This is a little mystery that I wrote for a class, so I thought I'd put it up here. It's based on Agatha Christie, whom I adore! Enjoy!

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For most people in Buddingsworth, this particular Friday was much like any other. If, however, someone were to peer into the second floor window of Frieda Dalton’s house, following the soft gaze of the moonlight which crept languidly through the panes and spilled across Frieda’s room like luminous honey, they might sense the air of heady anticipation which crackled as she swirled and flitted across the floor. She knew that Michael would arrive soon as he was very punctual, and hated being the last ones to a party, so she slowed her gleeful dance and turned her focus determinedly back to her mirror, where she had been carefully applying the finishing touches to the smooth waves of her honey colored hair. She glanced fastidiously at her handiwork and, satisfied, applied several coats of striking red lipstick. Smoothing her frock, she reached for her crowning piece – the glittering, black mask she had made herself and adorned with rows of flashing peacock feathers. It was, after all to be a murder masquerade. Diana Ashbury’s parties always had a theme, and this year’s promised to be deliciously entertaining.

“Why of course it’s to be a murder party, darling!” Diana had exclaimed when Frieda looked surprised at this year’s theme, “Isn’t it just splendidly macabre? They’re all the rage these days you know, every star you can imagine is scrambling to try and host the most outrageous of the lot! Although I do believe the plots of these affairs are a little cliché, I mean it’s always the cold-blooded butler who did it, or the scheming relative who stands to inherit fabulous riches. You’d think that with all these wonderful new detective novels coming out that they would try to get a little more creative. And the murders –oh! – they are so very dramatic and clumsy aren’t they, people getting their heads bashed by heavy great pipes, or shot so noisily and conspicuously, or strangled by ham-fisted hands who manage to leave all sorts of evidence! No, no darling, if I were to plan a murder, it would be much more clever and brilliant than that! People would be shocked and scandalized and terribly entertained by it all, and even Poirot’s little grey cells shouldn’t find the answer! Oh Frieda dear, don’t look quite so horrified, I don’t really plan on murdering anyone you know! No, I’m afraid that we’ll have to make do with a plain old box set murder game for our party, but I’m sure it will be splendid, anyway! Did Michael ring you up and ask you to go with him? I told Marcus to make sure he didn’t put it off, or he’d lose you to someone much less suitable, I’m sure!”

Frieda assured her that Michael did indeed make plans to take her and, suitably placated and satisfied at her own role in securing her friend’s happiness, Diana had bustled off to sort out the caterers for her murder masquerade. Now, carefully putting on her mask in her room, Frieda smiled when she thought of that last meeting with her vivacious, dramatic friend. The inner complexities and motivations of people were of particular interest to Frieda, and she was fairly well-known amongst her friends as a shrewd and enthusiastic observer of human behaviour. She and Diana both shared a love for the popular detective novels, with their vivid characters and spellbinding mystery. They both loved to compete to see who could unravel the twisted plots and solve the crime first, with Frieda usually being a little more successful than her rather impatient, impulsive friend. Diana was a dear, but she was spoiled and privileged by her wealthy parents, and so as a result she gave off the impression of being naively selfish in a way that rendered her both charming and, at times, particularly impossible.

Suddenly, there was an abrupt knock on her door which broke Frieda away from her thoughts. When she opened it, she found the housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, waiting with a knowing smile on her face which told Frieda that Michael was waiting for her downstairs. With one last quick appraising look in the mirror, she grabbed her shawl and her handbag and glided down the stairs, pausing to enjoy the admiring look on Michael’s face as she took his arm and they headed out the door.

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“Oh! Frieda! Over here darling, it’s smashing to see you!” Gloria Adderly’s delighted cry met Frieda as she and Michael walked through the doorway of Diana’s elaborate dancing room. The floor was filled with a mingling crowd, whose swirling colors, glittering masks and raucous chatter rushed over Frieda before she picked Gloria out of its mix. It was hard to decipher at first which of these characters were her friends because of the masks which hid their features, but as Gloria rushed towards her, she thought she saw Diana in a simple but elegant black dress with a red shawl and a red mask, her black hair brushed off her face and her expression radiant upon the crowd gathering around her. Before she could call out to her, however, Gloria descended upon Frieda and blocked Diana from view.

 “Isn’t it splendid Frieda! So many people, and look at all their wonderful masks! I hardly know who is who, but that’s really half the fun of a masquerade ball! Diana is rounding everyone up soon to hand out roles and start the game. I do hope I’m not the victim, that would be so tiresome to have to play dead for all that time! But I hope I’m not the murderer either, I don’t know if I could fool people for so long! Oh hang on, there’s Freddy Wilkins, doesn’t he look wonderful! Excuse me for a moment would you, dear?” Gloria bounded off to catch up with a figure in a particularly loud suit with an equally colorful feathered mask.

“Has a lot of energy, that one,” remarked Michael with an amused look after Gloria’s retreating figure. He turned back to Frieda and slipped an arm around her waist. “Would you like to dance, or do you want to find our charming hostess first?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to find Diana and see just what she has planned for our eventful evening,” Frieda scanned the crowd again, looking for that black dress and black hair.

“Okay darling, I’m going to catch up with Will Hartley. I hear he’s got himself a fantastic new horse who he swears will be winning all the races by next year, but I’ll believe that when I see it.” As Michael headed off in the direction of Will, Frieda spotted a black-haired figure emerging in a black dress from one of the side rooms. She quickly moved her way through the crowd towards Diana, and called out to her as she got nearer.

“Diana! There you are! So who’s to be the unfortunate murder victim tonight? How’s it to be done – pipe, wrench, rope, revolver ... or perhaps the candlestick?” As the figure turned towards her, however, Frieda realized that although she had on a black dress, she was wearing a green lace mask, and in her hand she held a green shawl. “Diana? Is that you? Have you changed your mask already? I could have sworn you were wearing red!”

“Diana is wearing red!” The girl smiled at Frieda and pulled her mask up onto her forehead briefly, revealing her face.

“Sybil! Of course it’s you! Now I understand. Lord, it’s shocking that you and Diana are only cousins, you look as alike as sisters!” This was true – Sybil Ashbury did look remarkably like her cousin, although a sort of faded, less sparkling version, as Sybil was much more reserved, both in appearance and personality, than the exuberant Diana. Just then, Diana herself appeared on the stage with the band and called out to the assembled crowd.

“Well, hello there everybody, and welcome to my humble party! If everybody is ready, we are going to start our game. Marcus will pass out cards,” she explained, motioning to her tall, well-dressed fiancée who stood beside her with a box in his hands, “and everyone will get one with their character. Make sure to keep these to yourself, my dears, for they have important information about our murder case! One of you will be our unfortunate victim, and one the devious murderer. It is up to all of you wonderful people to solve the crime and make sure our murderer is unmasked before midnight, when everyone will take off their masks and the truth will be revealed! So shall we play?” A general cheer of agreement rippled through the crowd, and all turned expectantly towards Marcus, waiting for their cards and beginning to mingle once more as the band resumed playing.

Half an hour later, as the assembly chatted, trying out their characters and glancing suspiciously amongst their midst, Frieda was chatting once more with Gloria, who was distinctly disgruntled at being cast as Mrs. Haypenny, the elderly housekeeper at the victim’s mansion.

“I would have made a much better murder victim, you know. I could have been a most convincing dead person! Mrs. Haypenny must be the most tiresome character in this game. Of all the rotten luck!” Frieda, laughing at this fickle change of heart, glanced down once more at her own card, which named her as Delilah Witherworth, an interfering busybody with an extensive knowledge of the town gossip. That’s all well and good, she thought to herself, but what use is a busybody if we still don’t know who’s even been murdered? As of yet, the victim had not revealed his or herself. Frieda glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, which read 10:30. Only an hour and half until the unmasking at midnight.

“You know,” Gloria was saying, “it’s a little surprising that Sybil Ashbury is here tonight. After all, nobody has seen her out in society for quite a few months, and needless to say, the tongues have been wagging. Not that I’m one to gossip myself. But have you noticed the way she’s been mooning about around Marcus? It’s rather disgraceful, considering that he and Diana are going to be married! I did hear rumours that Sybil has been in love with him for years, although he’s hardly given her the time of day. Not that that surprises anyone, given her competition. But it’s sad, really, I don’t know if she’s ever really given it up. Diana never seems to notice, of course, but what that girl would have to be unconfident about is beyond me anyway!” As Gloria petered off, Frieda considered what she had told her. She had never particularly noticed any connection between Sybil and Marcus, and so she thought that it was probably idle chatter, but she determined to look more carefully the next time she saw Diana’s cousin. She glanced once more about the room, wondering what to do next.

Suddenly, the lights went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.