Hello everyone!
This is a short story I wrote from a prompt someone over on the NaNoWriMo forums suggested. The prompt was to write a story about a theater nerd and their best friend who find the play’s director murdered. So there’s an element of creepiness in this one too, but less of a supernatural kind and more of just… murder. I promise that I do write lighthearted stories sometimes!
Also, something else I want to note. I was writing this story a day or so after the awful terror attacks in New Zealand and the ending was a little bit influenced by that. What I mean is that the end reflects some of the prejudice and misunderstanding against Muslim individuals by uneducated and willfully uneducated people. I hadn’t really planned for the story to go in that direction and I have no idea if this is how the story would play out in real life, (as I did the story on a whim and researched absolutely nothing so sorry about that) so please don’t judge too harshly and I hope you enjoy!
“I still don’t understand why you auditioned for the part,” Sarah kicked a piece of gravel across the broken sidewalk.
Josie smiled and pulled her gangster-style hat lower over her eyes. “I thought it would be a challenge.” She reached out and brushed her fingers against a metal telephone pole. “And besides, I’m the most qualified for the part.”
Sarah groaned. “But Jones is such a jerk. Even for a gangster. He’s nasty on top of all the gangster-y stuff. Not to mention, he’s a dude! You, if you haven’t noticed, are not a dude.”
Josie Granite was most certainly not a dude. She had long hair which she usually wore in braids, pretty blue eyes caked in makeup, and a grin that could shatter the heart of any boy stupid enough to fall for her.
But tonight she was Geoff Jones, a Chicago gangster with a penchant for money and violence. Not to mention guns.
“It’s just a play,” she said. “I can be whoever I’ve got the talent to be. And Steve thought I had the talent for this one, so who am I to argue?”
Sarah snorted and flipped the end of her hijab over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t have gotten it if you weren’t so tall,” she grumbled. “It’s easy to make you look like a guy.”
Josie grinned. “True. And like I said, I wanted to do it. It’s a challenge.”
The play was being hosted in the local high school’s auditorium, although the show was being put on by an independent youth theater group. Steve was the man who had put the group together and made it possible for anyone to join, as long as they had the talent. He also arranged all the locations for the group to perform at.
The pair entered the school through a side door, usually kept closed but wide open tonight, to allow the group to easily access the back of the auditorium.
“You sure it’s okay for me to be here?” Sarah glanced around at the hive of activity. Teenagers in various outfits circa the nineteen-thirties rushed about, hauling scenery or adjusting ill-fitting suits. Some were hoisting props in the form of weapons. Various sizes of pistols and even a machine gun could be spotted in the melee.
“Sure, it’s fine.” Josie shrugged and waved to a fellow actor. “I need you to tell me to break a leg.”
“Good luck,” Sarah scoffed. Josie patted her on the head with a mischievous giggle.
“Is this historically accurate?” Sarah ducked from under her friend’s hand.
“No idea,” Josie cast around the room absentmindedly.
“Who ya looking for?”
“Steve. Yo, Taylor!” Josie shouted. She waved and a black-haired girl ambled over, a suit jacket in her hand.
“Look here,” Taylor grumbled. “Some oaf spilled mustard on their costume. Why the hell would anyone have mustard backstage?”
“That sucks,” Josie spared the stain a half-hearted glance. “Have you seen Steve? He asked me to check in with him when I got here.”
Taylor jerked a thumb behind her. “He went to the basement for some more props. Been down there a while. Maybe you should go get him. Hey, Sarah,” she greeted the other girl before being called away by a boy who couldn’t get his tie to sit properly.
“C’mon, let’s go.” Josie waved an arm in the direction of the basement stairs. Sarah followed, careful not to step on any props.
They descended the stairs into the basement. The room was musty and damp feeling, the feet of a hundred high schoolers pounding over their heads.
“Steve?” Josie called out, her feet clattering against the stairs in her oversized shoes.
Sarah sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
Josie took a deep breath. The air had a metallic tang, an edge that rose above the must and disinfectant. The two girls looked at each other.
“It kinda smells like… blood?”
Sarah nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
They ran the rest of the way down the stairs, hands scraping along the wall in search of a light switch. Sarah bumped into the light and flicked it, flooding the basement with fluorescent brightness.
“Oh my God…”
Steve was slumped over on his front, limbs splayed across the concrete floor. Red holes splattered the back of his torn white button-down. Streaks of blood were shot over the wall behind him, glints of metal lodged into the plaster. A gun lay on the floor next to him, identical to any of the props upstairs.
Except for the fact that it was real.
Josie ran forward on instinct, but Sarah grabbed her arm and held her back. “We can’t mess with anything,” she hissed, fingers digging into Josie’s arm. “It’s a crime scene. He’s dead. We need to call the police now.”
“Dead?” Josie squeaked. “He can’t be dead! He… He…”
“Shh.” Sarah gently led her friend away, her cell phone already in hand.
They called the police. The principal and the janitor came running backstage. People were panicking, wringing their hands, calling their parents. It was the aftermath of shock, the tragic news of death that lurked beneath their feet.
It was a murder. Who was the murderer? Was it someone they knew? Someone they talked to everyday? Marie from algebra? Justin from history?
“Alright,” said a burly man with a large red mustache. He turned towards Taylor, who was still gripping the mustard-stained coat. “Now, you’re the one who found the body, eh?”
“No, it wasn’t me!” Taylor pointed at Sarah and Josie. “They found Steve, not me!”
The police officer held his hands up in what he believed to be a placating gesture. “It’s alright, miss. Just got confused a minute, that’s all.”
Taylor crossed her arms, un-placated.
The officer faced Josie and Sarah. They were cowering together, holding hands in an attempt to calm themselves. Someone had placed a shock blanket over the pair of them, although they hadn’t even realized it was there.
The officer frowned and stroked his mustache. “You two found the body?”
They nodded wordlessly.
The officer’s frown deepened.
Sarah twisted at the ends of her hijab.
“Now why would anyone want to kill your troupe’s director?”
“I don’t know,” Josie shook her head. The officer nodded and addressed Sarah, his eyebrows drawn. “Why do you think someone would want to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “I wasn’t part of the troupe.”
The officer’s frown deepened. “You weren’t part of the troupe?”
“No sir.”
The officer turned to his colleague. “I think we should take this one in for questioning.” The other officer nodded silently, only sparing Sarah half a glance before turning back to the rest of the scene.
“What?” Josie shot up from her chair. “Why her? Why not anyone else? I was there when we found the body too!”
“Sit down!” thundered the policeman. Josie sat meekly.
“We’re taking her in for questioning because she’s m- ahem. Because she wasn’t part of the group. That makes her the odd one out.”
“I have no motive,” Sarah rose from her seat. “Why on earth would I want to brutally murder the leader of my best friend’s theater troupe?”
The officer’s face turned red. “I don’t have to answer your questions. And it would be better for you if you kept quiet.”
Sarah’s face was pale, her fists clenched in the hem of her tunic.
Josie stared at the policeman. “You can’t single her out! She didn’t do anything different than the rest of us!”
“Josie, just-“
“Stop!” The officer shouted. “Unless you want me to drag you in too.”
Josie’s hair started to come out of her tightly braided bun, strands falling out from underneath her hat. “Maybe you should!” she stomped her foot. “I’m just as innocent as she is!”
“Josie, stop!” Sarah tugged at her sleeve.
Josie crossed her arms. “We’re tiptoeing around the issue here,” she said. “You’re taking her in because she’s Muslim, not because she’s any kind of real suspect.”
“Alright,” said the police officer. “Both of you are coming to the station.”
“It’s true,” Sarah said softly. The policeman froze momentarily, but pretended not to hear.
“It’ll be alright,” Josie patted her friend’s shoulder. “They have no evidence.”
“They don’t need any.”
*******
Curtain! (Sorry, couldn’t resist) And with that depressing ending, I will take my leave.
(Also, I want to note that I imagine the story continuing with them letting Sarah go, because obviously they have no evidence, and then Sarah and Josie have to figure out who murdered Steve but that would only be if I continued the story, of course.)
Thanks for reading everyone!
Moody Narwhal Writes 