I peer around the corner of the hallway into the parlor. I hug the wall closely, sticking to the shadows--of which there are many in this vast old house. At the other end of the hallway I see the old man walk out of his bedroom and stroll casually down the hall in the opposite direction. He walks at a brisk pace, and whistles to himself as he goes. From the direction he's going, I deduce that he's headed downstairs.
Lightning flashes outside the window behind me, followed immediately by a huge crash. I am startled and turn around quickly. I then return to the hallway to see the old man gone. Damn.
I straighten my monocle and trot down the hallway parallel to the one I believe the old man to be in, hugging the walls. I cut across the observatory to the other hallway, just in time to see the old man disappear down the staircase. I follow him at a distance, moving as slow and silently as possible. He gets to the ground floor and veers off to the right. Headed toward the kitchen for a midnight snack, perhaps?
I descend the rest of the stairs in pursuit, and peek around the wall to the right. I was correct, he is entering the kitchen. Gluttonous old pig.
There is a heavy golden candelabra mounted on the wall. It's not lit, so I pull it from its perch and stalk after my prey. I push the door to the kitchen open slowly, praying it doesn't creak. I see through the sliver of an opening, the old man humming to himself in briefs as he pulls ingredients from the fridge and cabinets to make a sandwich.
I pull away from the door, and grip the candelabra tightly with both hands as if it were a baseball bat. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I then barge into the kitchen and swing the candelabra wildly at the old man, smashing it into the back of his skull with a dull crack. He drops instantly to the floor, his body limp and his head bleeding profusely. I set the candelabra on the counter and bend down to press two fingers to his wrist. No pulse. Dead.
I drag his body out of the kitchen and, with a quick glance around, quickly to the entrance of the cellar. I pull open the ancient wooden door and shove the body down the stairs, where it tumbles to a halt at the bottom. I close the door, dust myself off and ascend the stairs to my quarters, feeling quite content with myself.
2 Hours Later:
The woman in the red dress with long black hair points an accusing finger at me. All eight of the guests are standing in the cellar in a circle around the body of poor Dr. Black, who was so brutally murdered early that night. The woman holds a blood-stained candelabra in the hand that isn't pointing at me.
"It was Colonel Mustard!" Miss Scarlett declares, "In the kitchen, with the candlestick!"