I awoke the next day to bright sunlight streaming through the open curtains of my room. For one moment I lay perfectly still, oblivious to the night’s events, until, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the white megaphone, discarded and half-hidden under the duvet draping off my bed. I burrowed back into the warm bed but could not wipe my mind of the fact that last night I had practically killed someone. Practically? More like completely killed that poor girl. Gingerly I lifted my head out the duvet and looked at the ‘weapon’. It was the size of, well, a normal-sized megaphone, cylindrical and dirty-white; a smudge of dark red on the phone stopped its theme of being fully white. When I stroked my finger across the smudge, it came off onto the digit. I sniffed it: old, yes fairly old, maybe 2 or 3 days old…and not the nicest thing I had smelt in my life. A pungent thick and sticky substance that reminded me of the time my brother had kicked his football through my window. Glass had gone everywhere and I had cut my knee quite deep. The smell of blood filled my room for two weeks afterwards and now I had a scar on that right knee…It was painful to think about that day-the stitches I had done and the smell…what a horrible smell. It didn’t help that the white lump on my knee was a souvenir of events, but the bitter smell of old blood brought all those memories back to me.

So then this was blood? On a megaphone? “Did I do that?” I worriedly thought. No, the smudge was at least a day old, meaning that it couldn’t have come from the lady last night. Another worrying thought popped into my head as I recalled what the Detective had said: “Blow to the head, a big object, possibly with blood on it…”

A large object which could knock someone out, with blood on it, left in an unused cupboard with the dead man’s possessions. Could I be holding a clue to Mr. Craig’s murder-the murder weapon? My head hurt with the large amount of information I was currently processing, so I collapsed giddily to the floor, and forced myself not to cry out loud. Once I had recovered, another thought hit me, like a blow to the chest, or, in my situation, a megaphone to the head. That’s when I realised I was probably holding back vital information from the police!

The End

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