A Paleolithic Murder Mystery

I originally wrote this for the whodunit mystery but Chose not to submit, as I could never find the right ending.

I realize, my stories tend to be on the darker side of life, (Not Dharrsheena dark). A few of my fellow creators mention how my stories bring them to tears. I understand they may wish to shy from certain stories due to this, yet they still read my works and support me, and I appreciate them and everyone of you for doing so.

Therefore, I attempted to write a silly little tale. (Wishing I had Cathy Holmes talent for this style).

This is for those who wish for a lighter take on life. I dedicate this to Kristen Balyeat, Hannah Moore and Heather Hubler and anyone else who wishes to read a happier tale.

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10,721 BC - Tuesday

The wind howls like a rabid wolf chasing demons into the darkening skies. Rain soaked and exhausted, I struggle up the narrow slippery path that leads to the cave.

I was returning home from a trek, visiting the Rhino clan. I had been summoned there to deal with a case of magically appearing, mystic illustrations, depicting scenes of deviant behavior with lewd graphic sexual innuendos. These random drawings would pop up overnight in various parts of their cavern, frightening members of the clan, who feared the worst. Believing these disturbing images would affect their children’s innocence, they called upon me to solve the mystery.

After a deep dive, investigating this apparent horrendous affront to family values and the potential downfall of social order within their fragile society. I discovered it was no more than harmless sketches painted on the wall. Turns out, it was the creation of a pubescent scamp burning off unused energy. The Graffiti’s were embarrassed by their son’s destruction of public property, but I assured them he was a normal boy, with talent. In all likely hood the paintings would soon fade away, forgotten in time. My suggestion to the elders, was to embrace the active imagination of their youth, put them to work and for the adults to lay low on the mass orgies for a while.

Heavy rains blow sideways, flooding the entrance and forcing me to stand in pools of water while my eyes adjust to the dimness with-in. Tiny fires crackle and hiss competing with the thunder as it rolled across the afternoon sky.

I was exhausted and looking forward to some well-deserved rest, with my own clan. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that I was slightly miffed by the sight which greeted me. The warmth from the fires seems to satisfy everyone, except Gorg. He was cold and there was little prospect of him ever becoming warm again.

Gorg lay in the middle of the cave, his head smashed open like a ripe melon. There was no doubt he was dead. Why he died is another issue.

I shuffle towards the prostrate body. Gorg is on his back, eyes open, his head resting upon a pile of rocks. Blood and brain matter ooze like sap from a tree onto the packed dirt, soaking into the rocky floor. Laying on the ground next to the deceased are scattered berries and in his mouth a piece of fire roasted meat still steaming. But it is what I pry from his fat fingers that grabs my attention.

In truth, I never cared much for Gorg, he was a large lazy mean man who took from others, hardly assisted with any chores, barely hunted, and he smelled bad. Yet somehow this did not seem right.

Honestly, I did not have the energy to deal with this, all I want is a bowl of mammoth broth, a warm fur to crawl into and sleep until the storm blows past. Unfortunately, as leader of the group the responsibility to solve this falls to me.

There is a cacophony of sounds echoing throughout, as someone pounds out a nice rhythmic beat on hollow logs while the rest gyrate wildly, completely oblivious to the carcass in the cave. One by one people stop dancing when they see me.

Pointing to the rapidly chilling body on the floor, I must ask. “What the fuck guys?”

Greeted with silence, I realize they are unfamiliar with the word I had just spoken, so I proceeded to explain. “The term ‘guys’ is plural, referring to members of a group.”

A soft voice calls out. “Is this term inclusive or selective?”

I clarify. “I believe this term can be used regardless of gender, if that is your question.”

Their heads bob, and tiny grunts of understanding fill in the silence.

Pointing to Gorg I ask once again. “What happened to Gorg?”

My clan appears shocked and mesmerized by the fallen form, as if noticing it for the first time. They have this look of confusion frozen on their faces, to be fair this is how they always look. Whether they are eating, hunting, or watching the sun rise and set, especially that last one. The only thought going on in their heads are, wake up, find food, eat food, mate, sleep. Fairly much in that order.

The flames flickering light cast shadows against the stone walls, elongating the features of the people. The silence inside is deafening, a total opposite from the gale blowing outside. No one is leaving the comfort of the cave today.

We were trapped, which would make my investigation easier to…. well, investigate.

The only words I hear are the questions in my mind. With a growing feeling of dread, I realized a look of confusion is now planted on my face.

This truly is a dilemma, baffled by what could have transpired while I was away, and even more so by the shear lack of emotion from the people inside. I become aware that very few eyes meet mine as I gaze around looking for an answer.

There was only one thing to say, so I ask it. “Why is Gorg dead?” I was honestly hoping for an answer. All remain quiet. I decide to start at the beginning. “Did anyone see what transpired, which caused the demise of Gorg?”

A thin crackly voice from the back of the cave calls out. “He choked on some food then fell down and cracked his head.”

Peering into the dark, it was crazy Nat, squatting on a bed of rotting furs, rocking back and forth holding her carrying basket in front like it was her child. With a deep sigh I trudged over to her, observing her mannerism and seeing if I could spot anything unusual. She was old and wrinkled, and a little crazy. It was unlikely she would live through the upcoming winter. The only thing she could do now was to gather berries and nuts and tell tales of the past. Her fingers were dyed a permanent purple from the plump little fruits she picked. Her face, hollow and gaunt as the animal bones that lay along the floor.

Nat was slowly tossing the remainder of her berries onto a fire; the smell was acidic yet aromatic. A little more than baffled by this waste of food I inquire. “Why are you burning berries?”

Smacking her toothless gums and cackling. “Ole fat ass there stole a handful of my berries, when I scolded him, he laughed then proceeded to urinated on the rest. Why, would you like them?”

Shaking my head, I proceed to a couple of my mates who were watching this interaction.

Leaning against the wall, is a large beast of a man, who has more hair than a giant sloth, politely I say. “Hi Rodger, can you fill me in on what happened.”

Turning to me and nodding. “Absolutely Bob. Well, Winston and I were over here working when we heard this commotion coming from the far end of the cave. It was clear that Gorg was harassing old lady Nat, he was stealing her food, again. Then, he must have done something to really piss her off because she lost it and started throwing rocks at him, but he just laughed and walked away. He headed over to Carries and Chads fire after that.”

Looking at the other man I pointed with my chin. “Is this true Winston?”

Now, Winston is a fine man, him and I have been friends since we were little balls of hair, He is honest but has this annoying habit of telling you only what he wants too. I remember one day, he was coming back to the camp with a basket full of fish, I asked where he caught them. His only reply was to say, ‘in the water.’ I never did find that fishing hole of his.

“Rodger is quite correct with his description of what occurred, with old crazy Nat, but what Rodger failed to notice, was what materialized after.”

Rodger cocks his head in a questioning manner. “Do tell Winston, what did I miss.”

In a conspiracy tone Winston continues with his story. “Well, while Rodger went to see Nat, I witnessed Gorg cutting pieces of meat off an iguana cooking on Carries spit… and then.”

After a pause I shrug and ask. ”AND THEN?”

“And then? You should ask Carrie, I wasn’t there.” Which I proceed to do but not before I state to Rodger. “I cannot help but notice, two large rocks covered in blood by your feet.”

“As we mentioned to you earlier Bob, we were working, pounding the meat so it can be smoked and dried.”

Looking around, I mention two more items before I walk away. “Strange, I do not see any meat.”

The two cast their eyes downward and shuffle their feet in the dirt.

I take three strides walking away then turn, facing Winston I toss the item I found in Gorg’s hand, a beaded bracelet. “I believe this is yours.” With that statement I cross the cave to Carries camp.

Upon arrival, a group of women are gathered, laughing, and waving sticks as if reenacting a scene.

“Good day ladies, I was hoping to have a conversation with Carrie, regarding the demise of Gorg.”

“Who?”

“Gorg.” I repeat, glancing toward his prone body. “I hear he stole some of your meat while it was still cooking, is this correct?”

She nodded in frustration. “Nothing he hasn’t already done in the past.”

“Hmmm, yes quite true. How did you react?”

“Well, as you know we are all one family and if my meager meal can be shared to the betterment of the tribe then I am pleased to provide.”

“Interesting, last week you said, if he stole food from you one more time you would kill him.”

“No.”

“No? I heard you say it.”

“What I said was, if he stole our food again my mate will kill him.”

All the women agreed.

“Ah, where is Chad now?” I asked, referring to her mate.

“He went hunting with the boys.”

“In the rain?” I was flabbergasted.

Pointing to the strong oak branches they were sporting, I inquired. “Why do all of you have sticks in your hands.”

A quick look of confusion then Ally, one of the women, says.” We were beating the dust out of the furs. They don’t clean themselves you know.”

Now, I am puzzled. “Don’t you do that outside?”

Ally gives me a look, like I am idiot. “It’s raining outside Bob.”

Before I could say more, a scream reverberates within the cavern. Glancing around we see Chad gathered around a group of men tossing bones.

With a disappointing look towards Carrie, I proceeded to the group of men playing the game.

Calling out. “Good day gentlemen.”

As one they answer back. “Good day Bob.”

“Chad, may I have a few words with you?”

Tossing the bones in the dirt one more time Chad stares at them as they lay there, clearly frustrated with the outcome.”

“Welcome back Bob.”

That was thoughtful, he was the first person to welcome me home.

“I am surprised to see you here; I was told you were hunting.”

A puzzled look crosses Chad’s face. “In the rain?”

“Chad, I hear you threatened to harm Gorg if he stole food from you, and now Gorg lays dead.”

“Are you blaming this on Carries cooking?”

Shaking my head, knowing this line of questioning was getting me know where. I stroll to where Gorg lay, feeling eyes on me, I sense a tension in the air. Kicking a few berries out of my way, I kneel beside the stiffening body. There are faint marks coloring his now pale skin, small welts line his arms and face. An unusual scent, stronger than normal hovers over his corpse, I smelled this before. Upon closer inspection, I realize that it wasn’t steam I saw rising from the meat earlier, it was a foaming froth.

Standing up I call everyone’s attention.

“There are two possibilities regarding this unfortunate incident.”

A voice cries out. “What incident?”

With frustration I casually point to Gorg. Everyone freezes, as I walk around to narrate my findings. “As we all know Gorg was not the most beloved of the group, but he was part of our tribe.”

A murmur of agreement echoes my statement. Taking a deep breath, I continue. “Knowing Gorg’s penchant for stealing and eating food from every one’s fire. The perpetrators waited for just the right time to extract revenge. My absence created such an opportunity. These purple berries scattered around his body resemble grapes, but the roots, and fruit from this berry contain a toxic substance. As it matures, this plant becomes more poisonous, and therefore consuming the berries is extremely dangerous.”

I had their attention.

“Yet, Gorg is a big man, and he would have needed to ingest a great number of berries for the poison to have a full affect. He was probably hallucinating, ranting and raving, yet he did not go down. Therefore, a little assistance was required, like being struck from behind with a heavy object, such as a rock used for pounding meat.”

Eyes cast down, no one looks in my direction. I press on. “I fear, this may have caused him to collapse. Yet, from the trail of blood, it appears he tried to rise. While he was in a vulnerable state, there was one more action which was required. Perhaps it was an agreement amongst those in attendance that all must partake in Gorg’s demise. Therefore, one by one every member of the clan repeatedly struck him, until he succumbs to his injuries.”

The cave felt heavy with silence. Lighting lit up the skies casting shadows into the darkness of our abode.

With a deep breath I continue. “Or possibility number two. Gorg tripped, and smashed his head upon the rocks. An accidental death. I would like to believe this to be the more plausible of the two choices.”

With in moments, sounds of agreement echo throughout the chambers.

Because I was tired and did not wish to deal with the body tonight, I casually mention. “I suggest we take his body outside.”

A voice cries out. “Yes, as an offering to the Gods, they appear angry today.”

“What? No, not as an offering, it’s so he doesn’t stink up….”

Soon the crowd chants. “Offering…. offering…offering”

As one, the tribe carry Gorg’s body outside, laying it as an offering to the sky Gods. With in moments the rains stop, and the sun shines. People are convinced the Gods are pleased with the sacrifice, which created a whole other issue.

Thank you,

Jason

Main photo by i stock