

Murdersdale 1 The bells tolled twice, the clanging a clarion call that heralded nothing but bad news. Corndale had had its fair share of muggings and murders, so the death bells did toll, just not frequently enough to make the town a no-go area. The people thronged to the bell house, the male youths leading the park with a somewhat disturbing zest to see a murder scene. Although Detective Manson had seen it countless times before, it still unnerved him to see how they rushed towards the bell house where he stood with Marcel, the farmer who’d discovered the body, and the Sheriff. He drew his hat low over his eyes and watched the rest of the villagers throng into the compound, getting a good glance of everyone who came. The observation was a dreadfully tiring process, yet it was one he had to carry out if the case was to be solved any quicker. Finally, the whole place was full, and then he peered at the sheriff, urging him to take the cue and tell the townspeople why they were gathered. Sheriff Mantle sighed as he snapped his finger, causing the Detective and Marcel to part. Right behind them was the cold, limp body of Lady Cynster, the old lady who owned the inn by the lake. He frowned, drinking in the screams, the low sighs of shock, and then the hush that fell over the crowd when they saw what killed her. The deep cut across her neck severed her neck and spine, making her head to dangle loosely on her shoulders. Her clothes were soaked in blood, and the look of her face was one of bone-chilling horror. The thought of what had happened at the time of death to induce such a frightening look did things to the mind, and the Sheriff was sure that many of these youths wouldn’t sleep comfortably for a week or so. It was a good thing youngsters weren’t allowed at these ‘meetings’. “This is a most unusual and unnerving case,” he began in his rich baritone voice, peppered with an accent that was telling of the fact that age was catching up. “She was found right here. At the bell house. By Marcel over here,” he finished, pointing casually towards Marcel's direction. The farmer seemed quite uncomfortable to be in the center of things, and looked at his feet, squirming a little before muttering “Yea, he’s right. Found ‘er while I was coming to get some water for my…uh, house,” he said finally, almost heaving a sigh of relief when the Sheriff continued. “And as you can see, it’s a murder case we have on our hands. We are yet to get a coroner’s report yet, but our deductions show that she’s been dead for a while now. The sun has just risen, so why was she out here that early in the morning?” The Detective quipped. “I don’t think it would have been in place for her to be here at any time of the day. She’s old; looks well over 80 if you ask me, so surely she’d have had someone to be doing this for her?” The townspeople all fixed their eyes on the new face for a few seconds, their expressions ranging from disgust to contempt, to indifference, and then a few seemed to be interested in him in…intimate ways. The Sheriff seemed to regain his composure and then he added. “This is              Detective Jedidiah Manson from Springfield County. He was in the area for some other business, but he offered to stay awhile and help with the investigation. I guess he just can’t take his eyes off such an ‘interesting crime scene,” the Sheriff joked, looking at Jedidiah as though looking for approval.   Jedidiah grimaced inwardly as he managed to smile. It was true that he’d been here on personal business and was ‘opportune’ to have stumbled upon the case, but he was by no means overly enthusiastic about the case. Instead, he just turned back to the crowd and took off his hat, his chin-long auburn hair sashaying in the morning wind. “That brings us back to the question I asked earlier,” he said, his eyes now darting from face to face in the crowd. “Who was responsible for attending to the woman’s needs for water?” A hush fell over the crowd, and then low murmuring took its place as heads turned towards three ladies. The way the crowd seemed to part, forming a distinct circle around the ladies amused Jedidiah. They were eager to distance themselves from the ‘culprits’. “Rest assured that nothing is decided yet. There’s no clue that incriminates these ladies, and they, like everyone else in this compound, are suspects.” The buzzing sounded of a cacophony of hushed discussions and angry bursts filled the air, something he was not the least perturbed about. *Country people*, he thought, well acquainted with their mannerisms. ”But first, I’ll start with my first suspect, Marcel,” he said, turning towards the farmer as the crowd went silent, all eyes on the two men. “What the ‘ell are ya callin’ me into this fer?” the man asked, a guilty look washing over his angry face. “You said you were here to get some water *for your house,* did you not?” Jedidiah said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yea, I did say that! So what’s all this business?” “So where, pray tell, is your bucket?” Marcel broke out in a sweat.  ****** @Ozzyy, @gertu13, @Eybyoung, @Hanzell, @Leo_kitti Are we off to a great start?

Introduction Hi there! I’m Ghostwriter - obviously not my real name, but I love the feeling that comes with an air of anonymity to my articles – and I’m new to this platform. I heard about this platform from my friend @Ozzyy and I’ve been putting off joining for a while, maybe to get my act together and figure out how things really work here from the sidelines. Finally, I’m ready to join and, hopefully, write a lot of articles (if my schedule will permit me). My usual genre is Fiction, though I like a lot of history and perhaps some talk about art, preferably Renaissance Art. I hope I’ll be able to meet many other writers like myself and earn a little writing here. I’m also quite new to cryptocurrency so I’ll need to read a little on the topic to know more about how to key into it, if I’ll be able to handle all those numbers and charts! Thanks for reading!

The Button Obeying instructions was somewhat a problem for me; and something I should have included in my resume or at least informed my employer about. But then again, no sane person would want to sabotage their own efforts at getting a job, and certainly not me, coming out of a midlife crisis and three years of unemployment. I had to take the job and it was one that was tailored to suit my talents – advertising. Yes, my job was to make sure that Pinnacle Co. sold their ridiculously expensive VR Headsets at a price of a hundred-plus dollars above the competition despite having similar specs. The selling point was the Pinnacle brand, the oldest in the business. And if it was convincing suckers to spend their money, I had a distinction in that, so the job was no issue whatsoever. At least generally. There was just the one little problem of the button. It was big. It was red. It was flashing. And yet, it was not meant to be touched. The rule was given to me when I got my appointment letter. I was expecting all the normal rules – no sexual relationship amongst staff, language and so on – but then this one stood out. It was as though the stern warning not to push the button was a greater temptation to push it. First, we all know that reverse psychology had been employed in that rule. And secondly, the button itself seemed to implore anyone passing by to push it, and yet no one ever did. It was as though everyone moved like mindless zombies, ignorant of the presence of the button. Everyone except me, who was a hundred percent eager to push it. The opportunity did not seem to present itself at first; I was fully immersed in adjusting to my new job, trying to keep those sales high. I was good at that, and within five months, the numbers showed it. I was popular, I was successful, and I was… Curious. Helplessly curious. I knew that an opportunity would come soon, and I knew that I would snatch it as it came. I was done with the games and the pretence, and with the job messing with me, with my mental health. I could feel the eyes of my boss and co-workers on me at all times, silently taunting me, daring me to prove my bravery, to satisfy my curiosity. To push the button. It happened on a Monday. I was the only one ay work at the time, getting done with a few things. Yes, I was working late, I had a draft that I had to present to the publicity team the next day, and I was so immersed in doing that, I didn’t notice everyone had left. Until I looked up and saw that the whole office was empty except for me and the damn button about 100 metres away. Come on, it seemed to say, don’t be a coward; come push me NOW. The voice was so loud I could have sworn it wasn’t just in my head. It seemed like the song of a sien, drawing me towards it. Dragging my hand towards the button. Towards it… To touch it… “NO!!!” I screamed as the walls around me seemed to digitize, everything seeming to be surreal. Then I noticed I was really strapped to a bed, tubes and wires all attached to my body and a strange helmet strapped to my head. Looking to the side, I saw the scientists standing and looking at me, their faces showing that they were appalled. “You’ll never get me, I swear!” I spat, looking at them with as much hate as I could muster. “I know all about it. I won’t fall. And soon…” I could not complete the words as the injection was pushed into my neck and I fell asleep. The scientist turned to one another. “Subject 662 still refuses to submit to the simulations,” the lead researcher said grimly, needlessly echoing the finding that they had all witnessed. “We shall commence Simulation 2134 in thirty minutes. We simply cannot have someone roaming those streets, aware that this entire year has been a simulation and telling everyone about it.”