Dash hated press conferences. He hated the press. But he needed their help to appeal for information. So far, despite there being 7 murders in 7 days the FreewriteHouse Murders had had very little publicity.
Even now, there didn’t appear to be that many people interested in the case. He looked out at the row of ‘reporters’. Three of them. An adolescent girl from one of the local schools paper. A man from the local rag “FreewriteVille News” and a dog. The dog looked the most professional of the group. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, he carried a notebook and a tape machine.
Jenkins nudged him.
“No TV, Sir?”
“No, Jenkins. Fox News said they couldn’t be arsed to come, apparently they’ll just ‘make shit up, later’. The others said it wasn’t a real investigation. Bloody cheek,” he checked his watch. Time to start. He coughed and addressed the “crowd”.
“Freewriters are being targeted!” he said. “Picked off, one by one.” He paused. “MURDERED!” he shouted. The dog’s ears pricked up at that, Dash noted with satisfaction. “So far, these murders have only been reported in the comments section of the @FreewriteHouse Winner Announcements. To change that, I'll need your help…”
...
some of what follows is brand new. Some of it you may have already read in the comments section of @freewritehouse posts
The FreewriteHouse Murders. Week one.
Day One
It all began on a Saturday morning (or evening, or could have been friday, or even sunday, depending on the time zone you live in).
All was quiet in the FreewriteHouse, no one stirred, not even a mouse*
* sorry, wrong season, wrong story.
It was really busy in the FreewriteHouse, people decorating rooms, making cakes, clearing up after the dreadful mess that @Snook made (we really can’t talk about that here). Somewhere, in a dark room in the heart of the FreewriteHouse, a number is drawn… a victim is chosen… (if you have the strength you can watch the draw here)
Meanwhile in FreewriteVille…
Inspector Dash looked at the body lying in a pool of slowly congealing blood. The murder weapon was not known, but the attack was frenzied. To Dash it bore the all hallmarks of of a serial killer. But, he he hoped he was wrong - so far there was just one body, unidentified. The only clue, a calling card with the word FreewriteHouse on one side, and the number Twenty Eight on the other…
winner victim: @yadah04
Day Two
At the FreewriteHouse @mariannewest has been digging her vegetable plot all night. But why? Is it really to make sure the Freewritehouse-hold has ample supply of fresh organic vegetables? Or is she hiding something? She finishes at first light and makes herself a lovely cup of herbal tea, tastes it and then pours it down the sink, and helps herself to the pot of coffee that someone has already made. A few minutes later, in that darkened room a number is drawn… (watch here - only for those with a strong stomach)
Meanwhile in FreewriteVille…
Dash was in the toilet when he got the call.
"Another one?" he said, trying to wipe and hold the phone, simultaneously. "Same MO?"
Jenkins - his sergeant - said something, but Dash didn't catch it, because the sound of the flush drowned out his words.
"Sorry, what was that?" Dash asked, after he had watched his turd circle round the bowl and disappear round the bend, on its way to the sea.
"This time, it wasn't a knife," Jenkins said. "It was a gun. No weapon, just like last time. No one saw anything, or heard anything. We haven't identified the body, yet."
"Is there a calling card?" Dash asked, now out of the cubicle and trying to balance the phone to his ear, whilst he washed his hands.
"Yep," Jenkins said. "Just like the last one 'FreewriteHouse' on one side, and a number on the back."
"The same number?" Dash asked, dropping his phone. He wiped his hands on his trousers and picked the phone out of the sink. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"
"No," Jenkins said. "This time it's the number 20."
winner victim: @whatisnew
Day 3
At the FreewriteHouse @Byn is washing up. Again. She is a little bit sick of it, why is it always left to her? @Brisby, @Byn notices, always slopes off at the end of the meal. At the bottom of the bowl, @byn finds a large, sharp knife. She thinks nothing of it, cleans off the dried blood and puts it on the side to dry… much later, in that darkened room ( @deaconlee was supposed to change the lightbulb, but of course hasn’t bothered!) a draw is made. (Please, for your own sanity, don’t watch the draw!)
Meanwhile, in FreewriteVille…
Dash looked at the battered corpse. It was hard to imagine it was once a person. Jenkins stood by his side, shaking his head.
"Can you imagine, Sir," he said. "Being covered in batter and fried like a piece of cod. What a way to go."
Dash's stomach rumbled. It was way past his lunch time, and he did so enjoy a nice plate of fish and chips.
"Very sad, indeed, Jenkins," he said. He leaned down and with gloved hand he picked up the card, that was lying next to the body. "Three murders, Jenkins. And all with a card like this lying next to the body. We have a serial killer on our hands." The now all too familiar logo of the FreewriteHouse was emblazoned on on side, turning it over Dash saw the number 5 written on it.
But who was number five? And who was the FreewriteHouse murderer? And why so many questions before lunch?
"Let's go, Jenkins," Dash said. "We need to have a good think. And I can't think on an empty stomach."
winner victim: @scribblingramma
…
Day Four
It is quiet in the FreewriteHouse. There was a big party the night before. Empty bottles are everywhere. There are footprints on the tables, clothes hanging from light fittings. The smell of stale alcohol and vomit is only just covered by the sweet smell of cannabis (probably legal in whatever state the FreewriteHouse is located). In the darkened room a number is drawn (if you really want to watch it you can find it here]
Meanwhile in FreewriteVille…
Dash looked down at the body. Even in death (and a gruesome way to die it was too) the man was clearly VERY handsome, and talent leaked out of him, like the blood that soaked into the ground around him. Dash shook his head, slowly. Such a waste! Why does it have to happen to such great people?
"You look like you recognise this rather attractive dead person, Sir," Jenkins said, joining him.
"Well, Jenkins, I am afraid I do," he said. "It is the great Felt.Buzz!"
Jenkins looked blank.
"Who, sir?"
"A nobody, really, Jenkins. Don't worry, he didn't really amount to much in life. But in death, well... I think it rather suits him, don't you?"
Jenkins pointed at the card by the body.
"Another FreewriteHouse calling card, Sir. This time with the number Three written on it."
"Yes, I saw that, Jenkins. The death of this fantastic individual has rather scuppered the investigation."
"Scuppered, Sir?"
"Scuppered, Jenkins. Yes. Felt.Buzz was my number one suspect."
"What made you suspect him, Sir?"
"Well, for one, Jenkins, he's been documenting each murder, pretty much as it has happened. So..."
"So, it was either him killing the others, or..."
"...Or he knew who the murderer is. Exactly, Jenkins." Dash took one last look at the body, and tapped Jenkins on the back. "Looking at all this raw meat - handsome as it is - is making me hungry. Let's get a bacon sandwich..."
winner victim: @felt.buzz
…
Day 5
Yesterday, tensions ran high in the FreewriteHouse. Everyone had a hangover - either through drink, smoke or lack of sleep. @simgirl wouldn’t turn the music down and that caused an argument, the house split into two rowing factions for a while. Then @mariannewest made some lovely organic tomato soup and everyone relaxed and made friends again. Hugs all round. It was very sweet. Then, in the darkened room, a number was drawn (you know the routine by now - watch it at your own risk, yada yada yada)
Meanwhile in FreewriteVille…
Jenkins was waiting for him at the entrance to the MadHattersHatsForYou packing plant.
"Another one, Jenkins?" he said.
Jenkins nodded as he handed Dash a bagel.
"Yes, Sir. Although this one is odd, Sir."
"Odd?" Dash said, through a mouthful of cream cheese and soft bagel. "Mmmggt gtdj ffrt?"
"Sorry, Sir?"
Dash swallowed.
"In what way?" he repeated, tongue now unencumbered by bagel.
"Well, Sir," Jenkins handed Dash a napkin, gesturing to Dash's mouth area. "We've found an awful lot of blood, Sir. And a card, with the number 15 placed upon a large hat box."
"Hmmmm," Dash said, wiping cream cheese from his lips. And his cheek. And his left eyebrow. "It fits so far, Jenkins. Why odd?"
Jenkins shrugged.
"We can't find the body, Sir," he said. "When we opened the box, it was empty”
"Intriguing, Jenkins. Intriguing."
winner victim: @ghostsinahatbox
…
Day 6
After the drama of the last couple of days, everything was rosy in the garden of happiness, that was the FreewriteHouse. Everyone laughed, and joked together, everyone helped with the washing up (including @brisby) everyone helped @mariannewest dig the garden (but had to keep away from the area by the shed: that, @mariannewest said, is private! Later, they decided not to cook but to get a take away. Someone - no one could remember who first suggested it, when they thought back later - suggested Fish and Chips, so @marcoriccardi, @improv, and @f3nix collected the money together and went off to buy the food.
Later in the dark room, a number was drawn (spooky video available here, watch only if you can hide behind a sofa)
Meanwhile in FreewriteVille:
Dash scratched his head. Dandruff drifted from his hair onto the shoulder of his jacket, flakes joining the already dangerously high dandruff drift.
"I don't understand, Jenkins," he said, eventually. "You are telling me that the medical examiner says the bodies are identical?"
“Well, yes, Sir," Jenkins said, trying not to look at what was going to be a spectacular dandruff avalanche. He checked his notes. "The prelimary results seem to sugest that the victims were either identical twins, or..." he paused, for no reason, other than dramatic effect. "Or," he said, unnecessarily. "Or, that they are clones!"
"Clones? Jenkins! Is that technology even possible?"
“Oh, yes, Sir! For the purpose of this story, everything is possible," Jenkins took a swipe at a fairy, that came a little too close to his face. "I have called the local Cloning company 'ClonesRUsOrRTheyU?' they deny making human clones, but I don't trust them, Sir."
Dash scratched his head again. A solitary flake of dandruff fell from his head and landed on the pile on his shoulder. Jenkins watched as it settled. A fairy on skis landed on it and shouted "avalanche!" as she skied down Dandruff Mountain. Jenkins, turned away, biting his tongue to stop giggling.
“And was the victim murdered in the same way?" Dash asked. "Fish and chips, wasn't it, last time?" His stomach rumbled.
“Battered and fried, sir. Just like the last time."
“Strange, Jenkins. Very strange. I think we are going to have to visit this 'ClonesRUsOrRTheyU?' perhaps they can give us a few answers. But first, let's have a spot of lunch!"
"Yes, Sir," Jenkins said.
...
victim winner: @scribblingramma
…
Day 7
On the surface, everything is fine at the FreewriteHouse @wandrnrose7 organised a karaoke competition last night (virtually impossible to get @snook and @byn off the microphone) and @deaconlee and @omra-sky cooked a fabulous curry (using lovely fresh vegetables from @mariannewest’s garden). Everyone was in the same room for hours, with no arguments. But scratch the surface and there is still tension. Particularly, over whose turn it is to wash up… Later in the dark room (that bulb still hasn’t been replaced!) a draw is made (here it is!)
Dash stood waiting for Jenkins in his front yard. Boy, he was tired. It had been a pretty hectic week. The builders were in, extending his kitchen, so he was living on dust-covered microwave meals. His car was playing up, too.
Oh, and there were all those unsolved murders too.
He nodded at Burt the plumber, who walked past him carrying a bath.
Wait! A bath?
Before he could ask why they would be installing a bath in his new kitchen, Jenkins turned up in his car, and waved a box of pastries from "EATTHISFATTY!" the fabulous new bakers that had just opened up in town. Dash hopped over to the car and jumped in.
"Any news, Jenkins?" Dash said, expertly shoving a croissant into his mouth.
"Just got another call, Sir," Jenkins said. "There has been another murder. This time it is at the ice rink, Sir."
"The ice rink, Jenkins?"
"Yes, Sir. Apparently, there is blood everywhere."
"A card?"
"Yes, Sir. This time it has the number eight on it."
"Eight, eh? Figure of 8. Figure skating. Makes sense, I suppose, Jenkins."
"Not to me, Sir."
"No, nor me. Hold on!"
"What is it, Sir! Have you spotted a clue? Something that could crack the case wide open?"
"No, Jenkins. But I have spotted a custard filled donut at the bottom of this box, that definitely has my name on it!"
"I asked them to do that, especially, Sir."
"Thank you, Jenkins."
"Shall we head off to the ice rink, Sir? Or do you still want to interview the chief executive of 'Tears of a Clone?'"
"Mmmmmmm," Dash said, a mouth full of donut. The interview with the people at 'ClonesRUsOrRTheyU?' had been interesting. Apparently, they were on the verge of bankruptcy, and hadn't cloned anything in years, due to rival companies that had taken over the market. They were more than happy to dish the dirt to Dash and gave some interesting information on their more successful rivals: "Give your dog a Clone" (a pet cloning company), 'Think you're a Clone, now?" and "Tears of a Clone". It was the latter that interested Dash the most. Mostly because the chief exec of Tears of a Clone was the clone of the chief exec of 'ClonesRUsOrRTheyU?'. There was no love lost between the two clones, apparently. The most interesting thing, about the chief exec of Tears of a Clone, was they had an active interest in Freewriting...
"Let's start with the ice rink," Dash said. "Need to gather up the clues before the trail goes cold."
"Yes, Sir," said Jenkins.
...
Congratulations @dennisauburn!
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Please follow @freewritehouse for more chances to win every day (and the chance to be murdered and featured in next weeks Dash story). You can find more stories in the comments section of @freewritehouse posts.