Wow… this is amazing!

TOP TOP TOP TOP TOP!!!

TOOP TIIP TUUP TAAP TIIP!!

Day Nine

Viola? woke to the sound of a paper being slid under her door. She yawned, pushed her covers down, and padded over to see what it said.

My dearest vacationers, read the message, you are to stay in your rooms all day today for your own safety. Please keep a close eye on your roommates, and do not venture outside your rooms for any reason. Attached is a menu for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There is also a recording device, which will make sure that no one can leave without our knowing. Thanks for your understanding! ~Directors 1 and 2

Viola? sighed. “Yo, Nymph, you might want to come hear this,” she called across the room. Her roommate opened her eyes blearily, glanced briefly at the paper Viola? was waving in the air, and rolled over to go back to sleep. Shrugging, the CBer scribbled a request for two orders of waffles and slid it back under the door, then wandered over to the table in the center of the room and began to doodle.

Four hours later, having doodled, eaten waffles, read, written, doodled, read, played Solitaire, eaten pizza, taken a nap, and paced around the room, Viola? flopped on the floor and groaned. “There’s nothing to do here!” she exclaimed. “I wish we could get out and go to the library or something.”

Nymph popped out from behind the curtains, shifted into a bird, and flew over to her roommate just in time to poop on her head. Viola? groaned again. “Here, Nymph. Why don’t you take this recording device and go to the bathroom, which is a much more appropriate place for such activities?”

The AE shifted back into human form and started on a long explanation of why she did not care to go to the bathroom at this time, only to be interrupted, more forcefully this time.

“Nymph. Go. To. The. Bathroom. With. The. Recording. Device. Okay??” Nymph rolled her eyes but acquiesced. 

With the recording device now safely in the other room, Viola? opened the door slowly and crept out. She tip-toed down the hallway as softly as she could, watching her feet to keep from stepping on a creaky floorboard. This awareness was to be her undoing. As she pushed open the library door, a trap triggered, dumping a bucket of oil on her head.

“Wha- is that- oil? Blech!” she sputtered. Behind her, a person popped her head out of a doorway.

“Ah,” said the girl. “It’s quite cold, hadn’t you noticed? Would you care for some heat?”

Viola?’s eyes widened as the murderer grabbed a torch and threw it directly at her. Her oil-soaked clothes caught instantly, wreathing her body in flames. Caught by surprise, the only thing she could think to do was scream.

—

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Director 1 said, dusting her hands and pushing herself up from her crouched position. “We got the inscriptions on the gold bricks, the silver candelabras, and the bronze fountain. An entire day of work, and only three scratches to show for it.” She groaned, holding her back.

“Complaints, complaints, complaints, all day long,” muttered Director 2, then continued in a louder voice. “Look, this is important. If and when we reveal the murderer, this way she won’t be able to prove anything about us.”

Director 1 shook her head and started back toward the nice, comfy couch in the staff lounge. “We aren’t going to reveal the murderer, so it won’t matter anyway.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that we let her kill off 15 of our guests?”

“Uh- no! I-” But Director 1’s retort was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream. The two women looked at each other, then ran toward the sound. The scream came again, louder, this time followed by two words. “Help! Nymph-”

The sound cut out just as the directors reached Viola?’s body. 

Burnt.

Dead.

Day Ten

“Whoa. It’s bright down here,” exclaimed Gale. The other CBers squinted in the sunlight, nodding in agreement. After emerging from a long night of confinement, the morning sunlight definitely seemed brighter than usual.

Joan, however, had noticed something different about the downstairs area. “Hey, why is that fountain all scratched up there?” she said, pointing to the bronze fountain. “It wasn’t like that before.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Fleet said dismissively. “Maybe some dirt got on it and the cleaning staff had to scrub it off.” Joan shook her head.

“No way. It didn’t look dirty the last time I saw it.” Her eyes lit up, and she pulled out her camera. “I took a photo of it on the first day! We can see if it looked dirty then!”

“Why are you so obsessed with this hypothetical dirt?” Nymph asked, rolling her eyes.

“Because,” Joan explained, peering at the camera’s screen. “Aha! Here it is! Take a look!” She shoved it rather unceremoniously under the two people’s noses.

On the screen was the bronze fountain, gloriously spitting water. In the corner, where there was now a cloud of scratches, was a plaque, with something inscribed on it. Zooming in to maximum size, the trio could just barely read the word, or rather, the abbreviation, written there.

CB

“That’s weird. Why does it say that?” Joan asked, confused.

“Well, it is a CB vacation,” Fleet remarked. Her eyes widened in mock astonishment. “Or maybe it’s a sign that we’re all virtual and none of this is real! Illuminati confirmed!” She arranged her fingers around her eye in a triangle, and peered through the hole, grinning. Everyone rolled their eyes.

“That’s probably not it,” Joan replied, thinking out loud. “I mean, technically, this place isn’t part of the CB. So this fountain shouldn’t really be here. It’s like if you had a scarf with ‘Barcelona’ written on it, and you aren’t from Barcelona.”

“Why Barcelona?” Nymph asked, wrinkling her nose. Joan shrugged impatiently.

“It was the first place I thought of. But my point is, this fountain seems out of place. Why is it even here?”

Just then, the CBers overheard a conversation going on between Barnswallow and TheaterGirl that stopped them in their tracks.

“I haven’t seen Viola? since yesterday either,” Barnswallow confirmed, shaking her head. Then she turned to Nymph, eyes glinting with suspicion. “You’re Viola?’s roommate, right? Where were you when she disappeared?”

Nymph shrugged. “I was in the bathroom,” she stated. “When she didn’t come back, I just assumed she was in another room.”

“Hold on. You were in the bathroom? How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Nymph shrugged casually.
“I guess you just have to trust me,” she responded. But Moonlight, who was listening in, had another question.

“Why weren’t you suspicious when Viola? didn’t come back?” she asked curiously. Nymph raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

“Why is everyone giving me the third degree? I was just in the bathroom!” she defended herself. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, shapeshifted into a hawk, and took off for the dining room, taking care to deposit waste on at least one CBer’s head.

—

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Director 2 shouted. When that didn’t work, she called “Hey hey hey, listen up, listen up!” She punctuated this with what seemed to be an attention-getting cough. Finally, this succeeded, and the CBers replied “Hey hey hey listen up, shh!”

“Thank you for that,” the director responded, looking over her glasses at them. “I hope you all enjoyed your lunch. Please allow me to give some announcements. The game room will be closed at 3:00 pm, due to renovations.” She coughed again. “Must have eaten too much hot sauce. Additionally, I must confess, we know who the murderer is,” she admitted, putting a hand to her chest as if in discomfort. Gasps echoed around the room. “We didn’t share it for your own safety. But now, in light of new circumstances… we – we felt-” She broke off, overcome with more coughs. “Excuse me,” she murmured, stumbling a little as she stepped off the raised platform. The CBers exchanged worried looks when, after five minutes, she still hadn’t returned.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of waiting, Director 1 hopped up on the platform, hair somewhat unraveled from its usual ponytail and a frightened look on her face. “Everyoneisdismissedtimeforyoutogobacktoyourrooms,” she panted, before dashing away again. Worried and uncertain, the CBers filed back down the hall in a ragged clump.

For the rest of the afternoon, rumors flew as the CBers shared theories of what had happened in the dining hall. “Maybe the cooks didn’t clean their utensils and she came down with something!” “Maybe she got a lung transplant!” “Maybe the murderer stabbed her in the middle of her speech!”

Finally, Nymph sauntered up to the excited and nervous group, which exchanged looks. No one had noticed that she was missing. “I know what happened,” she declared. “Director 2’s in a coma. They think the murderer poisoned her food.” Shocked and startled, but curious, the CBers peppered her with more questions.

“How did you know what happened?” someone asked. Nymph exaggeratedly flipped her hair, which seemed to grow longer as they watched.

“I just know these things.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed down the hall toward Moo Two, where she promptly closed the door. The CBers exchanged shrugs and suspicious glares.

In the sudden silence, they heard a cry of “Help!” coming from the bathroom. The CBers rushed in, fearing they were too late.

Moonlight was lying on the floor, dead. A dagger had been thrust into her heart, and next to her lay a recording microphone. It was screaming “Help!” in Moonlight’s voice. Ella stepped forward and turned it off.

The CBers could only stare in shock. Moonlight had obviously been killed earlier. Perhaps even during the time they were interrogating Nymph. But try as they did, the group had only a few vague ideas of who had killed her.

1) TOP!!

2) Does anyone care to guess us? 

Day Eleven

Barnswallow woke to the loud, chopping sound of helicopter blades. Leaning over to look out the window, she caught sight of a helicopter lifting off from the middle of the forest. On the bottom was written in large, black text Emergency Transport Helicopter.

From the other side of the room, Gale yawned and sat up. “What am I hearing?”

“A helicopter, maybe?” suggested Kitten.

Barnswallow nodded. “I can see it out my window. It says it’s an Emergency Transport Helicopter.”

“Emergency Transport?” Gale repeated. “And they hadn’t thought it was an emergency requiring transport when six people were killed?! Why don’t they get us off of this stupid island already?”

“You know Director 1,” said Joan B. of Arc, “always prioritizing her own needs. I mean, Director 2 said they knew who the murderer was, and it’s not like they told anyone or did anything to help.”

“They knew who the- ohhh.” Barnswallow came to a sudden realization. “The helicopter must be for Director 2. Obviously, the murderer knew she was going to reveal them, and thought they’d be proactive.”

“Yeeees,” Kitten agreed, nodding exaggeratedly. “Was that not obvious?”

Gale jumped back in, getting a bit annoyed. “Regardless of the helicopter’s purpose, they should have told us they had one. If we’d been given the opportunity to leave the island, I, for one, would have taken it.”

“Well, as soon as it gets back, we’ll ask Director 1 if we can leave,” resolved Joan.

—

It seemed the entire group of CBers (however much smaller it was) was talking about the helicopter at breakfast. Exclamations of “Did you see that?” and “Why didn’t they tell us?” and “I didn’t see it, but Fleet did, and she woke me up yelling about it,” echoed around the room.

Director 1 came out of a side door nursing a mug of coffee and stepped to the podium at the front of the room. “Attention, can I have your attention?” she called.

There was no change in behavior until Gale shushed her tablemates loudly, after which silence spread slowly around, since no one wanted to be spit on by an angry AE.

“Thank you, Gale,” Director 1 said, probably to avoid being targeted herself. “Now, today will be a normal day. You can hang out in the library, the arcade, or your rooms, and there’s going to be a Hamilton sing-along this evening and- what, Joan?”

“What about the helicopter?” Joan burst out.

“What about the helicopter?” Director 1 shot back.

“Why didn’t you let us leave on it before?”

“Maybe because I thought it’d be better for you if you stayed here, where you’d be protected by the force field!”

At least three vacationers jumped up at that and called out various versions of “What force field?”

Ella Starburst approached the podium and glared. “You mean the one that hasn’t been working since we arrived? That force field?”

Director 1 raised her hands in self-defense. “Okay, okay, maybe I haven’t been completely honest about some things. But as soon as the helicopter gets back, I promise any of you who want can leave on it.”

“Suuuuure,” Ella said skeptically, but returned to her seat.

“So,” the director continued, “you’re welcome to come to the sing-along tonight in costumes, and if you don’t have any, I’d be happy to provide some. If there are no other-” She stopped and looked around. “Whose phone is ringing?”

“I think it’s yours,” called a vacationer.

Director 1 slapped her forehead, reached into a pocket, and pulled out her phone. “Hello? Yes, it’s my helicopter.” Short pause. “Crashed? What? How?” Long pause. “Okay, I’ll put you in touch with my insurance. Does that work?” Short pause. “Hello? Does that work? … Are you there?” She dropped the phone angrily. “My service cut out. Is it working for you?”

Half the room pulled out cell phones, and half the room groaned to see that they had no service either.

“Well,” said the director, “I guess we’re cut off from the rest of the world!” She sounded surprisingly happy. Barnswallow sighed and put her head in her hands.

—

Kitten wandered out of the Hamilton sing-along at 9:00, being somewhat tired and ready to go to bed. As she headed up the dimly lit staircase, she stumbled across a squishy lump. 

“Guys!” she called. “Help! I found Ella’s body – she’s been killed!”

The lights flickered on as somewhat slightly more responsible came up. By the time all eight living vacationers were crowded around the body, Kitten was backed into a corner, trying to evade accusations.

“Yes, I know my wand’s next to her body, and I know she appears to have been killed by Avada Kedavra, but I promise you I didn’t do it!”

“Well,” said Fleet suspiciously, “if you didn’t do it, then who did?”

“Somewhat must have stolen my wand!”

“Yeah, and when would that have happened?”

“I. Don’t. Know. However, if I did kill her, do you really think I would have done it so obviously?”

“No, but it’s clearly a case of you think we’ll think that you’ll do A, so you’ll do B because we wouldn’t think you’d think of that but then because we might think we know what you’re thinking you’ll do A after all because we wouldn’t think you’d think that way,” Fleet responded quickly.

Kitten shook her head and continued up the staircase. “First of all, that’s not very logical, and second of all, that’s an almost direct quote from Ranger’s Apprentice, so maybe you should stick to your own words, however wrong they may be?”

“Ooooooh,” chorused all the AEs. Kitten and Fleet both ignored them.

“I,” Kitten continued sharply, “am going to bed, and you can continue questioning me in the morning if you have any reasoning of substance. Good night.”

As the vacationers continued to bicker among themselves, the murderer smiled to herself. There was no suspicion on her. At least, that is what she believed.

Oh no! I'm dead! that is kind of creepy. This is awesome!!

Day Twelve

When the CBers filed downstairs in twos and threes, ready for breakfast, they were met with a surprise. Director 1 stood on the raised central platform in the dining room, looking far too excited for someone who’d just had to send her colleague to an emergency hospital the day before.

“Everyone, pack a bag for today and tonight,” she announced. “We’re going camping!” This caused a stir; after all, not everyone enjoyed the outdoors. When Kitten protested that camping was no fun, due to mosquito bites and such, Director 1 waved her off, saying that she would find a way to make it fun.

“And besides, there will be no mosquitoes, because of the force field,” she added breezily, which triggered derisive snorts and eye-rolling from the crowd. There wasn’t supposed to be any murder, either, because of the force field, but somehow, they were down to just eight people, when they had started with fifteen. And the unlucky seven certainly hadn’t just dropped dead of their own accord.

Director 1 sent them off to their rooms to pack, but Leo was distraught at the thought of packing.

“I don’t know what to bring!” she exclaimed, looking at her tiny backpack in despair. “I can’t fit my computer and my camera and my journal and my writing stuff and all my books!” She looked to Theatergirl for help, but the CBer was busy shoving things in her own backpack.

“Just stuff in as much stuff as you can,” she suggested, not unkindly. “Here, I’ll help you. I’m a master shover.” She smiled.

With Theatergirl’s help, Leo soon had a heavy and unwieldy backpack, but at least she didn’t have to leave anything behind. The girls walked downstairs to where the rest of the group was waiting, each with their own backpack. They waited for some twenty minutes before Director 1 speed-walked in.

“What are you waiting for? We don’t have all day!” she declared. The CBers shrugged and followed her, choosing not to point out that she was the one making them wait.

They hiked out of the mansion and into the woods surrounding the property. There was a well-defined trail, so everyone could see where they were going, although there were still quite a few who stumbled on roots in the path. The hike wasn’t overly long, so they got to the campsite after minimal whining and complaining. In fact, there was a lot of gasping; as the CBers crested the ridge to the campsite, their eyes widened with delight.

A waterfall fell from a low cliff above them, sending a cascade of sparkles toward the stream bed below. Beneath the waterfall, worn away by the rock, was a cave that gaped darkly from the cliffside. Director 1 gestured grandly toward the entrance.

“Welcome to the campsite!” she declared. Fleet gasped with wonder and ran ahead, closely followed by Theatergirl. Even Gale and Nymph found themselves enchanted by the site. Something about the scenery made even the most sarcastic and unsmiling AEs grin, though they tried to cover it up. Barnswallow noticed their hesitation.

“Go ahead and enjoy it!” she said with a laugh. And with a shrug and a shared glance, the AEs raced ahead, determined to stake their territory in exploring the cave.

Unfortunately, someone else had gotten there first.

“I claim this cave!” shouted Fleet, standing on a small boulder near the entrance. “Since it is my discovery, I shall name it… Cave Fleet!” Gale rolled her eyes and imitated Fleet’s posture, then began mocking her in a high, babyish voice.

“I claim this cave as Cave Fleet!” she mimicked. The real Fleet shot her a glare, but Gale ignored it. Nymph chuckled at the AE’s audacity.

“All right. That’s enough with the antics,” Director 1 chided from the entrance. “In fact, I discovered this cave before any of you, so if anything, you should call it ‘Cave Director 1.’”

“Definitely not,” Fleet countered, sitting down and sliding off the boulder. “That has, like, no ring to it.” Gale found she had to agree.

“Anyway, you don’t have to just explore the cave,” Director 1 continued. “There are frisbees, soccer balls, and other devices involved with sports. However, if you don’t find enjoyment in such things, I have provided colored pencils and sketchbooks, for those more artistically minded of you.” She placed a cardboard box of sketchbooks and drawing utensils on the ground, which the group immediately swarmed, leaving the sports equipment virtually untouched.

For the rest of the morning, the CBers sketched, occasionally breaking out into quiet conversation. Lunch was a typical meal of sandwiches, which were acceptable at best. Director 1 was clearly not an accomplished cook, though no one dared say so out loud.

The afternoon flew by, as the group continued doodling, or took it upon themselves to get some exercise in the woods nearby. Gale, after finishing a rather excellent drawing of Kitten (albeit a candid one without her permission) stood up and stretched.

“I’m going for a walk. Care to join me?” she offered to Nymph, who shook her head. Being in the form of a chihuahua, she grabbed a pencil between her teeth and wrote, “I’m trying to see how many different animals I can be while drawing.”

“Suit yourself.” Gale strode out of the cave, intending to explore the woods intensely before it grew dark.

Not far off from the cave with the waterfall, she found a small clearing. That wasn’t very odd; one would expect a forest like this to have dozens of clearings. What was odd about this one was that it had a cabin in the center. More of a shack, really. Gale drew closer, and was surprised to hear voices coming from it.

“I think this one connects here… Ow! I got shocked!” Gale started. The voice was Maggie’s.

“Next time, try not sticking your finger out near the port,” commented another voice, this one unfamiliar.

“You try dealing with weird hardware some time,” Maggie shot back. Then, “There, I think this one works. How are the other ones coming?”

“I think we’re decently close to fixing the field!” responded a voice, this one sounding like Joe.

Fixing the field…

Gale gasped loudly, and the voices quieted.

“Did you hear something?”

“It sounded like someone!”

“What do we do?”

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the woods on the other side and strode toward the cabin. Without hesitating, it typed in a code and swung open the door as Gale stood frozen in the center of the clearing. A scream floated out from the open door, followed by several more, a few seconds later. Hinges creaked as the door swung open.

The figure turned, and Gale caught sight of her face.

But in that moment, she was also seen.

“You!” the girl snarled, racing toward her. “I should’ve known you’d turn up!” Before Gale could even think to scream for help, the girl clapped a hand over her mouth and drove a dagger into her heart.

Nothing else.