After he finished his statement, Dash sat down. Cameras flashed and the press conference room buzzed with excitement.
“Inspecter Dash! Inspecter Dash!”
Dash nodded at the reporter sitting next to the dog. The dog, looked disappointed and put its paw down, glaring at the woman beside him.
“Inspector Dash, whilst it is fabulous that you solved the murder case, and that the culprit is now no longer a threat to society, some people might say that it took you a bloody long time, and that fourteen murders - not including the very high body count at your bungled intervention at the @FreewriteHouse itself - is quite a large number for a town that only has three hundred inhabitants. Do you think it is time you admitted you are incompetent and you should resign?”
“Errrr,” said Dash. “No.” He smiled and shifted in his seat. “And technically there were no murders.”
The room gasped (well, the people in the room gasped. The room, itself, just sat there open mouthed).
“Sorry?” the reporter said, trying not to show her contempt by laughing. “Could you explain that please, Sir?”
“Do I have to?”
As one, the room nodded.
“Okay,” Dash sighed. “Let me talk you through what happened this week…”
if you missed the first week you can find it here
Day 8
There is still tension in the FreewriteHouse.
@Snook wants to invite her friend Jasmina - a witch who has a pet monkey - over for an evening of “Freewrite Ditty Composing”. @Simgirl doesn’t like Jasmina, and points out that she can’t come into the house, because she has never written a freewrite.
The house splits again, and a food fight starts, with mashed potato being flung from one side of the room to another.
The door bangs open and @Mariannewest storms in - she was out gardening again - and loses her shit!
“We grew those potatoes with our own freewrite hands!” she screams tearing at her hair, in a slightly deranged way.
@improv thinks her choice of words, odd. Because no one is allowed near @mariannewest’s potato patch, other than herself. It is too close to the shed...
Later, after everyone has calmed the fuck down, and cleaned the house of mashed potato, someone goes into the room and unscrews the bulb that @deaconlee finally got around to replacing. A draw is made, a victim is chosen…
Meanwhile in FreewriteVille…
Dash decided he should probably go on a diet. He decided this as he ate a rather large pork pie, outside his favourite pie emporium "Pie-Eyed-Porkers".
Next year, he thought. I should probably try to get in shape.
The shape Dash was in now, was definitely heading towards "round". He would be happy to get back to oval.
As he munched on the meaty filling he reflected on his encounter with the CEO of Tears of a Clone.
The man freaked Dash out. And Dash was known as being a pretty unfreakable kind of guy. It wasn't just like that the man looked and sounded identical to his clone brother from ClonesRUsOrRTheyU? - Dash had expected that, he was a detective after all - no it was as if the man appeared to have no soul. Dash wasn't a religious man, but there was something missing from that man. The something that made him human.
Unfortunately the man had cast iron alibis for the murders, and despite constant lobbying Dash could not lock people up on hunches. Not yet, anyway.
But add the hunch to the fact that he did seem to hate Freewriters a lot and divide it by suspicion over pie and that equalled you were on Dash's watch list. The man was certainly involved somewhere along the line.
A phone rang. It was Dash's phone - so important to the story, not just some description thrown in to make the scene feel more real. Dash answered (the phone, obviously).
"Dash," he said, swallowing the last crumb, of the pie.
"Jenkins, Sir. We've had another one, Sir. This time it is at the BoredGame Co. You know, the ones that produce the game Polyopoly?
Dash nodded. Which was pointless because he was on a voice call. He had played Polyopoly once. Lovely game, where at the end of the evening everybody ended up happy and content, with no arguments. That said, he had played the game alone.
"Sir, are you there?"
"Yes, Jenkins. Still, here. What's happened to the body this time?"
"It's been cut up like a jigsaw puzzle, Sir. Forensics are having a terrible time trying to piece it all together. We think there might be a bit missing, Sir."
"That could be a clue, Jenkins! Or perhaps it has just fallen down the back of the sofa."
"I'll check, Sir. The calling card is there, Sir. Number eleven this time. Shall I send a car round?"
"Give me another ten minutes," Dash said, licking his fingers and looking through the window of Pie-Eyed-Porkers at another huge pastry covered slab of pork. "I haven't had lunch yet."
...
victim winner: @cyoadventuregame!
Day 9
After MashedPotatoGate, of the night before, everything is calm. @wandrnrose7 suggests they all get together after a lovely organic bean and lentil soup and practice their synchronised farting - after all they have the concert to prepare for the Freewriteville Town Festival.
Everyone joins in, and they all fart until they can barely breath. @snook wants to light a cigarette, but luckily @omra-sky persuades her to get as far away from the house as she can.
In the darkened room a draw is made
Meanwhile in Freewriteville…
Jenkins was doing some old fashioned leg work. They needed to find the so-called "FreewriteHouse". References were popping up on line, but the location seemed to be a closely guarded secret. They did know it was inhabited by a bunch of oddballs from around the world. Strange set up. Jenkins had tried to contact the leader of the group (there were whispers on the Dark Net, mentions of the "Freewrite Guru") but when they managed to send a message all they got back was a list of three random prompts, some instructions on how to write a freewrite, and how to upload it onto the web. It was all very cloak and dagger. It smelt of a Cult to Jenkins (an earthy odour - a bit like the smell of boiled beetroot mixed with baboons armpits). Dash said he fancied having ago at the freewrite, so Jenkins had left him at the office, bashing his keyboard and swearing furiously.
Jenkins' phone rang, and as he pulled it out his thumb caught the material of his pocket and the phone went flying out of his hand and on the floor. He stopped to pick it up, and as he did so he saw someone duck into a doorway. He had noticed the woman before. He thought he had seen her watching Dash. She had the "look" of an amateur private investigator to Jenkins. What she was doing following Dash, and now him, Jenkins had no idea. He would have to talk to Dash about it.
"Hello," he said, answering the phone.
"Jenkins?" It was Dash.
"Yes, Sir. Have you had any luck, Sir?"
"What? Oh, the Freewritey thingy? Not really. I'm using that bloody app they suggested and my work keeps getting deleted. Why anyone thinks this is fun, is beyond me. These people need to get a life, Jenkins. Get out and socialise. I expect they are all knuckle scrapping drop outs, and losers. Ugly too, I wouldn't wonder. I-"
"Sir!" Jenkins said, interjecting before Dash could insult any more readers. "You called me. Was there something you needed?"
"Yes we've had a call from the Cloning company You Think You're A Clone, Now. They say they have found a body in one of their cloning machines. It is a bit of a mess, hardly recognisable as human - looked a bit like chopped liver, they told me - but they claim the DNA isn't one of theirs. They said something about being able to see it is a clone. Some kind of legal marker in the DNA apparently. The number on the back of the card is Two."
"OK Sir, I'm on my way. Do you want me to pick you up? Or shall I meet you there?"
"Pick me up, would you? And could you stop at All The Fun Of The Fois and pick up some liver and bacon? I have a real craving for it, for some reason..."
…
victim winner: @mysecondself01!
Day 10
The FreewriteHouse still stinks of organic soup farts when everyone gets up in the morning. Windows and doors are opened, but it’s like the smell has penetrated the very fabric of the building. When @mariannewest suggests harvesting some more vegetables for a special soup, there is a general consensus that the FreewriteHouse Flatulence Symphony Orchestra should have a night off. Everyone is given a free day. Someone is going into town to do some shopping, a couple of people are going to watch a movie. Someone says, very quietly - in a dark room, whilst making a draw that they have something to do up at Storytelling Rocks...
Meanwhile in Freewriteville…
It was still dark when Dash was rudely awakened by the telephone. He broke his favourite bedside lamp in his haste to answer the phone - thinking it was Jenkins, telling him there had been another murder. It turned out to be a call centre, someone trying to sell him note pads... he wasn't quite sure - it was bloody early - but it had something to do with scribbling.
He tried to get back to sleep, but now he was awake the case kept turning over and over in his head. Also the curry he ate last night was turning over and over in his stomach, and he had to get up for a rather large - but satisfying - early morning dump.
Well, and truly awake, now, he made himself a coffee and ate the remains of the chicken vindaloo. Left over curry: the breakfast of kings!
The phone rang again.
"I don't want your bloody note pads!" Dash said, grumpily. "You can stick them right up your a-"
"Sir?" Jenkins sounded, almost as tired as Dash did.
"Oh, morning Jenkins. Whats occurring?"
"We've found another one, Sir!"
"Where this time?"
"Down by the canyon, Sir. You know the viewpoint?"
"Storytelling Rocks, you mean?"
"Yes, Sir. Another bloody death, Sir. Looks like the person has been squished between two rocks until they burst."
"Ouch! Jenkin's. That must have pinched!"
"Strange turn of phrase, Sir! Sounded a little forced, if you don't mind me saying so. Like you were trying to get the word pinched or Pinches into a sentence, for some reason. It didn't really work, Sir."
"No, quite right, Jenkins. My car is back on the road, so I'll meet you there," Dash forked the last remaining piece of chicken into his mouth, chewed briefly and swallowed. "I'll stop by the bakers on the way for some breakfast. Can I get you anything?"
"No. No thank you, Sir."
…
victim Winner: @storytllng.rocks!
Day 11
There are plans for another big party at the FreewriteHouse. @f3nix and @brisby are in charge of decoration, @marcoriccardi and @byn are catering. @Mariannewest has made vodka out of the mashed potato they scrapped from the floor and ceiling the other day.
Before the party gets started someone sneaks off to the room that for no good reason has to be dark… a victim is chosen
Meanwhile in Freewriteville…
Dash was feeling more than a little pleased with himself. Firstly, he had just got a seven letter word in the Scrabble game he was playing with his online scrabble nemesis, SmellingPistake, he was going to thrash them this time, for sure. Secondly, he had just bought an extra large portion of fries and only been charged for large. And thirdly, he had just located the FreewriteHouse. Well, technically, Jenkins had done the legwork, but Dash had definitely put the pin in the map, shouting the words "gotcha".
"We need to get over there, Jenkins. Check out what kind of strange freakshow lives in a FreewriteHouse. What kind of odd people would set up such a strange place."
"Yes, Sir," Jenkins said. He was looking pretty damn happy too. "Shall we take my car?"
"Sounds like a plan, Jenkins! I can't drive and eat these fries, you know."
Dash continued to savour the taste of victory and fries as they marched and munched their way to the car. Just as they reached the car, Jenkins whispered something about "that woman, again," and ducked behind a pillar. Dash didn't take too much notice, because he was enjoying his potato snacks.
Suddenly, Jenkins returns clutching - of all things - a woman! But not just any woman.
"Pinches McMadeupname!" Dash exclaimed, nearly dropping his fries in surprise. "Mistress of Disguise!"
Jenkins looked surprised at this.
"Mistress of disguise, Sir? I've seen her around several times, and she always looks like this!"
"No, no, Jenkins. I've known Pinches for years. She had an affair with Captain Disguise. He's retired now, you probably wouldn't have met him." Dash turned to Pinches. "I haven't seen you since you were chucked out the academy!"
"Dash," Pinches said. She looked pretty flustered.
"What the devil are you doing here?"
"She's been following us for days, Sir," Jenkins said. He held up a notebook. "She's been keeping notes on our investigation, Sir." He flicked through the pages. Pinches didn't bother trying to object. "Although it does mostly seem to be notes on what you are eating, Sir."
Dash opened his mouth - to say something, or to pop another couple of fries inside - and then his phone rang.
"Dash," he said. Then pressed the right button on his phone and tried again. "Dash."
"There has been another murder," Melody, from Dispatch said. "(It's at the mall on Blythe street. Another calling card, this time with the number 4 on the back."
Dash looked at Jenkins, and then Pinches.
"Put her in the back of the car, Jenkins. We've got to go to the mall!"
...
victim winner @malloryblythe!
Day 12
Everyone wakes up with a sore head. Well, almost everyone. @Mariannewest’s mashed potato vodka was pretty potent, and everyone drank a hell of a lot of it. Well, almost everyone.
So, it is a bit of a downer - when everyone wanted a day slumming about in their pj’s - that the police turn up to question people about some murders that have been happening in Freewriteville. As no one in the house has a TV or radio, and the internet is only used to post freewrites (or play SIMS4), the news of the murders come as a surprise to everyone. Well, almost everyone…
At some point someone sneaks off to the room and chooses another victim
Meanwhile just outside the FreewriteHouse…
Dash checked himself in the mirror. He didn't look too bad, he decided. Slightly overweight. A bit puffy round the eyes, but that was to be expected: he hadn't slept properly in almost two weeks. His skin was looking a bit ropy too, it looked as though a piece on his left cheek was peeling off. He peered into the mirror, and smiled. It was just a bit of chicken, left over from lunch stuck on there. He removed it and sniffed it. Still good, no point in throwing that baby away. Chewing on the chicken he ran his fingers through his hair and headed out the door.
Time to go interview those crazy bastards at the FreewriteHouse.
Jenkins was waiting for him. With that stalking nutter, Pinches still in the back seat. She wasn't under arrest, but she hadn't asked to leave either. So they just left her in the car.
The FreewriteHouse turned out to be on the edge of town. It was in a quiet neighbourhood. Jenkins had spoken to the neighbours. They said that the house had been recently sold, the new occupants were weird, they said. But the people who owned the house before - the Jellys - were weirder, so they had no complaints. Apart from the singing. One of the FreewriteHouse members liked making up 'dittys' and singing them at all hours of the night.
"You stay here, Pinches," Dash said, when they pulled up at the house. "And don't touch anything."
Pinches smiled at him, a sweet smile that Dash took to say "as soon as you turn your back, I am touching absolutely everything, and then leaving the car, asshole." Dash sighed, and nodded at Jenkins.
The FreewriteHouse garden was surrounded by a large fence, and the only way in was through a large gate.
Dash waited whilst Jenkins pushed the bell.
"Can I help you?"
"Hello, this is Inspector Dash, and Sergeant Jenkins from the Freewriteville police department. We would like to have a word with you, please."
"Do you mind if I decide which word you have with us, Inspector?"
"Pardon?"
"Your word is "Potatoes" and you have five minutes."
Dash looked at Jenkins, who mouthed "what the fuck, Sir". He shrugged.
"Okay," he said.
As the gate began to slowly open, Jenkins' phone rang, and for no apparent reason we head hop into Jenkins' brain. Hop!
"Hello, sweetbuns," Melody from Dispatch said. "How are you feeling this morning?" Jenkins looked at Dash, to see if he was looking.
"A little worn out," he admitted.
"I bet you are, you naughty boy!" Melody said. "Anyway, I'm phoning to let you know there has been another murder. This time at the theatre. Body parts all over the stage, the director is throwing a wobbly, apparently."
Jenkins sighed and looked at Dash, who raised an eyebrow.
"Another one?" Dash said. Jenkins nodded.
"Was there a card," he asked Melody.
"Oh yes," she said. "It had the number seven written on the back. Which is a coincidence, isn't it? Wasn't that the number of times we-"
"Can you get forensics over there, Melody," Jenkins said, blushing, trying to sound professional. "We are about to interview the lunatics at the FreewriteHouse."
Jenkins ended the call, and looked at Dash.
"Shall we?" he said
"Lets go, Jenkins," Dash said. "I do hope they have biscuits."
...
victim Winner @jyezie!
Day 13
The FreewriteHouse is buzzing with talk of the murders. How did they not know that their fellow Freewriters where being murdered like this? And who could possibly do such a thing to such a lovely bunch of people? After a house meeting - and a lot of organic soup - the group decide they should invite as many freewriters over as possible to have a meeting to discuss what they are going to do next. They decide that tomorrow night would be the best time to do it. @snook, @brisby and @improv volunteer to contact everyone.
Meanwhile someone suggests getting a load of takeaway pizzas in (everyone agrees this is a great idea) but before then, there is a number drawn in a darkened room…
Meanwhile in Freewriteville…
Dash was so tired he was almost not hungry. Almost. The last 24 hours had been a killer.
The interviews at the FreewriteHouse had been... well, strange. On the surface, of it all the occupants (there seemed like quite a lot of them living there, like some kind of hippy commune from the sixties. Peace and love man!) seemed nice and helpful. But there was something about them Dash didn't like. One or two of them seemed too nice.
Oh, they all had alibis for the times of the murders. They were all doing 'freewrites' or singing 'ditties' or eating soup (they seemed to eat a lot of organic soup: you could smell that in the air. It was a very farty house), and they always did everything together (including synchronised farting, Dash had been impressed by that little display), so there was no way one of they could sneak off the premises and kill anyone. And they were all way too nice to kill people, officer. Honest.
Dash didn't buy the act. And he noticed the look - a micro flash of panic - in the leaders eyes when he suggested taking a stroll round the garden. There was something not right about the whole thing.
But he didn't have anything on them. Not yet.
He called the waiter over.
"I'm ready to order, now," he said to the young man. "I'm not very hungry, so I'll just have the garlic bread to start, followed by a pizza, and the prawn and vodka risotto." He handed back the menu. "I'll order dessert, later"
He sat and thought for a while. And then, just before all hell broke loose, he spotted someone walk past his table. It was just a glimpse, but he recognised them straight away. He knew them, alright.
The screams and the shouts and the panic stopped Dash from following the person. People started leaving their tables and running for the exit. Dash, made his way, through the crowd in the opposite direction.
The kitchen door was open, it was covered in blood. From the doorway, Dash could see the FreewriteHouse calling card.
He pulled his card out of his pocket.
"Jenkins? Get over to the Italian restaurant on Bennett Street," he said. "No, I'm not buying you pizza. There's been another murder. And, Jenkins..."
He paused dramatically and if it was a TV series there would be a close up of his face and some pretty dramatic music going on right now.
But it isn't. It's just a little story written by a tired guy first thing in the morning, trying to ignore the dog, who wants to be taken out for a walk.
"And I think I know who did it."
CREDITS
...
victim winner: @bennettitalia!
Day 14
The freewriters arrived promptly (did you see what I did there), write on time (I am on fire!) for the meeting. @wonderwop brought homemade cookies, that everyone agreed were fabulous. @freedomtowrite arrived wearing a t-shirt with a target on it (for some reason), @svashta came in a stetson, and on a horse, and @mr-neil looked very excited to be at a house party where the possession of booze wasn’t illegal. @pixiehunter arrived, muttering something about a psychotic monkey being responsible for the murders.
Once everyone had hugged and done a icebreaker fiveminute freewrite (well almost everyone, someone snuck off to the darkened room to choose a victim), they all waited for the meeting to start. But they realised two people were missing. One was @wonderwop…
Meanwhile somewhere not that far away…
For one terrifying moment, last night, Dash thought he might never be able to eat a pizza ever again. The murder scene at the restaurant was so bloody (what made it worse was that Dash could that his garlic bread starter was cooked and waiting to be served. But he couldn't eat it because it was covered in blood, and a bit of brain. Well, most of it. And it was evidence now, so he couldn't even eat round the icky parts).
But he had solved the case. Well, he was pretty sure he had. The person he saw coming out of the kitchen was one of the FreewriteHouse gang. And he thought he knew what was happening.
After forensics had done their job, he took Jenkins to WorldOfPizza to talk him through what he had seen, and his theory as to what the hell was going on. Dash believed in the old saying "if you fall off your horse, get right back on", so the only way forward was to stuff pizza down his face until he stopped associating it with bits of human flesh. After the third pizza - and a lot of gagging - he succeeded.
Jenkins sat in open mouthed astonishment as Dash talked and ate. Whether from Dash's theory, or from the staggering amount of pizza Dash could get in his mouth and still talk, we can't really be sure.
"You really think, they killed all the victims?" he said, keeping the gender vague to prolong what little suspense there is. "Even with the alibi?"
"Everyone has an alibi, Jenkins," Dash said, shovelling more pizza into his mouth. "But in this case, we have to ignore the alibis. When we get to the FreewriteHouse, you'll find out why."
"OK," said Jenkins, going along with the whole "suspense" thing.
A few hours later, after a few hours sleep, Dash and Jenkins were sitting in the car, outside of the FreewriteHouse. Pinches, was still on the back seat. Jenkins had made her a little bed (and don't worry, she has been let out for toilet breaks, etc - in fact she can come and go as she pleases, because the locks on the car don't work).
Backup was on its way - but as usual, in these things no one can wait for back up, and they decided to go in, armed only with the search warrant and a box containing leftover pizza.
The gate to the FreewriteHouse was open.
"Mmmm," said Jenkins. "That doesn't look right. I hope we're not walking into a trap. Perhaps we should wait for back up."
"Nonsense, Jenkins," Dash said, waving a slice of cold pizza in Jenkins's face. "Nothing to worry about. Let's go."
They cross over into the FreewriteHouse property and in front of them hanging from a tree is a body, with a card at its feet. Dash picked it up - ignoring all training and experience in collecting evidence.
"Number 3," he said.
...
victim Winner: @wonderwop!
...