Day Eight

“So guys,” Gale began, setting down her sandwich, “has anyone else noticed that a bunch of people have died and no one has done anything?”

“Yeah, why aren’t we going to the directors or at least talking about it?” Barnswallow asked. Hearing their conversation, Moonlight began quietly crying at the reminder of her dead AE.

“That is why we aren’t talking about it,” Fleet remarked, before going to comfort Moonlight. The rest of the guests shrugged.

“Well, I still think we should do something,” Gale declared, and Barnswallow nodded in agreement. Coming to a decision, Gale stood up. “I’m going to the directors right now, to ask them about their ridiculous behavior. Anyone who wants to come with me certainly may.” Barnswallow stood up, and so did Ella and Nymph. Together they left the dining room in search of the directors’ office.

After some trouble, they finally found it in a tucked-away corner of the mansion. Loud noises were coming from the door crack, as if the two colleagues were arguing. Without hesitating, Ella pushed the door open.

“Of course we can’t tell them who the murderer is!” Director 1 snapped. “Then she would reveal our secret-- what are you doing here?” she asked sharply. The CBers stood with mouths agape. Finally, Ella regained her composure and said, “How do you know who the murderer is?”

Director 2 started to answer. “Well you see, she’s actually been blackmailing us. She--”

With lightning speed, Director 1 picked up a marble paperweight from a nearby desk and hurled it at Director 2. It struck her in the head, and she collapsed silently. The CBers stared openly at Director 1, who turned her fury on them.

“Get back to your rooms! Now!” she hissed. They hastened to obey.

Several minutes later, Director 2 groaned and opened her eyes. “Why did you have to do that?” she asked, wincing.

“It was for your own good,” Director 1 responded coldly. Without another word, she swept out of the room, her lab coat fluttering behind her.

That afternoon, rain mercilessly battered the windows, so the CBers were confined indoors. To distract them, Maggie and Joe took out piles of board games. Soon, everyone was sitting on a cozy couch or armchair, drinking tea and staring in concentration at the cards.

“I-6? Hit or miss?” Viola? asked Barnswallow. Barnswallow took a sip of tea and frowned.

“You just took two turns in a row.”

“No, I didn’t!” Viola? argued.

 “Yes you did. You just guessed I-7, like five seconds ago. Remember? I said it was a hit.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked sharply, but the debate was cut short by another voice.

“Ha! I win again!” crowed Fleet, throwing down her flimsy paper money. “I am the monopoly queen!” She began singing a victory song loudly (and off-key, as it happened) to anyone who could hear. She would have danced, too, but the table was too close to her armchair for her to stand up.

“You did not! You cheated!” snorted Gale. Nymph, who had been dozing on a cushion in cat form, sprang up and hissed at Fleet. Ella, who was playing on Fleet’s team, responded by throwing the box at Nymph, which she easily dodged.

“Guys, calm down!” Maggie pleaded, but no one paid any attention. Everyone was eager to jump into the chaos.

Joe blew a whistle with a startling shriek, and the room was suddenly quiet.

“Would you stop it?” he asked sternly. The CBers hung their heads, except for Nymph, who returned to her cushion. “It’s time for dinner, anyway. Clean up the board games and we’ll head to the dining room.”

Dinner that night was Chinese food, and everybody became extremely occupied with eating. Nobody noticed Sea Glass wincing and squirming, until xe fell to the floor. Others rushed to check on xyr, but it was too late. Xyr heart was completely silent.

The CBers who had visited the directors’ office gave each other knowing looks. The murderer had struck again.

Wow... this is amazing!

TOP TOP TOP TOP TOP!!!

TOOP TIIP TUUP TAAP TIIP!!

Day Nine

Viola? woke to the sound of a paper being slid under her door. She yawned, pushed her covers down, and padded over to see what it said.

My dearest vacationers, read the message, you are to stay in your rooms all day today for your own safety. Please keep a close eye on your roommates, and do not venture outside your rooms for any reason. Attached is a menu for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There is also a recording device, which will make sure that no one can leave without our knowing. Thanks for your understanding! ~Directors 1 and 2

Viola? sighed. “Yo, Nymph, you might want to come hear this,” she called across the room. Her roommate opened her eyes blearily, glanced briefly at the paper Viola? was waving in the air, and rolled over to go back to sleep. Shrugging, the CBer scribbled a request for two orders of waffles and slid it back under the door, then wandered over to the table in the center of the room and began to doodle.

Four hours later, having doodled, eaten waffles, read, written, doodled, read, played Solitaire, eaten pizza, taken a nap, and paced around the room, Viola? flopped on the floor and groaned. “There’s nothing to do here!” she exclaimed. “I wish we could get out and go to the library or something.”

Nymph popped out from behind the curtains, shifted into a bird, and flew over to her roommate just in time to poop on her head. Viola? groaned again. “Here, Nymph. Why don’t you take this recording device and go to the bathroom, which is a much more appropriate place for such activities?”

The AE shifted back into human form and started on a long explanation of why she did not care to go to the bathroom at this time, only to be interrupted, more forcefully this time.

“Nymph. Go. To. The. Bathroom. With. The. Recording. Device. Okay??” Nymph rolled her eyes but acquiesced. 

With the recording device now safely in the other room, Viola? opened the door slowly and crept out. She tip-toed down the hallway as softly as she could, watching her feet to keep from stepping on a creaky floorboard. This awareness was to be her undoing. As she pushed open the library door, a trap triggered, dumping a bucket of oil on her head.

“Wha- is that- oil? Blech!” she sputtered. Behind her, a person popped her head out of a doorway.

“Ah,” said the girl. “It’s quite cold, hadn’t you noticed? Would you care for some heat?”

Viola?’s eyes widened as the murderer grabbed a torch and threw it directly at her. Her oil-soaked clothes caught instantly, wreathing her body in flames. Caught by surprise, the only thing she could think to do was scream.

--

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Director 1 said, dusting her hands and pushing herself up from her crouched position. “We got the inscriptions on the gold bricks, the silver candelabras, and the bronze fountain. An entire day of work, and only three scratches to show for it.” She groaned, holding her back.

“Complaints, complaints, complaints, all day long,” muttered Director 2, then continued in a louder voice. “Look, this is important. If and when we reveal the murderer, this way she won’t be able to prove anything about us.”

Director 1 shook her head and started back toward the nice, comfy couch in the staff lounge. “We aren’t going to reveal the murderer, so it won’t matter anyway.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that we let her kill off 15 of our guests?”

“Uh- no! I-” But Director 1’s retort was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream. The two women looked at each other, then ran toward the sound. The scream came again, louder, this time followed by two words. “Help! Nymph-”

The sound cut out just as the directors reached Viola?’s body. 

Burnt.

Dead.

Day Ten

“Whoa. It’s bright down here,” exclaimed Gale. The other CBers squinted in the sunlight, nodding in agreement. After emerging from a long night of confinement, the morning sunlight definitely seemed brighter than usual.

Joan, however, had noticed something different about the downstairs area. “Hey, why is that fountain all scratched up there?” she said, pointing to the bronze fountain. “It wasn’t like that before.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Fleet said dismissively. “Maybe some dirt got on it and the cleaning staff had to scrub it off.” Joan shook her head.

“No way. It didn’t look dirty the last time I saw it.” Her eyes lit up, and she pulled out her camera. “I took a photo of it on the first day! We can see if it looked dirty then!”

“Why are you so obsessed with this hypothetical dirt?” Nymph asked, rolling her eyes.

“Because,” Joan explained, peering at the camera’s screen. “Aha! Here it is! Take a look!” She shoved it rather unceremoniously under the two people’s noses.

On the screen was the bronze fountain, gloriously spitting water. In the corner, where there was now a cloud of scratches, was a plaque, with something inscribed on it. Zooming in to maximum size, the trio could just barely read the word, or rather, the abbreviation, written there.

CB

“That’s weird. Why does it say that?” Joan asked, confused.

“Well, it is a CB vacation,” Fleet remarked. Her eyes widened in mock astonishment. “Or maybe it’s a sign that we’re all virtual and none of this is real! Illuminati confirmed!” She arranged her fingers around her eye in a triangle, and peered through the hole, grinning. Everyone rolled their eyes.

“That’s probably not it,” Joan replied, thinking out loud. “I mean, technically, this place isn’t part of the CB. So this fountain shouldn’t really be here. It’s like if you had a scarf with ‘Barcelona’ written on it, and you aren’t from Barcelona.”

“Why Barcelona?” Nymph asked, wrinkling her nose. Joan shrugged impatiently.

“It was the first place I thought of. But my point is, this fountain seems out of place. Why is it even here?”

Just then, the CBers overheard a conversation going on between Barnswallow and TheaterGirl that stopped them in their tracks.

“I haven’t seen Viola? since yesterday either,” Barnswallow confirmed, shaking her head. Then she turned to Nymph, eyes glinting with suspicion. “You’re Viola?’s roommate, right? Where were you when she disappeared?”

Nymph shrugged. “I was in the bathroom,” she stated. “When she didn’t come back, I just assumed she was in another room.”

“Hold on. You were in the bathroom? How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Nymph shrugged casually.
“I guess you just have to trust me,” she responded. But Moonlight, who was listening in, had another question.

“Why weren’t you suspicious when Viola? didn’t come back?” she asked curiously. Nymph raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

“Why is everyone giving me the third degree? I was just in the bathroom!” she defended herself. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, shapeshifted into a hawk, and took off for the dining room, taking care to deposit waste on at least one CBer’s head.

--

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Director 2 shouted. When that didn’t work, she called “Hey hey hey, listen up, listen up!” She punctuated this with what seemed to be an attention-getting cough. Finally, this succeeded, and the CBers replied “Hey hey hey listen up, shh!”

“Thank you for that,” the director responded, looking over her glasses at them. “I hope you all enjoyed your lunch. Please allow me to give some announcements. The game room will be closed at 3:00 pm, due to renovations.” She coughed again. “Must have eaten too much hot sauce. Additionally, I must confess, we know who the murderer is,” she admitted, putting a hand to her chest as if in discomfort. Gasps echoed around the room. “We didn’t share it for your own safety. But now, in light of new circumstances… we - we felt-” She broke off, overcome with more coughs. “Excuse me,” she murmured, stumbling a little as she stepped off the raised platform. The CBers exchanged worried looks when, after five minutes, she still hadn’t returned.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of waiting, Director 1 hopped up on the platform, hair somewhat unraveled from its usual ponytail and a frightened look on her face. “Everyoneisdismissedtimeforyoutogobacktoyourrooms,” she panted, before dashing away again. Worried and uncertain, the CBers filed back down the hall in a ragged clump.

For the rest of the afternoon, rumors flew as the CBers shared theories of what had happened in the dining hall. “Maybe the cooks didn’t clean their utensils and she came down with something!” “Maybe she got a lung transplant!” “Maybe the murderer stabbed her in the middle of her speech!”

Finally, Nymph sauntered up to the excited and nervous group, which exchanged looks. No one had noticed that she was missing. “I know what happened,” she declared. “Director 2’s in a coma. They think the murderer poisoned her food.” Shocked and startled, but curious, the CBers peppered her with more questions.

“How did you know what happened?” someone asked. Nymph exaggeratedly flipped her hair, which seemed to grow longer as they watched.

“I just know these things.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed down the hall toward Moo Two, where she promptly closed the door. The CBers exchanged shrugs and suspicious glares.

In the sudden silence, they heard a cry of “Help!” coming from the bathroom. The CBers rushed in, fearing they were too late.

Moonlight was lying on the floor, dead. A dagger had been thrust into her heart, and next to her lay a recording microphone. It was screaming “Help!” in Moonlight’s voice. Ella stepped forward and turned it off.

The CBers could only stare in shock. Moonlight had obviously been killed earlier. Perhaps even during the time they were interrogating Nymph. But try as they did, the group had only a few vague ideas of who had killed her.

1) TOP!!

2) Does anyone care to guess us? 

Day Eleven

Barnswallow woke to the loud, chopping sound of helicopter blades. Leaning over to look out the window, she caught sight of a helicopter lifting off from the middle of the forest. On the bottom was written in large, black text Emergency Transport Helicopter.

From the other side of the room, Gale yawned and sat up. “What am I hearing?”

“A helicopter, maybe?” suggested Kitten.

Barnswallow nodded. “I can see it out my window. It says it’s an Emergency Transport Helicopter.”

“Emergency Transport?” Gale repeated. “And they hadn’t thought it was an emergency requiring transport when six people were killed?! Why don’t they get us off of this stupid island already?”

“You know Director 1,” said Joan B. of Arc, “always prioritizing her own needs. I mean, Director 2 said they knew who the murderer was, and it’s not like they told anyone or did anything to help.”

“They knew who the- ohhh.” Barnswallow came to a sudden realization. “The helicopter must be for Director 2. Obviously, the murderer knew she was going to reveal them, and thought they’d be proactive.”

“Yeeees,” Kitten agreed, nodding exaggeratedly. “Was that not obvious?”

Gale jumped back in, getting a bit annoyed. “Regardless of the helicopter’s purpose, they should have told us they had one. If we’d been given the opportunity to leave the island, I, for one, would have taken it.”

“Well, as soon as it gets back, we’ll ask Director 1 if we can leave,” resolved Joan.

--

It seemed the entire group of CBers (however much smaller it was) was talking about the helicopter at breakfast. Exclamations of “Did you see that?” and “Why didn’t they tell us?” and “I didn’t see it, but Fleet did, and she woke me up yelling about it,” echoed around the room.

Director 1 came out of a side door nursing a mug of coffee and stepped to the podium at the front of the room. “Attention, can I have your attention?” she called.

There was no change in behavior until Gale shushed her tablemates loudly, after which silence spread slowly around, since no one wanted to be spit on by an angry AE.

“Thank you, Gale,” Director 1 said, probably to avoid being targeted herself. “Now, today will be a normal day. You can hang out in the library, the arcade, or your rooms, and there’s going to be a Hamilton sing-along this evening and- what, Joan?”

“What about the helicopter?” Joan burst out.

“What about the helicopter?” Director 1 shot back.

“Why didn’t you let us leave on it before?”

“Maybe because I thought it’d be better for you if you stayed here, where you’d be protected by the force field!”

At least three vacationers jumped up at that and called out various versions of “What force field?”

Ella Starburst approached the podium and glared. “You mean the one that hasn’t been working since we arrived? That force field?”

Director 1 raised her hands in self-defense. “Okay, okay, maybe I haven’t been completely honest about some things. But as soon as the helicopter gets back, I promise any of you who want can leave on it.”

“Suuuuure,” Ella said skeptically, but returned to her seat.

“So,” the director continued, “you’re welcome to come to the sing-along tonight in costumes, and if you don’t have any, I’d be happy to provide some. If there are no other-” She stopped and looked around. “Whose phone is ringing?”

“I think it’s yours,” called a vacationer.

Director 1 slapped her forehead, reached into a pocket, and pulled out her phone. “Hello? Yes, it’s my helicopter.” Short pause. “Crashed? What? How?” Long pause. “Okay, I’ll put you in touch with my insurance. Does that work?” Short pause. “Hello? Does that work? … Are you there?” She dropped the phone angrily. “My service cut out. Is it working for you?”

Half the room pulled out cell phones, and half the room groaned to see that they had no service either.

“Well,” said the director, “I guess we’re cut off from the rest of the world!” She sounded surprisingly happy. Barnswallow sighed and put her head in her hands.

--

Kitten wandered out of the Hamilton sing-along at 9:00, being somewhat tired and ready to go to bed. As she headed up the dimly lit staircase, she stumbled across a squishy lump. 

“Guys!” she called. “Help! I found Ella’s body - she’s been killed!”

The lights flickered on as somewhat slightly more responsible came up. By the time all eight living vacationers were crowded around the body, Kitten was backed into a corner, trying to evade accusations.

“Yes, I know my wand’s next to her body, and I know she appears to have been killed by Avada Kedavra, but I promise you I didn’t do it!”

“Well,” said Fleet suspiciously, “if you didn’t do it, then who did?”

“Somewhat must have stolen my wand!”

“Yeah, and when would that have happened?”

“I. Don’t. Know. However, if I did kill her, do you really think I would have done it so obviously?”

“No, but it’s clearly a case of you think we’ll think that you’ll do A, so you’ll do B because we wouldn’t think you’d think of that but then because we might think we know what you’re thinking you’ll do A after all because we wouldn’t think you’d think that way,” Fleet responded quickly.

Kitten shook her head and continued up the staircase. “First of all, that’s not very logical, and second of all, that’s an almost direct quote from Ranger’s Apprentice, so maybe you should stick to your own words, however wrong they may be?”

“Ooooooh,” chorused all the AEs. Kitten and Fleet both ignored them.

“I,” Kitten continued sharply, “am going to bed, and you can continue questioning me in the morning if you have any reasoning of substance. Good night.”

As the vacationers continued to bicker among themselves, the murderer smiled to herself. There was no suspicion on her. At least, that is what she believed.

Oh no! I'm dead! that is kind of creepy. This is awesome!!