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cheeseanonioncrisps · 3 months

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A murder mystery film set in a medieval village. After an outbreak of plague, the villagers make the decision to shut their borders so as to protect the disease from spreading (see the real life case of the village of Eyam). As the disease decimates the population, however, some bodies start showing up that very obviously were not killed by plague.

Since nobody has been in or out since the outbreak began, the killer has to be somebody in the local community.

The village constable (who is essentially just Some Guy, because being a medieval constable was a bit like getting jury duty, if jury duty gave you the power to arrest people) struggles to investigate the crime without exposing himself to the disease, and to maintain order as the plague-stricken villagers begin to turn on each other.

The killer strikes repeatedly, seemingly taking advantage of the empty streets and forced isolation to strike without witnesses. As with any other murder mystery, the audience is given exactly the same information to solve the crime as the detective.

Except, that is, whenever another character is killed, at which point we cut to the present day where said character's remains are being carefully examined by a team of modern archaeologists and historians who are also trying to figure out why so many of the people in this plague-pit died from blunt force trauma.

The archaeologists and historians, btw, are real experts who haven't been allowed to read the script. The filmmakers just give them a model of the victim's remains, along with some artefacts, and they have to treat it like a real case and give their real opinion on how they think this person died.

We then cut back to the past, where the constable is trying to do the same thing. Unlike the archaeologists, he doesn't have the advantage of modern tech and medical knowledge to examine the body, but he does have a more complete crime scene (since certain clues obviously wouldn't survive to be dug up in the modern day) and personal knowledge from having probably known the victim.

The audience then gets a more complete picture than either group, and an insight into both the strengths and limits of modern archaeology, explaining what we can and can't learn from studying a person's remains.

At the end of the film, after the killer is revealed and the main plot is resolved, we then get to see the archaeologists get shown the actual scenes where their 'victims' were killed, so they can see how well their conclusions match up with what 'really' happened.

#film ideas #plotbunny #murder mystery #detective stories #period dramas #middle ages #history #archaeology

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sarahkateishii · 1 year

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The Children who will Never Grow Up- Chapter 1

The turn of the dawn hailed the lamplighters to snuff out the dimming lantern flames, revealing a slow crack of pale light peeping over the dense rooftops. The quiet whistling of an exhausted policeman echoed down the street, minutes away from the end of his night-long plod. Silent tension as the citizens of London strained for every last minute of sleep before daylight awoke them for the full day of toil that faced them when morning came. Yawning widely, the noble bobby turns a corner and scuffs his boot carelessly. Groaning and bending to observe his boots for damage, it took him longer than it should have to register the grim scene just ahead of him. For, in this wealthy street of high end town houses it was rare for gory happenings. Yet, in front of him, in the small garden of a wealthy townhouse, bloodied and misshapen, twisted and contorted out of natural form and already set in the cruel statue-like grasp of rigor mortis, were the helpless bodies of three children. There they lay, barefoot and dressed in their high-quality nightgowns, a picture of tainted innocence. The fatigued policeman, still not fully comprehending the incident in front of him for the hopes it weren’t true, stared upwards at the open bedroom window 3 floors higher than he. Eyes opening wide, he raises his whistle shakily to his now-dry lips to call an alert.

***

Chapter One

“Murder in Arlington Street! Read all abou’ it!” crowed newsboys, vying for customers and battling to be the boy to sell the most of the latest news event. “Come get your paper ‘ere!”

A sullen, suited man tossed a coin at the scruffy hawker and crammed the rolled paper into his large overcoat pocket. Then, stuffing his hat firmer onto his head he stalked off towards the police station, throwing open the front door and marching up the old, well-trodden, wooden stairs to his tiny office.

“Mornin’ chief!” a gangly officer cried up at him from the bottom of the stairs, a cheerful newcomer to the local station who was always eager to present himself for each part of the job. The detective grunted back, and slammed his newly purchased paper on to his chaotic desk, slumping into his seat and grudgingly running his eyes over the print to find out what nonsense the vultures in the print room had leaked.

“Suspect? Indeed!” He tutted, “We know nothing! Keep yer scroungin’ claws to yourself!”

Frustrated, he slammed the paper back on to his desk, which was closely followed by his own forehead. It had been a mere two days since the death of the three Beechworth children and, as ever, the press were giving neither time nor mercy before offering their own exaggerated and biased opinion on the matter- causing more grief for the detective and his team. He ran his hand over the rough stubble forming on his chin. He’d not been home since their death, barely rested, barely washed save for splashing water from the sink over his weary face. What would his wife think if she knew the unkempt state he was in now? The nagging he would face- no longer like the days of gleeful courting when they first met and when she had only words of loving praise for him …

“Ahh! Detective! Wonderful to see you. Any news on this terrible case?”

The detective shifted his gaze to glare upwards at the unwelcome guest invading his small office and shattering his nostalgic daydreams.

“What’d yer want, Chattoway? The scraps of carrion you consider newsworthy print material to stir up the population of London against me?” The man stood in front of him was the very man renowned for leaking morsels of information to the press for beer and favours. He was a weasel of a man who always butted in where he wasn’t welcome, and he certainly wasn’t welcome in the detective’s office. Not now nor any other time.

“Come now, Devitt, you can’t be bitter at a man for sharing with the world what they have the right to know! No, in fact, the mayor himself, upon reflection of this morning’s news, would like to meet with you immediately. Brush yourself up, man!” With the final announcement, Chattoway smartly nodded his head and spun out of the small doorway. Devitt scowled, wondering which officer was naïve enough to let that man into his office. Brush up, indeed!

“You try keeping smart when the three children of a famous politician have all mysteriously died by falling out of their third story room!” He growled to no one, kicking his chair out of the way as he stomped to the clouded-over mirror over the basin in the corner of his office. Devitt shuddered, remembering his own visit to the scene: seeing the distorted bodies of the children and hearing their mother and nanny still wailing with disbelieving misery. The memory that chilled the detective the most, however, had been the odd look of gleeful wonder on the children’s faces. Surely, if it had been murder, this would not be their final expression- but instead, one of utter horror? Shaking the scarring memory from his immediate thoughts, Devitt splashed water to his dust-smudged face and tried to flatten back his thick, dark hair. He sighed to himself as he saw streaks of grey appearing above his ears. This job aged a man young, he thought to himself before snarling at his attempted vanity and stalking out of the small room. Maybe some time ago he could have thought of his appearance, but not so any more. The mayor would have to cope with this current state.

***

“Chief, how good of you to join us at such short notice. Please, sit.” London city’s mayor briefly acknowledged Devitt as he was ushered into the room by a secretary, then returned his gaze to the guest sat with his back to the door. Devitt approached the indicated chair before noticing that he recognised the smartly dressed man sat conversing with the mayor. The man’s steely eyes slid gracefully to glance over the rugged detective and smirked.

“Morning, Detective. Have you found who crudely murdered my children yet?”

Devitt’s breath caught in his throat and he found himself hovering in the motion between standing and sitting as he stared at the exceedingly well-dressed father of the murder victims. He closed his eyes and finally sat heavily into the second arm chair. That damned Chattoway never mentioned that Beechworth would also be attending the meeting. He was ashamed to have to admit that he had learned nothing extra to tell the man.

“Now, please do excuse me for calling in on your meeting with the mayor unannounced. However, once I had heard he had requested a meeting with you this morning, I couldn’t help but to invite myself. Having read the wild stories the press is printing, rather than hearing it straight from you, I must inquire as to what you are doing to find the madman that murdered my children. I do hope you understand.”

“Indeed…” Devitt growled, twisting to accept a dainty cup of tea handed to him by the mayor’s secretary. He couldn’t help but stare for a moment at the pristine white gloves of the man, and wondered at the different conditions in which people worked. He felt even more conscious of his unkempt state from the last few days- the quick wash had removed very little of the dust and grime from his face, and he was more than certain his smell was no better. He turned back to look at Beechworth, noting how the man held himself incredibly upright, perfect posture with a hint of lean gracefulness. Even the way he rested his chin on his hand and held the tiny china teacup with his long, thin fingers gave an appearance of feline delicacy, yet this delicacy was what made the man look so dangerous. The grace was unnatural for men of his type.

Politicians… Devitt groaned to himself. They play a dangerous game of twisted half-truths and mind games, and they all think they’re better than any regular citizen of this country. This was the last thing I needed today- a game of cat and mouse with the father of the victims.

Yet, he smiled politely to Beechworth and took a sip of his tea, privately wishing it were larger and stronger- perhaps even a stronger type of drink altogether. He knew who was the mouse in this situation.

“My team are working around the clock to investigate your family’s tragedy, Sir. We have already reached the conclusion that the culprit cannot have come in through any of the lower entries to the property. The only answer is that they entered through the children’s window, and left the same way too. However, there are no marks or footprints in the vicinity and no easy way of actually getting to the window from below. There are no ways to reach the third floor from the outside of the building. It is just too high. This is the first thing we need to discover before we can find anything more about the mysterious killer, if we could only think of a motive…”

He trailed off as he noticed Beechworth rise smoothly from the chair and stride languidly over to the window. He seemed to be watching something beyond the glass when he finally spoke, keeping his back to the two men in the room.

“I am surprised to find you have not thought of the most obvious motive. In a mere few weeks the election will take place to determine who will become the next prime minister. I am a key candidate and this must be a rouse to scare me and ruin my campaign. It is true that this disgusting act of murder against my children has unsettled my wife and me. She remains beyond solace and I see their lifeless, glassy faces each time I close my eyes,” He paused for a moment, as if regaining his composure, “Yes, sleep is a fearful affair of late. But, it has made me all the more determined to rebel against their motive and continue in the race. Detective, tomorrow evening an electoral party will be held where all candidates of the upcoming election will be in attendance. I believe the one responsible for murdering my children will be there with the intent to cause harm to myself or my wife in retaliation to my refusal to leave the campaign. I insist you provide us with protection throughout the party. I will not have my wife harmed over this. I cannot lose anyone else I love, and you may even catch your killer there.”

Devitt and the mayor both looked at each other, carefully assessing each other’s thoughts on the matter.

“Well there we have it, man!” The mayor exclaimed, “Keep an eye out for the Beechworths at this party. You and your team should have no problem with that. With any luck the killer will be caught in full sight of both public and press within the next evening or so! Let’s catch this man before any further harm comes to the people of London.”

Beechworth turned and slid his glance over Devitt again, revealing a cold smile. “Don’t fail me, detective. I still expect you to fully discover how the murderer entered the room of my children without being noticed. A chief inspector should have no trouble with that.” He smirked and bid them good day, striding neatly out of the room.

“Well, that’s sorted then. Here’s the information for the party, I will also be in attendance so if you need me, send a runner inside with your message.” The mayor handed Devitt a slip and moved to sit behind his desk, suggesting an immediate end to their meeting. Devitt folded and pocketed the paper and gladly left the room, nodding to the secretary as he rushed to leave the building and reluctantly return to the station to make plans for the next evening.

Seems I won’t be returning home just yet. Dejected, he thought of Martha, his wife, and his own children. His feelings for his own family spurred him on to find the killer before someone else lost theirs.

#writing #crime story #murder mystery #murder mystery story #writing blog #booklr #stories #story writing #short story #The Children Who Will Never Grow Up #Creative writing #author life #writing community #writeblr #writers of tumblr

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 5 months

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Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #lan xichen #jin guangyao #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #qin su #EDIT: Tumblr published an earlier draft with only half the notes I wrote so: late entry on my JGY thoughts.#Unlike the mystic powers of the stockmarket (what the OG meme is referring to) I think this situation calls for more active investigation.#qin su is such a deeply tragic character to me and I really wish we got a bit more from her.#Love everyone who sent me messages about her after the last time she appeared.#I think she needs a spin off of her being a transmigrator SO badly.#MDZS has so many interesting characters - but it sometimes fails to give them the proper room to really develop past a role in the plot.#That's just the consequence of writing a story like MDZS. Not every character in a book *needs* to have a rich inner life and backstory!#To do so would bog down the story and obliterate any notion of pacing. It's just not possible.#Jin Guangyao (nee Meng Yao) is unfortunately not free from this leeway rule. He is the culprit of this murder mystery plot #and thus NEEDS to encapsulate the themes of the book. And personally he's a 7 out of 10 at best on this front (in the AD).#MDZS is about rumours twisting reality and working towards truth. And about how people & situations are rarely ever black & white #JGY has his motivations. He's well written in regards to his actions making sense for his character.#What started as good traits (drive to succeed & improve his image) became twisted over time (do anything to maintain his image)#and it's a good parallel to WWX! He has the same arc (with different traits)! Bonus points for IGY in that regard.#but man....by the time we confront this guy for murder there's not a lot of grey morality. He's just...deep in the hole *he* dug.#There's a beautiful tragedy to it! More on JGY in later comics - this is getting pretty long already!

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blackbeautyiloveyouso · 2 years

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Love Turns Lethal

[a/n] Hii! This is my first fic on here and its not fandom related it is just a short story that i’ve been working on so I would really appreciate any feedback. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

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Waves crashed up against the large yacht and birds squawked loudly. Frederick strolls calmly through the halls of the boat humming a soft tune as he goes, his new dress shoes click-clacking on the hard wood floor.

A few days prior, back on land, his daughter, Julia, had approached him, informing him of a fancy new cruise that she had heard about from her best friend, Laura. “They are going too!” she cried, referring to Laura and her mother, “And they’re giving us a discount!” At the sound of the word ‘discount’, Frederick’s stern demeanour crumbled and he obliged, happy to be saving money, whilst still getting a well-deserved break from his busy life.

Pushing gently on the door which was emblazoned with the words, ‘Room 317’ and led to one of the generic cruise rooms, he took a deep breath in and prepared to speak to Sandra – Laura's mother – whom he had not seen for years. Excitement bubbled in his chest as the door creaked open only to reveal one of the most horrifying sights, he had ever had the displeasure to see.

Head tilted back, Sandra lay in her armchair, still as a statue, but the worst part was the knife poking out from beneath the hand-knit blanket which was wrapped around her. A large pool of crimson blood sat atop her chest, marking her corpse like some kind of cruel beacon of death. Frederick felt overcome with dread, a large breath of air escaped him and he felt as if he had just received a blow to the abdomen. Turning faster than he ever had before, he fell into an almost run as he tried to get away from such a disturbing sight.

“She’s dead!” he cried out “A woman is dead! Somebody help!” Almost instantly, a door (not so far away from where he now stood) flung open and a tall woman rushed out of it. She had short black hair that shone under the harsh lights of the yacht ceiling and piercing, green eyes.

“Are you okay, sir?” the mysterious woman asked carefully, even though she knew that it was a rather foolish question. Her eyes held a gentle, kind sort of look which convinced the traumatised man that she was trying to help. Slowly, Frederick began to speak, first in a broken whimper, then he cleared his throat and spoke in a – albeit only slightly – more composed manner. He explained gradually that his dearest friend had been so brutally slaughtered as tears streamed down his face, all the while, dampening his beard.

After listening politely while the man struggled to get his words out in-between heart-wrenching sobs the woman nodded her head slowly and adjusted her long, black gloves. She told him, in the most comforting voice she could muster. “Everything will be okay, sir. I will find out who did this, please can you just tell me your name?”

“Frederick Severn, ma’am.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Frederick, my name is Tina, I am a detective.”

Later that day, Tina had told the captain of the ship, the daughter of the victim and everyone who she thought would need to know the horrifyingly true tale of the events that had transpired on that fateful morning. The chef, when she had just finished re-telling the story, had said to her: “This morning, I discovered a splatter of blood lying next to a shattered wine glass.” Tina’s face lit up, excited to have found a new lead.

“Is that any help to you, Detective? He says hesitantly.

“Lots of help, sir.” replies Tina, already beginning to walk away.

Realising it was an appropriate time to, the detective strode swiftly towards the poor, dead woman’s room, heels tapping rhythmically against the floor. When she reached the crime scene, she saw Julia, Frederick’s thirty-five-year-old daughter sneaking into Sandra’s room, expecting no-one to be behind her.

As quiet as a mouse, Tina followed Julia into the room, watching as a folded letter was pulled from the pocket of the dead body. Intrigued, the woman stepped closer, regretting her foolishness instantly when she hears the familiar sound of her own high-heeled shoes against the ground.

Julia jumps slightly, startled by the sudden noise. She spins quickly around to see the tall detective standing with her hands on her hips, a stern expression painting her face. “Are you stealing evidence from a crime scene?” Tina questions, having recovered promptly from her fright, taking up a strict stance once again.

“No!” Julia replies quickly, too quickly. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates and her jaw almost reaching the floor.

“Give it to me,” Tina’s voice calls, steady and calm. “Now, please.”

Julia, afraid of what could happen if she doesn’t, hands over the unknown letter. The detective thanks her and carefully, not wanting to taint the evidence, unfolds it.

The first thing she sees on the letter is the words, “I Love You.” shining red in the middle of the paper, surrounded by other, smaller sentences. Once she had read it, she asks Julia who she is which evokes the answer of: “My name is Julia Severn.” spoken in a nervous, trembling voice. Tina immediately recognises the surname as the same one given to her by Frederick earlier and – realising that she was his daughter – leaves the room, almost as quickly as she had arrived.

Together, the two of them stroll around the ship, collecting all of the crucial personnel and they end up in the large, polished ballroom, A couple of huge, glittering chandeliers hang from the ceiling, providing light in such a dark time.

As she stood at the front of the room, Julia could spot her father in the crowd along with Laura who had tears falling haphazardously down her face and the arms of a tall, handsome gentleman, who she recognises as the chef, wrapped around her shoulders.

The detective called Frederick up to stand with her and Julia, stood forward, and began to speak. “I am very sorry for disturbing your cruise, but (as some of you already know) a woman was found dead in her room this morning.”

A symphony of gasps and noises of surprise rand out through the room. Whispers were shared and Frederick thought he may have heard someone say: “Is he the killer?” and he felt tears sting his eyes once more.

“Frederick,” says Tina, turning to face him once the room had quietened, “Would you mind telling everyone here what you saw this morning?”

‘Yes’, he thinks, ‘Yes I would.’ However, as opposed to his thoughts, he mutters a strangled, “No, I don’t mind.”

Whilst the poor man spoke about his horrible experience, Tina thought back to the letter that had been taken from the pocket of the victim. She thought of how it had been a love letter to Laura, Sandra’s daughter, stating that Frank – whoever that may be - ‘knew’. She wondered what he knew and then noticed that Frederick had stopped speaking.

She prompted him to continue and his quiet, weak, grief-clouded voice said: “Last night, when I couldn’t get to sleep, I ventured into the kitchen and – to calm myself down – I reached for a bottle of wine and knocked a wine glass off the counter, it smashed below me. I panicked and reached down to try to tidy it up but cut my hand, quite deeply.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed a nasty scab, clearly fresh.

“Now,” spoke Tina, “Julia, do you know anything about that love letter you so graciously bestowed upon me?” Julia visibly trembled, noticing the sarcasm and worrying the crowd. What has she done?

“Um, yes,” replied the girl, voice still shaking, “I wrote it.” Another chorus of gasps. “It's a letter expressing my love for Laura Rogers, the daughter of Sandra Rogers,” she paused, “the victim, Sandra Rogers.”

It was almost visible, the way the gears turned in the head of the detective. If the blood in the kitchen was Frederick’s, then...? Julia killed her, she finally realised. Julia killed the poor woman because she didn’t accept the feelings she had for her daughter. It was an act of love, not hate.

“You did it, didn’t you?” comes the confident voice of a proud detective. “You killed her because she stole the letter before you could give it to her.” Julia burst out crying, then nodded, ashamed of what she had done while blinded by love. Tina walks over to her, hands spread to give her a hug but when the girl enters the comforting gesture, her hands are twisted behind her back and a pair of harsh, metal handcuffs are slipped on her wrists.

“Julia Severn, you are under arrest for the murder of Sandra Rogers.” Laura runs out from the large crowd of people when Tina says that and the look on her face is the picture of hatred. “How dare you!?” she yells, “How dare you kill my mother!? How dare you force Frank to leave me and STILL expect me to love you after everything you’ve done to me?!” Laura is furious and hysterical and as she opens her mouth to say something else, she is interrupted by the harsh voice of Tina, advising her to be quiet.

As the snivelling young girl is dragged out of the room, her cries are heard all throughout the ship, desperate pleas for forgiveness but they fall on deaf ears and she realises something that makes her blood run cold; nobody is ever going to forgive her for this.

#short story #murder mystery #murder mystery story #tw: knife #tw:blood #tw: bad writing

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