class work

[cena]

completed it

[mrsanderson]

Good! Should this be here, in this thread?

[craigpatersonn97]

Coincedence. Craig Paterson
Cynthia Hart. Was stabbed in the chest...

It was a crisp morning in southern Carolina, I was in my warm bed just relaxing after being harshly woken up by the stallion in the stable across the tracks. The wax from the candles opposite my bed had oozed and trickled down from the plate almost like blood. The red blanket surrounding me was neatly tucked around the outline of my body. The rare december sun crept in through the window. Everything was perfect. An aray of smells invaded my nostrils. Suddenly, Lance, one of the stablelads from across the track, came rushing in. Once he had caught his breath back he explained about his gruesome discovery. He didnt know who to come to first as he was so shocked.
"Lance, calm down. What on earth has happened to you boy" I said abruptly.
He explained that he had found Cynthia Hart, the newly elected mayoress, in one of his stables. His mouth tried to utter the words. It seemed like his soul never wanted him to say it.
"She was d de DEAD." He screamed.
I sat upright on my bed as he explained why he came to me. It was because I was a highly regarded detective in these counties. I had not long retired. As I stretched a leg out of bed the cold air hit me. I could smell bacon and sausages from the kitchen. I slipped on my shoes and swung a coat over me. There was no one awake. It was a ghost town.
There Cynthia lay dressed in only her pantalons. Her chest was pierced only once in the heart. On the ground underneath her the fresh fluid soaked into the scraps of hay and corn. Everything went cold. While Lance rushed to the other side of town to get the sherrifs, I scoured about for traces of footsteps. The markings of horseshoes covered the place like a blanket. There were no footsteps or markings anywhere. The stench from the body and dung made it almost unbareable. With almost an instant of seeing the fleshy chest wound, thoughts of my working past began to rush back to me. The puzzle of a murder or robbery somewhat fueled me even more. The late nights surrounding my desk scribbling rapidly on bits of paper under the flicker of candles nibbling on freshly made beef jerky. They were the best days of my life. As I came out of my thoughts for a second I turned round to see the whole sherrif department as well as Lance galloping at full speed towards the stable. The hoofs came to a halt only metres away from the stable.
"Well look who it is boys"said Sherrif Macevoy to the rest of them. "Detective Thomas Reilly, what brings you back into your bloody trade"
I hadn't heard my name said like that in almost six months.
"Macevoy, I would like my job back please. I miss the thrill of the detective life and retirement has brought me nothing but boredom and a few extra pounds. What do you say? Are you ready to bring back the best detective the northern states if not America has ever seen?"
The whole sherrif department joined me in an outburst of laughter. Macevoy nodded at me and in an instant my whole perspective on this case changed. It was becoming mid morning and people were starting to come out of their houses to have breakfast on the porches. I began to lay down some ideas. Murder? Most Definently. Planned? Unknown Clues? None discovered.
I said to the crowd of sherrifs and chief inspectors behind me "This case has been a murder. The victim, although not yet officialy identified, is newly elected mayoress, Cynthia Hart." I wrote down everything I said in a notepad the Sherrif had handed me. "Method of murder is yet unknown but judging by many years of experience it seems as if Cynthia has been stabbed with a sharp metal obejct in the heart. I would find it nesesary to corden of the whole town and send Sherrifs around the houses to inquire but in the mean time someone guard the scene and I'll get on to the case."
Night had rushed in like April rain and I had soon found myself surrounded by a pool of paper some with scribbles of ink and some with drawings and sketches. I had recieved feedback from the door to door questioning and nothing fit. I was stuck on the idea that if someone was to kill her the clear motive would either be jelousy or hatred. These two motives may have been fueled by the fact that she had just been elected as mayor, but she was also the first ever mayoress in the northern states. As I grabbed another slither of paper I caught a glimpse of the rattle on my desk. It belonged to my son who had recently perished. I dipped my quiver my quill in the black ink and began to write out everything. It seemed as if I was just repeating myself. I needed to get a fresh perspective. I tried looking for different motives but none of them showed to be worth my time. I looked around to see the candle opposite my bed dying out. The dripping wax had reached the floor. Just then Marion, my maid, came running in with tears streaming down her face. She looked like she had just been dragged through the corn fields.
"Marion, what is wrong?" I asked.
Her voice was trembling. I could'nt understand anything she was saying.
"Lance. Lance is dead" she cried.
She gestured for me to follow. She led me out onto the porch and perched up against the stairs at the bottom was Lance. He wasn't all there. As I rushed down the blood covered stairs I stepped on his blood. His leg was severed and was sitting metres away from him in the middle of the green.
"Marion" I said. "Go and get the sheriff.
Lance Cleg. Had his leg cut off...
He had bled to death.

[mrsanderson]

Thanks Craig!

You can put work in the S4 section, under 'Miss Davidson's Class'. Your story looks fab