Sunday, 29 September 2019

Murder on the Much-Mousing Express!


Hello and welcome to The Sunday Selfies!    



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And now a short story. If you're sitting comfortably, then I'll begin. . . . .

 

     It was a cold wet and windy Sunday afternoon in Much-Mousing, and the village and Palace were caught in the midst of a storm that had the skies a seething cauldron-like mass of coal-black clouds. So bad in fact that small children and sheep that hadn't been staked down could be seen flying through the streets like tumbleweed.

     Within the Palace, all was as one might expect: roaring flames in the Great Hall, Mrs H in the kitchens making supper, and I was sat diligently doing the estate accounts and writing my blog. OK so some of that may be wishful even speculative thinking on my part, but at some point, I will be doing that, so what's the harm, right?

     Anyways, there I was minding my own business and checking out a nice piece of carpeting amidst the chatter, clink of plates and sound of steam—when I spotted a hole in the floor. Just so you know I hadn't taken up sleeping in the buffet car at the local train station, rather I was in one of the guest rooms listening to the wireless. The local radio station had a re-run of the classic black-and-white radio mystery, Murder on the Much-Mousing Express! I love a good mystery, especially as I am a budding sleuth, purveyor of stories and soon to be published authoress.

     Suddenly, sinister whisker-chilling music filled the room. The plot had just reached the critical point with the conductor about to reveal who hasn't bought a ticket, when the train enters a tunnel, the lights go out, and there is a bone tingling ear-piercing scream of a woman in distress. Clearly, she'd just tasted some of Mrs H's cheap coffee and found it hadn't been sugared. Thank goodness, I said to myself, such things do not happen here at the Palace.

     Suddenly the lights flickered and then snapped off, and the room went dark. I checked to make sure I hadn't closed my eyes, and finding I was wide awake, I looked around. All was quiet. I went to the window and looked out at the village from behind the blackout curtains and saw that the street lights had gone out and, despite the storm-force wind, the windmill had stopped turning. Things were really bad—I made a mental note to instruct Mrs H to change the three AAA batteries in its base come morning.

     Whatever the problem was, it seemed like there was nothing I could do to investigate, well nothing that couldn't wait till morning and fine weather. Suddenly—though for the life of me I have never heard of a scream that wasn't sudden—there was a scream followed by a crashing clatter from the kitchens.

     Had there been foul-play and murder, I wondered? Was this part of the script? I thought long and hard, and hard and long, and after some additional carefully consideration, cogitation and disection of the evidence (and the fact that the wireless was off due to the power outage) I surmised that it—the scream and clatter—were not on the train on account of it sounding suspiciously like Mrs H's scream and the distinct sounds of a Sunday pot-roast being dropped on the floor.  Alas, I mused, lunch would be late.

     What to do? I needed to find the backup power switch and fast, else not only would I not hear the end of the movie, but crucially any chance of a hot meal would be history, like the roast.

     I walked around the now pitch-black room. The train I guessed was still in the tunnel, either that or as this was an old B movie they probably just forgot to put a penny in the meter. My money would have been on the latter, or maybe the former. Either way, the tunnel needed to end soon as my tummy was rumbling. Eventually, I bumped into something familiar, hard and wooden—the door. I sat and gave myself a quick groom in appreciation of my skill and olfactory prowess in a crunch situation . . . and to massage my now sore nose.




A quiet afternoon listening to the wireless—what could possibly go wrong?



     Would you credit it, just as I was getting used to the dark, the lights went on again. I looked around casually, as much to look for intruders as to make sure nobody had seen me try to open the wardrobe instead of the actual door.

     Thankfully, besides the hole, the room was still empty. No bodies or blood and definitely no afternoon tea for me to polish off. The wireless crackled into life, but the play had finished and the announcer heralded the latest weather forecast—more rain and high winds. I sighed, and it was then another sound came to my ears, the unmistakable rattle of broken pot on dustpan, followed by the clink of the teapot being put on the hob.

     The mystery of the hole, I said to myself as I passed it by on the way out the room, would have to wait. At least until after a nice cup of tea, supper and a nap. . . .




I wonder what or who is in here?


What do you think was in the hole?

More importantly, who do you think did it—the hole, and the incident on the train?

Even more importantly, does anyone have a spare pot-roast, and pot?

Please leave your suggestions in the comments below, the spookier and or funnier the better.

Pot roasts can be sent direct to Mrs H, c/o The Kitchens, the Palace, Upper, Much-Mousing, Middle Shire, England.



Thank you for visiting, and we hope you enjoyed my nickelodeon monochrome mystery.

To see what our international blogging pals have been up to this week, be it murders, musicals, comedies, or romances, please click the links below, and enjoy the Hop!





29 comments:

  1. BWAAHAHAHAHAHA Kids as tumbleweed * helpless giggles *

    Love the story, I reckon it was Mr Mole, in the pantry, scaring Mrs H to death.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hmm that could be — Mr Mole in the pantry with a candle stick? or was it the lead pipe? MOL
      Purrs
      ERin

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  2. Difficult to know, maybe Mr. Mole ??

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    Replies
    1. Hmm, I'll add that to my list of suspects and see who comes out top. Certainly being in the dark would be his MO. ;)
      Purrs
      ERin

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  3. From this side, I see a very cute pussycat, watching at a little mousie that just turned into a zombie, because it was munching to long on the electrical wires of the train :D Pawkisses for a Happy Sunday and I'm very curious what it really was🐾😽💞

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    Replies
    1. Zombie mice eating the electric cables seems way worse than the old movie. Maybe tht would be the sequel, MOL
      Purrs
      ERin

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  4. We have no idea what came out of that hole, Erin. We hope it wasn't anything too unseemly. We sure are sad about the pot roast taking a tumble.

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    Replies
    1. I'm not sure which is worse, the pot roast getting spoiled, the whole hole affair, OR missing the end to the play?
      Purrs
      ERin

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  5. This is why I read mysteries, Erin...'cause I can never figure out whodunnit! I am easily surprised...

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    Replies
    1. I guess thta goes for us all in one way or another. Mrs H surprises me all the time, though to be fair that is generally trying to get me to the consultants office, MOL
      Purrs
      ERin

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  6. A mysterious hole, you say? MOUSES! I sure do hope your roast doesn't somehow end up in there 'cause what would you have for dindins? purrs

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    Replies
    1. Well Mouses it may have been, but unless they are fast eaters or adept at carving, I suspect the pot roast was safe from further violation and humiliation, MOL
      Purrs
      ERin

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  7. Replies
    1. Thank you, what starts as a selfie oft' ends up as a tale of wo, or as in this case a down right mystery!
      Purrs
      ERin

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  8. It was a huge mutant mouse came out of the hole and scared Mrs.H half to death. She won't mention it though because she thinks she must have had one sherry to many.

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    Replies
    1. Hehehehe. I can see you are thinking along the same lines as me, MOL I do really have to try and water that bottle down a bit next week, at least until AFTER I've had my supper ;)
      Purrs
      ERin

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  9. Pot roast?? Did someone say pot roast?? Now we're hungry!

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    Replies
    1. You and me both. Alas the pot roast went the same way as pot and I had to satisfy myself with a nip salad and a side of. . . . you guessed it, nip salad, MOL
      Purrs
      ERin

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  10. We're clueless! Sorry, no spare pot roasts here.

    The Florida Furkids

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    Replies
    1. Don't worry, Mrs H is too, though DON'T tell her I said. No pot roast going spare anywhere it seems. Oh well, roll on next sunday. Apparently the radio play is the 49 Steps. I'm sure nothing could go wrong with that, could it?
      Purrs
      ERin

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  11. I think it was a little vole on a quest for winter housing.

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    Replies
    1. Hmmm, that could be, and maybe fancied that room as we do have some plantpots in that one where it could dig into. I shall have to put up a vacancy sign on the room and see if I can make it a a room of multiple Vole occupancy. Just think of all the rent I could make!
      Purrs
      ERin

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  12. Ooh what a delightful mystery, Erin! Step aside, Agatha Christie, there's a new cat in town!

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    Replies
    1. Why thank you. I am sure Ms Christie would have solved that one too, though maybe without the pot roast being ruined.
      Purrs
      ERin

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  13. ERin, furst up both yur selfeez bee bee ewe tee ful, thurd, we HOPE thiz iz chap turr one oh thiz mizz tree....9) a squirrelz iz whatz in de hole, C} de door kneadz ta come down sew itz knot in yur way again P) pot roast fresh off de floorz az good az sghetti fresh ona plate ????? noe we due knot noe what that meenz :) ♥♥

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  14. Erin, I SO loved the story! I, too, loves a good mystery, and I thinks it was a raccoon who came up through the hole, and tripped Mrs. H, making her drop the pot roast and ruinin' your dinner! Yups. That's what happened! BOL!!!
    I don't have a spare pot roast, and even if I did, if Ma cooked it, you wouldn't want to eats it! BOL!!!! (shhh...don't tells her I said that, k?)
    Kisses,
    Ruby ♥

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  15. A wormhole? Catacombs of terror? The Kraken's redecorating gone wrong?

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  16. We love your mystery, ERin. Since retiring, I've enjoyed sitting back and letting others figure out mysteries. However Dori says she thinks a mole dug a hole in the floor, hoping Mrs. H might trip and dump pot roast into the hole. You photograph beautifully, ERin. Like a mewvee star in the 1940's.

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  17. Oh Princess, thou art beauty and the night and all the creatures of the land consider you their queen as do I.

    As for that mystery hole: could it be - a rogue mousie has found its way into the palace and taken up fort?! Best have Mrs. H. check the inventory of cheeses in the cold cellar. And hopefully it hasn't turned into. . . a zom! YIKES! I think he must've leapt right off the pages of our draft of our Pirates and Pussycats novel, thinking he could have a story all of his own! Imagine that! The horror! He has some nerve that mousie. I will send some mallows pronto to rid of the lil' beastie!

    Luvs from your Prince

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