Here is one of my completed short story assigments for English class. Our setting was “A town where it constantly rains”. This was our first assignment of the year, so it is not my best work. This was not graded.
Storms are certain tonight, but it isn’t the weather that is causing the turmoil. Ally sits on the cold window seat overlooking the village, screams and yells filling the deadly air, watching as the crowd of men fight below and crows circle above. All of the buildings are darkened, empty and cold, all except one; Ally’s house. Alison Beaumont is a young girl, highly inquisitive and very determined. Her mother is temporarily away on business in the capital, leaving Ally alone with her housekeeper and diligent father.
A sudden splash causes Ally to peer down through the window into the stream that runs through the middle of Saint du Jermon. The little French town lies beneath the mountains, old, eerie and barely sees sunlight. The residents of the town are familiar with constant downpours, brisk winds and the many elms shaking back and forth along the streets. Ally looks upon the few men who have eventually ended up in the water. The end of another night of madness, she anticipates.
“Miss Ally, your father wants to see you.” The Beaumont’s housekeeper Odette appears at the doorway. The young girl continues to stare through the window.
“Very well,” she turns and smiles at the middle-aged woman. “Thank you, Odette.”
It is not often that she is summoned by her father, no less at this hour, Ally considers this as she walks down the dimly lit hallway. She knocks on the firm wooden door of the study and straightens her nightgown.
“Come in.”
“Papa, you called me?”
Ally’s father is a businessman, formal and devoted, a man of law, of course, and is ranked quite high among the important residents of the town. This evening he sits at his maple desk, wearing a fine navy suit and hunched over a stack of papers with a fountain pen resting in his left hand. A tea set sits at the top of the table, amber liquid poured into a small china cup, untouched and probably now cool.
“Yes, have a seat Alison.” Monsieur Beaumont crosses his hands, placing them in front of him and pursing his lips, but Ally already knows what’s to come,
“It seems as if one of the teachers at your school has passed. Just a couple of days ago.”
“Monsieur Dugast, I knew him well.” nodding her head dolefully.
“There has been updated information, terrible but important. Your teacher you speak so fondly of, has been murdered. The police are working on a case around it.”
Ally’s face reads the uttermost shock, her bottom lip starts to tremble and a lump forms in her throat. The professor’s death is dreadful enough, without being labeled a homicide. Ally figures the conflict and many brawls around town are revolving around this specific event.
“If that’s all,” Ally swallows hard and Monsieur draws in a sharp breath,
“Be careful, ma fille.”
The next morning, Ally drags her hand along the battered spines of her beloved murder mysteries: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, P.D. James. Curiosity has always been one of Ally’s favourite traits, it leads her to reveal secrets and breakthroughs.
She perches on the edge of her four-poster bed, many thoughts dancing in her head. Ally has spent half her life indulged in the satisfying mystery of murders and finding out whodunnit and now she can test it. Within seconds, the telephone is held in her hand, pressed against her ear.
“Hello there, I am a journalist from the Gazette, I was wondering what officer I could have a little chat to about concerning the recent murder of-” she lets out a sniff, “Carter Dugast? I am his great-niece, it would mean an awful lot to me if I were able to talk to someone.”
She squints her eyes, listening carefully, “Okay, thank you very much, see you shortly.” The girl hangs up, very much pleased with herself and is soon out the front door of the building.
“Odette, I’m going to see Sebastian!”
“Seb! You wouldn’t believe my new project.” The girl bounds into her friend’s bedroom.
“It wouldn’t happen to be getting brunch would it? I’m starving.” Sebastian smiles from the corner chair. One of the reasons Ally befriended him was because of his humour. They have been friends for a while — best friends. Seb is a charming young man, polite and intelligent with good looks that will always please his female teachers and classmates. He too loves a good Christie, but perhaps is a little more mature and refrained than Ally.
“Not quite. I’m doing a little investigating of my own,” Ally says excitedly, but Sebastian catches on.
“No, Al. It’s none of our business. He was our teacher and we paid our respects but that’s as far as we go. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
Ally sighs. “Too late this time Seb.”
A stream of water slivers down the girl’s boot as she steps into a rather large puddle below the front steps of the precinct. A nervous chill takes over Ally’s body, causing the hairs to stand up on her neck, until she moves forward. Ally strides into the foyer, she flashes her well-known manipulative grin and heads over to the woman writing strenuously on forms. “Good morning, how can I assist you?” She looks up.
“My name is Alison Dugast, I called earlier about an interview.” The lady’s eyes scan over a clipboard attached to the wall next to Ally.
“Yes, Officer Marcel is expecting you,” she points down the hall, “And my condolences, Miss Dugast.”
Officer Marcel is sitting upright in a chair and sipping from a mug when Ally enters the room. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice Officer,” still flashing her smile, “I appreciate it.”
The cop nods, “Are you here about the Dugast case?”
Ally was glad with how convincing she’d turned out, “Yes please. Just what-” another sniff, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I’ll inform you on what we know. The body was recovered from the stream near the church, it was half frozen so we predict that the killing occurred a few days before. Our coroner estimated around two in the morning on the 15th. There were many marks around the neck; indicating strangulation. But there was also a dent in the back of his skull, he had been knocked unconscious, we are inconclusive of the weapon.”
He pauses and Ally gulps, reaching up to twist her small gold stud. “The last person to see him was a fellow colleague, Madame Luciel, who has been brought in for questioning this past week, and is currently a person of interest. We are currently investigating some other suspects, but have only circumstantial evidence leading up to our analysis.”
Marcel leans forward in his seat, “Miss Dugast, if you have any knowledge or evidence from this case, we would have to ask you to hand it over to us, if you want us to find out who murdered your uncle.” He adds.
“Of course Officer. Do you know what motive the killer had?”
He picks up a piece of paper and carefully reads its contents, checking for extra information. “It seems as if Monsieur Dugast was reckless as a young adult: got involved with drugs, was arrested twice. While teaching at an institution in the East, Lycée de Caen, he was deep in debt to some hateful bettors and fled the region. Shortly after, they intruded on the school and in a maddened rage shot many students and teachers. Everyone blamed the incident on Dugast — some motive I reckon.”
“Oh my God, definitely.” Silence hangs in the air only to be broken by Ally, “Well, thank you for your time,” she jots down the last of her notes before standing up to shake his hand.
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
The young sleuth runs the way home, thrilling theories crowding her mind.
“I give up Sebastian! It’s impossible.” Ally has been researching all night, contacting all the agencies in the East regions. Finally, one replied back only to offer information in return for two hundred and fifty euros; Ally’s future savings aren’t open just yet.
“The one paper that probably has details on Monsieur Dugast thinks I’m a housewife with money to kill.” She continues, “It’s weird, there being no evidence on the case. You would think in a town like this people would plant it.”
“You know, you could always ask your dad for the money — say it’s for school or something.”
“And you know he wouldn’t give it to me, but that has given me an idea. Bye Seb.” Throwing the telephone on the bed.
Ally stumbles carelessly down the winded stairs of the tall house and arrives in her empty father’s study. She heads over to the corner where the metal box sits and enters the combination — always my birthday, she silently commends herself. The door clicks open and the girl starts rifling through the files and piles of cash until a specific folder catches her eye. A dark blue folder, thick and large with a photo of a young Monsieur Beaumont attached, but it’s the words at the top of the page that catches Ally’s eye; Lycée de Caen.