LESSON 4 - FLIPPED LESSON RESOURCE
Bonnie
"I do go blah-blah-blah!"
Species: Vampire
Age: 789
Status: Dead. That's why you're here, mini detective.
Bonnie was once the lively, energetic and humorous vampire that always bought a smile to the viewer, but maybe not so much her co-hosts of “Puberty Sucks, but at least you’re not dead”.
She had a few reasons for her friends to dislike her. She often made Nefertiti the subject of her jokes. She would take any chance she could to scare and spook Fishbowl. She got along well enough with Conan as far as we have physical evidence, but his alibi is... terrible.
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There is information hidden in the character pages you will need to decipher and find. There may also be hidden clues in the horror genre pages, dispersed amongst the writing. We didn’t say being a detective was easy.
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When you believe you’ve found the killer, vote in the comments.
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May God be your witness.
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Item 8: Travel Log
We found the following travel log/diary entry amongst the deceased personal belongings.
Hello diary! It is I, Bonnie, writing to you from the Church of Adelaide! I have always wanted to go here. The city of churches, the most important one. My skin feels on fire just being here! And, maybe the sun too, but I’ll be ok.
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The sun peaks from behind grey, heavy clouds and rests on the most prominent point of the church. The decaying red bricks cascade down like tears, the church weeping for a better time. Keep crying, Church of Adelaide.
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I dared to venture inside. The cold air felt like daggers against my burning face. I moved quickly, walking on flaming coals, until I sat in a dusty, wooden pew. I pulled my black cloak closer to my skin, fully aware of the charcoal body that lay underneath.
There was a pastor standing out front. He was balding, with thin glasses hanging off his crooked nose. His collar was too tight and made his head look like an angry balloon.
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He took the silver bowl that rested on the centre podium and diligently placed his fingers inside, before quickly flicking as if it burned him. Holy Water. I also feel the same.
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It smells damp and dewy, like wet blazers or soaked dogs. But there is no one in the church but the pastor and I. It’s a sunny day out, it hasn’t rained for weeks.
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The pastor offers me Holy Water. I see his beady eyes now as they bore deeply into mine. His thin lips present a smile, barely concealing his askew teeth stained with years of coffee.
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I dip my hand into the water. It burns, but it’s bearable. The fire tickles the pads of my fingers, finds every cut on my finger and makes a scorching home. I flick it in the pastor's face.
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Anyone who’s been around long enough knows that Holy Water does no substantial damage externally anymore.