Posted on 2008-10-31

It was a dark and stormy night – a night tailor-made for skulking, one might have thought. Except of course that it was equally dark for the skulkers, who were having trouble seeing their way.

"Oh, Miss Woodhouse!" said one black figure. "I cannot find my knife! I thought I put it just here in my bag; I had wrapped it up so carefully, just as you showed me, so it would not poke through, and now it is not there. What shall I do, Miss Woodhouse?"

"Hush, Harriet," said the other. "You may strangle your victim instead; only take care you do it quickly. And step carefully in case you have dropped your knife somewhere. You did wipe the fingerprints from it, did you not?"

"I think I did. Indeed, I am almost certain I did wipe them."

The taller figure sighed heavily. "Harriet, I only agreed to take you this time because you promised to be no trouble. Please attend better. Now did you wipe the fingerprints or not?"

"Yes, I am sure I did. I am as certain as can be. At least, I almost remember having –"

"Quiet!"

Both stopped and listened in absolute stillness.

"It was nothing," said Emma in a voice between a murmur and a whisper. "Come along, Harriet."

"Miss Woodhouse!"

"Yes, what is it?"

"What shall I strangle her with, Miss Woodhouse? Could I use my hair-ribbon? Do you think that would be effective? Or perhaps I could smother her with a pillow. Yes, perhaps that is the way. Only I do not think it would be nearly as satisfactory as stabbing. Oh I wish I had not lost my knife! Please, Miss Woodhouse, will you not advise me?"

"I set it down as a general rule, Harriet, that when a person goes to murder someone, she should always have a backup method. To go murdering with only one weapon is extremely short-sighted and I hope you will never do so again."

"Yes, Miss Woodhouse," said Harriet dolefully.

"You may use my knife. Now let us go before we are seen."

They entered the house like two shadows. Or, like one shadow and one girl dressed in black making a lot of noise and apologizing in a whisper every time she bumped something.

"Oh Miss Woodhouse!" cried Harriet, as they walked back to Hartfield. "Murdering is so delightful! I have never had so much enjoyment in an evening."

"I am glad your first murder went so well," said Emma.

"Oh thank you again and again for taking me, Miss Woodhouse!" Harriet was still in transports. "I shall never forget the way Mrs. Elton squirmed when I stabbed her. Never."

They walked on in silence for some time.

"Oh Miss Woodhouse! My knife is here after all, in my bag. And to think of its being there all this time! I thought I must have dropped it, and here it is. I remember now I put it in the inner pocket for safekeeping. It is very strange that I could have forgotten!"

Emma sighed.

The next morning Emma woke at her usual hour, and walked in to Ford's to get some new handkerchiefs. (Her last good one had somehow gotten covered with blood and had to be burned.)

Unfortunately, just as she was leaving Ford's, she met Miss Bates coming in. Of course there was no hope of avoiding her, and Miss Bates was in such a state of agitation that she began to talk before Emma could think of a suitable excuse for escaping.

"What do you think, Miss Woodhouse!" said Miss Bates. "There has been another murder! It was – I hesitate to shock you, but I always think it is better to tell people upsetting news at once. That is what mother said to me this morning. 'Just tell me at once, Hetty,' she said. 'Do not run on and try to spare me. There has been another murder, has there not?' I cannot think how mother guessed! But mother has always been sharp. She is quite clever, although just a teeny bit hard of hearing, you know. I always speak very loud and clear, but she still misses things. Now, Mr. Knightley – she likes his voice. He almost never repeats himself. 'It was Mrs. Elton' I said to her. Oh dear, and now I have told you, Miss Woodhouse, quite by accident! I am so clumsy! Well, it was Mrs. Elton. Mother did not quite catch my meaning. 'Who do you say has done it?' she said. She thought I meant the murderer, I dare say, though they have never caught him yet. 'ELTON, mother, ELTON' I said. And then she thought that Mr. Elton had killed someone! Fancy! Our Mr. Elton! What a beautiful sermon he gave last week on 'Thou shalt not kill' – mother and I thought it very moving. The poor man. It must have been quite a shock to him to find Mrs. Elton stabbed to death in her bed. If I were going to murder someone I must say I would not stab – so terribly messy. Not that I mean to murder anyone, Miss Woodhouse, no indeed. Certainly not after hearing Mr. Elton's sermon last week."

"Of course not," agreed Emma.

"I have something very important to tell you, Miss Woodhouse," said Harriet the following week.

"What is it, Harriet?" said Emma. She had been thinking about murder and was not paying very much attention.

"No, I cannot tell you now," said Harriet solemnly. "We must be in your sitting room before the fire. It must be there."

"Very well," Emma agreed, wondering if it would be too mean to murder Miss Bates next.

"Miss Woodhouse, I have a confession to make," Harriet announced when they had settled themselves before the fire.

"Don't tell me," said Emma. "You murdered Mrs. Elton in cold blood."

"Of course I did. Why, Miss Woodhouse, you were there with me!" Harriet looked confused.

Emma sighed. "I was joking, Harriet. Go on."

"I must tell you I have changed my mind about Mr. Elton. I have been so deceived in him, Miss Woodhouse! I do not believe he will ever get over his wife's death! Miss Bates told me he is quite sunk and no one expects he will ever be the same man again."

"It has been only a week," said Emma.

"No, Miss Woodhouse, I have quite made up my mind. I think Mr. Elton should be our next victim."

Emma was not unwilling to kill Mr. Elton – in fact she had spared him this far only out of consideration for Harriet. But she had not intended to make Harriet a regular accomplice. She said as much.

"I am not sure I should take you murdering again, Harriet."

"Oh Miss Woodhouse! Please give me another chance!" pleaded Harriet. "I was unprepared before and I know I behaved very foolishly. But I hope I know better than to lose my knife again. I should like to be a real murderer just as you have taught me!"

"Very well," Emma gave in. "We shall go on the next dark night."

The murder of Mr. Elton went off nearly without a hitch. Unfortunately, just as they were cleaning up the evidence, they heard a noise in the next room.

"He was not alone!" Harriet whispered. "He must have had someone keeping him company."

"Do not move, Harriet!" Emma breathed. "It is only a servant, perhaps. Very likely whoever it is will go back to sleep and we can escape undetected."

"I will go and see," said Harriet and before Emma could stop her she had opened the door and run through.

Emma heard several thumps and a sharp cry, and then silence.

Harriet reappeared in the doorway. "I have taken care of it, Miss Woodhouse," she said proudly.

Emma rushed to the doorway. On the floor lay Mr. Knightley in a pool of blood.

It darted through Emma with the speed of an arrow – no one should have killed Mr. Knightly but herself!

"Harriet! What have you done?" she gasped. "That is Mr. Knightley!"

"To be sure," said Harriet.

"This is a deplorable mistake! I should never have suggested you kill Mr. Knightley! I suppose he was here to look after Mr. Elton in his grief."

"It does not make any difference, its being Mr. Knightley," protested Harriet. "No one will ever know it was us."

"But the disparity in your situations! I wonder that you should have felt qualified to murder him," said Emma, feeling a terrible pain at her heart.

"I have only done what you taught me yourself," said Harriet. "You said yourself, no one should be safe from us, and so I believed. I should never have presumed to murder someone as great as Mr. Knightley, if you had not encouraged me."

Emma suppressed her bitter feelings with the utmost exertion, and said: "I can only venture to declare, Harriet, that you have murdered him as thoroughly as I could have done myself. Mr. Knightley is the last man on earth who would give any woman the idea of his being deader than he really was."

Emma had not long to dwell on her sorrow. As soon as they were out in the lane they heard a strange shuffling and dragging noise behind them.

"Harriet," she said with a feeling of dread creeping upon her. "I think we are being followed. Do not run, whatever you do, and do not look behind you."

Of course the minute she said this, Harriet looked.

"Oh Miss Woodhouse!" she cried in a faint voice. "It is Mrs. Elton!"

From behind them came a horrible screech.

"BLOOOOOOOOOD!" Mrs. Elton stalked after them, faster than seemed possible, her arms outstretched. "BAROOOOUCHE-LANNNDAAAUUUUU! SSSUCKLIIIIIINNNNG!"

"Harriet, we may be forced to run after all," said Emma, with an attempt at calm. "Wait until you see Hartfield, and then run when I tell you."

But she was beginning to doubt that Harriet would be capable of any such thing. She looked white and Emma was already half-dragging her by the arm. Whatever resentments Emma had about Mr. Knightley's murder, she could not just leave Harriet to have her brains eaten by Mrs. Elton.

Just as Mrs. Elton's rotting arms were stretching out with horrible grasping fingers to snatch at them, they heard galloping hoofs – and suddenly a rider all in black dashed up with a spurt of dust between them and the dreadful shape of Mrs. Elton.

"Back, you fiend!" shouted the mysterious man, brandishing a torch.

Mrs. Elton looked faintly disappointed, but she began to fall back. The rider in black drove her off down the lane until she finally disappeared in the direction of the churchyard.

"Sir, whoever you are, you have our gratitude," began Emma as the man dismounted beside them. But she stopped as the man pulled off his mask with a flourish. "Frank Churchill!"

"I knew you had guessed my secret, Miss Woodhouse!" said Mr. Churchill. "Many times I was tempted to tell you that I was a zombie hunter, but knew you could hardly be without suspicion of my true profession."

Emma had no such knowledge, but with Harriet fainting on her arm she had no time to demur. "We are already in your debt, Mr. Churchill; but if I may beg one more indulgence, would you assist me in getting Miss Smith home? I think she can hardly stand – she has had a very great fright."

"Of course, Miss Woodhouse," said Frank Churchill with a gallant bow. "And I shall not even ask what brings you and Miss Smith out at such an hour!"

Despite Mr. Churchill's promise of secrecy, Emma began to think that it would be a very good thing for Harriet to be away from Highbury for a time. Her success with Mr. Knightley had made her quite careless. All she could talk about was Frank Churchill, and she would hardly listen to Emma's warnings about zombies and Mrs. Elton.

Besides, Emma could hardly stand the sight of her since Mr. Knightley's murder.

"Harriet, what do you think? My sister Isabella has invited you to stay with her for some weeks in London," said Emma brightly.

"Oh Miss Woodhouse! I should love to visit London, but how can I leave Mr. Churchill?"

"As I keep telling you, Harriet," Emma said for the fourteenth time. "Everyone knows Frank Churchill is engaged to Jane Fairfax."

"He is?"

"Yes, of course, although I had no idea that he was a zombie hunter too. He has rendered you a very great service which must earn your respect; but as to anything further, you must let his behavior be the rule of yours."

Harriet at length agreed to accept Isabella's invitation, but not after Emma had put all her effort into persuading her.

"And you must not murder anyone while you are in London," was her final warning.

"Oh Miss Woodhouse!" cried Harriet. "But think of all the people in London! I am sure I could murder a few of them very discreetly."

"No, you must not under any circumstances. It would be very rude to my sister to commit any murders while you are under her roof."

With Harriet safely away, Emma felt she could at last mourn Mr. Knightley in peace. She was very surprised, therefore, to be woken violently one night by someone shaking her.

"What have you done with Harriet?" cried a hoarse voice.

"She is in London," said Emma, bewildered and sleepy. "Who is it? Who is there?"

She saw the gleam of moonlight on a raised knife, and as the attacker stepped forward, a glimpse of his face.

"Mr. Martin!" shrieked Emma, as the knife came down.

Emma stretched her arms. It was very cramped in her coffin and she was beginning to be bored. She found, however, that if she pushed hard, she could open the lid. The dirt on top of it did not seem to bother her, since she no longer required air to breathe. She forced her way through it, and though one of her arms fell off in the process, she merely stuck it back on again.

Once out of the grave, it felt very pleasant to move around again. Emma stalked through the churchyard a few times, enjoying the cold night air on her rotting face. She was just beginning to feel a little hungry.

"BLOOOD?" she said, thoughtfully.

She was just turning to leave the churchyard when she saw Mr. Knightley enter at the gate. She was as nearly shocked as a zombie could be, for she had been thinking of him as quite dead; but she had only time for the quickest arrangement of mind before he met her.

"BLOOOOOOD," said Mr. Knightley in the tenderest tones. He could not make speeches, being a zombie; but in the plain, unaffected, gentlemanlike groan, such as Mr. Knightley used even to the woman he was in love with, he said: "EMMMAAAAAAAAA. WANNNNNT. MAAARRRRRYYYY."

And what did she reply? Just what a lady zombie always does, of course.

"BRAAAIIINNNNNS."

(She meant that Mr. Knightley was just as intelligent dead as he had been alive.)

So they were married. Mrs. Elton was heard to remark later that the wedding was a poor affair, very little human blood, only a few chickens splattered on the walls, and no brains at all. "FRIENNNDS SAYYY. MEEE BRAIIINNNNS. GOOOOOD," she sneered in disgust.

But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true zombies who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.

Mr. Woodhouse died some years later, in distress at constantly losing so many chickens. However, he found being a zombie much more to his liking than being alive, since he never caught cold.

Mr. Martin found Harriet in London, and they had a happy career of serial murder together for many years. They were never caught, although Mr. John Knightley always suspected them.

Frank Churchill married Jane Fairfax, but she was never very happy because he was always away chasing zombies. He agreed not to hunt the Knightleys, as long as they refrained from eating any brains in Highbury.

And they all lived, or existed in an undead state, happily ever after. (Except Jane Fairfax: see above.)

Author’s Note: Dedicated to everyone in chat who inspired me, Kay, Mari, Lydia, Lise, Caroline R, and Erin LM – never forget, if anyone can pull off rotting away on his own wedding day, it's Mr. Knightley. And I owe Caroline, High-Titled Typer of Titles, because I never would have thought of "Dial M.A. for Murder" on my own.