The Book of Directions

The book is older than it looks.  The leather is still supple, the gold embossed on the cover still bright.  "The book of Directions" is written above a symbol - arrows spreading out in a star.  You flip it open on a random page.  There is an arrow pointing down the centre of the page, in solid black ink.  Around it, the text is handwritten, but as clear as print.  It says only three words:  "You are here."

Mystery at the Blackfield estate.

They gathered in what had once been the small hall of the castle - now a lavish sitting room.  The famous detective, Robert Milton, stood in front of the huge fireplace, waiting for the guests to assemble.  They drifted in, in ones and twos, sitting in the massive floral armchairs.  All of them seemed at ease, not betraying even the slightest hint that they had anything to hide.  Lady Woodhall even called out for brandy, and a few snifters were passed around, as if it were any normal gathering.
"You all know why we're here," the detective started, giving each equal measure with his gaze.  "The murder of Lord Blackfield took place in this very room."
"We're aware, old chap.  Who didn't hear him scream that night?"  Langton grinned at the other guests assembled.
"Yes... and perhaps you heard him best of all Horatio Langton.  The rope marks around his neck suggest someone with great strength pulled that noose tight..."
"I didn't like the old fool, but neither did I kill him.  I told you before, I was in my bathroom, having a shave when I heard the cry.  Why, I'd only just washed off the last of the foam, I came down in my vest to see what had happened!"
"So you say, but who shaves at eleven in the morning?" the detective shrugged dramatically.
"I hadn't long been up and thought I should make myself presentable for dinner."  Langton frowned in annoyance.  Milton nodded slowly.
"As it happens, Mr Langton here is telling the truth."
"But he's the only one strong enough to have choked the old boar."  Miss Quincy protested.
"So the killer wants us to think.  But, there is one thing that all of you have agreed on, without a doubt: You all heard Lord Blackfield scream.  I ask you, Miss Quincy, how did he scream if he was being choked?"
Miss Quincy shifted uncomfortably.
"And is it not a fact, that you, Miss Quincy, were the female junior weightlifting champion only five years ago?"
"But I haven't lifted weights for two years, due to an injury!"
"So you would have us believe.  But I saw you lifting that cast-iron pot yesterday, and I realised that you are only pretending that your injury has prevented you from lifting.  You're stronger than you look."
Miss Quincy turned red and looked away.
"However... you were only trying to hide that fact from... Colonel Ryers.  You liked him and he had expressed how he liked "pretty little delicate things" and you, in your foolishness had tried to hide who you were to impress him."
Colonel Ryers looked over at Miss Quincy in shock.
"Is this true Nanette?"
"It is," she sighed.
"You can lift?  That's damned impressive," the Colonel grinned.  "Damned impressive - I should like to see that."
"Really?"
"Really.  Oh Nanette - you should have told me!  I love you!"
"Oh Antony!  I love you too!"
"It is well then, that the Colonel is not the killer, I should hate to have to separate you when you have just found each other," Milton smiled gently.
"Enough of this old boy!  Tell us, who killed Lord Blackfield!"  Lord Tatham cried.
"I would not have thought you so impatient for the killer to be revealed... Lord Tatham.  For it was your very own lady wife!"  The detective rounded on Lady Tatham, who had remained quiet until now, and she nearly choked on her brandy.
"Me?  You are quite mistaken!"
"No mistake, madam.  You are the killer!"  The detective started to pace in front of the fire.  "You see, the thing that I couldn't understand about Lord Blackfield's death was why he had a theater mask in his hand?  He was no actor, or collector of memorabilia such as this.  But he was a skilled evaluator - he knew the worth of a range of old pieces.  You, Lady Tatham, worked in the theater as a girl, before you married Lord Tatham - and you knew the tricks of the stage!"
"This is absurd!"
"Is it?  Think on this - the mask was an exact replica of the Mask of Hiburn, a valuable piece that went missing over thirty years ago.  This one was worthless, but to the untrained eye.... well only an expert would be able to tell it wasn't the real thing.  An expert like Lord Blackfield.  You had hoped to sell the mask to relieve the pressure on your accounts - oh yes, I know of Lord Tatham's financial troubles!  However Lord Blackfield saw the mask and recognising it, asked for a closer look.  How could you deny him?  He was your host and if you had said no, he would have doubted its Genuineness.  However, if he looked at the mask he would also know it to be a fake.  What to do?  You did the only thing you could do - you painted the inside of the mask with a poison, so clever, that when he touched it he would be overcome - you had hoped it would look like a heart attack."  He raised a finger, captivating the audience.
"But!  You didn't account for the pain - oh yes this poison is deadly - but it takes time to work.  Time enough that Lord Blackfield would have been able to cry out.  One scream was enough - you knew you had to keep him quiet.  You grabbed the curtain rope and put it around his neck to cut off his screams.  No doubt you wouldn't have had the strength to choke him if he had been able to fight back, but he was weak from the poison.  You were able to hold him there in silence while he died.  When you removed the rope you saw the burns to his neck; an unintended effect, but one that you were quite pleased would throw everyone off your trail."
"Margret!" Lord Tatham gasped, "Is this true?"
"Yes it is!" Lady Tatham stood, the meek veil removed to reveal her in her unrepentant glory.  "I did it for us William!  Can't you see?  We would have lost everything."
"Oh Margret..." Lord Tatham shook his head sadly.
"Sargent."  Milton nodded to the bobby lurking in the back of the room, and he stepped forward to escort Lady Tatham away.
"Bravo, Mr. Milton," Lady Tatham applauded as she retreated from the room.  "Another case solved."
Milton bowed.

Guard Duty

The problem with guarding the Fountain of Youth was that it was just so boring.  All it did was sit there, and all Fred did was sit there too.  It had been interesting when he'd first arrived, all exotic and scenic.  But now that the standard metal fences had gone up, and the standard booth had been installed, it had lost that mystic charm and been reduced to just another attraction to be watched overnight.  Fred stretched and flicked his gaze over the CCTV monitors in the booth.  They showed the same as they had ten minutes ago, and the same as they had yesterday, and the same as they had the month before and for the past year.  Boring.
But wait!  A jeep, approaching from the south...
He leaned forward and watched it trundle up the road towards his booth.  It stopped just around the corner.
"Oh come on, stop arguing about whether it's a good idea or not and come try and talk me into letting you in."
Finally the jeep set off again, and he looked up to see headlights rounding the corner.  With a grin on his face he straightened his tie, checked his weapon holster and clicked on his torch.  He then stepped out of the booth and waved the jeep to stop.
A young woman wound down the driver-side window.
"Oh hello," she said, flustered.
"Can I help you miss?" Fred replied with his sternest expression, while flashing the torch into the faces of the car's occupants.  Three women, all in their early twenties.
"Oh erm, well, we were just wondering if you'd let us in to see the fountain?"  She gave her best smile, although it didn't reach her eyes.
"No."
"Oh well, uh, ok, sorry to bother you."  She started to wind the window back up.
"Now, wait just a minute!" Fred stopped her in her tracks.
"Yes, sir?"  The woman's eyes had grown wide and fearful.
"That's all you're going to try to get in?  Ask me nicely?  Come on.  There's three of you.  Maybe you could try to rush me, tie me up and steal my keycard, eh?"
"What?"
"No?  Well how about I pretend to be asleep?  You can get in and then I can stop you once you're inside the fence... be all like, "FREEZE OR I'LL SHOOT!""
"We don't want any trouble..." the woman quickly started to wind the window shut again.
"How far did you travel to get here tonight?  Don't give up so easily!  I'll give you a good head start!"
The woman slammed the jeep into reverse and roared backwards, away from Fred, then performed an excellent J-turn, and careered around the corner and out of sight.
Fred watched them go with a chuckle, then returned to his booth, put his feet up and pulled his cap down, and went to sleep, same as he did every night.

The most obvious explanation is usually the right one.

"Observe."  Fredric Longton held out a compass on the palm of his hand.  The needle swung around, appearing as if it were going to settle at the magnetic north, as it should, but then started to speed up again, and swung wildly from side to side.
"Something is interfering with it."  Roger Greene, self-proclaimed local expert on the scientific wonders of Derbyshire, looked around.  There wasn't anything obvious that would do such a thing. The teashop was set at the edge of the valley walk, well away from any other buildings or machinery - and it didn't even have electric lights yet.  He walked a circuit of the room, stopping to study each of the sturdy wooden tables, white linen tablecloths, and floral-patterned china teacups.  "Have you bought anything new in the past few days?"
"Only the abacus."  Mr Longton nodded to the counter, where a painted abacus stood alongside the till and a display of homemade scones.
Roger nodded seriously and made his way over to it, giving it the proper consideration.  It was a completely normal abacus, wooden beads strung over a wooden frame.  He flicked one of the beads to the side and it whizzed across and knocked into the next with a resounding clack!  At Mr. Longton's irritated look, he returned the bead to its original place.
"And you say this only started two days ago?"
"Yes.  We had walkers asking us what was happening - if there was some kind of anomaly that should explain such strange behavour in their equipment."
Roger nodded slowly, his face schooled into an expression of wise consideration, as if he was turning over several possibilities.  In truth, he had no idea what was causing the strange behavour of the compass.
"You say that walkers were complaining of this when they came into the shop?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Well then, I conclude that it's nothing in the shop itself - clearly they were experiencing the effects outside."
"But there isn't anything but grass and trees and rocks outside."
"Some rocks can give off magnetic interference," Greene insisted.
"I don't know much about science, it's true," Mr. Longton conceded.  "But don't rocks normally stay the same?  They weren't giving off any magnetic effects before."
"That is true... unless perhaps there is a new kind of natural phenomenon here that we haven't seen before..."
"Like a new rock appearing?"  Longton raised an eyebrow.
Roger could see he was losing the proprietor's respect.
"Well, let's take a look."  He strode to the door with more confidence than he felt, and stepped out into the warmth of the summer sunshine.  "Do you see anything out of place?"
Longton sighed, but cooperated, shading his eyes and scanning the horizon.
Roger did too, although he didn't know what he was looking for and was unhappily deciding that he would have to admit defeat and confess that he didn't know what was happening.
"There!" Mr. Longton suddenly called out, pointing an excited finger towards a pile of stones.  "That rock there is new!"
Although it had been his silly statement that had started it, Roger felt himself flush with annoyance.  Did Longton really expect him to believe a rock had just "appeared"?  Especially one the size that he was pointing out.  He judged it would have stood waist high to himself, and he was not a short man.  Just as he was about to give Longton a piece of his mind about mocking him, the rock lurched.
"Goodness, did you see that?!" the Proprietor exclaimed.
"Did it move?"  Greene frowned, squinting against the sun.
Again the rock lurched, and then slowly hovered upwards.  The two men watched in astonishment as it rose higher and higher, and then suddenly whisked away, speeding through the clear sky until it was no more than a speck in the distance.
"Well," Greene said, with an air of authority.  "Well, that explains that.  Shall we have a cup of tea?"

 

Like

The sky is an endless blue, streaked with the vapour trails of sleek white aircraft.  The sea laps gently against the shore, small foamy wavelets darkening the golden sands.  The trees sway gently in the soft breeze, and the colourful birds sing piping tunes.  A turtle, one of the last of her kind, pulls herself from the breakers and starts her long journey up the beach.  She makes the slightest of noises while she digs a hole with her flippers, flicking sand in shimmery arcs.  Once her eggs have been laid, she covers them and returns to the sea.  You don't see any of this.  You're too busy, checking your phone to see if anyone else has seen anything interesting today.

 

Who?

"Where does the monster live?"
"I saw him go in that cave."
"Why does the monster roar?"
"That's just how monsters behave."
"What does the monster eat?"
"Honey and berries and fish."
"How does the monster fish?"
"A strike of the paw and a wish."
"Who is that person there?"
"The one all covered in hair?"
"With the big sharp teeth...yeah."
"Oh, don't worry that's not a monster, that's just a bear."
"Bear?"
"Bear."
"RUN!"

Bridge

If you looked closely, you could still see the shape of the bridge, as it had once been.  Over a hundred years ago, someone had looked upon this very same river, and devised a plan both practical and elegant to span the flow.  In those days, the details had been as carefully thought out as the structure; a wrought iron swirl here, a flower there, to blend the work into the landscape, to bring as much pleasure to look upon it as to walk over it.  The iron groaned again.  The red and white warning tape fluttered in the wind, its flimsy line holding back a crowd of curious onlookers.  Like a huge animal that had been infested with parasites, the bridge was now covered in padlocks.  All shapes and sizes and colours clung to its old black iron, and when they had run out of room on its flanks, they had started on each other, layer upon layer of bulbous metal ticks.  It was not picturesque here anymore.  There was no graceful arch, no people ambling along in the sunshine.  There was only the sad moans of the old creature in its death throes.  They hadn't meant to destroy it.  Just to leave a mark.  But now that special place, that graceful walk over the river was gone.