And Then There Were None Extra: A parody based on a combination of the novel and the recent television adaptation of Agatha Christie’s "And Then There Were None"

(Scene: A mansion on Soldier Island.  The intended victims have been invited to this place by mysterious hosts, Mr. and Mrs. U.N. Owen, through a variety of seemingly legitimate means (promise of a job, invitation to a party, investigate the other guests, etc.).  The island is cut off from the rest of the world and a storm is perpetually brewing.  As the increasingly befuddled guests wander about the place, eat dinner, and sit around waiting for their hosts, a recording suddenly starts announcing their names and their crimes of MURDER)

Mr. Rogers: I have no idea why my name is mentioned on this thing, I’m just the untrustworthy butler who arranged his employer’s death for the money.

Mrs. Rogers: I have no idea why my name is mentioned on this thing, I’m just the untrustworthy housekeeper-cook whose husband intimated her into silence and accessory before, during, and after the fact.

Emily Brent: No need to worry, you two: my hypocritical piety does not notice social inferiors, unless I feel the need to drive them to suicide for their shameful behavior.

Vera Claythorne: Does that include me, a disgraced-and-possibly-homicidal-governess-turned-nondescript-secretary?

Philip Lombard: Not to my mercenary and mass murdering eyes, sweet cheeks.

General Macarthur: That is not how a gentleman soldier behaves, sir – one must be betrayed by one’s wife and comrade first, then go for the murdering.

Anthony Marston: Why fuss with all that, when you can simply get drunk and commit vehicular homicide through life?  My entitled status lets me get away with literally everything.

Dr. Armstrong: Ugh, speaking of drunk, I wish it was you I had drunkenly operated on – I wouldn’t have minded the death by malpractice so much.

Detective Inspector Blore: I second that: why couldn’t he have been the one who was killed in prison as a result of my criminal activity?

Judge Wargrave: Not like the one who I had sentenced to hang – that guy was totes guilts.

Extra: Soooo, I just realized that I got on the wrong boat: I was supposed to be on the one headed for Sodor Island, and I learned that this is actually Soldier Island.  Anyone know when the guy’s coming back to pick us up?

(Everyone else stares at her)

Mr. Rogers: (Ominously) Not until tomorrow morning at the earliest, miss.  And there is no telephone to call anyone for help.

Extra: That’s conveniently unhelpful.  Now I get to spend the night surrounded by a group of killers, that’s just splendid.

Lombard: Excuse me, I did not kill anyone, I only took all the food and left 21 guys to die, there’s a difference.

Miss Brent: (Knitting 10 death shrouds) Yes my girl, none of us directly killed anyone, so all you need to fear is indirect, negligent, and/or arranged death.

Marston: Actually, I did directly kill those two kids with my car, but they had no one to blame but themselves for wandering the road on the shoulder and getting in the way of my acid trip.  Or was it my drunken stupor?  Or was I actually stone-cold sober at the time?  I really can’t remember the details.

Armstrong: And I suppose I did actually create the incision that allowed the entire volume of my patient’s blood supply to leave her body, but you know, it’s not as if I did that on purpose.

Wargrave: I ordered other people to hang that prisoner – does that count?

Vera: Yes, but wasn’t he innocent?

Wargrave: Absolutely not!  The evidence was irrefutable, I saw to it myself!

Vera: Then why are you here with all of us allegedly guilty people?

Wargrave: … Would you look at that, the boy is being poisoned!

Marston: (Drinking out of a barrel) Am not, I can totally hold my liquor!  (Dies)

Extra: Whoa!  That sociopath was just straight-up murdered!

Armstrong: Indeed: I diagnose the cause as “Not entirely natural.”

Miss Brent: How odd.

Macarthur: Quite.

Extra: I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am not staying here another minute!  (She tries to paddle away from the island on driftwood and fails; she returns to the mansion to find that everyone has gone to bed) How can you all go to sleep when someone’s just been killed?!

Mr. Rogers: (Wearing his dressing gown and a nightcap) Miss, I must ask that you not disturb the other guests or my wife, who is terribly distraught by the recent turn of events and her guilty conscience.

Extra: Ask away!

Mr. Rogers: Ahem, um….

Extra: I’m barricading myself in my room.

(The next morning Mrs. Rogers is found dead, presumably also poisoned)

Mr. Rogers: Oh dear.  It seems breakfast will be delayed a bit this morning.

Miss Brent: The lower classes can’t handle anything.  No wonder they need me to tell them how to live their lives.

Vera: (Enters the parlor where everyone is gathered) Two of the 10 soldier boy figurines that were prominently displayed on the dining room table are gone!  And the two deaths match the first two verses of the “Ten Little Soldier Boys” poem that is eerily hanging in all the rooms!

Blore: Are you pointing out these facts to us because you’re the mastermind behind the murders and you don’t want anyone to miss all the symbolism?

Vera: Absolutely not!  I’m just proud of myself for figuring it out, that’s all.

Lombard: Love a girl with brains.  Want me to ratchet this flirting up a notch?

Vera: At least wait until the seventh or eighth victim, for appearance’s sake.  I am a lady, after all.

Armstrong: You’re a hysterical woman and a mere secretary, is what you are; now stop getting yourself and your betters all in a tizzy and CALM THE BLAZES DOWN!!!

Blore: And you all thought I was the annoying one here.

Wargrave: I must say, I didn’t expect that there would be such entertaining performances when all this started to go down.

Lombard: Come again, pillar of the community?

Wargrave: Don’t mind a weak old man, I’ll just go back to blending into the furniture and only speaking when I need assistance with my cancer-induced feebleness.  (He takes a pill labelled “Weak Old Man Medicine”)

Miss Brent: What I want to know is, who is going to cook breakfast now that Cook is dead?  Well, someone had to ask it.

Mr. Rogers: I’ll soldier on without her, madam.

Extra: (Sitting on top of the staircase banister, wearing the kitchen knives on a bandolier) Poor choice of words.  Anyone care for tinned beef and tap water?  `Cause I am not drinking anything that comes out of a bottle here ever again.

Vera: Why hasn’t the man with the boat come back to get us yet?  Are we actually stranded here, then?

Mr. Rogers: It appears so, miss.  Most unfortunate.

Vera: That’s it, I’m swimming for it!  I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again!  (Tries to swim for it)

Wargrave: (Wading into the waves) Wait!  Don’t leave now, you’ll ruin the grand scheme!

Vera: What?  I can’t hear you over the tides screaming out my guilt!

Wargrave: I said, you won’t get 10 feet in these currents, so come help a weak old man back to the mansion, would you, dear?

Vera: What you actually said sounded much shorter, but I’m too distraught by visions of that little boy ghost following me everywhere.

(On another part of the beach, Macarthur reflects on his naughty behavior)

Macarthur: Suppose I do deserve some sort of comeuppance for sending my wife’s lover to his death.  Wasn’t exactly cricket.

Lombard: (In the mansion) Yeah, I flunked cricket.  (He takes his gun out of his desk drawer and fondles it lovingly) You’re the only justice I know, but I fear you also will be the one to kill me.  Can justice and irony exist simultaneously?  (Pockets the gun and wanders the halls)

Blore: (Appears suddenly behind him in the main hall) My gut says the murderer is Armstrong!

Lombard: (Almost shoots him) Why would a doctor kill people?  Scratch that, I forgot we’re all murderers here: why would he kill random people?

Blore: For kicks and giggles?

Lombard: How did you ever make detective?

Blore: No one paid too much attention to my criminal machinations, so I got promoted.

Macarthur: (Enters the mansion still wearing his bathing suit) Well, gents, I’m ready to die now, how about you?

Lombard: Fat chance.

Macarthur: Suit yourself – I’ll change into more suitable attire, then go out on the rocks to peacefully wait for the end.  It’s so much better when you don’t struggle, don’t you think?

Vera: (Appears) Did somebody say “drowning”?

Lombard: I’ll catch your action later; must semi-investigate our murders first.

(Everyone clears out of the main hall; Extra enters from the servants’ quarters carrying tools)

Extra: Isn’t anyone going to help me build a raft?  No?  These are the least proactive would-be victims I have ever met.

(Hours later, Macarthur is found bludgeoned to death)

Vera: He’s been killed, just like the next soldier in the poem!  And another figurine is gone!

Wargrave: (Washing his bloody hands) What are you, the narrator?

Lombard: Blore, you’re police, why aren’t you dusting for fingerprints on the weapon that was so carelessly left behind?

Blore: Because the pretense to get me here was only to spy on you all so I didn’t bring that equipment, and as you yourself have observed, I’m a bad cop!

Miss Brent: We should at least give these bodies a decent Christian burial, because we’re all Christians here, you know, Christian, Christian, Christian, deliver me from evil, and all that.

Lombard: No burying just yet: we need the real police to investigate before that.  Boys, help me carry the retired general who let himself go later in life – we have to add him to what I’ve started calling “The Corpse Room.”

Miss Brent: Well then, I will carry on with my knitting and viewing you all judgmentally.

Extra: (Enters wearing work clothes and sweat) Another one?!  Where have all you people  been that you missed it when it happened?!  I’ve been signaling boats for help out there for hours, and they keep ignoring me!

Wargrave: All nearby residents have been instructed to disregard anything that happens here… so I assume.

(Tea time: coffee is served)

Vera: (To Miss Brent, who has moved on to making winding sheets) So, what’d you do to get corralled with this lot?

Miss Brent: Nothing whatsoever that would cause me to be lumped in with you degenerates!  The girl mentioned on the recording as the one I supposedly murdered was only an ungrateful hussy who got herself in a family way and then got herself thrown under a train when I cast her out to the wolves as she so rightfully deserved!  Could anyone blame me for that?

Vera: I think everyone would, yes.

Miss Brent: Hmpf.  What’s your story, then?

Vera: The boy I was governess to went out swimming when he was too weak for any physical activity; I valiantly tried to save him but he still drowned anyway.

Miss Brent: Bet you let him drown to get him out of the way so his uncle would inherit the family money instead and be rich enough so he could marry you for so-called love.

Vera: You’re supposed to believe I’m being wrongfully accused up until the very end!  (She storms off to stare into the distance)

Extra: (Also sitting in the parlor) Wow, you are all awful, awful people.  (Leaves to construct a hot air balloon as the power appropriately goes out)

Armstrong: (Wandering the halls) I’m afraid of the dark, but that’s overwhelmed by my feeling a bit peckish with all this stress – what’s on the menu for tonight?  (He finds Mr. Rogers had been hacked up with an axe while preparing a lovely meal, and freaks out.  He summons the others to the main hall) It happened again!  I can’t take any more distress!

Vera: (Punches him in the face) I can’t believe I’m saying this, but man up!

Blore: Yeah, else you’ll be absolutely useless carrying the stiff upstairs.

(Armstrong runs out screaming)

Lombard: (To Blore) Thanks, flatfoot, I’d just recovered from transporting the last one.

(He and Blore drag Mr. Rogers upstairs while planning their crime scene clean-up business for when they return to civilization.  Later, they all gather in a separate gathering room)

Wargrave: In order to speed up the deductions, I worked out that the names of our hosts are riddles to mean “Unknown.”  As in, the killer must be one of us, get it?  Get it?

Vera: Yes!  Way to be obvious about it.

Wargrave: I thought it was delightfully subtle, up until the moment it screams “Death!” in your face.  But that’s just my opinion.

Blore: By the way, I saw that Lombard’s got a gun, and I don’t, which makes me nervous.

(They all turn on Lombard)

Lombard: What, I’d’ve used it by now if I was the murderer and not just a murderer.  And if it bothers you so much, get your own!

(They scatter yet again)

Vera: (Re-enters the parlor and finds Miss Brent with one of her own knitting needles sticking out of her neck) Blast.  They’ll think I did this one.  (She shouts into the mansion) Everyone!  We’ve got another body!

Lombard: (Leans over the upstairs banister) Could you give me at least another five minutes before making those kinds of announcements?  I may deserve death, but I do not deserve all this manual labor beforehand!

Vera: You want me to recite the next verses of the poem and the figurine tally again?

Lombard: Never!  (Runs downstairs, scoops up Miss Brent, and deposits her in The Corpse Room, which is getting crowded)

Vera: Drat.  Now I’m the only female intended victim in this testosterone fest.

Extra: (Falls through the ceiling to the ground floor) That was a bust.  So, how many of you are left?

Vera: Five.  “Five little soldier boys – ”

Extra: No thank you!  Gotta get cracking on the next escape plan.  (She sets off to construct a telegraph system in the attic)

(Armstrong cozies up to Wargrave in the dining room)

Armstrong: Seeing as we’re the only gentlemen in this establishment now, I think it’s best we stick together.

Wargrave: We disagree on the definition of “gentlemen,” I see, but go on.

(They plot)

Lombard: (Returns to his room and sees that his gun drawer has been left open with no gun inside) Why did I never get a proper holster for this thing?  (Shouts out over the upstairs banister) You can relax now, folks, my gun’s missing!  (Everyone screams in panic) No one’s ever satisfied.

(They gather in the main hall, yet again)

Blore: Right, it’s cop time!  We are ripping this place apart, and we will find that gun and the hidden treasure if it kills what’s left of us, dagnabbit!

Vera: What hidden treasure?

Blore: Isn’t there’s always a hidden treasure in this things?

Lombard: Argggghhhh….

(They rip the house apart, ruining furniture and precious artwork alike.  They wind up also ripping wires from a generator when they burst open the attic door)

Extra: (Wearing headphones) Hey!  I almost had that working, you dolts!

(They then have a strip show as each of the bedrooms are searched, which includes all items of clothing.  Wargrave and Blore decently cover themselves up, but Armstrong and Lombard insist upon having a hairy chest-off)

Wargrave: I know you both have bathrobes, so no need to show off in front of the ladies.

(Carrying a broken makeshift telegraph, Extra wolf-whistles down the hallway and tosses bills at the men on her way downstairs.  Meanwhile, Vera decides to model her scene-of-the-crime swimsuit as her room is searched, and Lombard decides to neither help the others nor to get dressed.  The two stare at each other)

Lombard: So.

Vera: So.

Lombard: I’ve been thinking that I’d like us to be on a first-name basis, unless you feel that’d be moving too fast.

Vera: I’d like that.  Want a peek? (Opens her bathrobe to show her modest bathing suit)

Lombard: Mm, risqué.

Blore: (Enters the hallway) All right, break it up, you people make me sick!

Lombard: He’s just jealous because we’re so pretty.

(That night, they gather for dinner)

Blore: I think the smartest course of action would be that we all travel in a group or individually.  Don’t know why I didn’t figure that out until now.

Lombard: Question: for the group bit, does that include trips to the loo? (Leers at Vera)

Vera: Do you actually think your creepiness is attractive?

Lombard: I’m counting on it.

Wargrave: Your collective indecisiveness is tedious – I’m heading off to read, by myself, alone, individually, and isolated.

Blore: Fine by me; thought you’d’ve been gone long before now anyway.

Wargrave: And to think our professions make us somewhat colleagues.  (Exits to be a target)

Vera: I’m off, too, unless you all care to follow me.

Lombard: Sure – (Sees Armstrong and Blore glaring at him) Actually, you go on ahead and get all caught up on that beauty rest, `cause after the past few days you definitely need it.

Vera: What a paragon of manhood.  (She goes up to her room, sees the horror movie little boy ghost flitting around, and passes out when her memories attack her.  Lombard, Armstrong, and Blore rush to her aid)

Lombard: Thought she was stronger than this.  Miscalculation there, Philip.  Then again, she is the only eligible female around here, and I may never get another chance to hook up with someone in my doomed life –

Armstrong: Smelling salts!  (She wakes up)

Blore: Brandy!  See, I can be nice.

Vera: Poison!

Blore: As if!  I would never dispatch someone in front of witnesses!

Lombard: (Had left and returns with liquor) Here’s something less dangerous: a bottle we all drink out of.  (Does so and passes it to Vera)

Vera: Ew, cooties.

(They suddenly remember Wargrave downstairs and decide to check on his mortality status)

Armstrong: Ooh, he’s dead!  See, see, he’s all deceased, no need to get any closer to check, I am a doctor, accept my professional opinion!

Blore: Yes, it appears that his brains were forcibly evicted through the back of his skull by means of a bullet through his forehead.

Armstrong: Bullet – gun – Lombard!  You did this, I know it!

Lombard: Did not!  Weren’t you even trying to pay attention to the reason we were ripping up the house earlier?!

Blore: Unless you stole your own gun and then said that someone else stole it to divert attention away from yourself!  That’s what I would’ve done.

Lombard: Be that as it may: you know what this means.

Blore: Nooooooo!!! (He and Lombard drag the body up to The Corpse Room)

(Down to four targets, they decide to party like it’s 1939, which it is)

Armstrong: This time I’m going to drink and get high on purpose, just like that guy I hated earlier, Marston!

Blore: Who?

(They get drunk and high.  Vera and Lombard do the serious slow dance in the corner)

Lombard: Seeing as we may possibly both be dead by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll get right to the point: I’m hot, you’re hot, let’s do this.  Plus you’ll have the extra benefit of me wanting to protect you that much more.

Vera: Your coercion is almost tempting.

Extra: (Passing by with camping gear) Don’t listen to him, girl, the Devil is a liar.

Lombard: Shut up!

Extra: You shut up!

Vera: Where are you going?

Extra: I decided to take my chances with the great outdoors.  At this point, I’m just afraid that one of you will kill me simply by accident.

Vera: But it’s cold and dark out there!

Extra: Beats this downer of a weekend social.  (Exits through the front door and sets up camp at the edge of the cliff.  Armstrong and Blore watch the couple with suspicion)

Armstrong: That’s it!  They’re the Un-Owens!  They plotted this whole thing!  I knew I hated them for a reason!

Blore: That makes absolutely no sense, but I’ll bite.

(They eventually are all partied out and return to their bedrooms en masse)

Vera: Should I go to sleep, or wait and see if there’ll be hanky-panky?  (Lombard enters her room uninvited) Hanky-panky it is.

Lombard: You know, I’m really not a nice guy.

Vera: Neither am I, but no one cares right now.  (Hanky-panky ensues)

(Blore sees Armstrong leave the mansion in the middle of the night)

          Blore: I knew it was him all along!  Lombard!  You’re the only other male here now!  (Lombard exits from Vera’s room, and Blore sees that they are both severely underdressed) Hanky-panky?

            Lombard: What’d you expect, that we’d be playing cribbage?

            Blore: Just some English self-restraint, that’s all.  Listen, Armstrong just walked out of the house like a man on a mission, went right through that Extra’s campfire, and kept on going to the water!  What’re we going to do?

            Lombard: Why are you asking me?  You’re the detective here!

            Blore: Well I ain’t no Poirot, if that’s what you want.  Should we go kill Armstrong then?

            Lombard: No, let’s wait until morning and see if he kills anyone else first.

            Blore: There’s only us three!

            Lombard: Like I said.  (He goes back to his bedroom and finds his gun waiting for him on his bed) Aw, that’s nice, someone finally returned my gun!

            Vera: What on earth for?!

            Lombard: Sow the seeds of doubt, I suppose.  You don’t think the murderer would actually let me kill him or her with it, do you?

            (The three of them sit at the dining room table to watch the sun rise and ponder life)

            Blore: …and since I love to garden so much, I really should have just stuck with that instead of being a criminal cop, don’t you think?

            Lombard: (Leaning on his hand) Are you sure your name isn’t really “Bore”?

          (With the new day, they decide to go look for Armstrong outside, but Blore lingers in the mansion carrying a weak weapon)

            Blore: Come out, come out, wherever you are… (He is answered by an attacking bearskin rug)

            (Vera and Lombard run to the cliff and see Extra reflecting sunlight in flashes off a looking glass)

Extra: Top of the morning, and how many of you are left today?

            Vera: Four, but Armstrong’s the murderer.

            Extra: Cool, you figured it out!  Never would’ve thought he had it in him, though.  Wait, if you two are out here, where’s the other guy?

            Lombard: I thought he was right behind us.  (Looks back at the mansion a mile away) Guess not.

            Extra: Ooh, how could you leave behind the other guy?!  He’s totally toast!

            Lombard: (To Vera) Wait here!  (He runs back to the mansion)

            Extra: And now you’re splitting up even more!  At the finish line, no less!

            Vera: Wait, what are you doing with that? (Points to the looking glass)

            Extra: Oh, since apparently everyone was told to ignore our calls for help, I started signaling “We found hidden treasure, come and get it!”  And look, a boat is headed this way!  Human psychology is amazing!  (Vera runs back to the mansion) That’s fine, I’ll just wait here to be rescued while you all keep getting yourselves killed.

            (Vera sees Lombard standing over Blore’s stabbed body hugging the bearskin)

            Lombard: You’ll find this hard to believe, but I didn’t do it.

            Vera: No, it’s not your style: he hasn’t been shot or abandoned to death.

            (They return to the safety of the outdoors as Extra guides the boat into the harbor)

            Vera: (Sees something in a ravine) What’s that over there?

            Lombard: I’d say trouble, best left where it is.

            Vera: I didn’t get this far in life by ignoring things!

            (They climb treacherous rocks by the water and find Armstrong’s dead body)

            Lombard: Uh oh.

            Vera: For you.  (She had taken his gun while he was distracted)

            Lombard: Oh come on!  I could’ve killed you 50 ways to Sunday by now if I was the villain in this story!

            Vera: But it had to be in order like the poem, didn’t it?  “Two little soldier boys – ”

            Lombard: Enough with the poem!  Do I strike you as someone that methodical?  Or literate?

            Vera: All I know is, there’s no one else alive here to have done it.  I certainly didn’t.

            Lombard: If being a heartless mercenary has had one positive effect on me, it’s that I know that there’s someone still out there hunting us like the animals we are!  I know we’re missing somebody!

            Extra: (Waving at them from the top of the cliff) Yoo-hoo!  Sit tight, you two, the boat’s starting to dock!  I’ll let them know that we all prefer tea instead of coffee.  (Leaves)

            Lombard: OK, this looks bad, but please don’t kill me, it’d be so embarrassing!  And I thought we had a thing!

Vera: And now we have this.  (She shoots him a bunch of times)

Lombard: (Collapses in the waves) Done in – by my own weapon – how – stupid.  (Dies)

Vera: What is it with me, death, and water?  (She wanders back to the mansion as Extra takes photos with the boat’s crew on the beach.  Vera dazedly wanders past the scattered dead bodies) I should feel relieved and happy at my escape, but I only feel depressed.  (She relives how she had encouraged the little boy she was in charge of to go swimming, deliberately made sure he drowned, lied at the inquest about how she tried to save him, and then was called out by the boy’s uncle who could not prove what she had done) I suppose I really am an awful person.  I’m due for justice, I guess.  (The little boy ghost guides her to her bedroom where a noose on a hook is waiting for her) Now isn’t that thoughtful.  (She hangs herself, conclusively; the last figurine is left behind)

THE END….

Extra: (Enters the mansion) Hello?  Any survivors?  (No answer) Great, now they’re all dead, right as I got them rescue.  And everybody’ll think I did it.  (She runs back to the boat crew) My mistake, no one else is here, let’s go!

            (Forwarded to Scotland Yard: a written confession found attached to the leg of a carrier pigeon)

            I never got to tell any of them that I did it, and how I longed to tell somebody, anybody, so I will have to settle for telling a piece of paper.

            I realized that I was destined to be a serial killer when I was a wee lad, but my unexpected moral code prevented me from murdering innocent people, which sounds like a wonderful premise for a book-turned-cable-television-series.  Being a hanging judge just was not doing it for me anymore, until I hanged a kindred spirit (yes, that was my subtle reveal that my name is Judge Wargrave, elderly murderer extraordinaire).  Once I received my terminal diagnosis, I thought, “If not now, when?”  So I tracked down 10 wretches who literally got away with murder, lured them under false pretenses to an isolated mansion on an island, and played mind games with them while I offed them one-by-one.  And no, I did not count myself as one of the 10 – that was that lowlife who I hired to be my proxy in gathering the other victims.  He had to go as well, long-distance, because he was simply rot.  Now here’s how I pulled off the rest, including my own faked death: [goes into novella-length detail on how he executed his executions].  Judging (pun intended) by the results, I think the whole thing went off smashingly.  And now, time to end my suffering and add to the mystery of how this all was carried out.  I will stage my elaborate suicide and leave 10 bodies in a mansion on an island, with no murderer, living up to the And Then There Were None promise.  It’s almost lonely here now.  A shame about Extra being allowed to survive, but one must stick to the plan and not deviate from the proper course.  On that note: Farewell, not-cruel-enough world!

            With hugs and kisses,

            Judge Wargrave

            (Scotland Yard slaps its forehead for not figuring out the solution)

            Agatha Christie: If this does not go down in history as the greatest mystery of all time, then there’s no point to me doing this at all.