Your Guide to Not Getting Murdered in a Quaint English Village

by Maureen Johnson

It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside. —SHERLOCK HOLMES, “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches” by Arthur Conan Doyle

It is possible that you will find yourself in a placid and tedious little corner of England; it is just as possible that you will end up in an English Murder Village. You will not know you are in a Murder Village, as they look like all other villages. When you arrive in Shrimpling or Pickles-in-the-Woods or Wombat-on-Sea or wherever it is, there will be no immediate signs of danger. This is exactly the problem. You are already in the trap.

The Pub Everyone loves the pub. Locals gather here at any time of day to enjoy a pint of the famous local cider and have a chat. You, however, are not a local. The moment you enter the pub, you will be observed from every corner. Your habits, demeanor, and manner of dress will be studied. You are an insect that has flown into the spider’s web. You will be wound in a fabric of pleasant conversation as you are consumed. The cider is very good, though, with a mineral-rich aftertaste. How do they get flavor like that?

The village hall is a factory where petty grudges are made, and there is no grudge like a petty, hobby-related grudge. Oh, you giggled at Edith’s sonnet? Sounds like someone’s about to be found clubbed to death with a typewriter, their mouth stuffed full of poems.

The Police Station It’s just a mug of tea in a cupboard. There is only one constable, which is unfortunate, what with all the murders and everything.

Anywhere with a Vat In English Murder Villages, vats exist for the express purpose of drowning people—in beer, in pickling brine, in whiskey, in jam. This is doubly true if the vat was built by fourteenth-century monks. If anyone offers to show you their vat, say you need to get something from your car, start the engine, and run them over. The constable understands this sort of thing. Tell him about the vat.

The Old Mill It’s not where murders happen, but for some reason it’s often why.

The Newest Resident They don’t know the Old Ways and refuse to learn. They want to open up a yoga and sound healing studio in that twee Grade Two–listed thatched cottage. They’re talking to you because no one else will talk to them. They’ll be dead soon enough.

The Village Gossip “You won’t believe what I just saw! Fiona was at the pub and…just a moment. There’s someone at the door. I’ll set the phone down and be right back. Coming!”

Anyone Who Looks Out Windows It’s curtains for you.

Harvest Season The villagers are proud of their local cider, and rightly so. It’s the soil around these parts, you see, and the apple trees of the orchard must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of…you’ll do.

The Historical Reenactment Villagers love to remember the glorious old days, when they used to skewer one another with sticks, fire muskets into one another’s faces, and cut off their neighbors’ heads in the name of king or country or whatever they were into back then. To commemorate these wonderful times, villagers will occasionally put on moth-eaten clothes and big hats and run around a field with dull pikes and unloaded weapons to show everyone how very grand it was to bleed out in the mud just behind the pub. It should go without saying that one of the pikes will be sharpened, and some of the guns will be loaded. If you absolutely insist on attending the reenactment, do not attend the reenactment. Do not let your vigilance end there, though. The reenactment is often a misdirect. Another victim will die doing something normal in another part of the village while everyone else is playing murder in a field. So don’t not go to the reenactment, either.

Funerals There are a lot of these. They may seem safe because the death has already happened, but there is often a “since we’ve already dug a hole” spirit about these events. Locals have learned to economize.

The Greenhouse You’d think a building made entirely of glass would be easy to see into, but it’s impossible to get a look inside. The vines grow all the way to the ceiling and seem to be moving in rhythm. Are they…dancing?

The Kitchen No.

One must eat while traveling, which is a pity. Try to hold off on consuming anything while you are in the village or at the manor. Fill up on nonfood items, such as paper, leaves, or grass. Drink from puddles or catch rain in your hat. Certainly you must pretend to eat and drink because the locals will soon sense something is wrong if you eat all the newspapers and lap up puddles on the streets. They will kill you just for being weird.