Cluedon't

Note to reader: This story is about a game called Cluedo. This is the same game that is referred to in certain parts of North America as “Clue”, although some of the character names may vary slightly between the two editions.

***

The removal van pulled up in front of the Jones’s new home and the brakes emitted a shrill shriek. Behind the van Edward stopped his own car and glanced out of the lowered window at his new abode. It needed work, there was no doubt about that. The front of the house had been invaded by an army of ivies, clawing at the brickwork in an eternal battle to gain a hold. The local youths had paid a visit recently, and on the front door was daubed proclamations such as “Tony waz ‘ere.” Edward, Mr Jones to his students, was a zealous English teacher, and felt that it was graffiti like this which caused young people to misspell so many words in class.

As he stepped out of the car he stood on a twig which snapped beneath his size 10 shoes. His wife, who had got out of the car more speedily than himself, leapt about ten metres into the air with fright. She was uneasy, and although the strain of moving was part of it, she had been on edge all day for a reason which neither she nor her husband knew. She had been right to be uneasy about previous events, and Edward had grown to trust her instincts. However, in this case he did not feel that excess care was required.

His wife had almost reached the door when a man who they had not noticed before called to her. At first she looked around, bewildered as to where the voice was coming from. Then she spotted a man in the next garden, watering his plants. The strange thing was that the plants seemed to be shrinking away from him as he came near them, but of course it was just her imagination. It could have been the wind, although today was exceptionally calm.

“Hello,” exclaimed the man, adjusting his small spectacles. “You must be the new neighbours. How utterly delightful to meet you at last!” He had rather bushy eyebrows, and a grey moustache which dominated his face. His mouth was smiling, but all of his other features were not. The look was colder than a nuclear winter. He looked like a hermit, a recluse from society. Andrea Jones greeted him quickly, telling him what their names were and where they had moved from, and then started to hurry down the garden path.

“I can see you are eager to get into your new house, so I won’t detain you any longer!” shouted the man after them. “Can I just ask you if you know how to play Cluedo? If you do then my wife and I would love to have your company tonight for a game or two!”

Edward looked at his wife, who shrugged helplessly, and then back at the man standing on the other side of the fence. He and his wife played Cluedo often, in fact it was their favourite game, but something made him decide not to go. Whether it was the thought of all the unpacking which he would have to do that evening, or the feeling of unease when he was standing around this man, he would rather stay at home that evening. On the other hand, he did not wish to be rude...

“Erm... Yes, we’d love to - about seven OK?”

His wife interrupted his rope of thought, breaking his concentration. He mouthed NO but she ignored him, pretending that she could not see his frantic instructions. Their neighbour acknowledged this with a nod, but again his look was cold and unfriendly. As they walked up the path to the door, a sudden thought struck Edward. What had happened to the previous owners? The estate agent had told him that they had not long left, although the house looked unkempt and was almost unhabitable. His thoughts turned back to that evening. He knew why his wife had agreed; she was like him, never wanted to let anybody down. Sometimes he wished that she would not try to be as cooperative with everyone - but that was her personality.

That night they arrived at their neighbours’ house to play Cluedo. There was no sign of a bellpush or a knocker on the door and so Edward knocked with his fist against the solid oak door. He tapped gently at first, but then harder as no response was received. At last they heard footsteps from inside. As they arrived at the door, a clinking on the other side indicated some chain being unlatched. Finally the door opened to reveal a dark, uncarpeted hallway. The walls were decorated with portraits, some of famous kings and queens, and others of people Edward did not recognise.

There were closed doors on either side, and one solitary lightbulb hanging halfway down the hallway emitted the only light. A stairway ascended into the gloom to their left, and on the right another passage vanished out of sight. Their feet thudded on the hard wooden floorboards as they approached a door near the end of the corridor. It was slightly ajar, and a paltry light could be seen seeping through the gap. They were led down to this door and it was eased open. A welcome wave of light and warmth flooded out, and for the first time the couple could distinguish that the person who had opened the door was the same man that they had seen earlier that day.

The board was already set out on the table, and the cards had been dealt. Normally Edward would have grumbled about this; he was naturally suspicious that the dealers may have cheated if they allocated the cards before all the players had arrived. In this case, however, he chose to disregard this impolite behaviour and accept his hosts offer of a seat. He was still uneasy about his new neighbours, as was his wife.

The Cluedo set was obviously an old one, the board was faded and in some places ripped. On the printed diagram of a house, certain rooms had a red substance on them - the library more so than the others. Many of the cards were curled or folded over at the edge, presumably with age. In the box one of the counters was snapped, and there was a smashed die. The game certainly looked as if it had seen better days.

“Alright, I will play as Colonel Mustard, and I presume my wife will wish to play as Miss Scarlett,” proclaimed their male host, glancing at his wife who nodded.

It was only then that Edward noticed their hostess, who was clothed in a dark red dress, which dragged along the floor as she walked. She wore plenty of lipstick, which was the same colour as her dress, and had neatly tied back hair. It struck Edward that she had her hair arranged in the very same way which Miss Scarlett did on the box. Now that he thought of it, their other host was wearing the same clothes as Colonel Mustard, mirroring the picture on the box. These people must be Cluedo fanatics, he thought.

Andrea reached down and pulled out a Mrs White playing piece, at the same time handing her husband a Professor Plum piece. Placing it down on the starting space, Edward waited for his hostess, whose name he did not yet know, to commence playing. She cupped her hands around the die and shook it, then expelled it onto the table. The silent room was filled with the sound of wood, for that is what the die was made of, on the glass top of the table. Finally it came to a rest, and a smile slowly spread over her beautiful face.

“Six!” she cried in glee, moving her counter the allotted amount of spaces. The die continued around the table, all the players anxious to make a good start. During the round, a short discussion took place in which Edward and his wife were told that their hosts were named Musti and Scarell Odreiw, originally from a small country in Africa which no longer existed. The land had been plagued with crime and battles. Both growing up near each other in a middle-class estate, they had almost joined the criminal underworld, but had escaped the country to start a new life in England many years ago.

On Scarell’s second turn she was able to enter the lounge, and after consulting her cards for a moment made the first accusation of the game, picking up the revolver and the counter for Miss Peacock and placing them in the room. She turned to her husband who consulted his cards and then shook his head. Now it was Andrea’s turn to scrutinise her cards. After a quick glance she removed one from her hand and slipped it face down across the table to Scarell. The hostess checked it and subsequently slipped it back making some adjustments to her notes card.

The game continued in this way for about twenty minutes and by now most of the players were getting close to discovering which three cards had been placed in the wallet. Edward himself had only to discover the room in which the murder had been committed, and although this is often the hardest clue to discover, he felt close to doing just that.

Despite his original misgivings at coming, he had enjoyed himself thoroughly. Luck seemed to be on his side, his hosts had been polite and helpful, and although the two couples had discovered little about each other, they had got along very well. He shook the die in his hand and cast it onto the table, peering eagerly at it for the result. A two. Oh well, he was still pretty sure that he was going to win, and although he was stuck in the corridor for now, he would surely be able to resume his investigations shortly.

“Excuse me,” he said to his hosts, “can you tell me where your bathroom is please?”

The directions were clear and concise; up the stairs, turn left on the second floor, third door on the right. He thanked them, and giving instructions to try and get his character into the study on his next throw, left the room. He headed towards the front door where he had seen the staircase when he came in. When he got there, however, he realised that he had made a mistake. This set of stairs were unsafe, with many missing or broken. There must be another way up to the next level, he thought, and set off to try and find it.

“Professor Plum, with the dagger, in the dining room.” Scarell moved the relevant pieces to the room and sat back, waiting to be informed as to whether her husband had any of those cards. He showed her one, and then returned it to her hand. Edward would very probably not be happy with this as it put him in the wrong part of the board, but thus was the game. Passing the die to her husband, Scarell excused herself and left the room.

He had been all around the house seeking another way up to the second floor, and was about to give up when he spotted an open door on his right. Edward was an inquisitive man, and wondered what was inside. On his journey around the house he had stumbled on a study, a billiard room, a dining room and now, it seemed, a library. This house was remarkably like the Cluedo board, Edward thought. Thinking about it, every room he had encountered so far featured in a standard Cluedo game.

The titles ranged from “Great Expectations” by Charles Dickens to the latest Harry Potter book. Every taste was accounted for, and fiction books were not the only category covered in this room. Guides to countries such as China, Brazil and France were on one bookshelf, while on another biographies charted the lives of Henry VIII, Winston Churchill and Tony Adams. All the books were in pristine condition, and the amazing thing was that this was not a forgotten room. This years latest releases next to the older books proved this.

His mind started to wander to the game that was being played in the other room, and he vaguely remembered that they would be expecting him back. In his mind he turned over the possibilities remaining in the game. The murderer was Miss Scarlett, or so he had thought just minutes before. However, a glance of a card which his hostess had shown his wife had made him doubt this. Although he had not seen it intentionally, as it had been picked up by Andrea he had seen, or thought he had seen, a red figure on the card. He would have to review which cards he had been shown by everyone when he returned.

He moved onto the weapon. He was much more certain of this. It was the lead piping. Finally, the room. A chill ran down his spine. Although he knew it was only a game, he had just realised that he was closer to the action than he had thought. He had narrowed it down to either the study, the ballroom, or, frighteningly, the library. He shook it off. It was only a game, only a game. A cough at the door made him turn round expeditiously.

“Ah, so this is where you had got to!” she exclaimed as she walked into the room. “I thought I heard somebody walking around. What are you doing in here?”

“Oh, I was on my way to the bathroom but I found that the staircase was - out of order. Then I felt this strange urge to come in here. Shall we go back to the living room?”

“Not quite yet,” she said, a touch of menace entering her voice. She brought her right hand out from behind her back. She was wielding what looked suspiciously like lead piping. She laughed strangely, and advanced. He yelled, but they were a long way from the lounge. Looking around for a weapon to defend himself, he chose a book from the shelf that looked particularly heavy. He moved quickly. She continued her advance. Holding the piping high above her head she moved forward. He ducked. She dived. He tossed the book. It hit. She let out a gasp. She was up again. She aimed the piping at him with full force. Missed. He threw a book. No time to see if he had hit his target.

He retreated to the back of the room. She followed. He knocked over a bookcase. Her advance was not slowed. Desperately he tried to grab the lead pipe. Failed. Attack - run! Duck - dive! Turn, throw, run. The cycle over and over again. This place was vast! Books flying. Scarell running. There - the pipe. Run! Quickly! Almost hit a dead end. Over the shelf. The piping, again and again. If only he could get it off her...

“I wonder where the other two have got to!” exclaimed Musti politely, checking his watch. “They’ve been gone for almost quarter of an hour.”

He did not seem too concerned; his eyes hid a secret. This troubled her.Andrea did not want to be left in this room alone with him any longer. She got up, intending to go and find them for herself. On reaching the door, there was a moment’s hesitation, and Andrea returned to her place. There was nothing wrong, of course there wasn’t. The missing two would be back at any time, and there was no need for her to get lost trying to find them. Then she remembered her feeling earlier in the day. Intuition made her think something may be going on. Andrea was scared, but then she remembered something her mother had always told her:

“'Tis not too late tomorrow to be brave.”

John Armstrong. He summed up all that she had believed when she was younger in a few words. Not today, she had always said. Tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes; there is always some excuse to delay doing what you do not wish to. Someone else will always do it, you cannot make a big difference. Armstrong was wrong. Tomorrow was too late. You have to act today. She had made the same mistake as that Scottish poet when she was young, and regretted it. She would act now. She walked to the door and turned left onto the corridor, the same direction her husband had.

“Hello Andrea, worried about me already?” Edward walked up towards her with a cheery smile.

“Where on Earth have you been all this time?” Andrea asked. She was slightly annoyed at herself for getting so worried. There was nothing that could have happened to her husband, and now that had been proved she felt a little stupid. Edward’s only reply was a slight shrug, and he walked past her into the room without even really looking at her. He looked happy enough, but Andrea could tell that something was wrong. He was slouching, something which she had never seen him do before, and there was a twinkle missing from his eyes. She turned to re-enter the room but as she did so something behind her made her turn.

Down where Edward had just come from, an open door emitted a radiance of light which seemed to shine from everywhere and nowhere at all. It brought the hallway to life, making faded portraits look as if they were alive, and the patterns in the glossed floorboards dance in intricate patterns. Then it was gone. The darkness swallowed up the light, pictures receded into their frames and the floor-snakes lay dead. Then the door slammed shut, sending a strange blast of icy air down the passageway, even though moments ago it had been warm and welcoming. With the cold blast Andrea’s mind cleared, and all hopes and dreams she held seemed impossible.

“Come on, dear. It’s late and I want to get home soon. Come and finish the game.” Normally she would have been happy to rejoin the game; she always ran in the face of fear, even though often there was little to fear. When she heard a strange noise or saw an unusual light, which were oddly common in her life, she fled to company, and with company she felt safety. The light would always be an approaching car, the noise a door blowing shut with the wind, but she was always scared, and she always ran to safety. But not now. For some reason she felt the need to investigate. Being braver than ever before she called to them.

“I’ll be there in a moment - you take my turn. I just need to check something out.” Now fear had given way to deep calm. She could no longer remember why she would want to return to the living room. Come to think of it, where was the living room? What was a living room? These were her last thoughts before her limbs became heavy and her mind choked with blackness. Her mind may have been out of action, but her body was not. Her feet slowly started to move towards the strange room, whilst inside the living room Musti and Edward packed the game away. It was too late now to finish the game. Maybe another night. In different circumstances.

Andrea reached the room and tried the handle. A tingle ran up her arm but she did not feel it. The handle was stiff, but she did not know it. Then, as she emerged into the “room”, the darkness receded from her mind. However, it was not just the blackness that had filled her thought’s minutes earlier, now everything was clear. In front of her was not the library that Edward had emerged from through the same door before, now there was a staircase, and at the bottom squares covered the world. Overhead a die skidded across, coming to rest over the conservatory. This was not only Scarell and Musti’s world, but also that of Andrea and Edward. The Cluedo board.

*****

“I’ve got it!” shouted Dudley. He scribbled a few words on his detective notes card and then reached into the centre to pick up the envelope. He pulled the three cards out and looked at them with a grin on his face. “Read ‘em and weep! Professor Plum, with the lead piping, in the library. Hey! Have any of you ever wondered what this game would be like if it was real life?”

Down on the board Andrea Jones (maiden name White) smiled. As she flew through the air and into the box as a result of Dudley’s toss, she shouted out to her husband, Edward. How had he got the name Plum, she wondered. Possibly it was down to that slight accident he had when he was a professor in that university. “Well done! I was sure that it was going to be Miss. Scarlett... Scarell.”

A dark shadow passed over them and they realised that they had only seconds left. “Until the box lid is once again lifted, goodbye. Sometime in the future we will once again be involved in a murder, maybe you will kill me, maybe I will kill you, but until then, sleep tight!”

Then he went silent.