Poe Party (Rewritten) - Heliot

Chapter 11: The Tell-Tale Heart

"You mean that Elizabethan hack? Right?" Ernest scoffed.

"Some people believe he had a hand in writing Shakespeare," Edgar said.

"Or that he was Shakespeare!" Oscar said dramatically.

Edward threw a bottle at the wall - it shattered and the sisters jumped back. "Shakespeare was a liar and a thief, just like every writer!"

"We're not thieves! You're delusional," Edgar said.

"Oh. Poe. Edwin. Allan. Poe."

"It's- It's Edgar."

"Earlier, when I was talking about being mad, you wrote that down."

"What? No. No, I didn't."

"You did. You were going to use it later in another tale of woe."

"That's ridiculous."

"This whole plan is ridiculous!" Ernest said. "There are countless other ways you could have exacted revenge for some made-up conspiracy."

"But what better revenge for my ancestor than to gather a group of the world's most famous authors and murder them, just like he should have done to William Shakespeare?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, but why us?" Lenore asked. "We didn't steal your grandpa's dumb plays."

"Oh. I had other reasons. I could eliminate Mary Shelley and take undue credit for Frankenstein, much the way that Stratfordian hack took credit for my ancestor. I could send a message via Hemingway that my debts are paid. I could dismiss Emily Dickinson and her constant braying about noise pollution - Christ, does that woman ever stop talking? And Mr. Wilde. It would not do for rumours of our drunken dalliance to spread."

"You were drunk?" Oscar asked.

"Quite. But I was stone-cold sober when I began courting Annabel Lee, knowing of her connection to Lenore, and the power of persuasion she could have over Mr. Poe. I manipulated her into bringing all these victims here, but I knew I would need help."

"How'd you broads get involved?" Ernest asked, definitely very drunk now. Of course, the alcohol was going to take effect at some point, he'd been drinking all evening. "I haven't pissed in five days."

"It's quite a simple story, really," Charlotte said. "Some time ago, our brother Branwell became involved with a married woman. Somehow that two-bit hussy Jane Austen found out about it."

"We murdered Jane Austen with great pride and extreme prejudice," Anne said. They high fived. "And Eddie promised to not foreclose on the Brontë house and help cover up the murder if we helped execute his plan tonight."

"I'm not particularly keen on killing people," Charlotte added, "but our house has such a lovely wrap-around porch, and also I don't want to go to jail."

"And jail you shall avoid, my dear," Edward said. "After killing Ernest and Oscar here, the three of us will be on our way, and surely, who will believe that Edgar Allan Poe did not commit these sinister crimes himself?"

"No one would believe that," Edgar said proudly.

"Yes. This house is Murdersville, population: you," Oscar said.

"I believed it was Poe the whole time," Ernest said. "Even as the real killer lays out his plan, part of me still does."

Edgar pushed Ernest away.

"It will be especially incriminating when they find all the vials of poison Anne planted in your room," Edward said.

"Sorry, um, I got some blood on those. I cut myself while delivering a syringe of poison to Miss Alcott."

"Ah, yes," Edward nodded. "After arriving late, I faked my own death as Anne turned out the lights. She then waited by the door as Louisa May Alcott, expertly spurred into action by Charlotte, ran out and stuck her with a needle of potassium cyanide. As you all checked on the body, Charlotte left the note on the table, took HG Wells' contraption, and put it on the other side of the kitchen door. Once again, acting on Charlotte's ever-so-subtle orders, Mary Shelley ran to the door. With that hallway accessible to the vault via the elevator, it was I who rigged Wells' invention to the door, electrocuting Miss Shelley, and paving the way for my own literary celebrity. Then, brilliantly, you all made the decision to split up."

Charlotte stepped forwards. "Seeing as I was with Dostoevsky, it seemed none of you would believe I was stupid enough to kill him... but I did."

Lenore laughed. "Oh, sweetie. I always thought you were stupid."

Anne stepped forward. "I awaited Oscar in the bathroom, and then accidentally killed George Eliot. They look the same from behind."

"We have the same trainer," Oscar explained. "We do a lot of squats."

Edward stepped forward again. "I knew Agatha Christie would figure out this flimsy caper immediately, so I met her at the door when she arrived, ten times with a knife."

Charlotte stepped forward again. "Then that damned psychic arrived. I was worried one of those ghosts might give the whole thing up! What a time I had trying to disrupt that nonsense."

"Indeed," Edward said. "When Krishanti summoned my brother, I knew she was starting to get suspicious. She had to go."

Anne stepped forward between them. "I cleaned up his mess by doing away with that Dickinson chatterbox."

"HG Wells was working on something that would have caught us in the act - I ensured he would not finish it," Edward said.

"We hadn't counted on the police showing up," Charlotte added. "I urged you to serve them the wine that I'd poisoned earlier."

"And Annabel," Edward said. "Sweet Annabel. When it dawned on her that I was the one who brought everyone here tonight, when she figured out that it wasn't a number of you had cause to kill me, but I had cause to kill you, she reacted poorly, running out to find me. She felt responsible, that she must put a stop to all this. But I put a stop to that."

Edgar lunged at him and Edward sidestepped at the last second, the gun dropping. "Charlotte!"

"I've never used a gun before!"

Edward ran out into the study, Edgar and Ernest behind him. Ernest pushed Edgar forwards, but he immediately got punched and fell down.

The two men squared up against each other. Ernest moved to strike him but overestimated his own swing, getting thrown off balance.

There was a crack and Ernest was out.

~~

"I was knocked out in the scuffle with that Eddie chap," Ernest said to the officer. He was faintly aware of the pain on his head but was almost too numb to feel it. It didn't feel real. "When I came to, Poe said he had escaped."

"Mr. Poe, your statement?"

"Well, yes. Um... Eddie and the Brontës confessed to murdering everyone. Eddie bashed my dear friend Ernest over the head-"

"I let him!"

"- I tried to stop him from escaping, but he said... 'I'll run away to a different country!' as he ran away... forever, probably. Odd fellow. I am deeply saddened that he murdered my..." Edgar trailed off.

"Friends," Lenore said. "Friends is the word you're looking for."

"That is quite a lot of blood," the policeman said.

"It could be anyone's. Anyone of my many, many, many friends."