Mystery in a Box (ZL)

Mystery in a Box

Criteria: Crime/mystery, in the dark, crazy person

Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. This, of course, is why Zane found himself lying on a hard wooden floor in utter darkness. It was so dark that he wouldn’t have been able to see his own hands waving in front of his nose, even if they weren’t tied behind his back. The only thing he could smell was his own sweat, and the only thing he could hear was a faint scratching sound.
He tried to sit up, but immediately hit his head on what was apparently the top of the box he lay in. “Bloody sausages,” he muttered to himself, “I’m tied up in a box.”
A sudden knocking against the box made him jump and hit his head again. “Knock, knock,” called a voice. “Are you finally awake?”
Before he could answer, the top of the box lifted up, and he could see. It was still rather dark, the only light source was a small candle set on a desk in a corner of a large stone-walled chamber. Sitting in front of the desk was a short, balding man holding a pen. Zane looked around to see who had opened the box, but nobody else was in the room. It was then he noticed that he wasn’t just lying in a box. It was a coffin – an old looking coffin, made of wood, not one of those fancy ones that most people’s families spent thousands of dollars on to bury their loved ones in.
“Ah, good to see you’re awake,” said the man at the desk.
“Who are you? Where am I?” asked Zane. After asking, he immediately realized that those were rather cliché questions, the kind that a boring person would ask in a situation like this, but he didn’t care. They were pertinent.
“You may call me Arthur,” the man said with a slight smile. “As for where you are, that’s for you to find out.”
Zane just stared at the man, and said, “Huh?”
“You see, Zane, I happen to be writing a mystery.”
“A mystery?” Zane asked, dumbly repeating what he was told.
“Yes, Zane, a mystery. You see, unfortunately, someone has died.”
“Really?” Zane asked, somewhat confused. Very confused, actually. “Who?”
“Well, you have, Zane.”
“I have?” Zane looked down at his body, wiggled his fingers and toes, breathed deeply, and listened for his heart beat. “I don’t feel dead,” he declared.
“Well, it’s up to you to prove that,” Arthur replied. “And it’s best for you if you do so quickly. You see, you’ve also been charged with the murder.”
“But I didn’t… wait, what?”
“Yes, Zane. You’ve been charged with the murder of one Zane Legends, a rather famous person in these parts. If you wish to save yourself, you’d best solve this mystery quickly. The guards should be here any moment to take you away. In fact,” he paused, listening for the footsteps that could now be heard, “yes, that’s them coming now. Good luck Zane.”
“But…” Zane tried to say, but at that moment the large wooden door on the opposite side of the room opened, and six fully armored men walked in.
“Are they wearing… armor?” Zane looked down at his own jeans and t-shirt to confirm to himself that he was in fact in the real world, or at least had been not that long ago. He looked over at the man, Arthur. He was sitting in his chair, watching Zane, and writing in his notebook at the same time.
“Zane Legends,” trumpeted the armored guard standing in front, “you have been charged with the murder of Zane Legends. We are here to take you to your trial.”
As the guards led him out of the room and down a long torch-lined corridor, he tried to figure out what was going on. He looked around for clues, because that’s what they did in the movies, but he had no idea what clues looked like. What if he passed a clue without realizing what it was?
“I must be dreaming,” Zane muttered to himself.
The guard standing to his left laughed. “Dreaming? No, you’re not dreaming,” he said. “Don’t plan on waking up right before the trap door drops beneath you. That would be more cliché than those horribly clichéd questions you asked earlier. Not to mention it would ruin a good mystery.”
“How did you…” Zane stopped himself from asking the question. The guard’s voice seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Too soon they walked into a large room. In the front of the room was a bench raised several feet, and in the middle of the room was a big rock. The guards led him to the rock and told him to sit. It was the most uncomfortable rock Zane had ever sat on.
“Zane Legends,” shouted the person sitting in the middle of the bench. “You have been brought today before this court to answer to a charge of murder. How do you plea?”
“Um… not guilty,” Zane replied.
“Oh,” said the speaker. “Well, that wasn’t planned. We expected you to be guilty.”
“Wait…” Zane said. “You seem familiar.” Then, he realized something incredibly important. “Hey! Today’s my birthday!”
As one, everyone in the room jumped up, cheering. There was a bang, and confetti fell from the ceiling into Zane’s hair, and everyone started singing.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday Zane Legends! Happy birthday to you!”
Zane almost cried. Everyone he had ever met on his many travels surrounded him now, wishing him a happy birthday.
“But wait,” he said, “where are we?”
Arthur, who had joined them, said, “Ah, we can’t tell you that, it would spoil the mystery!”
“Oh, sausages!” Zane replied.