Clue: Trapped in the Game
A/N: I, for one, love clue (the movie and the game). Basically, this story is set during present time and involves the great-grandchildren of the original clue characters. They get trapped in Mr. Boddy's mansion and have to find a way out before the past comes back to haunt them. Original characters belong to Hasbro (originally Waddingtons and Parker brothers). My characters are Heather Milton, David Mustard, Peter Plum, Madison Bradford-Green, Jackson Peacock, Alex White, and Alfred Black. I hope you like! P.S. Somewhere in the chapter there will be a flashback to the actual night of the murder, so that's why a section of this story is written in italics.
It was the beginning of October when it turned cold. The leaves on the trees withered and eventually flew away in the hollow wind that made everything seem darker. Everything in Raven Brook was losing the charm of summer, slowly trading in warm days for short sunsets.
There was an old stone bridge by my house that went over a small creek, and I loved to go there after school to listen to music or draw in my sketch book. Usually no one else was there, but today as I walked through the tall drifts of dead leaves I saw someone already there.
"Peter Plum," I sighed "What are you doing here?"
"Well, Madison, if you really want to know, I was looking for you." He stood. I came over to him, studying his hair the color of dark chocolate. It was usually messy, as if he never combed it; today was no exception. His eyes were dark also, as black as coffee or midnight. He was slightly tan, but only from his summer job as lifeguard at Raven Brook's public pool.
"Well, you found me." I told him, leaning against the rock wall of the bridge. "What do you need?"
"Well, really I'm just here because Heather wanted to ask you something, but she was busy so she asked if I could." He explained, tossing leaves into the water that ran under the bridge.
"What did she need to ask me?" I asked him.
"I don't know, I can't remember." He smirked, standing back up. He turned to look at me, and I saw a mischievous glint in his eye. I stared at him with a puzzled look, wondering what he was doing here.
Then, he grabbed my green messenger bag, laughing as I shouted out in surprise. He played keep away from me before taking off for the woods that were on the other side of the bridge.
"Peter! Peter, give me my bag back!" I yelled after him, trying to chase him through the underbrush and overgrown trail that wound through the ancient forest. He just laughed harder, running faster and farther away.
I tried to keep up with him, tried to keep his red sweatshirt in sight through the tree branches. Then, suddenly, he stopped and I ran right into him, knocking us over. We tumbled forward through leaves and twigs, landing in a pile outside a wrought-iron gate.
I was laughing, but Peter just stared forward at something. He got up, brushing himself off, as I stood. Walking towards the gate, my laughter disappeared. I neared the tall, black gate that was topped with spiked fleur-de-lis tensely. Grabbing onto the bars of the cold gate, I put my face in the space between them to look through at the other side.
There was an old mansion inside the gate, hiding behind overgrown trees. It was made out of huge gray stones and boulders on the bottom, but was constructed out of wood above that. It used to be painted a purple color, but the paint had long since faded and chipped away, revealing the rotten wood beneath. Plenty of ambitious ivy vines had covered part of the house, shielding the wood from the sun.
The mansion itself was about three stories tall, but there was a tower on one side that jutted above the rest of the roof. The roof housed various statues that looked like angels at first, but after a closer look I shuddered to see that they were gargoyles. I turned my head to look at peter, who was gazing at the creepy house as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Peter," I tried to get his attention, "What is it?"
"That…that mansion, it looks familiar." He whispered. I looked one last time at the scary place before turning and grabbing my bag from Peter.
"Come on, let's go back. This place creeps me out." I shivered. Peter nodded, turning and following. I pretended that I didn't see him glance back at the house a few times as we trudged back through the forest. When we reached the stone bridge again, the rest of our friends were there standing around. They glanced at us as we approached.
"Peter, where'd you go? We sent you to tell Madison to meet us here. Hey, what's the matter? You guys look freaked out." David asked us. His scruffy, light brown hair was the color of amber or honey and his eyes were the brown of tree bark. He was the tallest of the group, and also the leader.
"There's this…old, scary house back there." I panted, gesturing behind us. Heather stood on her toes, looking over my shoulder into the thick woods, as if she'd be able to see it.
"This is going to sound crazy guys, but it seemed familiar, as if I'd seen it before." Peter told them, still seeming quiet and fearful.
"Well I want to go see it." David said, starting to walk towards the far end of the bridge. He stopped and turned back towards us when he realized that no one was following him. "Well, aren't you going to show us where it is?"
"No way man," Peter panted, "I don't want to go back there."
"Madison?" David asked turned to me. I shook my head.
"I'll go with you," Alex offered, joining David at the foot of the bridge. Her black hair was cropped short and her hazel eyes were quick-witted and full of knowledge. She had a striped scarf wrapped around her neck and a brown coat whose sleeves were too long for her petite arms.
"Me too, I'm curious." Heather joined them, her golden brown hair falling below her shoulders in soft curls. She had brown eyes, like one a puppy would have. Needless to say, she was a total guy magnet at school.
The small group headed off into the forest, disappearing behind the trees. I sighed, my dark hair falling into my eyes as I turned to Jackson and Peter. Jackson had these big, innocent blue eyes that made him look younger than he actually was. His bushy hair was a golden blonde color and always hung down in his face messily.
"Well, I guess it's just us now." I shrugged, sitting down to wait. Closing my eyes, I couldn't get the mansion out of my mind.
I trudged through the woods, my boots crunching in the carpet of dead leaves. Heather stood close to me, her breath hanging on the air because of the cold. Alex was almost three feet ahead of us, fearlessly leading the way. I sometimes think that she's braver than me.
It wasn't long before we had reached a rusted wrought iron gate, taller than me. We all pressed against it, peering through in curiosity. You could barely make out a tall, mysterious mansion through the dead trees, shrouded in ivy and fungus.
"Wow…they weren't kidding about this place being creepy." I breathed, Heather nodding in agreement.
Then, something metallic banged against the fence in front of us. We all jumped and fell over, screaming in surprise. An old, wrinkled man was glaring at us, one of his ice blue eyes milky from a long scar that ran along the right side of his face. He held a shovel, holding it as if he were about to swing it at us again.
"You're not supposed to be here." He muttered. I picked myself off of the ground, still frightened.
"We're sorry, we didn't mean…" I tried to apologize.
"Leave. Now." He ordered us, staring at us in an unnerving way. I didn't argue with him, and only Alex was able to keep his stare as we started to quickly head back the way we came.
"Well…" Heather muttered as we neared the bridge, "I can see why they didn't want to go back."
"Yeah…" I whispered, agreeing with her, yet at the same time finding something…mysterious about the house that made me want to go back again and figure it out.
"Now I remember where I've seen that house before," Peter told us as he rummaged through an old chest in his attic. We were all huddled around each other, cups of hot chocolate in hand. "We used to have all the old photos downstairs when I was little and I remember looking at them." He explained, pulling out an old cardboard box.
A cloud of dust escaped as he opened the lid, causing most of us to cough. Peter waved his hand around, trying to clear the dust from the air, before turning the box over and letting its contents fall on the floor. Everyone leaned in towards the pile of old photographs that were scattered along the ground.
It seemed to get quiet as everyone gathered up a few photos, letting their eyes study them. I reached for one of a lady; her black hair cut in a short bob and held in place with silver pins. Her neck was slender and arched gracefully in the contrast of the picture. Her head was lifted up, her eyes studying something out of frame. Her lips held a soft smile, her eyelashes low as if she were shy, but there was a feel about her that made her seem rebellious and mysterious.
"Who's this?" I asked, my voice softened as I held the old photo gently between my fingers. Peter looked over at it, his thick eyebrows furrowing.
"I think it says on the back, but I can't remember." He shrugged. I flipped it over, finding graceful cursive letters on the bottom of the picture.
"Miss Evelyne Scarlet, 24th May, 1925." I read, transfixed by the beauty of the old sepia portrait.
"Here's the one I was looking for!" Peter called over to us. We abandoned our pictures and once again crowded around Peter. He was holding a large black-and-white photograph, slightly blurry, of an elegant mansion. You could see people gathered around outside, all standing around one man who seemed young, yet stood with an air of importance. His dark hair and even darker eyes seemed to stare out at us from the picture, studying us like we were studying him.
"It says on the back that the mansion was built for Reginald Boddy in 1907 when he was 32, and that he was a praised philanthropist. The people in the picture are some of his friends he had over for the house-warming party. The one next to him is Colonel Mustard, and that one is Frank Scarlet (his business partner), and the lady is Mrs. Elizabeth Peacock." Peter pointed out to us.
All of a sudden, a shiver rippled through my body.
"What is it Heather? What's the matter?" David asked, touching my arm. I shook my head.
"I-I don't know. I feel like…like I've seen that house before, before today…but that's impossible!" I told them, still staring at the antique photo.
The young lady studied the envelope for a long time, wondering if it was really what she thought it was. Then, in one quick movement, she opened it with her red fingernail, letting the envelope fall to the floor. She held a blood-red letter, the black cursive letters telling her who it was. Running her brown eyes down the page, she read aloud.
"Dear Miss Evelyne Scarlet, you are cordially invited to attend a dinner party at the estate of Mr. Reginald Boddy on the evening of 15th June at 7:30 PM. Please wear appropriate attire for we will be discussing my will later in the evening. I hope you will be able to attend but if not, then please contact me before 10th June. I shall be seeing you soon, signed Mr. Boddy."
As she was sighing, another invite had arrived at the home of one lonely young man across town. He was fitfully trying to open it with a letter opener, managing to ruin the envelope completely. Finally, he clumsily retrieved a dark violet envelope with the same scrawling handwriting. It said the same, only replacing the 'Miss Evelyne Scarlet' for 'Professor Peter Plum'. He took off his glasses, staring at his carpet as he thought. Within a minute he had forgotten completely about the party and was thinking up ways that would help clarify the frequency of radios (or something equally confusing)
Another letter, this time emerald and addresses to Mr. Jonathan Green, was being read by a man whose dark brow was creased from anger and deceit. He was muttering to himself as he read, a habit that had started when he had started his business many years ago.
One like his letter (only royal blue in color) was being thoughtoverin a small sitting room by Mrs. Elizabeth Peacock, who was having some peppermint tea before her bedtime of precisely 9:00. She was trying to already perfectly plan out how to get ready for the party, even though it was still almost three weeks away.
And another one, colored a burnt yellow, was sitting on the desk of Colonel Michael Mustard's study, yet he was too busy practicing his hunting skills with a friend who was in possession of a piece of land that held big game. Sometimes it was months before Col. Mustard himself had time for such boring and trivial tasks as answering letters and worrying about dinner parties.
The only one whose letter wasn't delivered in an envelope was Mrs. Blanche White, who had gotten a white letter pushed under her bedroom door as she was putting on her nightgown. She read it with a sour expression, knowing that there was no way she could refuse her employer or his meaningless entertainment. Sighing, she tossed the letter onto her bureau, walking over to her closet to find an appropriate gown for the event.
Six letters, all saying the same thing to six very different people. They all had different reactions, as Mr. Boddy knew they would. He had been planning this night for a long time, and it was almost upon him now. All he had to do was wait…if the waiting wouldn't kill him he knew one of them would.
A/N: I made Miss Scarlet a flapper, which I thought was appropriate for the era the game is set in. I'm going to have fun with these flashbacks, although I don't know why I don't use third-person POV more often. Oh well, I'll have to get busy on the next chapter. If you liked it, review or tell someone else to read it!