The Polkadot Files - Exposing Fairytales

Case 1: Rapunzel

Once upon a time in a forest, the body of a witch was found at the foot of a tower. She lay sprawled on the grass, pale and dead, her hair a tangle of leaves and twigs and her limbs bent irregularly. Already, the people from the local villages poured over her – it was clear that none of them were here to mourn, but rather, they were here for the conspiracy. The only sound of wailing came from one person, a fair maiden with lengthy blonde hair that ran on the ground, circling the crowd at least thrice. She had arrived long after the locals gathered, and she fell on her knees and began crying ever since she laid eyes on her dead sister.

Fantasy investigator and detective Polkadot surveyed the crime scene from paces away. Her eyes glinted curiously as she observed this wailing maiden; her hair was abnormally long – perhaps the length of the tower, which seemed to sprout from the sky. Polkadot had heard a mourning person cry before, but this was different. Perhaps she was the only one paying attention, because nobody else seemed to notice that the girl cried no tears. A simple shake of the shoulder, a maintained agonizing sound, and every local was fooled.

"I – I never got to tell her goodbye –" the girl said between hiccups. She broke into another fit of tearless cries.

A local woman gently patted her shoulder. "Oh, Rapunzel, sweety, you can tell her your farewells now. Her spirit is still here."

For a fraction of a second, the girl named Rapunzel looked alarmed. However, it quickly vanished, and she threw herself over her witch sister. "I'm so sorry, sister!"

Polkadot sensed the witch. "Is she, really?" She whispered.

"She's sorry that I had fallen in love." The ghost replied sadly.

"Where is he?"

The witch had a smile in her reply. "There."

At that moment, a handsome lad appeared between the trees. His eyes looked bloodshot, and he looked as pale as the witch. He took slow, trembling steps.

The witch was barely breathing at the sight of his condition. "My prince looks so sick."

Polkadot watched as the prince fell. His head hung, and his hands drooped loosely at his sides. He looked as if he was beaten up by an army.

The witch remained at Polkadot's side. "My prince. If only he knew."

As she said it, Polkadot felt a cold chill run up her spine. The ghost was in front of her, hovering a few inches above the ground. Polkadot could see right through her at the scene, at her sister, and her dead body. She overheard two locals conversing.

"Whadya reckon, eh? Nother suicide?"

"It's true, that. These young uns want death like I want whiskey."

"But she coulda just hung herself."

"Nah, that's overdone, isn't it? No one's ever thrown themself down a tower. See how much attention it gets ya."

The ghost looked at Polkadot with plead in her eyes. "I didn't kill myself," she said, "I was murdered."

Polkadot was here to solve the case. Where there was a death, especially in a world such as this, there was a killer. She was going to find out who had done it this time.

"This is no suicide," Polkadot said loudly. Until now, she had not spoken and was not seen. Now, all eyes turned to her in surprise. They looked at her with narrowed eyes; she was a foreigner to this land, with a different accent, and different clothing. And she was suddenly addressing them.

A man chuckled. "What is it, then?"

Polkadot dug her fists deeper into the pockets of her navy-blue coat. She stepped forward casually, gazing at the tower. "A murder." She locked her gaze on the blonde maiden.