You have an idea for a silly Mystery with a massive anti-climax? Write it here! You've got to make it as light hearted and funny as possible. This is my one, about an old lady called Minerva Oldwoman who hears a strange noise in her house.
It all began, on a cold winter night. I'd decided to go home early, get settled in front of that new Poirot that was on. My Hercule Poirot, without whom I would be bored on my Sunday nights. Anyway, I'm off the point. I hadn't started watching Poirot yet, and Strictly Come Dancing had just finished. That man I don't like won. I don't like any of them to be honest. But to get to the point, I'd got settled with a nice cup of traditional old Tea. None of that fancy herbal stuff you get nowadays, does my tummy no good. I was sat there, supping my tea, for I did not have company and I could do so quite freely. When suddenly, there was an odd, little noise from my upstairs room. It sounded a little like this.
Now, as you can well imagine, I was surprised. There I was happily watching the Toys R Us advert when that hideous noise erupted from my upstairs bedroom. I thought to myself, "Must be house settling." So I relaxed back in my old armchair with my traditional non-herbal tea, waiting for that bloody Poirot to come on cursing at how many adverts were on the channel nowadays. When suddenly, there was another creak from the upstairs room. And a.
The second time, I was a little more than surprised. I sat up in my chair, wide-awake no longer concentrating on the Pontins advert which was currently demonstrating a couple of kids sliding down a water-slide. You wouldn't catch me on a slide like that, I'm far too frail for holidays, I just like staying in the house at summer, it's far too hot. So anyway I just thought to myself.
"Mr Whiskers must have got himself into some mischief."
Mr Whiskers is my cat, and a lovely cat he is too, what I wouldn't do without that cat. He's ever so chubby, but it's better than him being skinny like those nasty alley-cats he plays with.
Then the Poirot music finally came on, and I settled back into my chair again, supping my traditional non-herbal tea ready to watch David Suchet's usual invigorating performance as Hercule. If I were a few years younger, I wouldn't be in this chair watching him that's for sure. And I wouldn't have a bloody cat, or be worrying about a bloody weird noise in my house. He'd work it out, that Poirot would. So the weird house-settling/ cat noises stopped for a while and I got settled into an episode. Then what should I hear as Captain Hastings opens his mouth but
So my brows creased together.
"If that's my house creaking, then my name's not Minerva Oldwoman"
I stood up and started cautiously climbing the stairs. Well I say cautiously, I actually have no choice but to walk up the stairs slowly because my legs don't do me no good anymore. I actually have to see the Doctor on Tuesday about a hip replacement coz I honestly can't deal with my own anymore. Then half-way up the stairs, what do I do? Fall down, my foot got caught on the edge of the stair and I fell forwards. As I crashed against the stairs, hot cup of tea flying through the air, I heard the sound of.
But even louder and longer now. I got up and started climbing the rest of the stairs. I'm glad no one was around to see me fall over, for I accidentally broke wind loudly as I fell and it would have been shameful if anyone had seen or heard...or smelt. So I travelled up the stairs, embarrassed and slightly bruised from the fall and the "BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" sound was there again. I looked toward the spare room, for that was where the noise was coming from. I edged my way over to the door cautiously and called.
"Mr Whiskers? Is that you? Have you got the windypops again?"
There was no answering meow. Neither was there a hiss or any sound that may have suggested that Mr Whiskers was present. I carefully opened the door, and was greeted with the familiar.
I gasped in shock and looked around the Spare Room. It was empty. Then I opened the wardrobe in the corner and what should behold me but a murderous looking goat with glowing red eyes. I stared at the creature for a moment, then decided to turn BBC 4 off. Turned out I'd left it on too loud after watching television in there earlier and Countryfile was showing late.