When my husband and I traveled through India we went with a group. Much like the characters in my new release Wanderlust, we traveled in a truck, both camping and staying in hotels during our circuit of India. At the beginning of the trip we decided we’d play a game that’s all about murder. Here’s how it works:
Everyone receives a slip of paper, one of which bears the word “murderer”. Once the murderer is picked he or she quietly tells one member of the group they are murdered and how they must die. That particular person must pretend to die in the chosen manner and then he or she is out of the game. The murderer chooses his next victim and waits for them to die before choosing another. The object of the game is for the person acting as the murderer to kill off everyone before someone in the group discovers his “or” her identity.
One person acts as the judge. All players can take one guess at the murderer’s identity. If they make an incorrect guess, they are out of the game.
Here’s a little real life drama from when we played the murder game during our trip to India. My husband was in charge of lighting campfires each night, and the murderer suggested he died very realistically with fire. He scared me half to death. I was so angry and upset I refused to play the game any longer. I also didn’t talk to my husband for a few hours. Mr. Munro won the prize for the best death, and we still have his small plastic Oscar trophy. It’s bright orange – for those who’d like to picture it.
In Wanderlust, the passengers play the murder game. Anna, the tour leader isn’t very amused with her passengers when they pretend to die. And when her passengers start dying for real, she’s not impressed with the game at all!
Here’s an excerpt from Wanderlust showing the first death in the murder game.
Wanderlust by Shelley Munro
A loud, terrified scream rent the air. The fine hairs at the back of my neck rose. And when the feminine scream sounded a second time, I grabbed my T-shirt and dragged it back over my head. I only paused to step into my jeans before sprinting from my cabin.
A group of my passengers milled together outside the cabins at the far end of the hotel grounds. Alarm seared through my gut, lending my feet wings. I covered the distance between my cabin and passengers in seconds flat, despite the gravel footpath beneath my bare feet.
“What’s wrong?” I squeezed out the words between adrenaline-fueled pants.
“Oh look. It’s An-An-Anna!” my sister warbled. “She’s dead. She’s dead, dead, dead!” Elizabeth was rotten drunk. She stood between Jack Donovan and Carmichael Jones and wobbled from side to side.
“You’re drunk.” My eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re all drunk.”
“Not too drunk to notice you’ve got your T-shirt inside out,” Jack said.
“And you’re not wearing a bra. Shouldn’t do that when it’s so cold in the mornings,” Elizabeth chided. She spoiled it by hiccupping loudly. The three of them laughed hysterically.
“Antonia’s been murdered,” AJ said.
It was then I noticed Antonia, another of my passengers lying on the ground. Unmoving. Fear and anger knotted inside me. Why weren’t they doing anything? I pushed past my passengers, elbowing Elizabeth and company aside when they didn’t move fast enough. “What’s wrong with her? Are you sure she’s dead? Have you called for a doctor?” Lord, Antonia wasn’t moving. She didn’t even appear to be breathing. Sheer black fright froze me for an instant before instinct kicked in and my first aid training came to the fore. I sank down on my knees and felt for a pulse. A strong, healthy pulse beat beneath my fingers. Confused, I glanced up to find every one of my passengers smirking at me. I looked back at Antonia. Her eyes were open now and she closed one green eye in a wink.
“Gotcha,” she said with a great deal of satisfaction. “We decided we’d award a prize for the best death. I think I might have a good chance of winning.”
Shock yielded swiftly to fury. I leapt to my feet, clenching my teeth together and glared at them all. “I thought there’d been an accident. I thought Antonia was really dead.” I hurled my words at them like stones, but it didn’t seem to puncture their alcohol-induced hilarity. They’d obviously spent most of the night drinking and partying, although some of them were worse for wear than others. A vein throbbed at my temple, and I felt my face grow hot. Damn, didn’t they see how irresponsible they’d been?
“We’ve started playing the murder game,” Sebastian said from behind me.
“You!” I whirled to face him, allowing every bit of my anger to show in my face. I literally shook with it. “You should know better.”
His brows rose a fraction while his face remained expressionless, but I just knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking. They thought I was overreacting. Fine. They could think what they liked.
“The truck will leave at eight on the dot. Make sure you’re ready with all the packs and sleep gear stowed in the back locker.” My voice was harsh, my words letting them all know I meant business. Yep, bitch number one. Aware of the chill in the air and Sebastian giving my chest the once-over, I wrapped my arms across my breasts and stamped back to my cabin.
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