An Almost Perfect Murder

 

Bramwell sat against the wall facing the open door of an empty room--a room quite different from the empty one at his father's estate. The first time it had come to life, he'd been too cautious to cross over, not knowing how long the phenomenon would hold. It wouldn't do to be trapped over there. He'd seen the lady who used it as a bedroom, relieved that she couldn't see him. 

As the scion of a shipping magnate, his time was his own, and he often had the mansion to himself. Let his father's crowd call him a boozer and a wastrel if they wanted to; he was the one who had mastered the I Ching. He had inscribed arcane symbols on the door frame, then hidden them from view with a new overlay. The next step involved passing a caged mouse through on a pole, just to assure no ill effects. The time had come to test his theory to the hilt.

He stepped through into cooler air, looking back at ornate wall paper. Briefly panicked, he passed a hand back through to make sure the way back was still there. Footsteps sounded outside. He quickly stepped back through just as an aristocratic lady came in. She had no reason to touch the wall where the portal was, but if she staggered into it, she'd be in for a huge surprise. The lady sat down to her sewing, heedless of being observed. Bramwell briefly entertained lewd possibilities, these being interrupted when the view winked out of existence. He stared at the open door on his side, with its view of the dusty guest room and its sheet-covered furnishings. The event had timed at eighty-nine seconds.

Moments later he was galloping toward the seaside town, where constables patrolled the wharf. Tipsy sailors were known to fall into the river when they weren't fighting. A distant church bell lent an air of peace to streets recently wet from a passing shower. Bramwell breathed in the earthy scent, wondered if folks in that other world had the same type of government, the same values.

He paid an enterprising lad to stable his horse and fetch him a pint, his calling card serving as credit. For the moment, he was content to perch on a stanchion in the shadow of a hulking cargo ship. With lofty sails reefed, its masts soared darkly into a fading sky awhirl with gulls. When the boy returned across the cobbled street, Bramwell shaded eyes from reflections on waterfront windows. He hired the lad for a final task: deliver a message to Jason Aulding.

An hour later, his tankard nursed to the dregs, Bramwell watched Aulding saunter along on a white charger. The two men were similar in many ways, but where Bramwell was dark-haired and favored black, Aulding was sandy-haired and affected light colors. Aulding dismounted and handed the reins to the same industrious lad, giving him an ostentatious tip. He knew how to needle Bramwell. He bundled up against the gathering evening chill and cocked an ear to a clanking buoy out in the channel. Just when the wash of tide grew loud in the uneasy standoff, Aulding was obliged to speak first, curiosity having bested him.

"Hollingwood, I'll hear your spiel in comfort, and pray do not waste my time."

Bramwell followed him to the tavern at the end of the lane, the King's Inn, one of the better establishments. It played host to some ship captains and well-heeled merchants. They slid into a side table and ordered their usual from the waitress: ale for Bramwell, and cognac for the presumptuous Aulding. Tobacco smoke mingled with cooking odors, reminding Bramwell he'd been too absorbed to attend his lunch.

"Which is it to be?" Aulding began, favoring the other with his cultivated stare. "It's either our mutual quest for Marilou, or your bizarre dealings in the occult. What crackpot scheme have you come up with this time?"

The violinist finished a reel, then shifted to a slower tune more conducive to intrigue.

"Marilou?" Bramwell eyed his foe over his just-arrived mug. "I've always believed it's the woman who chooses, they being much more particular then we. You may court her with my blessing."

Aulding's brow went up. "The I Ching thing? I take it you've made some sort of breakthrough to justify the ruinous outlay of funds. The townsfolk can scarce believe your father's indulgence."

Sneer away, Bramwell thought. You're better at fencing and dancing, skills that will hardly serve you in three days. "In a certain room at the estate, I have tapped into a foreign reality." In the end, Bramwell knew, Aulding must demand proof, the better to regale his friends with Bramwell's spectacular failure.

"This is known only to you?" Aulding asked suspiciously.

"It is, though my father must needs be aware of my precipitate and costly quest for knowledge." Bramwell cast about for eavesdroppers. "Commercial and  military uses are endless. My fortune is set, and I look forward to paying off my debts. Why limit myself to a small town and its quaint pool of paramours?" 

Aulding took the bait. "Why be hasty? You clearly have some joint venture in mind. There remains only the proof."

Bramwell made a mock toast. "In three days the phenomenon is due again. I have arranged to have the mansion to myself. Even the maids are dismissed."

"I shall bring along two associates," Aulding stated. "You've arranged quite the opportunity for mischief." He made a mocking toast. "Either way, my trip shall not be wasted."

At the appointed time, Bramwell convinced the "associates" to remain downstairs, where they had no objection to a free hand at the liquor cabinet. On the way upstairs, he touched the pistol tucked into his waistband. He and Aulding passed portraits of forgotten ancestors in gilded frames. They passed through a far door into a corridor filled with dusty, slanted beams of evening light.

Aulding paused at the indicated door. "This changes nothing. If your experiment proves valid, I must have repayment of your debt this night."

So you shall have it, Bramwell thought. "The windfall from the venture will more than cover it." Aulding followed his awed look into the phantom room. Unfortunately, the young woman, now with piled hair, was at her sewing again. This would complicate things. 

"Astounding!" Aulding, convinced she couldn't hear him, made bold to take a closer look. Bramwell shoved him across the threshold. 

The lady rose, a hand at her mouth in surprise at the man who'd just come through a wall. Bramwell waited for Aulding to rise and turn around, then fired a shot. Aulding clutched his chest and dropped to his knees, prompting the lady to scream and flee the room. With a satisfied leer, Bramwell tossed the murder weapon across. The associates would come running, but would find no gun.

Impossibly, Aulding lurched to his feet. Bramwell hadn't considered the need to shoot again: a suicide victim die not shoot himself twice. He had to stop the man from coming back out!

He'd forgotten that Aulding was the stronger of the two, even mortally injured. They grappled in the foreign bedroom. Seconds remained before the portal closed again. With an immense effort, Bramwell landed on top, freed himself, began scrabbling backward toward the wall. 

Intense pain at his ankles caused him to collapse, and Aulding hauled him onto his own chest, intent on having the last word. Bramwell looked back. The portal had closed on his ankles, leaving his feet on the other side. He was rapidly bleeding to death.

Aulding favored him with a final sneer. "The perfect murder, eh, Bramwell? Nay--a thoroughly botched murder-suicide!" 

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, but neither man was alive to witness who it was.

Group T Designs

 

This idea makes a good group presentation. In this case, it's the entire lab staff of a hospital, whose name appeared at the top in blue. To  make one for your group, you'll need photos of each. Art sketches work best, but you can use actual pics if no artist is handy. I had to make shirts for each member in various sizes. It's important to go a size large, since fabric is going to shrink. 

Here's a little trivia: Team Dan appears here, since all were lab members. Top right--Dan. Second row center--Zena. Third row right--Bonnie. Fourth row #2--Pete; #4--Ed. Bottom right shows the pathologist and lab medical director, respectively. 

Wanna make a surprise present for the gang? Better sneak those photos and get them to a shirt printer before Santa arrives. 

The Case for Shadow Trigonometry

 

Holmes examined the photo given him by the murder suspect, one James Ackerby. It showed him with an arm about an unidentified woman. Behind them, five concrete steps led up to a veranda in late afternoon sun. The house had recently burned, along with its owner, the late Mr Bozwell. Scotland Yard suspected foul play, as Ackerby and Bozwell had been romantic rivals. 

"As you can see," Ackerby insisted, "this has me in the company of a different lady, not the one Bozwell was enamored of."

"Quite," Holmes mused, magnifier in hand. "You stated that Bozwell was trying to enter the house when he collapsed. His head lay against the door. Tell me--did his feet reach the end of the porch?"

"Not at all; they were some inches short."

Holmes slipped the magnifier in a pocket. "You went for help, but in your absence the house caught fire."

"Ghastly business, that. Did the police find a cause of death?"

"I shall defer to the examiner," Holmes said. "Dr Watson?"

I could only shake my head. "The corpse was entirely consumed. I can only rule out blunt trauma to the bones, but I cannot rule out poison. His height was five feet eleven."

"Then that should satisfy," Ackerby concluded. "Perhaps this will get Scotland Yard off my neck." He recovered his hat and went out.

From the back rooms came Inspector Lestrade and Mr Robbins from the Royal College of Engineers. 

"Well, Holmes," Lestrade blustered, "do you still intend to solve this crime using a photograph?"

"With Mr Robbins' help, Inspector. From what I see, the pieces have but to be assembled."

"With a key piece of data," Robbins reminded.

"Of course. As told by convenient markings on my door frame, Ackerby stands five feet eight."

"Splendid!" Robbins rushed to a windowside table and opened a field kit. From this he produced a rule, protractor, slide rule, and a table of trigonometry values.

"Holmes--" Lestrade gestured impatiently.

"Ah yes, Inspector. We shall endeavor to know the width of the porch."

Lestrade looked over the engineer's shoulder. "Harumpf! You've only this edge-on view of it."

"That's a helpful circumstance," Robbins countered. "We can use it as the horizon, from which we base the relevant measurement." He set rule to the photo. "Note the shadow cast by the overhang, which we infer to be equal to the porch in width. It makes a twenty-eight degree angle with the top of this balustrade. Since we know Ackerby is five-eight, we draw a line from the top of his head to the base of the balustrade. Note where this line intersects the balustrade's shadow: just below its narrow waist."

"Hocus pocus," Lestrade opined. 

"Tut tut," I said. "When has Holmes ever failed us?"

"A simple ratio," Robbins went on, "gives us the five-eight mark on the balustrade. Another ratio tells us the remaining length, which is the vertical leg of our triangle." He consulted his math tables. "The tangent of the sun's angle equals the opposite side--just obtained--divided by the adjacent, which is the overhang width." He sketched a rudimentary algebra result.

"Blimey!" Lestrade gaped at it. "The porch is five feet four inches!"

"Quite so," Holmes said. "The victim's feet would overhang by seven inches, most contrary to what Ackerby claimed."

"Engineer," Lestrade ordered, "pack up your findings and come with me."

When they'd gone, I prepared the usual observation, but Holmes was quicker to the point.

"Indeed , Watson. Someone is about to have his day ruined."

An Imperial Play in Five Acts

 

The five members of Team Dan declined a celebrity box at the Nuerca Theater. Tonight's play--taken from their own adventures--bordered on comedy at their expense. Hence the low profile, though Bonnie and Zena reveled in their new gowns. Musicians tuned up amid a drone of voices in the cavernous hall. The production raised high hopes for the acting troupe, who brought a popular Lunari play here to the empire capital of Eolca, the very place Team Dan got its start. 

"Bonnie the Vampire," said the tall bro Pete. "I didn't like it there, and I don't like it here, where a heap more folks get to laugh at us. And that dude playin' me is way too short." 

"He has to be," Dan reminded. "The actress has to throw him through a wall."

Pete scowled. "Don't remind me." 

"It wasn't all that good for me, either," Bonnie huffed. "Can you imagine going a whole week without food, as much as you eat?" 

Zena smoothed folds of royal blue. "Like no way. Especially when the food is me!"

On his end, Ed chuckled. "Close call, Zeens. If not for that vampire cure potion--"

"Cool it, men," Dan said. "The show's starting. Either we continue as heroes, or we're the new Five Stooges." 

Ed gave him a poke. "I like how you build the tension, Danno. A play has other advantages: live actors, dialog taking the place of prose, and stage directions doing the rest." Hisses from  nearby patrons cut his comments short.

The first act centered on the brawl at a Lunari harbor tavern, and the joke was so far squarely on the nosferatu Count Rotbone. Dan tricked him into jumping out a window as a sheet, which in Rotbone's slavic accent became something grossly different. The actor playing the count whirled a sheet about himself, then ducked out of sight, dropping a mess to splat on the street below. Clever stage hands caused a flying skull to take wing, trailing maniacal cackling as it whirled about on wires. The audience were in stitches.

Rotbone re-appeared from a side curtain and took Bonnie from the rear, a clawed hand at her neck. 

"I'm calling your bluff, Rotbone!" challenged a posturing Dan. "Let her go, or I'll see your castle thrown down stone by stone!"

"Oh, brother." The real Zena chortled behind her hand. "What a stiff!"

"Agreed," Dan said. "I'm not a blowhard Dudley Dooright." 

On stage, Rotbone slunk away, leaving Bonnie to touch a spot of blood on her neck. Sinister music cued the audience that all was not well. They applauded the end of act one.

Act two opened high in the warehouse district, where Dan had diverted due to Bonnie's odd behavior. She just wasn't her old perky self. 

"Okay," the Pete actor demanded, "show us your teeth." When he tried to pry her mouth open, she lifted him high, with the help of stage wires, and flung him through a wall. Pre-cut in a human shape, the gaping hole drew howls of comic relief from the spectators.

In the audience, Bonnie slumped, trying to be invisible. "Krikey."

"Give her the cure potion!" ordered the stage Dan. 

Ed's counterpart played it cautious. "I don't think she'll take it."

"Force the issue!" Dan, along with Ed, tossed a potion at her, but she ducked, leaving Dan and Ed with a faceful of green fluid. The crowd ate it up. Bonnie rushed offstage, and a window view showed a bat flying away. 

"Epic," lamented the Zena actress, who had been quite overstuffed in the costume's bosom area. "Well, let's go and find her!"

Applause brought down the curtain on act two.

Act three saw a man crossing a bridge on a foggy night. A cloaked figure came out of the mist.

The real Bonnie peeked through her fingers. "Universal precautions. Doesn't anybody get it?"

"Not everybody are lab workers, " Dan said, pulling her upright. 

The caped Bonnie showed fangs. "Excuse me, sir. Before I put the bite on you, I have to ask some questions." The bug-eyed victim backed away. "Do you have night sweats? Jaundice? Abnormal discharge?"

"Yaaaaa!" the victim screamed, now in full flight.

Bonnie pursued him offstage. "Unprotected sex?" Another comedy hit with the crowd.

Act four had Bonnie sweeping up debris at a vampire hangout in the sewers. "Don't you people ever clean this place?" Skulls, tin cans, and banana peels rained down on complaining vampires, to the spectators' delight.

In the final act, Bonnie surprised Zena in their shared room at the Lunari villa, pinning her to Zena's bed. "You cannot know how hungry I am! I cannot hold out any longer!"

"You don't want to do this," Zena implored. She produced a cure potion. "Take this, then we'll go raid the kitchen!"

Bonnie acquiesced. She pulled the cape over her head to hide the motions of removing vampire makeup. A restored Bonnie presented herself, and they walked out arm in arm.

Applause was marred by someone booing in the seat in front of the team. Rotbone himself turned glittering eyes on them. "Vat a farce of a show! Tell me, Miss Bonnie, are you still so mad that you must be a part of this? It is juvenile."

Bonnie glared. "Says you, Chromedome. What are you doing here?"

"It matters not. Daniel has had his revenge, inflicting all those women on me, taking over my castle!"

"Actually," Dan said of the Dracula Brides, "that was their idea. But it's still poetic justice." 

The count receded in the press of autograph seekers, which the team were glad to oblige.

MST3K: Invisible Invaders

 

Clayton Forrester  Season's greetings, spacemen! Today's dive into the vaults turns up 1959's The Invisible Invaders. It seems aliens have wiped out the moon's denizens 20,000 years ago. Maybe they don't like fresh air and sunshine. Seeing how far man has progressed toward making himself extinct, they demand our surrender before we take the moon down with us!

Crow Oh sure. Like World War Two didn't spook them.

Tom  No, they had to wait 'til we could put up a fight. It's only sporting.

Forrester  Shall I continue? A scientist played by John Carradine dies in a mysterious atomic lab accident. Later, his animated corpse visits the wife of Dr Penner and lays out the program. Surrender or die!

Joel  Where have we heard that before. But Carradine makes a great ghoul with that basso voice. 

Crow  Eh. I liked him better as Herman Munster's boss.

Forrester  Ahem! The aliens force a plane crash so the dead pilot can repeat the threat at a soccer game. Then a car crash victim reads the riot act at a football game.

Crow  Where else do you get that kind of stock crowd footage?

Forrester  Speaking of stock footage, Ray Harryhausen pasted flying saucers over Air Force planes shooting up a firing range. But that's not the only way Earth vs The Flying Saucers tops the stop-motion hijinx of today's clunker. They even had saucers crashing into the capitol and the Washington Monument. Cheesy but satisfying!

Joel  Can we get on with the story? I hate myself for wanting to know how it ends. 

Forrester  Anyway, the good guys capture an alien in a paint trap, which makes it go inert for some reason. Apparently there's a shortage of bodies, so he isn't giving this one up! In a pressure chamber, his ghostly reptilian form is forced out, but not for long. As hordes of zombies attack, the lab's alarm system makes them cringe like a German Shepherd to a dog whistle!

Tom  Here we go.

Forrester  The scientists build a sound gun that kills the captive. The invisible ship is jamming them, so they have to go find it and destroy it before they can broadcast how to defeat the aliens. Now that I've thoroughly spoiled if for you, let's hit the theater!

[Flashing lights and sirens drive the trio into the space station's theater]

Crow  If there's anything worse than a zombie, it's one you can't see.

Joel  I dunno; these guys don't even want to eat you. The ray guns are cool, though. As kids, we'd roll newspapers into long thin cones and make sound effects. There was no end of argument as to who missed and who scored hits.

Crow  Like the old Greenie Stickem caps. And the roll caps! There was a Rifleman Winchester that popped 'em off just like 'ol Chuck Connors!

Forrester [Breaks in] You guys are supposed to riff on the film, not sashay down memory lane!

Tom  Sashay? Can you say that on TV? It's not PC.

Forrester  How'd you like to switch to Hallmark tear jerkers?

Crow  Oh no, not that! Kill us now!

Tom What happened to caps anyway?

Joel  Lawyers. One day I scratched at a cap out of curiosity. Zap! Got a blackened fingertip.

Crow  I say all lawyers to the moon!

[Starts a chant that frustrates Forrester]

Forrester I was going to lump all the saucer films into a penetrating look at the cold-war hysteria over radiation and UFOs. You guys can just sit through this turkey to the end!

Joel While he's ranting, I'm going for popcorn.

Character Development Methods

 

The fastest way to learn a language is to dive in--the old sink or swim ploy. If you move to Frankfurt, you'd better learn some German right quick. The same analogy applies to your cast. Any number of methods will shake them out of their (translate your) comfort zone. That sharpens them in their little cubicles when you reach up there to get them. We'll look at these in order of least to most effective.

The Character Interview This method is limited to sounding out their opinions, including thoughts about fellow stage mates. When you get them talking (usually on something you feel strongly about), you identify pet words and phrases that help make them individuals. The downside is that you end up with a lot of writing that isn't readily usable. 

They Interview Each Other Imagine a sort of time out when you aren't sure how characters feel about an upcoming plot item, or what actions they'll take. The advantage here is getting twice the work done. Adding a third person to the mix complicates things, unless it's a sidekick that helps define one of them. The con is the same: a lot of writing you can't use, short of dropping it into a scene it just happens to fit.

Short Stories Established authors sometimes write these as a stopgap between novels. It also broadens the story world by focusing on a minor aspect you don't have time for in an epic. Suppose a pair takes a working vacation to a remote inn. You'll need customs, politics, and commerce to make it an interesting background. Should the subject come up in a later conversation in your novel, someone can comment with authority and realism, and avoid contradictions (these have already been hashed out). 

Fan Fiction Here you immerse someone in situations that don't happen in their world. How do they react on the bridge of the Enterprise?--deal with acid-tongue Fred Sanford? Do they complain about the weather, or marvel at nature's darker moods? You still need something to carry back to the story world. Now you know how they'll handle similar situations, how they label unfamiliar items, what core values are affronted, whether they escalate or defuse a crisis. The list goes on. 

Spinoff Series These are automatically stand-alone stories that put a minor character in the spotlight--one that  would otherwise inappropriately steal the show. Whenever this person is on stage in your main venue, they'll be fully prepared to be themselves. 

In short, don't limit a character's stage time to novels; they have enough work to do without figuring out who they are.

Hercules

 by Seneca

A modern translation by Eolone with a trusty borrowed Latin dictionary.

Location: a stage at a Roman camp.

By appearance:

Lycus — usurping king of Thebes or something.
Megara — wife of Hercules, and daughter of late king of Thebes or something.
Hercules — coming back from having a hell of a time.

...
Scene

— Marry me, and peace will come to the land.

— I am faithful to my man, and when he comes back he’ll snap you in two.

— Ha! Your man looking for the best sweetmeat around!

— Never! He vowed his love to me; and he always came back to me.

— When he tired of running around.

— Never! Never!

[Enter Hercules in lion skin and holding a fish by the tail. He looks outward.]

— Veni. [He looks around the stage.]

— Vidi. [He approaches Lycus, and lands him a sockeye.]

— Deliveri.

— Oh, Herc, Herc...where were you! This moment could not have come any sooner!

— But? — I came on cue.

— But where were you?

— O Dearest!

— Were you looking —

— O Honey, Darling!

[Music. Dance. They fall off the stage. Exit Lycus with sockeye.]

The End.