Collaborative Stories

The man in the black coat walked down the street.  The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his face so no one knew who he was.  He turned a corner, and turned into a small building.  Inside was a room, with a huge crowd surrounding a dead body, all their mouths wide open. Murmurs were going through the crowd as they stared. The man was confused. Was this the murdered man that had been killed three weeks ago? The man spoke:

"What is going on here?" he asked. He only knew a few people from previous experiences at work. But half of the people examining the dead body the man could not name.

"Oh, Detective Black! We're so glad you've come! We need you to find out who murdered this man!" said a woman with a pointed hat like a witch's.

The case had been covered weeks ago by a journalist that worked for the local paper, the Motown Chronicle. Not even the police had found out yet who had committed the crime and why. Strange things seemed to be happening. Detective Black remembered random murders like these back in the days of before he had destroyed his evil nemisis in a sinking ship. All of a sudden, a man dressed in a purple robe in front of a very old mantle, said to be as old as time itself, sighed impatiently as if waiting in a long line for something very important he needed to get to now. "Black Panther, come with me," he said, making motions with his gloved hands. Detective Black was startled by being unusually adressed by his secret agent name, the Black Panther. He followed the man in purple robes to a secret trapdoor right in front of the mantle. Everyone watched as Detective Black crossed the room, but when the man in purple opened up the trapdoor everyone's attention was drawn to the dead body on the floor. Reluctantly, Detective Black climbed into the trapdoor, not sure if the man in purple was a friend or a foe.

Black Panther (or Black for short) followed the man down a steep ladder that almost felt as if he were climbing on the bottom of the monkey bars it was so slanted. Sweating, Black landed on the hard dirt ground of the tunnel. He coughed as dust arose and caught in his chest.

The man in the purple robes fell gracefully to the ground almost without any noise. Dust swirled around him too, but he did not cough. Black tried to see his face, but it was covered by a purple mask. Of course, thought Black. Perfect. Now I don't even know who he is!

"You may be wondering who I am," said the man in purple with a deep, low voice that was somehow recognizable, but Black couldn't put his finger on it.

"Of course," said Black. "Anyone would be." He tried to sound calm, but really he was very frightened.

"I already know your name. My name is Maricous Brooks. I believe we've met before, when you tried to kill me not so long ago." The man smiled wickedly.

Black gasped. That's why the voice was familiar! It belonged to his evil nemisis, Maricous Brooks, on of the country's top ten most wanted criminals. Brooks cackled as staggering men with spears and ragged clothing came out from all around him, encircling Black. The detective pulled out his knife and slashed away, but magically the wounds seemed to heal without a single scar. He fought them off with his knife for what was like ten hours to him, but was really about five minutes. Exhausted, he stopped, breathing hard. Brooks laughed as his men bound his hands and feet with rope on a stick. As they carried him away, Black's head hit a rock. He blanked out for a long time, so long that Brooks even thought he was finally dead...

But was he?