Gruedo by Richard Bell


“Tonight, we have unmasked a dire and pernicious killer with a penchant for ze brutality…” chimed Hercule Poirot, in his clipped Belgian drawl, tweaking his moustache. His ‘little grey matter’ was being used as a razor to slice open this can of worms and watch them spill onto the beautiful chequered floor of the  Asylum.
“Penchant for brutality…what an ass hat” snickered Crash, forcing Ann to spit her coffee half way across the room.
“What’s your theory, you half-baked Columbo?” growled Gillian, her Quintessential truthful perception eyeing everyone with suspicion.
“Madame, I am Belgian…like ze waffle and ze chocolates!”
“And ze ass hat” muttered Crash, forcing Ann to spit a second mouthful of coffee across the room.
“No more Crash, I need my coffee” smiled Ann as Phoebe poured her a refill from the silver coffee pot that was engraved with the Dungeion Master’s blood.
“Thanks Phoebe! That’s one Firestone that always has a rich blend percolating, both in the pot and on the page.
“More coffee this way, please Phoebe” called Matt and Deno.
“Ooh please!” added Kim, Alicia, Spencer, Fay, Peter and Tina.”
“Let me tell you what I have uncovered tonight and we will see that my deduction is perfectly aligned with ze truth…” Hercule crowed proudly.
“Don’t know about Belgian waffle more like twatwaffle!” smiled Ann and Crash spat a full mouthful of coffee right onto Poirot’s highly polished black shoes.
“Well, Monsieur Prystauk, I got zees shoes from Voorhees & Myers of Hackenslash. Very expensive. Zey cost an arm and a leg!” Poirot cracked a smile hoping to be joined by the assembled horror squad but instead tumbleweed rolled across the room and out through the front door.
“Ok Hercule, go ahead and tell us who the murderer is and we can deal with them horrific style” said Gillian with a stern tone that betrayed no sign of trepidation.
“Well, you see that in each room there has been an assault but only one room has there been a murder. Candlesticks, rope, poison, axe, knife…all valiant attempts but not succeeding in a kill. No, I fear it all boils down to this clue…what’s in the box?”
Everyone present in the room cheered in unison,
Poirot flipped the latches on the side and reached in, slowly raising the unseen object behind the lid with a foul grin.
“You see the murderer is right under our noses, in fact right in front of us…well…YOU…”
“Bloody murder in here tonight, folks” joked Christy, tongue firmly in cheek.
Poirot raised the machine gun and sprayed the assembled horror squad with hot lead, sending them flying back into a giant pile of twitching, super talented bodies.
“Hmm…The horror squad in the dining room with the machine gun by none other than…The Dungeon Master!”
Richard ripped off the Poirot mask and threw the gun onto the floor.
“You may have suspected the Keeper but you never suspected…”
The Dungeon Master grabbed the skin under his chin and lifted slowly…
“Emilie. And I’m French not Belgian, ass hats!”


Original written work by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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