Endless Fiction

2009-06-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

Aspidistra paused to retie the laces of her hiking boots. It felt good to take a moment away from the arduous climb. She pulled a bandana from an outside pocket of her backpack and wiped her forehead. The sweat had caused her tiara to slip down to the bridge of her nose.

"Time to move on," she thought to herself, as she adjusted her tutu. "Gotta go."

As she turned to resume her trek, she heard an odd noise. Somewhere off to her right. It seemed to come from behind a strange formation of wind-eroded rocks. It was like nothing she had ever heard before. She hesitated then decided to delay her journey for a few more moments
and investigate.

"What in the world could it be?" she muttered aloud.
[Maddog]

The leaves rustled and just as Aspie was about to scream, Stacy London and Clinton Kelly leapt from behind the trees! Along with her sister, Aubrieta (their mother had been a botanist specializing in garden plants of Asia, until a fatal encounter with an unusually large venus fly trap). "Aspidistra!" they cried. "The tutu and the hiking boots have GOT to go! You've won a shopping trip in New York!"

"Aub," Aspie exclaimed. "How could you do this to me? You know I suffer from panic attacks. New York City is the worst place I could go! I want to stay here in Vanuatu, not go with Stacy and Clinton..."

"Who are Stacy and Clinton?" Aubrieta replied. "Asp, are you hallucinating again?"

Then Aubrieta spotted it, beneath Aspie's crown, the telltale bite of the hallucenogenic spider...

[Gwen]

The Case of the Neighborhood Nuisance

2008-09-26T10:21:00.000-07:00

“Well that was an odd book,” I thought. “I’m glad to be done with it. Too many weird characters, rhyming quests and not enough romance or violence for me.”

It only took me 2 years, 3 months and four days to finish it. What, with being a stay-at-home (ha!) mom to three kids. My kids.

I sighed and glanced at the clock. 3:13 a.m. What else could I get done, I thought, now that I had some time to myself? I brushed the hair away from my face and felt something sticky. “Hmmm. Wonder what that is?” I tasted it. It was YoBaby! Vanilla crème yogurt. “That’s pretty good,” I thought. “I wonder if there’s any left?” I reached again for my hair, but then thought better of it and negotiated my way to the fridge. One more container left. “Me or the baby? Me or the baby?” I asked myself before giving in and ripping off the lid. It was gone in 2 bites. “Hmmffph. Who the hell ever thought to make such small containers?” I asked the empty room. “Oh, yeah. It’s for the baby.”

“Well, I better get baking,” I thought, “so little miss perfect and her mini-me don’t get their panties in a wad thinking I’m not bringing anything to the Halloween Hoedown this weekend. Chocolate chip pumpkin muffins aren’t fancy, but they’re going to be devoured. Much more quickly than whatever fancy-schmacy delicate delight she brings.”

(Propietaria de Casa Amarilla)
______________________

An hour later, not a creature was stirring, especially my spouse. I smiled to myself. The timer on my oven just beeped and I opened the door and inhaled deeply. The smell of the muffins nearly caused me to swoon with delight. A moment later with a mouthful of the sweet treat and a steaming latte warming my hands I sat contemplating the day ahead.

Apparently, I had dozed off without realizing it. A low wail disturbed my dreams. The volume increased exponentially and I jumped to consciousness realizing that the baby was awake. I stood abruptly spilling the now cold latte in my lap. No matter. The spreading stain coordinated with the yogurt still in my hair as well as the recently acquired muffin crumbs.

I dragged myself upstairs, trying to avoid the toys the twins had left strewn about with care. I knew that one little squeak and they would be up competing in a volume competition with their baby sister. I made it up twelve stairs, past every noisemaking toy we own when I suddenly stepped on a piece of Lego. Even though I bit back every expletive that came to mind and emitted only a quiet hiss and a guttural "CRAP!", the boys sensed my misery and simultaneously bolted from the room they shared knocking each other over in the process. I simply shoved them in the direction of the stairs and went to rescue their 9 month old sister. My dear sweet husband snored on, oblivious to the chaos. "How the heck did I get here?" I wondered.

My name is Daisy Campbell and I know exactly what led me to this place in life. Hank. Hank and I met in college, fell in love and married soon after graduation. He pursued a career with the fire department and I taught elementary school. Seven years later we decided that we needed to stir things up so we indulged in our favorite extracurricular activity, sans safety gear, and got pregnant. Okay, I got pregnant. With twins! Boy twins! Cool Hand Luke and Dirty Harry... cute, huh? A few years later, wanting again to spice things up again, we wound up with a little girl! We christened her Janie Sue but we call her Sparkle. Hank and I believe in the value of having a stay-at-home parent which is how I got this job. I had previous experience with kids and Hank didn't think he was up to the task. As I reflect on my life while I watch my beautiful, darling children sleep, a glass of wine in each hand, I think, "Of course I am up to this job. I am WonderMom! I have been blessed with the most amazing children on earth." It's when they are all awake that I have second thoughts.

Up half the night I felt a little bleary eyed but what was new? I made it downstairs, corralled the twins, put Sparkle in her high chair and started the breakfast proceedings. Soon Sparkle had gummed half a blueberry waffle and the boys had mowed through several bowls of Froot Loops. As I gazed, half-awake, lovingly at my children, I felt something wet and cold drip into my lap. At the same time my right cheek was on the receiving end of a very gummy waffle chunk. Not two seconds later I heard Hank yell, "Honey! Where's the toilet paper?" I, of course, had forgotten that the boys had used all the remaining toilet paper the day before to turn each other into mummies. Then, the cat began to yowl and then puke in a dramatic and protracted manner. "Oh, boy," I cringed. "It's only 6am. What next?"

[Mommy Hawk]

_________________

I was at my wits' end, torn between courses of action. Disarm Sparkle, who was turning the kitchen into a sticky disaster, grab the cat to see if it was in the throes of death... and if it wasn't, call the vet... or take the new roll of Cutrite wax paper upstairs to Hank as a substitute for the Charmin the kids had used up. As I hesitated there was a flash of blue light, a crackling sound and the smell of ozone. For an instant, I thought it was some kind of electric short and my heart plummeted into my Nikes. Another domestic disaster! The lights stayed on, however, and the refrigerator continued to hum. No cries of alarm from the bathroom upstairs. Just as I regained my equilibrium I was startled to see a strange figure standing in the corner of the kitchen. Alarmed, I cried out, "Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen? Hank! Hank!" I confess that I was a little bit alarmed.

Before I could grab the phone and dial 911 the odd figure spoke. "Hang on a minute, Daisy. No need to panic. I'm your fairy godmother."

"Yeah, and I'm the Dalai Lama, you freak! Out! Out!"

In fact, she looked a little bit like the Dalai Lama in drag, if you can picture him in a blond stretch wig, an ankle-length tutu covered with sparkly stuff and a tiara. She was holding a wand with a star on one end. I wondered if it could be used as a weapon. I grabbed a spatula, raised it in a threatening manner and shouted, "Scram!"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Why do I always get this kind of reaction? You'd think no-one had ever heard of fairy godmothers. Boy, is this a thankless job. Hey! I really am your fairy GM."

"Prove it!" I challenged, gauging the distance between me and the telephone and playing for time.

The person in the corner sighed, pointed her wand at the poor cat who was staggering in circles after having just evacuated her entire gastro-intestinal tract, and said, "Epizootics!" There was a puff of smoke and in the cat's place stood a penguin. "That do it, Hon?" I could only gape mutely. "Okay, then," she went on, "I'll tell you why I'm here." The penguin pooped on the floor. I mustered up a feeble, inquiring look. She continued, "I need your help. I need your unique problem-solving abilities, your stamina, your bravery in the face of fire."

"Me?' I asked. "Why me? I don't have any of those qualities. Where would I get those qualities? I'm only a full-time mom with three children and a husband who need a firm hand."

"I think you just answered your own question. You are intrepid, and I need intrepidness. Intrepidity? Intrep-whatever. I need you to go on a special mission. Specifically, a mission that will take you through time, back to the early 1940's, back to Nazi-occupied Romania, to rescue a key nuclear scientist from the Nazi swine and smuggle him across Eastern Europe to the Allies. You'll be given a code name: Danger Woman."

"What about my family?"

"Suspended animation will do the trick until you get back."

"I dunno." I hesitated. "I have a pedicure on Wednesday."

[Dear Old Dad]

__________________

"Hon? Hon!!"

It sounded like Hank was very far away. I looked up and my eyes cleared a little. He was standing in the corner with not a wand, but a pee stick in his hand.

"What's wrong with you? he asked. "You got your meds mixed up again, didn't you? You're supposed to take one happy pill and two blood pressure pills in the morning. It scared me when you started shouting for me. And, what's Harry doing in his Halloween costume from last year? He doesn't want to be a penguin again, does he? I thought we were dressing the kids as Moe, Larry and Curly. We agreed on it. By the way, it looks like he got his diaper off again. Whew! You gotta get that cleaned up!"

I slumped into a kitchen chair. "I really do need to be more careful with my meds," I thought. "The happy pills are great, but they can go a little far when I get the dose wrong. Geez."

I glanced over at Hank and my heart did a little flip-flop. Not because he was so handsome, standing there trying not to gag at the poop on the floor, but becuase of what he held in his hand. I had forgotten all about taking the test last night. Afraid of the results, I had set it aside and kept my mind busy with finishing my book. That never-ending quest. That's what caused me to forget about the test. (Dammit, there's that rhyming thing again.)

"What?" Hank said. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'm not staring at you. I'm staring at that," I responded.

He looked down at the pee stick in his hand. "Oh, yeah," he said. "You're pregnant again and you don't even bother telling me? I have to find the test lying around? Or were you trying to surprise me like you did the first time? 'Cause this is definitely a surprise!"

"Oh, my God! It's positive?!?" I shouted, not exactly, um, thrilled. "Well, it's got a pink line here," Hank said.

Grabbing it from his hand, I looked for myself. "Geez, Hank! You'd think that an award-winning fireman with a PhD would at least be able to correctly read a pregnancy test. TWO pink lines is a positive. This is definitely negative. See? Just one line. That's the control line. And, I wouldn't even be taking the test if you handn't got so frisky with me after the Fireman's Ball last month."

"Whew," I thought as my heart slowed. "Not that I don't love my darling little babies (when they're sleeping), but another right now wouldn't exactly have me doing the happy dance. But, then again... Do you want another baby?" I asked Hank?

With a somewhat frightened look in his eyes, Hank simply started backing out of the kitchen.

[Fertile Myrtle]
___________________

Days later, after my chocolate chip muffins trumped little miss perfect's fancy-schmancy delicate delights at the Halloween Hoedown, after I stocked the closet with a buttload of toilet paper (we're talking Costco size buttloads), after I finally broke down and bought one of those weekly pill organizers to help me keep my meds straight, after I double and triple checked to make sure that our family was not unexpectedly expanding, I found myself alone enjoying a strong cup of coffee and the delicious sounds of silence, no kids, no husband, no cat, just me and the dawn. "Life is good," I thought.

Or so I thought.

I decided to stretch the moment. "Should I go and enjoy a hot shower in my newly remodeled bathroom or retrieve and actually read the newspaper?" I wondered. After using several precious moments deliberating, the newspaper won.

I grabbed one of Hank's old jackets which were hanging on a coatrack by the door and put it on over my pajamas. I was glad I did as there was a definite bite in the air this November morning. I flipped on the porchlight and stepped outside glancing around for the newspaper. The carrier was inconsistent at best and seemed to enjoy sending subscribers on endless hunts for the paper. After a moment or two of searching the porch and walkway without luck I wandered over toward the car. As I rounded the front end of the van, a silver Honda Odyssey, my foot made contact with something soft. "Finally!"

I reached down to pick up the paper and expected to feel the frosty plastic bag encasing it. Much to my surprise my fingers closed around something more akin to fur. I jumped back in disgust. Fred, our feline hunter, must have left his latest kill on the driveway. Not wanting the kids to see his prize, I went back inside and retrieved the flashlight. "I might as well dispose of the kill before the children wake up," I decided.

Armed with the flashlight (darn these dark November mornings) I approached the car and aimed the beam toward the dead animal. Only it wasn't a dead animal. It was a dead leg, a dead furry human leg... attached to a dead man! Not knowing what else to do, I screamed.

[Caroline]

__________________

No sooner had I let out a shriek than there was a flash of blue light, accompanied by a crackling sound and the smell of ozone. I jumped back reflexively and stared. There in the glow of my flashlight was the Dalai Lama again, replete with her tiara, sparkly tutu and wand with a star on the end. This time I noticed that she was wearing Converse All-stars with skulls and crossbones all over them. I felt my forehead to see if I was feverish.

"Beat it!" I said. "You're just a figment of my imagination."

"Well, maybe so, dear," responded the fairy godmother person, "but I only show up when I'm called."

This was irritating. "Funny," I said, "I don't remember calling you. And even if I were demented enough to want to call a fairy godmother I have no idea of how to go about it. So clearly you are mistaken or are up to something. Scram!"

"Tsk, tsk," said the fairy godmother. "You can't call me on a cellphone! No, I respond to stress. And Daisy, honey, you are a prime candidate for my help." There was an unmistakable low squeak and the fairy godmother blushed. "Oops! Too much fiber!"

"Help?" I gritted between clenched teeth. I could feel the muscles in the back of my neck bunching up. "Who needs help? I have everything under control. Stress? Me? I'm a poster girl for cool! Go away!"

"You ignored me last time. Whassa matter? My offer of a secret mission not good enough for you? Maybe you didn't like the name 'Danger Woman.' No biggie, I guess, but had you taken me up on the offer it would certainly have been a change of pace. But I have other irons in the fire. Things that need a person of your caliber to tackle them and wrestle them to a conclusion. These kinds of adventures will redirect your stress big time. No time to ponder whether the plumber will show up before the basement floods or if the exterminator will be able to zap the possum-size rat in the attic before it chews the electric cable or gets into the Froot Loops. What do you say? I can come up with a better nom de guerre!"

"Hit the road!" I responded. "By the way, I don't know if you noticed but I have a dead body in my yard. Pardon me while I go call 911."

"Ooh! An adventure! Don't call 911! You can solve this crime yourself!" the fairy godmother exclaimed, hopping up and down and clapping her hands together. "I've got your back! It'll take your mind off your domestic tribulations, your familial angst! You go, girl!"

"I hate that phrase," I answered. "Vamoose." The fairy godmother receded into the gloom. I wondered if and when she would reappear. If stress conjured her up, then I needed to stay calm, cool and collected at all times. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and looked around. She seemed to be gone. Good. I looked toward the car and the leg that protruded from under it. "I wonder who it could be?" I whispered to myself. "Hmmm..."

[Confused]

___________

"Good morning!!!" I heard, as the scent of some (probably very expensive) perfume engulfed me.

"Oh, no," I groaned to myself. First a figment of my imagination and now someone I desperately wish was just a figment of my imagination.

"Well if isn't Miss Creme Brulee," I said. "Trying to get some fresh air before the sunrise sends you back to your coffin?"

"Oh, Daisy!" She laughed brightly, completely oblivious to my well-aimed venom. "I was just stepping out to get the paper when I heard a strange screech. I was thinking one of Mr. Jenson's cats is in heat again, but then I saw you standing out here with a flashlight. Was that actually a scream I heard?"

"Yes, it was a scream you heard," I answered through clenched teeth. "What would you do if you discovered a dead guy lying on top of your morning paper?"

"Daisy! Such jokes at such an early hour! Certainly you can't be serious," she said as her eyes followed the beam of the flashlight.

"Oh! You are serious! Oh! Oh... my... God!" she stammered, her gaze locking onto an ankle tattoo I had missed during my first glance. "I know him," she whispered.

"That's... that's..."

[Frumpy]
_______________________

"Alexi! Alexi Groshenko! He moved into the house next door about six months ago. I'd recognize that tattoo anywhere!"

"Does he have a family?" I asked.

"No, he was alone. He didn't talk much about himself. I don't know if he has relatives elsewhere or not. And he didn't socialize much... I never saw anyone coming or going at his house. I don't think he was local. He had an eastern European accent, so he might have been foreign."

"Were you friends?" I was curious to learn what else she might know.

'Not really. He and I... that is, we occasionally... er, sometimes he'd come over, we'd have a few drinks and then... I mean to say, uh, we didn't converse much."

I wondered what, beyond the obvious, she wasn't telling me. "How do you suppose he died?" I asked, as much to myself as to Ms Brulee. I looked at the body more closely. I had a feeling that the odd tattoo Creme pointed out was a clue to the dead man's origins. The victim was dressed as if he were going on safari. He was wearing sturdy hiking boots, khaki shorts with large patch pockets on the sides and a hunter's vest with lots of pockets and loops for ammunition. Suddenly, that song from the old Marx Brothers movie jumped into my head: 'Hooray for Captain Spalding, the African explorer...' I was so puzzled by the fact that he had one hairy leg that I almost didn't notice the obvious. He also had a large, olive drab, military style knife protruding from his chest. "Oops! Scratch that last question," I said, then added, "Wow! Who'd a thought he had so much blood in him!" As the approach of dawn began to provide more light I could see that a large pool had formed in the driveway. "What do you suppose he was doing here, at my house, in the middle of the night?"

[Arf]

________________

"Daisy? Hon? You out here? Hello?" I turned around to see Hank and the two ambulatory kids approaching from the house. I stepped forward to block their view, but I was too late. Hank stopped in his tracks, did a double-take, and paused. His face reflected the shock he felt upon seeing the body in the driveway. "Holy ca-rap!" he exclaimed. "What happened? Who's that?"

"Well, according to Creme, his name is Alexi Groshenko and he lives... er, lived... in the house on the other side of her. I found him when I came out to get the paper. We have no idea of what happened, except that he was stabbed in the chest. I was just going to come in and call the police."

"Oh, man!" Hank responded. "Don't call the cops! They'll be here all morning and I have to get to work. I need to be in the office early. I have to do a big presentation to one of our most important customers. Black Ops Anonymous. You remember... they're the military contractor, think tank, skunk works and weapons developer I told you about. I have to be there. No ifs, ands or buts!"

I looked at Hank. "OK, smart guy, what else can I do? We can't just ignore the body. We have a murder on our hands, for Pete's sake!"

"I have an idea," Hank said. "Let's haul him down to cranky old Ms Crotnik's yard. We never have liked her anyway, not since the way she yelled at our kids."

My first reaction was that Hank was nuts, but then the thought began to have some appeal. That old bat! "What about all that blood?" I asked. "Surely the police will see it when they check the neighborhood." I glanced over and to my unhappy surprise the kids, unfazed by the dead body in the driveway, were splashing in the pool of blood and giggling.

"We can toss them in the tub and while you scrub them down I'll hose off the driveway. But let's hurry! I have to be out of here in twenty minutes.

"OK," I responded, against my better judgement. "It's getting light and we don't want to be spotted. I'll grab the hairy leg. Creme, you take the other one. And, Hank, you grab his shoulders. We need to be quick." On the count of three, we lifted Creme Brulee's erstwhile neighbor. "Holy moley!" My voice cracked. "This guy weighs a ton! I'm going to ache for a week!"

"Hey!" Hank gritted. "I have the heavy end!"

Grunting and panting we wrestled the body across the streets and deposited it a couple of doors down on the front steps of Crotnik's house, then ran back home like kids who'd just played a Halloween prank. Hank grabbed the garden hose and I tucked a kid under each arm and headed inside to toss them in the tub. Just as I did so, Creme announced that she was feeling a bit peckish, what with the exertion, and was going home to have a cup of tea and a shot or two of peach schnapps. When I passed through the kitchen I was relieved to see that my youngest was still safely bolted down in her high chair. The tray in front of her was as clean as a whistle but she'd textured the room with baby food. It looked like a crime scene of a different sort. Mentally, I dared the police to come into my kitchen.

[Beta Dog]

__________________

I got the bathtub started and plopped the boys in with a stern warning not to splash. Then, I ran back to Sparkle and the mess in the kitchen. Good. The cat was already taking care of it. "No wonder he barfs so much," I thought. "We really should think about getting a dog. The cleaning would probably go a little quicker."

I wiped Sparkle down as best I could and went back to check on the boys. I had already left them longer than is prudent. Actually, they couldn't be trusted for five seconds, but I do have a daughter, a cat, a husband and now a dead body I had to worry about, too.

"Boys!" I shouted when I walked into the bathroom. No response, just continued splashing and hilarity. "Helllloooooo!" Nothing. "Okay. I'm turning on the cold water now," I said in desperation.

"Nooooo!" they yelled in unison, suddenly able to hear and completely attentive.

"What happened?" I asked again.

"Luke was pretending to be Batman," said Harry, "and I was pretending to be Darth Vader with my light saber and Peter Pan with my dagger. He kept driving his batmobile at me, trying to run me over and-"

"Enough!" I said. "Forget I asked." Heaven help me if those CSI guys decide to come in here with their luminol and black lights. It'll look like... like... well, like there's blood all over the place. What was I going to do? Surely the cat couldn't help me out with this mess.

Shit.

[Batmom]

__________________

And show up they did. It was only an hour or so later that the doorbell rang. I peeked out through the beveled glass in the front door and saw a man in a blue uniform. Obviously not the UPS delivery person... UPS wears brown. I opened the door a crack and said, "Yes?"

"Officer Togglebolt. Police. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind stepping outside for a few minutes."

I put on my most nonchalant expression and hoped it didn't just make me look goofy. "What's up, officer?" I asked, staring at his badge to let him know that I had his number and wasn't going to cut him any slack.

"Step outside, please."

"Look, I have three children who may be running amok even as we speak." I stepped out and pulled the door toward me so it just remained ajar. Then I paused and cocked an ear toward the door. "Do you hear anything, officer? No? Thank goodness! Now, what is it?"

"We're canvassing the neighborhood to find out if any of the residents may have seen or heard anything out of the ordinary last night or early this morning. Your neighbor, Dorcas Crotnik, called 911 this morning at 0700 hours to report finding a deceased person on her front steps. It appears that the victim wasn't killed at that location but was deposited there by a person or persons unknown. Did you see anyone, neighbor or stranger, out and about early this morning? Did you see an automobile you didn't recognize, or hear any unusual sounds?"

"Not a thing," I answered, maintaining eye contact (I've read that the first sign of a lie is averted eyes) and smiling what I hoped was a relaxed, winning smile... and not a grotesque grimace. "Do you know who the corpus delicti is?"

"I assume you mean the victim. The Latin term corpus delicti means the body of the crime; not the individual." Officer Togglebolt looked at me as if to say, "Civilians!" Then he went on, "We can't release the name until we've located next of kin. We'll need to take a look around your yard, just as we will your neighbors', to see if there is any evidence that someone may have come through to the street from the alley behind you. It's unlikely that anyone could have done that carrying a body, but stranger things have happened."

"Help yourself."

With that, the police officer left, apparently headed toward Creme Brulee's house. I crossed my fingers and said a prayer that Creme would play dumb. Unless she blabbed, how were the cops to know that Alexi... whatzizname... Groshenko had gone feets up at my house? There was no visible sign of blood in the driveway, and probably none in the bathroom where I'd laundered the kids. I'd already tossed all our bloodstained clothes in the washing machine. Besides, if I declined to let them in the police couldn't enter the house without a warrant, and to get a warrant they had to have probable cause. I was still uneasy, though. I wondered what the penalty was for tampering with a crime scene.

An hour or so later, with the kids ensconced in the family room raptly watching the Backyardigans, I was in the breakfast room with a cup of tea, fretting. First, I was dying of curiosity to know who Groshenko was and what he was up to when he bought it, and second, it occurred to me that if I were able to identify the killer the appreciative authorities would probably stop poking around the neighborhood. "Sounds good," I said to myself, "but how in the heck do I go about this?"

[Dog Star]

___________________

I took another sip of tea and wished for something a little stronger but with the kids in the other room I couldn't afford to. Who knows what havoc would be wreaked with me passed out on the sofa. I stood up and went in search of something to accompany my tea, maybe a healthy slice of whole grain toast. Without thinking I opened the cookie jar instead of the the bread box. What the heck? Cookies go with tea even better than toast!

Sixteen Oreos later I had a serious sugar buzz going and was ready to tackle the problem at hand...the dead man. Now where to start? I didn't have any serious detecting experience (unless you call locating lost toys and keys experience) but I had read a fair number of murder mysteries in my time. Surely I had gleaned something helpful from them. Let's see...if I were the detective/private eye/meddling woman (neighbor, wife, chef) I would probably start by snooping around and asking questions. I decided to start with Creme. She denied knowing much about Alexi but something told me that she was holding back.

I figured that since the cops had gone in the direction of Creme's house I would give it a little more time before I started investigating on my own. I tidied up the kitchen and checked on the kids. Fortunately, today was a preschool day so I got the boys fed, dressed and in the van. I scooped up Sparkle and the diaper bag and shoved her in the van as well. We motored over to the preschool which was located just a few miles from our house. I was so eager to start investigating that I barely came to a full stop when I shoved the boys out the door with a wave. Belatedly, I rolled down the window and hollered a quick, "Mommy loves you!" as I raced away. Knowing I had just a couple of hours Sparkle and I headed back home. As I turned down our street I looked to see whether the cops were still around. I didn't see any patrol cars so I parked quickly, grabbed Sparkle and started in the direction of Creme's house.

I always felt a little self conscious when in Creme's presence. She looked like she was dressed by the famed Stacy and Clinton and she made homemaking an art form a la Martha Stewart. I, on the other hand, wore oversized tops and elastic waist pants courtesy of Target and could barely keep up with my children's extensive experience redecorating with various food stuffs.

Oh, well. I shifted Sparkle further up on my hip, plastered on a smile and knocked on Creme's door. A few seconds later the door opened and Creme stood there, eyes darting about nervously. Without warning she grabbed my arm and yanked me and Sparkle inside. She shut the door, locked it and then led us silently into her perfect kitchen. The only thing that seemed out of place was the giant bottle of peach schnapps she had sitting next to her delicate flowered china teacup.

After we sat down Creme whispered, "Are they still here in the neighborhood?"

"I didn't see the police when I came back from the preschool so I guess they are gone for now," I said.

Creme breathed a sigh of relief. "Schnapps?" she inquired.

For someone who claimed to have barely known the dead man Creme was certainly acting strange. I busied Sparkle with some non-valuable looking knickknacks from the living room shelves, prayed I could afford to replace them and that they weren't lead based, and returned to Creme.

I decided that the best detective/p.i/meddlers simply got straight to the point so I struck a casual pose, looked at Creme and said, "I find a dead guy in my driveway, a guy you knew, sort of, as he was your next door neighboor with whom you boinked from time to time. What did you tell the cops about our pre-dawn operation and what are you not telling me about Alexi?"

[Caroline]

______________________________

"I didn't tell the police anything. And, look, Daisy, I really don't to be involved with whatever it was that Alexi was into. I really didn't know him very well. One night, when he'd had quite a bit to drink, I asked him where he was from and what he did for a living. He gave me a kind of crooked smile and didn't say anything for awhile. But later, after we had... er, uh, you know... made love..."

"Love?" I interjected.

"OK, maybe love isn't the right word," she responded. "But what would you call it?"

"Boink."

"Boink?"

"Yeah. Go on. Sorry to have interrupted."

Well, after we had made boink, he did say, as if to get it off his chest, something about having been with the Bulgarian state intelligence apparatus before the end of the cold war made the agency superfluous. Later, apparently he and some others like him decided to capitalize on their professional skills and went into business for themselves. I didn't ask him what that business was. I didn't want to know."

"That's interesting, kind of," I said. "But that's it? You get a hint of something that sounds like it could be sneaky, secret, slimy, skulduggerous (is that a word?) and you didn't grill him? Jeez, Creme!"

She looked crestfallen. Thank goodness I happened to glance to my left barely in time to see Sparkle tugging on a lace table cloth covering a delicate mahogany table on which sat a collection of what appeared to be small, antique Chinese figurines. I snatched her up just as the first of the objets d' arte reached the edge of the table. Esthetic value aside, all I could think of was how it would probably take all my future earnings, and Hanks, to pay for the damage. My heart pounded. As I caught my breath I caught a movement in the shadows of the next room. It was my fairy lama. "I don't need this!" I thought.

"Stress!" the fairy godmother whispered, making a tsk, tsk sound.

Ignoring the FGM, I turned back to Creme. "Sorry," I said. "It's just that if we knew more about the victim... Alexi... we might have a better chance of figuring out why he was killed. And if we knew why, we might have a chance to noodle out who killed him. And, by the way, it makes me nervous..."

"Nervous!" said the fairy godmother from the next room.

"... to think of him being killed right here in front of my house. Practically in front of your house," I added for effect.

Creme grew pale. "Oh, my," she said. "To think that the killer could still be in the neighborhood! It's frightening. But why would he or she stick around? Didn't they get what they wanted when they stabbed poor Alexi? His death, I mean." She frowned and her eyes clouded. I could see the wheels turning. "Or maybe they are after something more! Oh, damn!"

"What is it, Creme?"

"A few weeks ago Alexi brought a briefcase to my house and asked if I would store it for him. He said that it was just personal papers but that he didn't want to leave it in his own house as he travelled often and was afraid that his house might be burglarized. I agreed, and put it in the basement."

I started to respond, but caught sight of my watch. "Ohmygod!" I exclaimed. "I almost forgot to pick the boys up from preschool! I gotta run!" As I dragged Sparkle out of the door I called out, "Creme! Just sit tight! I'll be back later!" Glancing back, I didn't see any sign of the FGM.

[Old Dog Trey]

____________________

As usual, preschool pick-up was chaos. Cars were stacked up, waiting to get to the pick-up point and mothers were milling around waiting to get a word in edgewise with their little darlings' teachers. Kids were running, jumping, yelling and chasing each other in the explosion of energy that comes with release from the classroom. I managed to reel in those I thought were mine, buckled them into their car seats and headed home. I pulled into the driveway just as Hank arrived. "What are you doing home early?" I asked. He usually didn't turn up until suppertime.

"I managed to sneak out after my presentation," Hank responded. "I have to go back later, after I grab a bite. I'll probably have to babysit our clients this evening... take them out to dinner or something."

"I liked it better when you were a fireman," I commented. "It was a hazardous job, and the twenty-four hour shifts were the pits, but at least it was a regular schedule. And you had several consecutive days off every week. Now, however, you're always rushing off or coming home late. There may not be many falling, flaming timbers in your office, but otherwise - for me, at least - your corporate job is a pain in the ol' bew-tocks. I could use some help with crowd control around here. And this murder thing needs attention that, without your back-up, I'll have to spend on our three rodents." I gave Hank my best exasperated stare and stamped my foot.

Hank looked chagrined and replied, "I'm sorry hon. Look, these clients will be leaving tomorrow and I have some time off coming. Why don't I take a couple of weeks off? I'll be here to help out, and maybe we can even get a babysitter and go out, you know, like on a date. A nice dinner, a little vino, then maybe we could..." he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Sounds good," I answered, "but that doesn't fix the problem of your schedule. But maybe we can figure something out later. Wine, an expensive dinner at Chez Poulet... you sure know how to charm a girl. And afterward?" I wiggled my eyebrows back at him.

"That reminds me," interjected Mr. Wet Blanket. Perhaps you ought to think about changing your brand of birth control pills. I read in the Wall Street Journal that the one you use, Ova-Nix, has been found to sometime cause hallucinations if the user is stressed about something."

"You can't call me on a cellphone. I respond to stress." Those words rang in my ears.

[M. Dogg, poet laureate]
_______________________

But not for long. No. My fairy godmother was going to have to work a little harder if she wanted my attention. Before I could even begin to dismiss her words I heard wailing. Oh, brother. Where did Hank go? He had time to suggest some between the sheets action but convienently disappeared when chaos reigned. I ambled down the hall toward the kitchen to find Sparkle and the cat covered in five pounds of flour and a sprinkling of chocolate chips. In response to my withering glare the boys made noises about making cookies. I simply reached into the cabinet for a glass and a bottle of wine. Stress? What stress? Boo to you, my so-called Fairy God Mother, I thought.

Later that night, with Hank fed and gone and the kids tucked in bed, I started thinking more about Alexi and the few tidbits that Creme revealed. What had she said? Bulgarian state intelligence apparatus? Capitalizing on his professional skills and going into business for himself? What kind of business? These questions made my amatuer detective/meddler antennae tingle. I suspected something sinister was afoot and I needed to learn more about the dead man. As I sat there thinking in the unnatural silence of my home I remembered that Creme mentioned Alexi's briefcase. The briefcase! It must hold a clue or two!

I ran to the kitchen and slugged back two fingers of Hank's Wild Turkey to diffuse any stress that might arise in the near future, checked the kids, locked the door and ran across the street to Creme's house.

I pushed the doorbell several times but no one answered. This surprised me as Creme's house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Where the hell is she? I wondered. I raised my hand to pound on the door when suddenly the door swung open. My heart began to pound rather intensely. As I wondered what to do next I heard an eerie sound, the sound of someone saying "Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo..." I turned around slowly scared by what I might find.

"I told you that stress summoned me. This counts don't you think?" My fairy godmother winked at me. Oh, brother. I rolled my eyes. And then I remembered. Creme! Where was she and what was going on?

[Caroline]

__________________

I crossed the threshold and tiptoed to the living room. I peered in and immediately saw Creme sitting in a straight-back chair in the middle of the room. The first thing I noticed was that she was nude and that her arms and legs were firmly duct-taped to the chair. Almost immediately, a man in black clothing came into my field of vision. He was holding what looked like a butane fireplace lighter. His expression was grimly anticipatory. "Alright, Babykins," he said in a gutteral, heavily accented voice. "I think you will tell us everything we want to know in just a minute. In fact, I think you'll be singing a whole aria. We may have to shoot you to shut you up when we finish our little interrogation." He seemed to relish the prospect.

It must have been the Wild Turkey, but I was slow to pick up on the "we." Then it dawned on me that there must be more than one intruder in the house. Before I could act, I heard a voice behind me. "Do not move, or I will blast your pretty head off of your shoulders. Now, step into the living room." I didn't dare turn to see who was speaking, but he, too, sounded foreign.

As I entered the room, Creme rolled her eyes at me and croaked, "Daisy! Help!" Of course, I was in no position to do so. I didn't know how to respond. I think I muttered something clearly inadequate for the situation. The man who caught me turned me over to his accomplice and went into the kitchen for another chair; clearly he was going to truss me up as he had done Creme. The first man, in turn, pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at me. His back was to the living room door.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. "Daisy, hon, are you in here? Where are you? I saw you leave the house just as I came home. C'mon back to the house! I have my hands full! Sparkle has the heaves and...." Both my captor and I spun around. I wanted to tell Hank to run get help but I wasn't fast enough. He had blundered into the room and was only a couple of feet away, with Sparkle in his arms. The man in black reacted by raising his weapon.

Before the would-be torturer and assassin could react, however, Sparkle made an all-too-familiar sound. In a nanosecond I realized what was coming. With a gurgling roar, Sparkle threw up. And not just threw up. I mean she THREW UP! I'd never witnessed projectile vomiting before but I sure knew it when I saw it. Wow! The sour blast hit our captor in the face, covering his weapon and his chest in the process. Boy was it foul! The man acted reflexively, gagging and staggering back to get out of range. As he did so, his accomplice stepped into the room holding a chair from the breakfast nook. The two collided and both went down.

I didn't know I could move so fast. I grabbed a large objet d'arte from one of Creme's end tables and swung it with all my strength at the man with the gun. He had just begun to get off the floor when the heavy vase struck him in the head. He went down like a bag of rocks. Simultaneously, Hank had stepped forward and kicked the stranger's partner just above the ear. Neither showed any sign of consciousness. I turned to Hank and said, "Thanks, Sweetie. That wasn't exactly a typical rescue but it was a rescue nonetheless. I'm glad you showed up when you did! Holy cow!" Hank smiled a shaky smile. I continued, "Put Sparkle down a minute and help me wrap duct tape around these two guys. I don't know how long they'll be out." Hank started binding the unconscious strangers and I ducked into the kitchen for a knife. Then I went to to Creme and began to free her. As I peeled the tape off I glanced at Sparkle. She was an unhealthy greenish color. "You know, Hank," I said, "you'd better get Sparkle home quick. Projectile vomiting is often accompanied by explosive diarrhea." Then I asked, as much to myself as Hank, " What do you suppose made her sick?"

"She got into some left over cat food, I think, Hank answered. "Tender Morsels. Fancy Feast, maybe. Look, Hon, are you going to be OK?"

"As soon as Creme's had a chance to throw on a robe we'll call the police. These two are good for breaking and entering, aggravated assault, and false imprisonment at least. I don't think we'll see them again. We'll be OK."

At that moment ominous sounds of liquid under pressure began to emanate from Sparkle. "Oh, no!" Hank exclaimed and turned and sprinted for our house. As I watched his back draw away, I could hear him saying, "Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!"

Moments later, as Creme picked up the telephone to dial 911, I asked her, "What do you suppose those two bozos wanted?"

"The briefcase," she responded.

[Morton the Miracle Dog]

______________________

While Creme wandered into another room, relaying her story in grand detail to the 911 operator, I heard a sound behind me and a chill ran down my spine. Was there a third intruder? Crap! I scooped up a heavy candlestick and spun around ready to protect myself and Creme. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that I was not face-to-face with some foreign- tongued thug but my not so dearly beloved fairy godmother. It's a good thing that she stepped back when she did or I would have brained her but good.

I looked at my FG crossly and said, "Where the hell were you? When you first appeared you said to me, 'I've got your back!' So much for that!"

FG gazed back at me coolly and responded, "Who do you think made the tainted cat food available to Sparkle? That child gets into everything! I know it wasn't a conventional approach to fending off bad guys, but it got the job done, didn't it?"

At a loss for words I just stood there staring at my FG. If this was her version of "getting my back" I couldn't wait to see how she helped the next time, God forbid there was a next time.

[Caroline]

_______________________

"Who are you talking to?" Creme asked me. Shit. How long had she been standing there?

"I think this whole mess is making us all delusional," Creme added, before I could think of anything to say. "Here," she said, dragging me into the kitchen "let's have some chocolate while we wait for the cops."

Creme pulled out a 5 pound bag of dark chocolate M&Ms, a pan of double fudge brownies, a few chocolate bars and a wedge of cake. "Sorry there's not much cake left. I've been a little stressed," she said. As we sank into a couple of kitchen chairs and started popping M&Ms she glanced around the room and said, "you know, I think I need a change. What color do you think I should paint my kitchen? Despite all those tricycle motors you have running around your place, it always looks so nice. As you can see, I don't exactly have a knack for decorating."

I couldn't believe we were sitting here, eating chocolate and discussing Creme's lack of decorating skills while waiting for the cops. However, she did have a point. Her walls were horrible. It looked like Sparkle had been at them - with the front end or back, I wasn't sure.

Before I could comment, we heard a pounding at the front door.

[Susan]
__________________________________

The pounding took me aback. It was too soon for the cops to have arrived. After what Creme and I had just been through it didn't seem likely that it would be another thug (unless he'd been held up going through the drive-through at the Taco Cabana and had just now managed to get here) and what self-respecting crook would pound on the door? He'd just break in... wouldn't he? I tip-toed to the door and peeked out of one of the tall windows that flanked the door.

It was Hank. I opened the door and exclaimed, "Hank! What are you doing here? You should be at home with the kids! What about Sparkle? Is she still blowin' chow through both ends? She could become dehydrated! Maybe we need to take her to the clinic! She could lose too much potassium or something dangerous like that! Maybe we need to give her something with electrolytes in it! Maybe we need some kind of prescription stopper-upper! Maybe we need a lot more diapers! Maybe..."

Hank looked as if he'd just put in a 24 hour shift in a salt mine. He looked exhausted, dispirited and bedraggled. He looked like he had the mother of all hangovers. "Daisy!" he said. "You've got to come home! I need help! I thought I'd clean Sparkle up so I put her in the tub. But she wasn't through yet so she let go again. I've never seen such turbulence in a bathtub! I think her little innards have calmed down now, though, but before I could change the bathwater I heard a scream from the other bathroom. It was Harry. He's gotten his arm caught in the toilet. He said he was trying to retrieve his blankie which he'd tried to flush but then then realized it would be gone forever. He panicked and tried to grab the corner just as it was disappearing down the toilet. He got a tight grip on the corner, but the toilet now has a tight grip on him. I had to leave Harry to run back and check on Sparkle but as I passed the kitchen I heard a kind of a hissing sound and saw Harry's twin sibling spraying a liter bottle of Big Red at the cat. The cat disappeared into the living room. I don't know where it is, but we can probably find it by following the sticky red paw prints it left on the carpet and furniture. Somebody's going to have to bathe it and confine it to the laundry room to dry off." He winced. "I still have scars from the last cat bath! But there's no time for that right now, anyway. And there's an alarming smell coming from somewhere upstairs but I haven't had a moment to locate it."

My heart sank. What a disaster! As if being threatened by a couple of foreign, low life, leg breakers wasn't enough, now this! "OK, Hank," I answered. You run on home and I'll be there in a minute. I just want to do one thing before I leave."

"I'll wait for you," he answered. "I locked myself out of the house when I came over here. I'll need to hoist you through a window."

I wasn't capable of a coherent response. I only snorted. But, after a few deep breaths I was able to say, "Let me grab something." I ran back into the house, told Creme that I was leaving and to sit tight for the police, and asked her where Groshenko's briefcase was. After a few moments of desperate searching I found it where Creme had put it... in the basement in a space behind the furnace. I grabbed it and rushed out the front door. By God, I was going to find out what was so important about the damn thing once and for all, just as soon as everything at home had settled down and I had a chance to pour three fingers of Wild Turkey and go through it.

[Papacito]

____________________

As it turned out, I didn't have to wait for things to settle to discover the contents of the briefcase. After Hank shoved me through the kitchen window (thank goodness we haven't fixed the latch yet) I tumbled in, ran to the front door, threw it open and grabbed Hank and the briefcase and pulled them in.

In my panic over the kids and enthusiasm over the briefcase, I pulled a little too hard, backed up to regain my balance and completely lost it when I stepped on Harry's SuperDuper Grand Mega Loader Scraper Backhoe truck. The truck went flying, I went flying, the briefcase went flying and somehow, Hank managed to land with a thunk on top of me.

"How about a quick boink?" he asked.

"Looking to have another Sparkle?" I asked. "Or did you forget that's where she came from?"

Hank suddenly looked a little green and rolled off of me. I jumped up and ran over the the briefcase, which had fallen open when it crashed to the ground.

"Holy crap!" I said.

[Birthday Girl]
______________________

As a result of it's sudden contact with the kitchen floor, the contents of the briefcase were strewn about. I didn't know which was more startling to see...the folder entitled "Plans for World Domination" or the scores of lollipops. Before I could even begin to clean up the mess, I heard the pitter patter of little feet, two sets to be exact. I looked up to find my two young sons ogling the candy the way a teenage boy would a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. In fact, they were drooling. There was nothing they liked better than lollipops.

Hank was nowhere to be seen and I wanted to get a quick look at the folder from the briefcase. What to do with the boys? The lollipops! I told Harry and Luke to take a couple of lollipops and go watch some t.v. After a few moments I checked to make sure that they were settled in front of Cars, a movie they had seen maybe 300 times already, and I returned to the kitchen.

I had just grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge and settled myself at the table when I heard that familiar wail. "MOOOOOOMMMMM!" I ignored it, hoping the problem would simply go away. Ha! Then I heard it again. I returned to the family room to find Harry in tears. "What happened?" I asked, trying to muster as much sympathy as I could given that I was dying to return to the kitchen and actually open and examine the folder.

Harry was pointing to his mouth. After a little motherly detecting I concluded that Harry, impatient to get to the next lollipop, had tried to chew on the lollipop instead of licking it. As a result he wound up with some very sore teeth. Upon closer inspection of the candy I realized that he had managed to crack the hard, sugary treat and reveal a glittery substance within. Curious, as most lollipops are solid or have a tootsie roll type center, I looked more closely. Hmmm!? "How odd," I said to myself.

After a lot of protesting I managed to extract the pops from the boys and substitute the treats with popcorn and m&ms and leave them to their movie. I took the candy back to the kitchen and started opening drawers looking for a hammer. I couldn't find a hammer but did manage to locate a meat tenderizer. I put a cutting board on the counter and laid the lollipop on top and gave it a good whack!

The candy cracked apart to reveal a large diamond! Knowing this was not some freak occurence but wanting to be sure anyway, I rounded up more of the candy and had at them with the tenderizer. Sure enough, each lollipop contained a large diamond. I stepped back, puzzled and more than a little alarmed. Groshenko, owner of the briefcase, was dead. Now I had it and it's contents. Obviously someone felt the contents were worth killing for.

"Hank!" I yelled, maybe a little hysterically. "Hank! Where are you? We need to talk!"

[Caroline]

___________________________

As I waited for Hank to come into the kitchen I went to the cabinet above the dishwasher and took out a bottle of Ronrico 151. I added a healthy slug to my diet Dr. Pepper. It occurred to me, too, that I could use a little sugar for energy... to get the old brain cells working in high gear... so I added some maple syrup. (Granular sugar would have caused the carbonated drink to fizz over.) I took a big slug. My taste buds went numb and my ears tingled. I felt as if my whole face puckered. My eyes teared up and the left one twitched a couple of times. It was possibly... no, not possibly but actually... the most startlingly wretched drink I'd ever concocted.

Just then, my other half, my knight in shining armor, the love of my life and co-parent in training, Hank, entered. "Er, yeah?" he asked in his customary suave, romantic and incisive manner, scratching his derriere. "You called, ma cheri?"

"Have a sip of my drink. It's really delicious!" My mouth felt as if I'd been to the dentist and the novocaine hadn't worn off yet. Hank must have noticed that my lips didn't move; he declined. "What are the kids doing?" I asked, hoping that we had time to talk about the contents of the briefcase.

"Sparkle is napping and the boys are in thrall to the 42 inch electronic brain washer, losing neurons even as we speak."

"Good. Look what I found in the briefcase. A fortune in diamonds, hidden inside lollipops (don't ask why they were inside lollipops... I haven't a clue) and what looks like a plan to do something really bad on an international scale. I'm glad the document's title is in English, 'cause the rest of it, including the schematics and notations to the engineering drawings, are in the cyrillic alphabet. What do you think? What do we do now?"

Hank stood, stunned, as he tried to get his mind around what I'd just told him. After he'd digested the situation for a few moments he responded. "OK, we eat the candy, sell the diamonds, tear up the document, and move to Hawaii."

"No, seriously."

"Well, I could call my buddy with whom I used to drink beer before I met you and fell hopelessly, madly, in love." Hank wiggled his eyebrows at me. "His name is Jack Armstrong, and he's with the FBI. I could put it to him as a hypothetical, you know, just for the sake of supposing, what would you do if you found a briefcase that used to belong to a murdered foreign guy and it was full of diamonds and had a document labeled, 'Plans for World Domination.'"

"He'd probably think you'd gone looney and that it was a crank call, or that you'd gotten stuck in some video game. Either way, he'd probably get off the line as quickly as he could hit the disconnect button."

"Maybe, but have you got a better idea?" Hank asked. "No? Then I think I'll give ol' Jack a call and see what happens."

[Rin Tin Tin]

___________________

Hank promptly sat down and dialed up his old buddy Jack while I went back to the briefcase and began to read the plans for world domination. Hmmmm… I thought to myself. This is just like a recipe.

I could hear Hank's end of the conversation. “Jack, it’s your old buddy, Hank. I know… it’s been too long since our last beer. You know how it is… you fall in love, have three kids and suddenly there’s no time for beer.”

I couldn’t hear Jack’s response but it was something that made my snuggle-bunny laugh.

Hank continued, “My bride has taken it upon herself to write a mystery novel, where she finds the time I don’t know, and she wanted to make it as realistic as possible. So I told her I would give you a call and get your input.” Again Hank laughed. That Jack must be a funny guy.

“Okay,” Hank said. “The story involves a housewife, three kids, a neighbor, a mysterious dead Russian and a briefcase full of lollipop covered diamonds and a document labeled “Plans for World Domination.” Where she comes up with this stuff I don’t know but if you have any suggestions as to who the villain should be my bride has promised she will let me out one night for that beer.”

This time there was no laughing from Hank. In fact, it seemed too quiet in the house. I stared at Hank as he listened intently on the phone. Was it possible Jack knew of the dead Russian? Hank thanked Jack and gently hung up the phone. He turned to me and said…

[Madly in Love]

______________________________

"Ummmm. Hon? We're in some deep doo-doo. Got any babysitters up your sleeve? Jack's on his way over. Turns out our dead guy isn't exactly who we thought. He's CIA."

"A babysitter? No, I don't have a babysitter! Who in their right mind would be willing to watch our three little terrors? Did you say CIA?"

[Snowgirl]
__________________________________

"Yeah, you know, the Crefflebagger Institution for Agoraphobics. Groshenko must have had an unnatural fear of open spaces. I guess he must've sought support and therapy by joining the Institute. Poor guy. Who'd a thought?

"Hank? Hank! Hello! Do you really think Groshenko was an agoraphobic, or does it seem more likely that your pal Armstrong had something else in mind, like the CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY?"

"Oh, that CIA. Not usually what one thinks of when one hears those initials. It's the Crefflebagger that jumps to mind, after all. But I guess you could be right. Say our dead guy was an American undercover agent masquerading as a Bulgarian ex-spy working freelance as an international mercenary up-to-no-good-nik. Now what?"

"Now we wait for Jack. We'll see what he has to say. And now that I think of it, maybe I do have a possible babysitter, after all. She's my aerobics teacher. A large woman. Very fit. Used to be in the Navy Seals. Our workout class calls her Helga the Hammer. Does a little baby sitting on the side. I'll give her a call. I have the feeling we're going to want to give Mr. Armstrong our full attention when he arrives."

Fortunately, Helga was available on short notice and thirty minutes later the doorbell rang. It was The Hammer. As she entered the house, I was struck again by her physique. I could see her muscles bunch and relax with every movement. Her biceps threatened to rip the thin material of her sleeves and the legs of her sweatpants were taught across the thighs and calves. Her jaw muscles looked as if she could crush rocks in her teeth. She fixed me with a steely, level gaze and stuck out hand that, when I shook it, felt as if it were made of iron. "Hello, Daisy. Good to see you. Where are the little darlings?" Just then there was a scream from upstairs, followed by a crash. Before I could react, there was a hair-raising yowl and the cat burst down the stairs as if she'd been fired from a cannon.

I smiled at Helga. "I'll introduce you," I answered.

[DOD]

_______________________

It didn't take long for me to get Helga and the kids acquainted. My three babes looked a little shellshocked after meeting their "babysitter," in fact I don't think I'd ever seen them all so quiet at once. Even the cat was on it's best behavior. Given all that had happened over the course of the past few days (or has it been weeks?) at least I felt confident that my children were in good, safe hands. I waved good-bye and walked slowly down the stairs apprehensively. What could possibly happen next?

I arrived at the bottom of the stairs to find Hank and a man I had never seen before, who I quickly concluded must be Hank's FBI friend Jack Armstrong, talking in low tones. Hank saw me and motioned me over. "Daisy, hon, this is my friend, Jack. Jack, this is my wife, Daisy." With introductions out of the way we settled on the sofa and began to talk. I was a little anxious about telling our story to the FBI. Even though we weren't responsible for Alexi's demise, we did choose to move his body rather than immediately contacting the police. What possessed us to take such steps I don't recall but I do know that it was not standard behavior for upright citizens.

Trying to calm myself I stood up, fetched the bottle of Wild Turkey and poured myself a couple (okay maybe several) fingers, slammed the drink, wiped my mouth and told Jack everything. Jack, for his part, simply listened without comment or emotion.

"So, Jack, what can you tell us?" Hank asked speaking for the first time in a long while.

[Caroline]

___________________

Jack looked thoughtful, as if weighing his response. As we waited for him to say something it occurred to me that I was a little woozy. My ears buzzed as if I had just left a rock concert. I pondered the wisdom of having followed my diet Dr. Pepper laced with 151 proof rum and maple syrup with enough bourbon to fell an ox. Thank goodness I had declined Creme's offer of schnapps. I wanted to belch and began to giggle under my breath when I recalled how, when we were little, my brothers and I used to see who could recite the most letters of the alphabet with one belch: BrrA, rrB, rrtC, bruD, brrrD, urp!

Thinking of Creme made me wonder what happened at her house when the police showed up. Why hadn't they come here? After all, I was involved; it was Hank and I (and Sparkle) who had overcome the bad guys. Surely, they would want to question us. Why hadn't they? I needed to call Creme.

I snapped out of my reverie when Armstrong began to speak.

"Let me tell you a little bit about what I do," he began by way of a preamble. "As you know from watching television, the FBI is an organization of noble, clear-thinking, analytical, indefatigable, altruistic, patriotic, empathetic, uncannily intuitive stalwarts, with Star Wars technology readily available to meet our most fanciful needs twenty four hours a day. Or, alternatively, we're a bunch of scheming, underhanded, treacherous, self-serving, territorial, uncooperative, hostile, bureaucratic rats who like to step on local law enforcement. Well, TV is guilty of a bit of hyperbole and more than a little fabrication. After all, no-one wants to watch paint dry, right? Programs have to be exciting, with lots of action and characters you can root for or loathe. A little moral ambiguity never hurts, either, and stories that tug at the heartstrings are always a hit. Futuristic crime labs and improbable analytical feats like solving complex crimes with a few math formulas are big, too." Armstrong smiled an avuncular smile and shook his head at the thought. Then he continued, "We're really just a bunch of guys and gals who're slogging our way through the swamp. Me? Well, I'm in anti-terrorism unit. Our particular slog is to eradicate the threat of terrorism not only in this country but, in cooperation with the CIA (those out of control bastards), anywhere in the world. Terrorists know no borders, after all. As for the rest of it - truth or TV - I'll let you decide for yourselves what the FBI's like as you work with us to get to the bottom of this whole nasty Groshenko - or should I say Freddie Farnsworth, poor guy - affair."

"What do you mean, 'as you work with us...'" Hank interjected. "We just told you everything we know. End of story. Time to get back to what - for us, at least - is a normal existence. Hit the erase button and remove everything between finding the body and now. The monkey has been passed. He's now on your back where he belongs. None of this eez our yob. Thanks for stopping by, with the emphasis on the bye! Sayonara! Don't let the door hit you in the butt on your way out. Adieu. Adios. Auf wiedersehn.

Before Armstrong could speak again, I jumped in. "Whoa! Hang on! Hol-dit! Hank, I think we should listen to what Jack has to say. Go ahead, Jack."

[DOD, Ace of Spies]

______________________

"Well said, Hank!" Armstrong exclaimed. "Your rant had just the right amount of fervor and the level of volume you used was right on the mark. I must say, too, that the timbre of your voice and your body language were excellent. Kudos are in order, man. I'm afraid, though - however praiseworthy your heartfelt soliloquy may have been - we can not butt out. But before we continue with the case at hand," Armstrong went on, "forget Groshenko/Farnsworth for a moment and let me bounce something entirely different off of you. You're both intelligent, college-educated people." Hank and I waited expectantly. He continued, "Tell me, when did the word pants lose its s? I frequently hear sales people tell shoppers that 'this is a nice pant.' My father didn't wear the pant in the family! He wore pants! How does it sound to say that Mary chose to wear a pant instead of a skirt? Did Daniel Boone wear a buckskin pant? Would one say of an important person, 'he may be the Director but he puts his pant on one leg at a time just like everybody else?'" He began to look agitated. "And," he asked in a rush, "where does the Sunglass Hut get off dropping the es from the end of sunglasses? I wouldn't want to buy a sunglass! By God, I want a pair of sunglasses! Frames with two lenses! I don't want a tinted monocle!" Armstrong relaxed a bit. "I know that English is an evolving language. That it must be flexible to keep up with technological, political and societal changes. That neologisms are an essential part of a robust idiom. But I must say that some words just seem to be a stupidfication (oops! did I just make that up?) of our mother tongue. It makes me weep. What do you two think?" He looked at us expectantly.

"I think," responded Hank, "that it's a concern that occupies a lot of your brain cells THAT COULD BE BETTER SPENT ON FIGURING OUT WHAT TO DO ABOUT ALL THIS GROSHENKO STUFF!"

Armstrong looked a bit crestfallen. "You, too, Daisy?"

I nodded, but then, to make him feel better, said encouragingly, "But I'll bet 'stupidfication' will be in the OED in no time."

"Crum!" he exclaimed, obviously fighting his disappointment. Then, returning to business he said, "OK, here's what we know about the shadowy group that committed the murder of a CIA agent and the role we want you - no, insist - that you play in bringing the organization down."

We waited with bated breath for him to continue.

[Weird Dog]

_____________________________

"First, though, I really need a drink of water. This is going to take a while and my throat does tend to get a little dry."

[Blocked]
______________________________

Armstrong looked a little bit vexed at the interruption, but he said, "OK. Sorry to have rambled on so... I tend to dry people out a bit. My shrink says that a session with me is like a trek across the Atacama. Please, go ahead. I'll wait.

As I entered the kitchen, preoccupied with speculation about what the FBI might require of us, there was a blood-chilling scream from upstairs. Now, I've pretty much become immune to childish screams, but this was different! It was an adult scream! What the hell? It was Helga! I raced up the stairs!

As soon as I entered Harry and Luke's room I saw The Hammer, backed up against the far corner, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf. "Get it away from me!" she stammered. She gestured at the floor at her feet. I looked down. Sure enough, there was Ambrose. Apparently, one of the boys had taken him out of the terrarium and he'd gotten away, only to reappear at Helga's feet. I'll admit that tarantulas aren't everyone's cup of tea, but Ambrose was awesome. He was a dark red color with black bands around his legs. He was large for a Salvadoran tarantula and the stiff hair that covered his body made him look even bigger. He was a sweetheart, but his prominent fangs did give him a truculent look. The kids were crazy about him.

"Helga!" I exclaimed. "Are you all right? My goodness, it's only a spider!" I glared at the boys, who were just visible, hiding under the bunk beds. They couldn't contain themselves and had begun to giggle. I scooped Ambrose up, dropped him back into the terrarium, and secured the top. "Golly," I went on. "I'm sorry about the scare but it was only the kids' pet crawly. I wouldn't think someone like you, who takes 'buff' to a whole new dimension, would be afraid of a little spider! But not to worry. He's back in his house."

Helga was still trembling. "I'm arachnophobic!" she said. "I can't stand spiders! I can't stay here! I have to go!" She stumbled toward the door.

"But, Helga!" I began.

"But Helga, nothing!" she interrupted. "I'm out of here. Now! Sorry. I have to go. Goodbye Daisy." And with that she was gone, leaving me with the boys and a sleeping Sparkle to compete for my attention just when Hank and I needed to focus on whatever life-altering plan Jack Armstrong had up his sleeve. Ca-rap!

I dragged my little darlings out from under the bunk beds and sat them down in front of the TV. I flipped through the channels. Gray's Anatomy? No. The characters were all a bunch of whining fornicators. Desperate Housewives? No. The characters were all a bunch of scheming, backstabbing fornicators. Sex and the City? No. The characters were all a bunch of fashion-happy fornicators. I sighed. I decided that the number of brain cells the boys might lose from watching Cars for the fortieth or fiftieth time was a minimal penalty for them to pay compared to the risk of any psychological damage that might be inflicted by watching so much teleboinking, so Cars it was. "Stay put!" I commanded, and went back downstairs.

I guess Armstrong and Hank had gotten tired of waiting for me because as I entered the living room I heard Hank exclaim, "You want to use us bait to lure the bad guys out of the shadows?We're supposed to be, like, a Trojan Horse? You want them to turn up HERE to retrieve the briefcase so you can nab them? Do you think I just fell off of the turnip truck? I have a family! Kids! Daisy! We can't take the risk! That's just nuts! It's too much to ask!"

Hank and Armstrong looked up when I came in, unaware that I had heard Hank's outburst. "Daze!" Hank exclaimed. "I'm glad you're back! You won't believe what Jack here just proposed!"

[The Crazed Canine]

_____________________

"Actually, I heard. You have GOT to be kidding me. Have I fallen into an episode of Numbers or something?" I asked Armstrong.

He gave a self-conscious chuckle and said, "No. This is real life. I wasn't kidding. I know it's a little extreme. We don't usually use civilians as bait. But we're really short-handed right now. Most of our agents are tied up in Chicago busting the Illinois governor."

[Resident of the Corrupt State]
______________________

"As a matter of fact," he went on, "there are several things going on here. First, the genie is already out of the bottle when it comes to the people we're trying to catch. If they don't already know that you have the briefcase they'll figure it out soon enough. After all, Freddie, alias Groshenko, had it. They killed him to get it back but he'd already passed it to Creme Brulee. When they discovered that he'd been seeing her they turned up at her house to get it. You walked in just in time to foil that effort, but now they know who you are. QED. I don't know when they'll turn up, but turn up they will."

"Who's going to turn up?" I asked. "The cops arrested those two rats who were at Creme's, didn't they? And by the way, why didn't the police come over here to interview us?"

"We think your visitors will be the man who's been pulling the strings and his most trusted assassin . His two worker ants are in the slammer. He doesn't have time to import more muscle so he'll have to do the job himself. Once we have him it'll be over... at least as far as you're concerned. Then you can resume your life of domestic chaos. Oh, yes... and the reason the police didn't follow up with you and Hank is because we asked them to leave it to us as that incident was part of an ongoing federal investigation."

"What is this all about, anyway?"

"Now that we've arrested the governor I can tell you that he was part of the conspiracy. He was on the bad guys' payroll. He wasn't in it for any ideological reasons... it was strictly the money. He was willing to do anything for the dough: selling political favors, taking kickbacks from state contracts, accepting bribes. And in this case, it was going to be a briefcase full of candy coated diamonds in return for protection for an unscrupulous gang that planned to import illegal aliens, drugs, and antique French Twinkies.

"What about the plan for world domination?"

"World domination was just a bonus. A fall-back in case the other thing didn't work out."

Hank and I shook our heads in amazement. "Who'd a thought!" we exclaimed in unison.

"OK, I guess we have no choice but to wait. But who's going to protect us? You?" I asked Armstrong.

"Well," he smiled, you already have one of our best people on the job. She's undercover as an aerobics instructor and baby sitter. You hired her! Her name is Helga."

"You mean Helga? As in no longer here Helga? As in afraid of spiders Helga? As in cut and run Helga?" I didn't feel so good.

[Lassie's smarter brother Lars]

____________________________

Apparently Jack didn't feel too good either. He paled a bit when he heard about Helga. I sensed there was a problem.

"So what?" I said. "Why don't you just put in a call and get someone else to protect us? That's what they do on t.v. Wait a minute! Why don't you just protect us?"

Jack swallowed and said sheepishly, "I can't protect you. They won't even let me carry a gun. There is some wacky section in the FBI code that says that if you fail the situp test while you are in the academy you are unfit for field work which requires gun-toting. See, I am here really as more of a messenger of the Bureau. As for getting someone else there is no one else. The Bureau put all remaining local agents on the situation with the governor. You'd think there would be a lot of us, but the economy coupled with the low wages and placements in areas with high costs of living has taken a toll on the agents and many of us have left in search of other careers."

Hank and I looked at each other not knowing what to say. This nut wanted us to put our lives and those of our children on the line without protection. Hank opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Instead, his eyes grew wide and fear etched itself on his handsome features. Jack and I simultaneously turned to see what got Hank's attention. To my horror I saw two heavily armed men standing just inside the front door.

The two men looked liked a pair of bad guys straight from a weekly crime show on television. The one on the left was tall and distinguished looking. He had thick, wavy hair, dark with a touch of gray at the temples. He wore a camel colored cashmere coat over an Armani suit. It was obvious that he was a man who liked the finer things in life. He was smooth shaven andhis skin looked accustomed to regular exfoliation treatments. His right hand, the one holding the gleaming gun, showed nicely manicured nails. The guy on the right was clearly the guy that did the dirty work. I could tell this not from his lack of style or attention to personal hygiene but rather from the array of weapons he had either in hand or strapped to his body. This guy was serious.

I was taking all this in when cashmere guy said, "Where is the briefcase?"

If I learned nothing else from watching t.v. I at least knew that if you gave up the object of desire the bad guys would kill the good guys no matter what they said. I decided that the best option was to stall as long as possible especially since I wasn't getting any help from Hank or Jack.

"Briefcase? What briefcase?" I responded innocently. "Oh, and by the way, we have a no shoes in the house rule. Would you and your, uh, friend, please remove your shoes?"

Cashmere and his assasinating cohort complied. "Daisy," Cashmere said calmly. "May I call you Daisy?"

I nodded and plastered on what I hoped was my most winning smile.

Cashmere man continued, "Daisy, my dear, don't waste my time. I know you have the briefcase. You saw what happened to Freddie. Now if you don't want that to happen to your precious little rugrats upstairs I suggest that you hand over the brief case now."

Hearing the man refer to my children filled me with fear. I would do anything to protect my children. Not knowing what to do next I indicated that the sock-footed seekers of diamonds and domination follow me. "Okay, you win. You can have the briefcase."

I walked toward the playroom with the two bad guys behind me. As I did I looked back at Hank, who seemed to have gone unnoticed by our visitors. I had no idea what happened to Jack, the guy who helped suck us further into this mess. I gave Hank a look hoping he would interpret it correctly.

"Okay, gentlemen, the briefcase is in here." I swung open the door and ushered them inside. Immediately I heard a loud wail and a simultaneous expression of disgust. I flipped on the light to see that Cashmere had stepped on a pile of little Legos, the bane of my existence, much to his misery. He was hopping around and whimpering. At the same time the assasinator was mucking around trying to wipe of his socked feet. Apparently the cat had gotten into something again and barfed its little brains out in a big, glorious pile on the playroom floor. In the mayhem both men had dropped their assorted weapons. As I was accustomed to removing objects that could cause death and dismemberment (okay, more like choking, cutting or stabbing hazards, but hazards all the same), I grabbed the weapons off the floor and out of reach of our visitors.

Just as the men seemed to recover I took a deep breath and yelled, "Kids, Santa Claus is here." Fortunately, my children are young, have no sense of date and LOVE Christmas. That's all it took. Suddenly, I heard wild pounding as the boys ran from their room, down the stairs toward the playroom. They came around the corner, through the door and literally bowled over the two unsuspecting men. "Boys," I explained, "Santa and his elf are in disguise since it's not quite Christmas, but I know they have something for you in their pockets. Probably lollipops." Furiously, the boys began frisking Cashmere and his cohort looking for the candy (I silently prayed they hadn't stashed more weapons in their coat pockets). The men swatted at the children but that just seemed to motivate them further.

A moment later Hank walked in holding Sparkle, a puzzled look on his face. "Hon," he said. "I think Sparkle has gotten into the cat food again. I hear odd bubbling sounds coming from her tummy."

As I was standing behind the men I said, "Hank, hand her to me." Just as he was extending his hands toward me so that I could take her, Sparkle made a strange sound. Hank tipped her down slightly and Sparkle, with perfect timing, projectile vomited all over our guests just as Ambrose, the tarantula, began crawling up Assasinator's leg. I don't know if the howling was due more to the vomiting or the spider but it was quite the racket.

Ten seconds later the playroom was filled with FBI agents, SWAT dudes and assorted law enforcement personnel, all of whom had guns drawn and focused on Cashmere and Assasinator. (I learned later that Jack had slipped away just after our guests had arrived and used his cell phone to round up the troops.) The law enforcement folkds didn't have much to do, however, since the two men practically begged to be taken into the safety of custody and promised to make full confessions if they could just get away from my house and family.

[Snowbound in Oregon]

____________________________

It was late afternoon. The excitement had abated and I was enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet. The boys were parked in front of the TV, playing trains while waiting for a cable channel to show Shrek (they especially like the scene where the princess sings a duet with a pretty bird and she sings so badly that the bird explodes like a crystal goblet) and Sparkle was in her crib. The cat was confined to the laundry room and Ambrose was in his terrarium. Hank was at the grocery, picking up a few things for supper. I decided to just sit down, have a Negra Modelo, put my feet up, and enjoy the silence.

I took a pull on the chilled brown bottle and savored the rich taste of the amber beer. As I did, I heard the sound of static and caught a slight flash of blue light out of the corner of my eye. "Guess who?" said the fairy godmother/godlama/goddammit. "I'm glad you made it through that little rough patch. And you did it without my help! I'm proud of you, Babe!"

"You want a beer?" I asked.

"Don't mind if I do," she answered. I popped another cap and we sat down together.

I had gotten used to seeing the fairy godmother, and she did seem to have good intentions even though she picked the darndest times to turn up. But it made me nervous that I had seen her at all. Was I drinking too much? (Naw, I pour a lot of drinks but with all of the mayhem and rioting that goes on around here very few of them actually make it past my teeth.) Was I going a bit nutso? I was worried, so I asked. "You're a figment of my imagination, right? How come I keep seeing you? Am I OK?"

The FG knocked back a big slug of cerveza and answered, "You're OK. I usually show up in response to stress, and with all that goes on around here I thought you might need a hand. But clearly you don't, so when I finish this brewski I'll be off. Nice to know you, by the way."

"No hard feelings, but I hope nothing happens to bring you back."

"No, everything's back to normal. The TV people will be here tomorrow. They want to tape a show called Survivor-Elmhurst. And you know those bushes around the house that you tore out? It turns out that they were a rare, endangered species of North American Bare-limbed Juniper. They're supposed to look dead. Anyway, the Sierra Club is planning to picket your house. Oh, and by the way, Harry's blankie made it all the way into the sewer line, so somebody (Hank, perhaps?) is going to have to did up the front yard to get to the pipe and extract it. Otherwise, none of your fixtures will drain. Lessee... anything else? Well, Hank ran into Chef Curtis (The Take Home Chef) from the Food Channel at the store. He'll be here in half an hour to fix a gourmet supper, but wouldn't you know? The kitchen power went out again. It's black as a mine in there. So, really, it's just business as usual around here. No need for me."

"Is that all?" I asked, thinking about fortifying my beer with a little Ronrico or Wild Turkey.

"Yeah, except for the animal control folks who want to talk to you about the proliferation of squirrels that live in your pumpkin patch. The neighbors all have squirrels in their attics now."

"You know what?" I said to the fairy godperson. "That's all a piece of cake. Nothing I can't handle." I felt good. I started to hum a happy tune. "Thanks for the tip. See you around. Not. Have a good trip to someone else's life."

And with that the fairy godmother disappeared. I wiggled my toes and had just put my feet back on the floor to go get another beer when I heard a call from upstairs. "Mom! Mom? Mom!" Ah, everything indeed was as it should be.

FINIS

[DOD]

____________________

The Green Knight

2008-06-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

Geoffrey looked across the meadow at the castle. The weather was clear and warm and the only sounds he could hear were occasional bird calls. The still scene belied the usual noisy activity within the castle walls. The hollow clop of horses' hooves on the stone courtyard floor, the ring of weapons and the shouts of the knights as they demanded their mounts, the clang of the blacksmith's hammer, the neighing, braying, roiling din that was part of daily life at the castle. He had taken advantage, as he sometime did, of a slight lull in activity and a moment of inattention by his master, to get away for a brief respite and enjoy what little solitude he could. In a short while he would be back in the stables, feeding, grooming and cleaning up after the horses. It seemed to him that he had never done anything else. He had no recollection of his past. His conscious memory began with his servitude at the castle.

Geoffrey had learned that it did no good to ask questions of his master. The only response he had received was silence or a cuff to the ear. He was a stable boy, he was told, and as such had no business asking questions. His job was the animals and, if addressed by a nobleman, to look at the ground, tug at his forelock and comply with whatever was demanded as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, he was alert to what went on around him and he listened intently to the conversations of others. He was aware that the country was in political turmoil, and that it seemed to always have been so.

Richard, Coeur de Leon, had recently become king. He and his brothers had had a contentious relationship with their father. Ever since they were old enough to hatch a plot they had schemed against their father, Henry II, sometimes in concert, sometimes alone. In the end, they turned on each other. Things settled down somewhat when Henry, the heir, died, and three years later his brother Geoffrey passed away leaving only Richard and John. Richard was older than John, so he was the logical successor. And, unlike his brother, he was greatly admired for his military prowess. Although he spoke little English and was an ignorant man, at least in comparison with his father who was fluent in half a dozen languages, and was accomplished in the law, he was an able soldier and a popular leader in the wars to reclaim the Holy Land from the Muslims.

Richard's father, Henry II, was the son of Matilda, whose father in turn was Henry I, son of William the Conqueror. She was prevented from taking the throne by Stephen, who usurped power. Thus began a long civil war between Matilda and Stephen. Although Matilda finally gave up the fight and retired to France, a few years later her son Henry invaded England and won the right to succeed Stephen. Two years later he became Henry II. Thus there had been armed conflict going on somewhere in the kingdom for generations.

The sun had only moved a few degrees across the sky when Geoffrey returned. As he passed through the portcullis he noticed that while he was absent a sign had been nailed to a timber where it could be read by all who left the castle. It was written in English and French. As his master approached, Geoffrey read it out loud. It was a warning to avoid the forest unless one went with an armed escort. Bands of thieves had made the passage dangerous. Upon hearing him read the notice, his master exclaimed, "Where did you learn to read? Common folk can't read! Only the high-born learn to do so!" He shook his head and when he received no answer scolded the younger man for his absence. With a kick for emphasis, he demanded, "Get back to the stable! The stalls need mucking out!"

[Lord Dogg, Earl of the Western Marches]

______________________________

As Geoffrey headed back to the stables as commanded, behind him he heard a curse, a splash and then more cursing. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that his master had fallen into a puddle and was now sitting in it like a pig covered in muck although not smiling as a pig might. Geoffrey couldn't help but allow himself a private smile as he scurried back to the stable.

As he picked up the pitchfork to clean out the stables, Geoffrey found himself wondering how it was that he could read if reading was something taught only to those who were high-born. Who taught him to read? He shook his head. It was so strange that he couldn't recall any details of his early life before enslavement to this unkind master. Based on the way his master reacted, clearly he should keep this ability to himself. Who knows, it might come in handy. No sooner than this thought crossed Geoffrey's mind did the trumpets herald the arrival of the king. Apparently Richard, the absent king, had returned home to England. Everyone in the stable ran outside and bowed before the king. Geoffrey listened closely as Richard spoke in French to one of his officials.
[Princess Wannabe]
________________________

"Help me down from this horse," King Richard said to his right-hand man, Sir Mordred. "I feel as if I've ridden all the way from the Holy Land." Sir Mordred extended his hand to the king, who swung his leg over the back of his saddle in preparation for dismounting. Somehow, the king lost his balance and - despite the best efforts of Sir Mordred - toppled off his mount. His full weight, augmented by his heavy tunic of chain mail, landed on Sir Mordred who fell to the ground. Fortunately, the king somehow managed to remain upright and ended his misadventure standing on the castle courtyard astride his would-be helper.

At that moment, the lord of the castle - Lord Thomas - strode out of the castle in response to news of the king's arrival. As he did so, he saw King Richard atop Sir Mordred and blurted out, "My liege! What brings you to my humble castle on a knight like this?"

Geoffrey thought he saw something pass behind the king's eyes as Richard's right hand suddenly reached for the hilt of his sword. Then the moment passed and he smiled.

"Lord Thomas! I see that your sense of humor continues unabated. I must impose upon your hospitality until tomorrow, when I continue my journey to London. I've returned to England because of the mischief my brother John has been up to. It seems that he fancys himself monarch and would take my crown in my absence. My fight against the Saracens is costly enough, as is the administration of my French possessions. It is an inordinate aggravation to have to cross that turbulent Channel to deal with a gang of miscreants on this restless island, thereby wasting resources that could be better spent elsewhere."

[Hondo the Minstrel Dog]

_______________________

As the king started to move toward the door of the great hall, he glanced toward his left. His gaze swept across the various and sundry onlookers. As he did so, most of the peasants, serfs and craftsmen who worked at the castle jerked their hats from their heads and looked down. Geoffrey, however, was slow to do so and as Richard's eyes moved across the crowd they stopped reflexively when they noted the upturned face. The king focused his gaze, then appeared startled. There was a flash of what could have been recognition but there was no further reaction on the part of the king. It happened so quickly no one noticed, save Geoffrey. With scarcely a pause, Richard turned away, waived his retinue forward, and strode toward the door.

Inside the great hall Lord Thomas' staff was feverishly at work preparing for a feast. No-one had been expecting a royal visitor but it wasn't the first time the servants had been called upon to accomplish an impromptu miracle. As tables were being prepared, fresh rushes were being strewn across the floor, a fire was being lighted in the immense fireplace and Lord Thomas' new tapestry was being hung, itinerant minstrels tuned their psalteries and began to practice a song that one of them had written for just such an occasion.

"A king's life

Isn't an easy one,

With plots to thwart

And wars to be won!

The Turks are a bitch,

And Brother John is no fun!

A king's life

Isn't an easy one.

Hey nonny nonny tra la la.

Oh, there's no denying

The job has its perks,

But there's no telling

Where the next problem lurks.

'Specially when

You're surrounded by jerks!

(And did we say

What we think of the Turks?)

Hey nonny nonny tra la la.

A king's life

Is no bed of roses!

There's much more danger

Than one supposes!

Keep your enemies close

(Better count noses!)

And woe is you

If your bodyguard dozes!

Hey nonny nonny tra la la.

La Belle France

Is where I rather would be.

And not on this island

Across the sea!

Aggravation's the game,

As you clearly can see.

Oh, a king's life

Is clearly no breeze!

Hey nonny nonny tra la la."

[Hondo the Minstrel Dog, Junior]

_________________________
As the king wandered into the great hall, the aroma of the great feast wafting through the air, he couldn't help but bop his head along to the beat of the music played by the minstrels. Had he known what a cellphone was and had one, certainly this would be his ringtone. Though being king was clearly no breeze it certainly had its perks, the minstrels were right on that note. He ate the best food, had wenches at his disposal and the country bowed in his presence. Of course, he also had to watch his back and truly trusted no one. Being king was a little lonely. But kings didn't dwell on such things. Although he longed for the approval of his father which he never got and his anger smoldered over his father putting his mother, Eleanor, in jail because she supported her sons' revolt against Henry II, he channeled his energies into his military strategies and worked out his issues on the battlefield against his unfortunate enemies.

As Richard took a seat at the head of the table, his mind wandered to the young man he saw outside the stable. Darned if he didn't look familiar. Had Richard spent more time looking in a mirror he might have thought he was looking a young version of himself. His musings about this young man were quickly dismissed when the large turkey leg was set before him. After dinner, he and Sir Mordred would talk strategy for managing John.
[Princess Wannabe]
___________________

While Richard munched on a leg of turkey and endured the antics of the court jester, his thoughts wandered back to the stable hand he had seen outside. He was sure that he had seen that young man somewhere before but where he did not know.

Unbeknownst to Richard, Geoffrey, the stable boy, was Richard's illegitimate son. Eighteen years ago, when Richard was but a young man, he had fallen for a beautiful, but common, maiden, Catherine. Though she was his true love, Richard knew that his father, King Henry II, would never tolerate a union between his son, the prince, and a lowly maiden. So, when it came to making a choice between true love and his place in history, Richard chose the latter. He left his love never knowing she was carrying his child.

Richard's brother, John, knew of his sibling's secret love, Catherine, and was himself smitten by her. When Richard left, John took advantage of Catherine's sorrow and soon took on the role of lover. Months later it was evident that Catherine was with child, his child, or so John thought. Though John wouldn't claim the child as his own, he made sure that the child, a boy named Geoffrey, would be raised with nobility.

As the years went on and Geoffrey grew older, John had a sneaking suspicion that Geoffrey was not his own child, but that of his brother Richard. He saw the resemblance in Geoffrey's eyes, his chin, his smile. Though John was angry that he had been led to believe that Geoffrey was his child, he had no outlet for that anger. The boy didn't know the identity of his real parents and Catherine had died during childbirth. But John wasn't just angry at the deception, he feared that if Richard learned he had a son John would have no chance at one day becoming king.

At that moment John decided to have Geoffrey killed. He had arranged for one of the local miscreants to do the deed. Little did he know that said miscreant, a unprincipled but weak-stomached lad, managed only to knock Geoffrey unconscious in his effort to take the boy's life with a large stone (rather than the knife he had been given). When Geoffrey came to, he had no idea who or where he was. He wandered aimlessly until he arrived at the castle's stable and encountered the stable master. The stable master, a rough-edged, cold-hearted man, took Geoffrey in, not out of pity but rather need. The upkeep of the stables was a great deal of work and one of his stable boys had just been kicked in the head by a horse and was of no use to him any longer.

(Princess Enilorac)

_________________

Richard was aware that he was feasting on a rare delicacy. The American bird that came to be known as turkey was introduced to Europe by the Spanish conquistadors some three hundred years after Richard's death. It was a favorite food of the Aztecs, among other Mexican tribes, and was hunted by the Indians of North America as well. However, long before Columbus found the Americas and the Spanish followed in search of gold, the Scandinavians had discovered the New World. Although their attempts at a permanent colony failed, the Danes had made a number of excursions to the northeastern shores of North America. One of these intrepid explorers, Thorwald Ironhat, also known to some as Badbreath, was successful in capturing the elusive avian and returning to his homeland with a small number of them for breeding purposes. All died, save one male and one female which King Olaf gave to King Richard as a diplomatic gift when they met at a papal conference in Rome. They remained in the possession of the English court until Richard returned to England from his captivity in Germany following his last Crusade. Here at the castle of Lord Thomas, thanks to the shortsightedness of the staff, the turkeys were served to the king for dinner. Thus, Europe would have to wait many more generations before the Spanish brought the succulent bird to the continent.

The activities in the castle were far from Geoffrey's mind. Not long after it had become dark he had gone to the empty stall he occupied at the forbearance of the stable master, covered himself with his ragged cloak, and gone to sleep. Much later, he awoke. There were no longer any sounds from the great hall. The only thing he could hear was the occasional snort of a horse or the rustle of the hay under their hooves as they shifted their weight. What had wakened him? He remained still and listened. Then he heard it. The sound of a footfall. Who could be about in the stable in the middle of the night? A dark figure appeared in the door to the stall. "Who's there? What do you want?" Geoffrey asked. Suddenly the figure entered the stall and sprang to Geoffrey's side, at the same time clamping a rough hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet," the stranger growled into Geoffrey's ear. "You must be silent so that no one will hear us." Geoffrey tried to pull away. "Enough!" the man said. "Be quiet! I've come from the king. He has commanded that I bring you to him."

Geoffrey's mind raced. He tried to ask what was happening, why the king wanted to see him. Had he done something to offend the monarch? No, if he had he would be disciplined by the stable master or one of the king's retinue, not the king himself. Still, the king's command worried him. Why was he singled out? Was his life in jeopardy? But the stranger refused to communicate. He either didn't know or didn't care and in any event he insisted on silence.

The journey from the stable took a considerable amount of time as Geoffrey's escort demanded stealth. Finally, however, they stood before the door to the king's chamber. A faint light escaped under the door. The messenger knocked and in response to a low voice opened the portal and propelled Geoffrey into the chamber, banging the door closed behind him.

[Sir Hound]

_________________

Geoffrey stood inside the door, his knees knocking slightly but confident in his innocence. He bowed humbly before the king.

"Your majesty," he said. "To what I do I owe the honor of being summoned to your presence?"

Richard couldn't take his eyes off the young man. He seemed so familiar. As Richard paced the room, he happened to glance in a mirror and was startled. It was like looking at Geoffrey. But there was something else. What was it? And did no one else see this similarity? How could this be?

"Geoffrey, where do you come from?" Richard inquired.

Geoffrey spoke honestly and earnestly. "Sir, I know nothing of where I come. It seems this place is all that I can remember. It is odd because I can read and I can understand both French and English. But I have no recollection of ever being taught these things."

Richard pondered these details as he looked at Geoffrey again. That familiarity. It wasn't just his own features but also Catherine he saw in Geoffrey's eyes! He started doing the math, a little awkwardly since he was an ignorant man, and concluded that this must be the son that Catherine bore and John claimed as his own. Since family get togethers weren't exactly occasions for merriment, it had been years since Richard had seen the boy. Clearly this wasn't John's son but his! If Geoffrey was his son, his life would be in danger since John was set on becoming king upon Richard's demise. But how did he get away from John and why wasn't John looking for him?

When Richard stopped pacing and musing he turned to Geoffrey but saw that he had fallen asleep. Oh well, he thought. Better get some shut-eye and deal with this tomorrow. He left Geoffrey sleeping on the floor as he crawled into his feather bed and blew out the light.

[Princess Wannabe]

____________________________

Suddenly, the king sprang to his feet. How had Geoffrey fallen asleep? After all, he was dragged from the stable for a meeting with the king in the middle of the night. He must have been confused and frightened, not to mention curious... states of mind that were hardly conducive to falling asleep. Was there something wrong with the young man? Did he have some kind of condition that caused him to fall unconscious at critical moments? How could he do that, in front of his king to whom he owed not only his rapt attention but total subservience and even his life? Besides, their discussion couldn't wait until daylight. He had brought the stable boy to his chambers in the deepest part of the night in order that their meeting be unobserved. "Wait until morning, my royal ass!" Richard roared as he gave the sleeping form a kick. "On your feet, or I'll have your guts for garters!"

Geoffrey leapt up, intimidated by the king's rage and chagrined at having fallen asleep. He mumbled his apology and secretly wished that he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. He stood, frozen in place as the king paced back and forth. After a few moments (that seemed to Geoffrey to be hours) the king stopped pacing and, his anger seemingly abated, turned toward the younger man. As Geoffrey stood silent, hat in hand, Richard explained what he thought to be the stable boy's origins. He didn't know about John's attempt on his life, but he had observed the scar on Geoffrey's scalp and knew that a blow to the head could sometimes cause memory loss. The king correctly guessed that to be the cause of his amnesia.

"It is not just for you to remain in a state of servitude," Richard told Geoffrey. "Therefore I will see to it that you are given your due. The allowance, estate and servants that John had given you will be returned. You will be known as Geoffrey Fitzroy (son of the king), however as you know, as the product of my morganatic liason with your mother, Catherine, you have no claim on the throne. However, even though you cannot be considered a Plantagenet I feel that it is incumbent upon me to see that you are not only treated with respect but also accepted as a member of the nobility."

"Er, uh," Geoffrey stammered. He had a hard time digesting all that the king had said. "Thank you, sir. I don't know how to respond. To discover that I'm more than I have been for the past few years is overwhelming."

"For your sake," the king went on, "I think it best that none of this be made public until I get my hands on... er, I mean until I've met with my brother... and I straighten him out. Once I've done so you will be free of any possible danger and can live openly."

"Shall I return to the stable, then?" asked Geoffrey.

"No," Richard responded. "Until then I have a task for you. Although your memory is impaired I'm sure that the skills you learned when you became a knight will return soon enough, once you've had an opportunity to exercise them. I want you to go on a quest."

"A quest?"

"At my behest. A quest."

"Wow! A quest is the best!"

"Then be my guest."

"You don't jest?"

"Look! Don't be a pest! Just go on the damn quest!"

"Is this a test?"

"Yes. Now, let me tell you the rest." With that, the king paused, strode to the door, and made sure it was securely bolted. He lowered his voice and said, "I want you to find, and bring to me, the Holy Moley."

[Le Chien d'or]

________________

Geoffrey whispered reverently, "The Holy Moly.... what's the Holy Moly?"

Richard led Geoffrey over to the fireplace, sat down and said, "Let me tell you the legend of the Holy Moly."

Geoffrey sat at the foot of the king while the fire danced in the background. He closed his eyes and listened to the king tell the story. Little did Geoffrey know that Richard was telling a story about himself.

“Once there was a prince, heir to be king, who fell in love with a beautiful peasant girl. He was a fierce but a handsome and noble man. She was a delicate beauty. Her hair was rich caramel, her eyes brilliant green and her teeth so pearly white they could light up the dark night. The couple met by chance and fell in love at first sight. The prince knew he could never marry his true love publicly for his father, the king, would force him to renounce the throne. As a symbol, though, to his true love, the prince married her in private. But soon after their wedding, he was forced to leave his beautiful bride with his evil brother, who knew their secret, so the prince could go fight his father’s wars. The prince was unaware that his beautiful bride was with his child.

The evil brother took advantage of the prince's bride in his home and when she gave birth, assumed the child was his. He didn’t realize, until many years later, that the child was really that of his brother’s, the prince who was to be king. When he did discover the truth, he ordered the child to be killed so that the child would not be a threat to his place in line for the throne.

The prince’s beloved died in childbirth and the prince was heartbroken. Fortunately, he had many wars to fight to distract him. Years later the prince, now king, learned from the priest that performed his marriage that his beloved was not a peasant but a princess. She had run away from her harsh father, King Claudius of the small country of Peaz and was hiding in England as a peasant. She didn't tell the prince for she feared his life would be in danger. Her father had threatened to kill anyone that was possible love interest to his daughter. This knowledge saddened the king knowing had they only had a child he would have a rightful heir to the throne.

Unbelievably, the king comes to know that he does have a son! But an illegitimate son, or worse, a son born outside of a royal union, was not eligible for the throne. So, the king has to locate the proof that will reveal that his son is the rightful heir. Two items are required. The Holy is the certificate of marriage blessed by the priest (on this certificate the priest had identified the woman as the princess, not the peasant, should it ever be relevant). The Moly is the magical union of two halves of a pendant shared by the prince and his bride. The union of these two pieces would prove the lineage to the throne because the joining of the pieces could only be performed by one divinely appointed to the throne. There could be no pretenders. One half is a heart-shaped locket, the other a key. The king wears the key around his neck to this day but the heart-shaped locket hasn’t been seen since the death of the princess. The priest has also been missing in action. Without the Holy Moly, the child could not become king.

Geoffrey was enthralled with the legend and had so many questions. Who was the prince who had become king? Who was his true love? And what had become of the child? And how was he going to find this elusive priest and the Holy Moly? But Geoffrey brought himself up sharply and confidently and said to the king:

“It was this very night
I had a fright
But now know I’m a knight
So against monsters I’ll fight
Using my newfound might
I’ll set things right
And focus my sight
To resolve this plight!”

And before Richard could stop him, off Geoffrey went, typical male, not asking directions. Clearly that blow to the head not only robbed him of his memory but also of some of his sensibilities. In his enthusiasm, he headed straight for the forest, forgetting all about the sign that warned him of danger.

[Princess Wannabeme]

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After traveling only a hundred yards or so from the castle Geoffrey stopped suddenly and slapped his forehead. He looked around to confirm that he was alone. "Well, duh," he said to himself. "No horse!" He pivoted on his heels and trudged back to the castle. Clearly, before he could go on a quest he would have to have a horse. And he'd better get a change of clothes, too, he thought to himself. If anyone were to see what appeared to be a serf on a horse they would assume he had stolen it and that might bring the quest to an quick, ignominious, and possibly painful, end. Arms would be good. A shield, a lance, a sword, a dagger and some chain mail. He probably ought to ask someone about a squire, too. Someone to go with him to do the heavy lifting, or whatever it was that squires do.

While he was waiting for his acoutrements to be assembled, Geoffrey thought about the king's story about the Holy Moley. Intrigued as he was by the romantic tale, and the mystery of who the child was who could thwart Prince John's designs on the throne, he felt a slight bit of disappointment. He had thought for a moment that the king was going to send him to seek the other Holy Moley. The large, golden statuette of a mole, crowned with a glittering halo of precious stones that had been stolen from a sacred site in the Holy Land by the Knights Templar and brought to England after the First Crusade. It was said that whoever owned the Holy Moley would be invincible in battle, both foreign and civil. However, the object had been missing for a generation and locating it and possessing it were very much on the minds of the nobility. Prince John, especially, rubbed his hands together and salivated at the thought of having the Holy Moley.

A few hours later, Geoffrey started out again, properly dressed and armed for his quest. He rode a powerful horse and was accompanied by a young man named Thud. Thud wasn't too bright but he could play the psaltery and sing, and he was eager to be part of the adventure. As they approached the forest, it occurred to Geoffrey that perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone. He could find the first Holy Moley for the king and find the second for himself. Thud strummed his instrument and sang, "Moley One and Moley Two, We are coming after you!"

[Moley Three]

_________________

...After all it is our due!

Those who stand in our way
May not live to see the day
We make evil Prince John pay

For all the grief he has brought
Upon the King (or so he thought).
Now onward with our crazy plot!

[Sesquipedaliaphobe]

_____________________

Geoffrey and his companion, Thud, rode into the forest. The road was clearly marked, but as they progressed the forest grew more dense. The canopy of huge trees blocked the sunlight so it appeared that they had entered a twilight realm, and the thick underbrush limited their vision even more. At the time of Richard I, England and Wales were heavily forested. It wasn't until some two hundred and fifty years later that significant deforestation would occur to fill the building needs of the country. The English fleet, especially, would need vast amounts of wood to construct what would become the greatest navy in the world. However, the forest that Geoffrey faced was a vast, thick, dark world that supported deer, wolves, boar and bands of dangerous outlaws.

Along with his horse, arms and his assistant, Geoffrey had been provided with a rudimentary map before he left the castle. It showed little more than the road he was following along with certain landmarks by which to judge the distance he had travelled, but it did also show an inn where travelers could obtain a meal, ale, and relative security from the night that, absent lanterns carried by travelers, was as black as pitch. The forest itself was terra incognita. Fortunately for the new knight errant and his man Thud, they came upon the inn just as the darkness had begun to set in, making further progress impossible.

In the gloom, Geoffrey could barely read the sign above the door. It read, "The Mirthless Serf." He and his entered and spoke to a heavyset man with an angry visage and a milky eye.

"Innkeeper! My man and I need lodging for the night. We will also require a meal and a pint of ale apiece." The innkeeper gave the travelers a baleful look, but he nodded and motioned for them to take a seat at the long table that dominated the center of the room. As their host went about his business, Geoffrey looked around the inn. Seated at the end of the table to his right was a man with a large tankard of ale in front of him. He was clearly a denizen of the forest, dressed in a leather jerkin with dark green leggings and a dark cloak. Clearly, he was no farmer or serf, as he wore a dagger and sword. Across his back he carried a quiver from which a number of crossbow bolts protruded. On the bench beside him lay that weapon itself. Dressed as he was, the stranger made Geoffrey uneasy. He was no soldier nor was he a knight. Why was a lowly commoner armed? He intended to ignore the man, but the stranger fixed them with a level gaze and addressed the two wayfarers.

"Who are you, and to where do you travel? It is not good to journey through the woods without an armed escort. One never knows what ill might befall the unwary pilgrim. I have heard that some unfortunates have entered the forest never to reach their destinations." The armed man continued, "This inn is the last opportunity to reconsider your plans. If you go forward you may join the ranks of those who have disappeared."

[Grandog]

_________________

The errant knight eyed the armed man curiously and said, " Why, I am Geoffrey and this is my man, Thud. We are taking a rest before continuing our quest. Is it a threat you suggest or are you just a pest?"

The stranger's countenance brightened as he said, "A quest? A quest! This is the best! I was depressed but now I request to be your guest. I will protect you on your quest in the for-est."

Geoffrey exclaimed, "I am impressed! Afraid was I that you would molest, I was distressed but I've reassessed, yes be our guest. First we will ingest and rest and then continue on the quest expressed."

The stranger decided that as he would be increasing this questing party by one, this would be a good time to formally introduce himself. "My name is William but my friends call me Willy. I am pleased to make your acquaintances."

Out of words to rhyme with quest, and being men inherently incapable of superficial conversation, they all raised their pints to the quest, they drank, they dined, they rest(ed). When morning dawned, the intrepid trio set off on their expedition.

As they traveled, it occurred to Willy that he had yet to learn the nature of their journey. Just as Willy opened his mouth to speak, the three heard a loud sound off to the west. It sounded as if a giant beast was moving through the forest running over pine needles, snapping twigs and scaring the local fauna. They stopped their horses and tried to get a better bearing on the location of the beast. Suddenly, a giant wild boar broke through the underbrush and ran straight toward them, a hungry look in his eye. Before Thud could register his imminent peril, Geoffrey and Willy had simultaneously drawn their weapons, a sword and a crossbow respectively. When the boar was just inches away from the horses, Willy's arrow struck the boar between the eyes just as Geoffrey sliced off it's head. Thud was still trying to process what had just happened when Geoffrey and Willy looked at each other with surprise and admiration. They turned to each other and gave each other a high five.

Geoffrey said, "We're both speak the King's English well, we are skilled in the art of the fighting and we are extremely good looking. We must be brothers from another mother!"

At that Willy laughed and then said, "So, what is it we are expiscating for?" Geoffrey quickly filled him in on the pursuit of the Holy Moley, or rather the Holy Moleys - the priest, the pendant and the pest.

They resumed their journey but didn't get far when they heard a gruesome sound. They looked at each other quizzically and as they came upon the source of the sound their jaws dropped in amazement. To what to their wondering eyes should appear but several bands of dangerous outlaws practicing while waiting for their auditions for Medieval English Idol, a primitive precursor to American Idol, oddly popular in the 21st century. The cacophony was unbearable. Covering their ears and suppressing horrified giggles, the trio couldn't help but be drawn to the spectacle like moths to a flame. Over the discordant sounds of the Chalumeau and Dulcimer could be heard the wailings of one of the bands of idol wannabes...

We are so bad,
yeah, yeah, yeah
Don't get us mad
yeah, yeah, yeah
Or you'll be sad
yeah, yeah, yeah
'Cause we'll kill you!
Yeah

[Lady Bug and Malady]
__________________

"Boy!" Geoffrey said to no-one in particular. "What started out as a noble quest at the behest of the monarch has already deteriorated into low comedy. What makes those fools think they can sing? And where does that bunch of low born chattel get off leaving their lord and fief-holder's land when they should be scrabbling in the soil to plant their meager crops? What's this country coming to?"

"Tsk, tsk," said William and Thud in unison.

With that, the trio sat down under an enormous oak to rest a moment. "By the way," William remarked to Geoffrey, "a moment ago you commented that we both speak the king's English well. Perhaps we speak English, but doesn't the king speak French? Since the Conquest our rulers have thought of themselves as Frenchmen-in-charge rather than English. N'est pas?"

"Cut me some slack, will ya," answered Geoffrey. "I've got amnesia."

"Yeah," chimed in Thud, who had been listening carefully to the exchange. "Lighten up. Besides, I don't know if I'd admit to expiscating. I had a cousin who did that once and he was excommunicated."

In a effort to lighten up the conversation and in an attempt to overcome his congenital, male inability to make small talk, Geoffrey changed the subject. "We didn't have a chance to talk about you, Willy. Tell us" (he waived his arm to include Thud) "where you're from, what you do to earn a living, why you are so heavily armed and why you were so quick to join our quest."

William paused to consider his reply. Then he responded, "I am from the village of Squatney upon Trickle. I was a crop harvester. I cut crops with a sickle on the banks of the Trickle. But I got in a pickle for being fickle and had to leave. I lived off mushrooms and wild turnips in the forest until I was kidnapped by a band of outlaws. They taught me the skills of the forest dweller and how to use these weapons that I carry. The band that I was with preyed upon hapless travelers who were foolish enough to venture into the deep woods. They were quite ruthless, although they did have a charismatic leader who gave part of his booty to the poor. Of course, he wasn't motivated by altruism but rather was interested in buying the cooperation of local residents and officials. I think the people look upon him as sort of a godfather in green. I managed to escape several years ago. As to why I was willing to join you and Thud, well......"

[Danger Dog]

________________
having spent the past several years offering forest travelers protection from the green godfather and his merry men (in an attempt to make up for grievances suffered by these travelers) I have decided to take a break. I need a vacation. I want adventure and excitement! And what could be better than a quest?"

Anxious to continue this quest, Geoffrey accepted Willy's explanation and said, "Well, then, onward!" As they urged their horses forward, deeper into the forest, doubt niggled at the back of Geoffrey's brain. Why would Willy be allowed to escape from the green godfather and not suffer great consequences? Granted, Willy had been kidnapped and forced into service, but once a mobster always a mobster. Something was amiss. Geoffrey decided that while it was risky to have Willy as part of their group, it was probably riskier not to. He remembered something he heard long ago, "Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer." That was just what Geoffrey intended to do.

A few hours later, the trio encountered what appeared to be a little gnome-like creature complete with a long gray beard and twinkling eyes. The three stopped their horses, not quite sure what to make of this situation. As Willy reached for his crossbow, preparing to clear the way of this minor disturbance, the gnome spoke:

"Your weapons are no threat to me
Protected by magic I will be
I know the Holy Molies which you seek
You could find them within the week
However,
In order to continue on your quest
You must pass my little test."

The three men looked at one another anxiously. A test? No one said anything about a test on the quest! But before any of them could speak, the gnome continued in an ominous voice:

"Before you answer, consider the cost
Get it wrong and all is lost
For one of you will surely perish
But get it right the answer you'll cherish...

How many knights does it take to change a lightbulb?"

Willy, perplexed, started counting on his fingers. Thud stood there in support, eyes closed, hoping he would go unnoticed. Geoffrey, though, quickly piped up. "None! There is no such thing as a lightbulb!"

The gnome, stunned that his riddle had been solved, began to pout and stamp his feet.

"So, where do we go from here, little man?" Geoffrey asked?

"Over the river and through the..." said the gnome just as he spontaneously combusted.
[LB and PW]
___________________________

"Well, that little encounter was a non-starter, wasn't it?" commented Geoffrey. "I mean, we fiddled with a riddle in the middle of our journey only to have that fidgety midget become the victim of some auto-immolating pyrotechnic. What did we get out of it? Aggravation. Whatever he was going to tell us is lost, so let's get the show on the road. Boogety, boogety."

The intrepid trio trudged through the woods, camping at night near small streams that provided them and their horses with fresh water, huddled around meager fires that they deliberately kept small to avoid attracting the attention of anyone or anything who might lurk in the darkness. The forest seemed endless. Geoffrey and Thud had begun to doubt that they would ever see the sun again in spite of William's assurances that he was quite at home in the dark woods and would lead them out of the labyrinth. It had been three days since the small group had left the path at the site of their encounter with the gnome but it seemed an eternity. Just when Geoffrey was about to suggest that they go no further and retrace their steps, they saw light ahead. They pressed forward and soon they were out of the trees and in a large meadow. Across the meadow, on top of a low hill, they saw a castle. From the top of the keep flew a banner with a coat of arms none in the group recognized.

"Where are we?" asked Thud, obviously impressed. "Who do you suppose lives there? Clearly it must be a rich and powerful lord, to have such a large and fine castle." Even William shook his head. Although he was a creature of the forest he had never been to this area before. "This is terra incognita to me," he said.

[Monsieur Dog]

__________________

No sooner had William spoken than there was a small percussive sound and a puff of smoke directly in front of the travelers. Thud's horse, startled, shied and the young squire found himself flat on the ground. "I wondered how you came by the name Thud," Geoffrey commented. "Now I know." Turning back to focus on the source of the sound, they discovered that it was caused by the appearance of the gnome they had met on the road in the forest some days before.

"What happened?" Geoffrey exclaimed. "Where did you come from? When we saw you last you imploded! You should be mort, or as the English say, dead."

The gnome looked embarrassed and responded, "Well, I use that means of exit for dramatic effect but sometimes I get my timing wrong. I poofed a little too soon and stepped on my lines. I came back to finish my sentence about 'over the river and through the woods' but I see that you don't need my help. This was the place I was trying to send you, however cryptically."

Geoffrey, William and Thud looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Poofed?" they asked simultaneously. As they did so, there was another small explosion and a cloud of dust and the gnome disappeared again.

As the trio approached the castle they could detect no sign of life. At most castles settlements grew up in front of the walls, with people coming and going on their way to open air markets and to the stalls where merchants sold their wares. There was also constant traffic into and out of the castle gates. But here there was no sign of life. Except for the banner on the keep there was no indication that the place was inhabited. They became aware of an eerie silence that seemed to envelop the castle and its surroundings. Pausing to consider the situation, the three wayfarers almost decided to retrace their steps and take a route around the area. But before they could reach a consensus Thud spoke.

"Look!" he cried. "Who is it that approaches us? I'll swear that there was no-one there before! The direction from which he approaches tells me that he must have come from the castle, although I saw no-one leave it!" As the figure grew nearer they could see that it was a knight upon a large powerful horse. He was heavily armed and carried a lance under one arm. The long cloak he wore over his chain mail was green, as was the blanket under his saddle. Even the armorial device on his shield was done in green. Geoffrey, William and Thud shrank back. Although William had shown that he knew well how to use the weapons that he carried and Geoffrey had discovered that he himself was an accomplished swordsman, they intuitively knew that even together they would be no match for the mysterious knight who now confronted them.

The stranger surveyed the travelers with a stony gaze and then spoke. To Geoffrey, his voice sounded as he imagined it might if it were an echo from deep inside some ancient tomb. There was the sound of a thump as Thud fell off of his horse again. And even William looked shaken.

[Fiasco (Fiona and Tabasco)]

______________________

Suddenly, something registered deep within Geoffrey's amnestic brain. "Addressing the giant green knight he said, "Say that again!" The knight looked down at him and said rather loudly, "HO! HO! HO!" Geoffrey laughed and said, "Jolly? Is that you?" The green giant stared down at Geoffrey and then his big face split into a wide grin. "Geoff? Is that you? I haven't seen you since the knight academy!" As Thud and William watched in amazement, Jolly, the green giant knight, and Geoffrey, began some kind of complicated ritual greeting that involved hand slapping, fist bumping, butt wiggling, head butting and woohooing. When they had finished, Jolly inquired, "So what brings you to these parts?"

Geoffrey responded quite simply, "A quest!" To which Jolly said, "A quest? That's the best! I've been feeling repressed and thus depressed. My life needs zest! May I join your quest?"

Thud and William stood by looking a little unsure. To ease their anxiety, Geoffrey said to Jolly, "Let me check with the rest." The three travelers huddled and whispered and occasionally popped a head up to peek at Jolly. After a few moments a decision was made. The trio officially declared Jolly a quester and they became a quartet. Introductions were made all around.

Jolly let out a triumphant "Woohoo!" and then, abruptly, said, "Where are my manners? Would you three like to come into the castle and partake of some refreshment? And then you can tell me of what we seek."

(Lady Writer's Block)

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Soon, the quartet found themselves inside the castle walls. A disquieting silence pervaded the courtyard. There were no servants to take their horses or to show them into the great hall. No sounds could be heard from the stables or the smithy. Geoffrey couldn't even hear a bird chirp, try as he might. The interior of the castle was dim and musty but soon the travelers' eyes became accustomed to the gloom. As they wandered about the room, something caught Geoffrey's attention. Curious, he approached a niche in the stone wall next to the huge fireplace and peered at the object that had attracted his eye. Suddenly, he realized what he was looking at. It was a golden statuette of a garden pest. Yes, he thought. It's a mole. And a golden mole with a halo at that! It was the Holy Moley! He wanted to shout out his discovery to the others.

"Where did you get this?" he asked the green knight.

"I, er, well, I dunno." answered Jolly.

"What do you mean, 'I dunno'?" responded Geoffrey. His green friend looked uncomfortable. But before Jolly could answer, the group heard a deep boom echo throughout the castle. The door to the great room had been slammed shut!

Thud ran to the door and tried to open it, but to no avail. "It's locked!" he cried. "We're trapped!"

Geoffrey and William turned to the large man in green and demanded, in unison, "What's going on? What are you up to? What..." Suddenly, Geoffrey had a flash of insight and held up his hand for silence. Jolly was looking decidedly uncomfortable and had been drawing circles on the floor with his foot while he avoided eye contact. "Wait a minute!" Geoffrey exclaimed. "This isn't your castle at all, is it? IS IT?" Jolly remained silent. "What have you gotten us into?"

Still looking at the floor, the green knight responded, "I don't know whose castle this is. It has always appeared to be empty. I thought that if you believed I live here you'd be impressed."

"How do we get out?" asked Thud, looking decidedly ill at ease. But before anyone could answer with a plan to escape the castle, they heard a voice... a voice that froze them in their tracks.

"This is my castle," it said, "and you have trespassed. What business have you here? I do not welcome uninvited visitors. Speak, and I will decide what to do with you when I have learned who you are and why you are here."

Geoffrey swallowed a couple of times and began to speak. He decided to tell his whole story, beginning with finding himself, a victim of amnesia, in the stable at the castle of Lord Thomas, and ending with finding the Holy Moley only moments earlier. He also introduced his traveling companions, although he could not offer much in the way of biographical information. "And who are you?" he asked the mysterious lord of the castle. He stepped back, not knowing how his captor would react to his temerity. To his surprise, the voice answered in a level tone.

"I am Osric. I was a companion of the powerful and just King Arthur. I was at his side as he tried to return his people to the kind of social stability the Romans had created and administered in Britain for so long a time. When the Romans forces were withdrawn to the continent to address attacks upon the empire from the armies of barbarism, the pax Romanum and law order disappeared with them; I was his right hand as he sought to rebuild our society. I was with him, too, when he defeated the English tribes at Baden, and we were together when he died in battle at Camlan in the year of our Lord 515. The site upon which you now stand was an Arthurian stronghold and has been a fortification of one sort or another for as long as anyone can remember. I caused the castle itself to be built here a century ago. The spirits of many brave and dedicated warriors inhabit this place."

Geoffrey and his companions were stunned. "How is this possible?" blurted Geoffrey. "Arthur died over seven hundred years ago! No-one could possibly... that is, it's impossible that... surely you can't possibly expect us to believe... I mean this is beyond all..." He fell silent as the spectral figure of an ancient knight stepped out of the gloom and into the one feeble ray of light that showed through a narrow window in the wall high above the small group.

[Sir Loin of Pork]

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The ghostly Osric stepped out of the gloom, strode past the quartet and picked up the haloed pest. Pretty cool trick for a spirit. Once again, Osric began to speak.

“I have been waiting for you for I knew you would come. You have found part of what you seek in this statue. I must tell you of the statue's power because you will need it if you are to take to take your rightful place as king.”

The quartet stared at each other. Geoffrey as king? He was just a humble knight with a faulty memory.

Geoffrey blurted out, “Surely you jest! This must be a test. Give it a rest and hand over the pest for we must continue our quest.”

Just then there was a loud thump overhead followed by faint singing, beautiful singing. Geoffrey had never heard such a lovely sound. He felt the pull of his heart toward the voice but his attention was called back into the room by Osric.

“As you know,” Osric continued as if the thump never occurred, “King Arthur was proclaimed the true king because he was able to pull Excalibur from the stone. Similarly, the person that rubs the head of this mole and then glows, a sign of the absorption of all the powers of the kings that have gone before, is the true heir to the throne of England. Be prepared. If you are the true heir, the glow will not come on as a little tingle but with the power of lightning.”

“Cool!” Geoffrey proclaimed as he held his hand out for the mole.

[Duchess of Nuttin' Honey]

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Geoffrey withdrew his hand quickly. "Er, what happens if I rub the mole's head and I'm not the heir to the throne?"

"I don't want to give away any secrets, " the spectral knight responded, "but suffice it to say that it isn't good. I certainly wouldn't want to discourage you by being too explicit. Go ahead, give it a try!"

"How 'bout I give it some thought?" Geoffrey asked. "I need to relax, maybe have a tankard or two, put my feet up and sort this out."

"Oh, go ahead," William said, soto voce, from behind Geoffrey. It was the first time he had spoken since the four adventurers had become trapped. "After all, King Richard told you that you're his legitimate son. What harm could it do?"

"I'll tell you what," Geoffrey answered, "You rub the statuette. We know that you're about as far from the throne as a ground squirrel. That way, when you do it, we can find out what the down side is."

William stared and shot back, "Hey! My mamma didn't raise no stupid children! Do I look like I just fell off of the turnip cart?" Meanwhile, Jolly and Thud had both retired to the rear of the room, clearly hoping to avoid whatever might happen.

Geoffrey addressed their ghostly host. "I have an idea. Why don't I just take that Holy Moley back to King Richard, unrubbed."

Before the ancient knight could thunder his refusal to let the object leave his possession, everyone heard another thump overhead. Curiosity overcoming his apprehension, Geoffrey blurted out, "What's that sound? Who's upstairs?"

Osric looked somewhat put out but tolerated the digression, if only for a moment. "What you hear is the lady Fleur. She came to the castle seeking a place to hide from the unwanted attentions of Sir Robert of Rottingham. I have allowed her to stay. She had thought herself to be alone as I haven't revealed my presence to her, but now that you four have barged in here..."

Just then, a radiant young woman entered the room from the dark stairway that descended into the gloom. Geoffrey was stunned. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Tall and graceful, with raven hair and large blue eyes, she stepped forward to examine the small group. Stopping a safe distance away she surveyed the travelers, then addressed them in a well-modulated voice.

[Hondo the Canine Troubadour]

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"Holy Moley!" she said.

[Anonymous Pulitzer Laureate]

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"Who are you? What have I stumbled into? Are you minions of that loathsome Robert of Rottingham? If you are, I will never go with you! Never! Never!"

Osric gave the others a reproving, 'now-look-what-you-have-done' look while Geoffrey stood, struck dumb by Fleur's beauty. Here, indeed, was a damsel in distress, and he found himself unable to utter a coherent word. Finally, Thud piped up and said, "Not to worry, Milady, we don' know no steenkin' Rottingham and we're really pretty nice once you get to know us."

The spell having been broken, Geoffrey regained his voice. He bowed deeply and introduced himself and his companions and explained how they had come to the mysterious castle. He started to introduce Osric as well, but when he turned to do so the ancient knight was no longer there. It occurred to him that mentioning the eerie keeper of the castle might make him sound a bit deranged, so he decided to keep mum. If Fleur already knew about him, well then he didn't need to bring it up. If one of the other members of his group said something, so be it. At least he, Geoffrey, wouldn't come across as some wacko. At that point, however, it dawned upon him that, along with Osric, the Holy Moley had disappeared.

"Well, ca-rap!" Geoffrey exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" said Fleur.

Geoffrey blushed and apologized. He explained about his quest and that just when the statuette had been found right there in the castle it had somehow disappeared. "Everybody look around! It has to be here somewhere!"

Half an hour later, after having searched every nook and cranny, every niche and corner of the room the searchers remained sans Moley. Discouraged, Geoffrey threw up his hands in exasperation. Fleur, seeing his discouraged expression and empathizing with his sense of frustration, said, "I have a suggestion!"

"What?" everyone asked in unison.

"Why don't we just continue the quest for the other Holy Moley and stop back by here on the return journey. That will provide us with a much-needed intermission, and maybe by then we will have some new insight on where the object may lie hidden. Meanwhile, we will have accomplished the second half of our search."

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Geoffrey asked.

"Oh, I'm coming with you!" exclaimed Fleur. "You can protect me from the evil Robert of you-know-where... safety in numbers and all that... and, besides, I'm bored to death holed up here. And I can be a big help. Somehow. I'll bet."

[Hound of the Baskervilles]

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As the quintet rode away from the mysterious castle in search of the second Holy Moley, Jolly turned to Geoffrey and said, "You know, that Osric was hard to understand. He used a lot of old words."

"Well," responded Geoffrey, "that's because he was speaking Anglo Saxon. Remember, he's over seven hundred years old, so the language he used didn't have all the French influence our modern, thirteenth century language does. You probably noticed that he used 'gear-dagum' for the 'old days,' and referred to Arthur as a god-cyning', or 'good king.' Their old enemies were 'sceapena', and he used the word 'weoromynlum' a lot. It meant 'honor'. "

As they spoke, Fleur rode up alongside them on her white mare and addressed Geoffrey. "Where're we going and when'll we get there and why do you suppose ladies always have to ride mares and the men always get to ride the firey stallions I guess the mares are supposed to be more gentle but I will say that this one (Rowena) gets a little cranky from time to time and I 'spose they're white because white is a symbol of purity but I think a firey stallion would be more fun and by the way riding sidesaddle is a pain in the neck it really is 'cause when one faces to the side, she has to turn her head to see to the front and that's ok for a little while but it really gets old over the long haul so maybe we could make an exception in my case and find me a man's saddle somewhere, whaddaya think and did I mention that I could use a bite to eat?"

Geoffrey looked at Jolly out of the corner of his eye and said, soto voce, "I think this is going to be a loooong quest."

[Ranger, the mighty gelding]

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No sooner had Geoffrey spoken when the motley crew came upon a rickety little structure in the forest. A faded sign indicated that they had come to the "Holey Moley." Geoffrey's heart began to beat a little faster. "This is a sign," Geoffrey murmured. "The Holey Moley. Could it be that our quest is coming to an end?"

"Well, aren't you the big reader?" croaked a little troll-like creature standing nearby. "If it is the "Holey Moley" you seek, you have found it!" Triumphantly, the diminutive being held out what appeared to be a little cake with a hole in the middle (a delicacy known centuries later as the doughnut). Before Geoffrey could speak, Fleur jumped off her horse in a most unlady-like fashion and made a beeline for the petite cake. She inhaled deeply, smiled and then grabbed the cake and devoured it in three bites.

Having resolved her low blood sugar, Fleur suddenly began to speak, not rambling thoughts but instead coherent ideas punctuated with full stops. "That was the most delectable sweet I have encountered in some time!" The troll smiled, blushing furiously. Never had he seen such a beautiful being. Knowing that she had the little man's attention, Fleur batted her eyelashes and said sweetly, "We are on a quest. Have you seen a shadowy figure toting a gold statuette of a mole?"

The troll was more than happy to help. In fact, he was tired of running the "Holey Moley." Business was slow as not many travelers made it this far into the forest. "I would love to join your quest. I need a rest. I am depressed. And I know the way best. It's west. And besides, I have plenty of holey moleys left that we can take to sustain us! Oh, and by the way, my name is Ralph."

Again, Geoffrey didn't have time to speak. As he was pondering his response, Ralph had already passed around the holey moleys and the crew was munching heartily and happily. Geoffrey rolled his eyes. He was feeling less like he was on a quest and more like he was the leader of a parade, a very conspicuous parade. But Geoffrey, not one to hurt another's feelings, welcomed Ralph and provided introductions and a brief description of the quest for the priest, the pendant and the pest.

The crew, refreshed, headed west per the troll's guidance. As they continued to move through the forest, Ralph, who was riding with Thud since troll's don't own horses, leaned over toward Geoffrey. "Yo, Geoff," he said casually, "just so you know, we need to be careful of the dragon that protects the western edge of the forest. He's a real beast!"

Just as Ralph finished his thought, the six travelers heard a loud roar and felt the floor of the forest quake...

[Queen Queen Caroline, who washed her hair with turpentine...]

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Quickly the travelers drew their swords. Fleur exclaimed, "Hey! Hang on! I don't have a sword! How come I never get to..." Before she could finish, Thud handed her a sword. She took it and immediately the point struck the ground. "Crikey!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know these things were so heavy!"

The group huddled together, weapons ready. They could hear the trees crack and pop as something huge drew closer. Suddenly, it appeared. The scaly beast roared and turned its reptilian head from side to side to locate its victims. It was close enough that Geoffrey could feel the heat of its breath and smell the stench of the remains of past prey that still lingered in its serrated teeth. Its tongue flicked in and out as it swung its head toward the intrepid wanderers. Ralph, the troll, had inched away toward the trees hoping to avoid detection, but the monster sensed the movement. As quick as a cat it lunged out with one of its huge, clawed, falcon-like forefeet and crushed the hapless donut maker. Fleur was aghast. In an instant, it occurred to her that a living being had been snuffed out and the recipe for those addictive, fried circles of dough was lost forever. "Dang!" she said.

[Sir Rossis of Liver]

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Just then, the now quintet heard a loud burp and then the rustle of leaves as the dragon slithered back to its lair. “I hope your arteries rot!” shouted William.

“You tell him!” said Geoffrey weakly. He had never seen anyone killed before and hoped their quest would not take them across the path of the dragon again.

Fleur on the other hand was quite focused on the loss of the donut recipe. “Sugar, surely there was sugar. Flour? That, too. What else was in those cholesterol-clogging delights? Cinnamon? Maybe a turkey egg?” She continued to mumble to herself as the quintet wandered back toward the east, away from the dragon.

William shook his head. Where did this woman come from? Most women would have fainted at the sight of the dragon crushing a man, or troll as the case may be, but not this one. William himself longed for a drink, to be back at the tavern slugging a pint. This quest was turning out to be a little more than he bargained for.

All were lost in their thoughts when suddenly they heard shouting. It was Thud! They all rushed forward to find Thud pointing at a sign. It said “Castle of Secrets – This Way” with a big arrow underneath. While Thud couldn’t read, he was sagacious enough to know the sign meant something important.

[Princess Wannabe]

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Hoping to find someone who could direct them through the dark, seemingly endless forest and perhaps provide information that would provide some focus to their travels, the five followed the sign. As they did so, Geoffrey wondered what kind of castle they might find. He had never heard of a castle in a forest. Traditionally, castles were built on open terrain, where an enemy's approach could be observed and battles fought. Usually, they took advantage of natural features that made them easier to defend: a hill, a rocky promontory, a river. Castle builders generally built walls intended to encircle small villages, as well, as settlers were a source of goods and services and paid rents to the lord of the castle in return for protection. And, other than wood for floors and roofs, the forest didn't seem to be a likely source for castle building materials. Geoffrey was puzzled. Would the sign lead them out of the woods? What secrets did the sign refer to? Why would the castle advertise its presence?

Soon, the five friends entered a clearing and encountered a dilapidated picket fence made of sticks and limbs that had been collected from the floor of the forest. In the fence there was a gate next to which was a crudely lettered sign that announced, "Admission 2 pence," and "You must be this tall to enter." They craned their necks to see what lay beyond the gate and could just make out what appeared to be a rough caricature of a castle: a low, ramshackle structure made of wattle, with faux turrets and crenelated walls. There was a narrow, stagnant moat with a drawbridge that didn't look as if it could support the weight of a horse, much less be raised to block the entrance. The finishing touch was an insubstantial portcullis that had obviously been thrown together for effect. Uneven letters above the entrance said, "Castle of Secrets." None of the adventurers had ever seen anything like it.

"What do you think?" asked Geoffrey to no-one in particular. Jolly took off his helmet and scratched his head. There was no response until Fleur said, "Tacky, tacky, tacky."

"What do we do now?" asked William.

"Well," Geoffrey responded, "put 2d in the bucket and let's see what happens." William dropped a coin in the receptacle. It made a metallic thunk that betrayed the fact that there were no other coins inside. "Now, while we wait," Geoffrey continued, "let me say that I wasn't totally pleased at this group's performance vis a vis the dragon. What I want to see is a quintet of Myrmidons, not a band of bumblers. This is turning into an exercise in nugacity. Now, let's be assertive, proactive, forceful and smart. What do you say, gang? Whatever comes up, we're more than a match for it. Right? Let's hear it! Hoo-rah!

No sooner had he finished his pep talk when a strange figure appeared from the odd building's front portal. It was an old man with a white beard, dressed in a tall, conical hat and long robes. He wore a name tag that said, "Hello, I'm Merlin." "Aah!" he exclaimed. "I heard the sound of money! Welcome to the Castle of Secrets! Prepare to be amazed!"

[DOD (Duke of Drek)]

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The fearless five looked at each other and Thud snickered. "Nice outfit," he muttered under his breath. Little did they know what was in store for them. Merlin waved his berobed arm toward the entrance to the "castle" and intoned, "Follow me."

They all entered the portal and found themselves in a well lit room. "Please sit while I get some refreshments," said their host.

Fluer looked around the room and noticed there was an armoire. Curious, she walked over and opened the door. Inside, she found clothes. "Oooh, look at these fine frocks!" She looked down at her rather ragged outfit. Though she was quite beautiful, tall and graceful, she dressed like a maidservant in frumpy, unfitted clothes. It was a tribute to her beauty that the clothes did not detract from it. Needless to say, the ragtag group she had joined wasn't looking much better.

Just then Merlin returned to the room and passed around the plate of crackers and tankards full of ale. Fluer took a bite of the cracker. "Yummy, but they could use some sugar, maybe cinnamon?" She couldn't get the fried dough delights off her mind.

"So, what secrets does this castle hold?" Geoffrey asked, eager to get on with their quest and to get Fleur's mind off the donuts.

"Secrets that are life-changing!" Merlin crowed. "Please sit, listen and you will learn. Just give me a moment."

All hurriedly sat and watched intently as Merlin ambled from the room. Fleur took the opportunity to look again at the armoire. "I think there are jewels in there, too. I so wish I had some style sense and knew how to accessorize..."

Just then Merlin walked back into the room with two others. Smiling, he introduced his companions. "I am pleased to introduce Sir Clinton and Lady Stacey. They are going to share their secrets of what not to wear which will lead to confidence and greater self-esteem."

Before they knew what hit them, Sir Clinton and Lady Stacey were explaining the benefits of straight-leg, flat front knickers to the men and the flattering affects of empire waists and A-line skirts to Fleur. A pop of color in your accessories was the secret to any great outfit.

Powdered, puffed, styled and accessorized, the quintet trouped from the castle and back into the forest. With new confidence they resumed their quest.

[Countess of Couture]
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After they had gone a short distance, Geoffrey held up his hand and called for a halt. When the group had gathered around its leader, he asked, "Will someone please tell me what happened back there? We entered that place as intrepid adventurers and left as over-dressed fops!" He glanced at Fleur and added, "well, maybe not you." He continued, "Not only that, we paid 2d to get in so we could end up paying a ton more for these hoity-toity garments we're wearing." He looked at Jolly and snickered. "It makes me angry, until I look at you, and then I have to laugh. Of course, your garb could be an advantage. Any self-respecting enemy would fall off of his horse at the sight. Knickers? Who ever heard of a knight in knickers!"

William spoke up, "I think we were taken in by some kind of couture con artists. Lady Fleur looks pretty good, I have to admit, but she's hardly dressed for our arduous task. What she needs is a pair of pants to ride in, not another floor-length gown. And besides, it's a wonder she doesn't strangle with all that stuff around her neck. Accessories, indeed!"

Jolly interjected, "Well, don't pick on me! All of you look like girly-boys."

"Who're you calling a girly-boy?" shouted Thud.

"Hang on! Han Gone!" shouted Geoffrey. "This is getting us nowhere. Everybody stop complaining. We learn from our mistakes. Cowboy up and lets decide what we're going to do about this."

"Cowboy up?" asked Fleur. "What does that mean? What's a cowboy, some kind of mythical cross between a bovine and a boy? It sounds grotesque!"

"'Cowboy up' means 'take it like a man and stop complaining.' A cowboy is a... er... never mind. Just suck it up and make the best of the situation."

No sooner had Geoffrey stopped speaking than a rough-looking group of five men stepped onto the path in front of the quintet of adventurers. They were dressed in forest green, all the better to go unnoticed in the forest. They had on hardy shirts of homespun wool, durable pants, leather vests and soft-soled shoes. On their heads they wore peaked caps with feathers in the bands. They carried weapons, the most notable of which was a long bow, slung over the shoulder. The leader of the group addressed Geoffrey. "Stand and deliver!" he said. "Surrender your purses, your weapons and your horses, or the next traveler will find your bones bleaching along the road."

"Man!" exclaimed Geoffrey. "If isn't one thing it's another. After what we just experienced, this happens!" His entire band, irritated and frustrated at having been finagled by the fast-talking fashionistas at Merlin's Castle of Secrets, charged the would-be robbers as one, screaming and swinging their swords. Startled the robbers fell back, but before they could recover and draw their bows, Geoffrey, Jolly, Fleur, William and Thud were upon them.

A short while later, the five were back on the path through the forest. Behind them, they left five holdup men dressed in knickers and otherwise incongruously fashionable clothes, tightly tied to trees. The leader of the armed robbers wore a long dress with several yards of accessorizing bling around his neck.

"I feel a lot better now," said Geoffrey, to no-one in particular. There was general agreement in the ranks.

Fleur agreed, saying, "It sure feels better to be wearing pants, no matter what kind of scandal it may cause. I wish that those low born thieves had been mounted... I might have been able to get rid of this sidesaddle!"

"Cowboy up!" said Geoffrey. "We'll take care of that later."

[Sir Drivel]

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As Geoffrey led his motley crew seemingly deeper into the never-ending forest, he let his mind wander over the events that had gotten them to this point. It was a lot to process for a young knight. Geoffrey had gone from a stablehand with amnesia to being a knight on a quest at King Richard's behest, a quest for the Holey Moley trio (the locket, the priest and the golden mole).

Geoffrey was jolted from his reverie with the sound of sobbing. He slowed his faithful steed and circled back toward the group. To his surprise he found Thud, great big tears falling from his eyes, working up to a loud wail. Afraid of attracting unwanted attention Geoffrey slapped his squire's face and said sternly, "Get it together, man. Whatever is the problem?"

Taken aback by the sound slap, Thud hiccuped and stared mutely at Geoffrey. Then he said timidly, tears threatening to spill from his eyes once more, "I miss my mom. I miss my home. What are we doing in this godforsaken forest?"

Geoffrey could see that Thud's companions shared his feelings. All looked as if they had lost the zest for the quest. The young knight reminded his fellow travelers of the purpose of the quest. Seeing a glazed look in their eyes he decided that it was time for a pep talk. He had everyone dismount and then gather together in a huddle, arms draped around one another. He then recounted all the obstacles that one or all had faced thus far: a boar; a band of singing outlaws; a enigmatic gnome; Osric, the ghostly knight; the death of Ralph, the troll; a dragon; the loss of the fried cakes; a makeover and lastly, a gang of bow-wielding thieves. Geoffrey told them that if they could get this far surely they could dig deep and persevere.

After a moment of silence the ragtag group looked at one another and then Thud placed his hand in the middle of the huddle. Jolly put his on top and Willy and Fleur followed suit. Geoffrey smiled and placed his hand on as well. In unison they said, "Any time, any place, we, the questers, are on the case!" After some laughter and some hearty backslaps, everyone remounted their horses ready to finish the quest.

The five traveled no more than a hundred yards when the trees thinned and light began to shine. A beautiful meadow filled with wildflowers spread in front of them, not a tree in sight. "At last, no more damn forest," said Thud under his breath.

[Duchess of Disco]

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The sky was blue with high white clouds. They could see birds soaring through the cool air. The flowers spread a blanket of color before them. The contrast with the foreboding gloom of the dark forest was startling. It was as if they had entered a magical kingdom. The travelers could almost imagine that they heard music. Soon, as they followed the faint path through the meadow, Fleur commented, "I thought that I imagined that I heard music but you know what? I do hear music."

"Me, too," the others pitched in.

As they pressed on, they became aware of someone approaching. Soon they could see that it was a man, dressed in bright garments made of rags and patches. As he strolled along, he strummed an instrument and sang in a beautiful tenor voice, "A wandering minstrel, I, ..." He stopped singing and halted in his tracks when he saw the five adventurers. When they drew close, he gave a deep bow, sweeping his hat from his head with an elegant gesture.

"You sing beautifully," said Fleur. "Who are you?"

"I yam Don Diego de Zamboni, a small town in Espana. I yam a trovador. I seeng songs for de peeples in return for a few coins. I do requests. Jou gotta cancion jou wanna hear?"

"We are on a quest," Geoffrey interjected. "Perhaps you can give us some information to help us find the object of our search."

Don Diego looked indignant. "Do I look like informacion central? What makes jou theenk I will geeve you informacion? I yam a seenger."

Geoffrey may have spent the last few years in a stable, but he could see where this was going. "Far be it from us to expect you to take time out of your busy schedule to talk to strangers when you could be singing for someone who shows his appreciation with money," he said while thinking to himself that there probably not a paying customer within miles of where they were. "Of course, we would not expect you to give us information without recompense."

Don Diego smiled, mollified. "What ees eet dat jou want to know?"

Geoffrey explained the purpose of their quest to the Spanish troubadour and asked, "Do you know where we might find someone who could lead us to the priest who conducted the marriage ceremony between Richard and Catherine? We seek him not only for King Richard but also for his own sake as, should the king's brother John should learn of his existence, his life could be in grave danger."

"And jou would protect him?" asked the minstrel.

"Yes!"

"Then jou have come to de right place. Jou have foun' the priest jou seek. Yo soy him. Es me! I yam de man." Don Diego noticed the look of skepticism on the faces of his audience. "Ees true. I used to be a priest, but I quit for the lure of de open road. Now I am a seenger of songs and a free spirited wanderer."

"And where is the document recording the birth of the child?" Geoffrey demanded, doubtfully.

"I'll show jou!" Don Diego exclaimed. "Eet is in a small iglesia, er, church, not too far from here. Eet is in the records. De veras!"

"Then let's go," said Geoffrey. Jolly pulled the singer up behind him on his great horse and they set out once more, hoping that they would be successful and soon able to return to Osric's castle to complete their quest.

[El Cuentero]

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"I'm beginning to feel the agony of hunger pain..." mused Geoffery. Directing his distress towards their new guide, he haughtily requests "Good sir, perchance is there a place on the way to the church where we may dine? I'm afraid that my disposition is becoming a bit foul due to a certain lack of food."

"Why, of course, senor!" Don Diego replied with good cheer. "We can stop at the royeel 'all of King Burger! Hee is the best cook een these parts. Not only es his food prepared quickly, you can place your orders by numbur." The minstrel breaks out into a tune that sings the praises of the Burger King, illustrating in great detail the quality of the ingredients he employs.

Geoffery and company are only slightly perplexed at this point. "Should I even bother asking why this local monarch is in the habit of creating cuisine and serving it to the unwashed masses?" ponders the stable boy turned potential throne-seeker.

"Another burger?" grumbles William. "I hope this one's better than the one I got in Scotland. That clown of a chef churned out a meal that would make a goat grimace!"

"That sucks somethin' awful." remarks Thud. "But if you think thats horrible, then stay away from the red-headed lass in the burrough of Indigeston. Every time I go there I come away with the winds...such terrible winds!"

Jolly, an ardent vegetarian, begins to speak of the wonders of bean burgers, but abstains. The last time he was in such a conversation he was mocked and subsequently banished from the group.

"I've never suffered so greatly as thee. But let me tell you," Lady Fluer proclaims. "I once knew a jester who made burgers when he was not entertaining. The wonderous scent of greasy food often would rise up from his make-shift kitchen to his king's open bedroom window. Thinking the aroma mere peasant food the royal regularly denied his stomach's insistent demands. Eventually, however, he was unable to control his primal desire and the king ordered a servant to retreive a burger for him."

"The jester, whose name was Jack, was so humbled that the king should want to feast upon anything that lay upon his grill. So to show his gratitude, he brought his burger to the king personally. Jack stood before his lord while his specialty was consumed. It seemed all was well as the king finished his meal in a quick manner, leaning back in his throne bearing a broad smile across his face and a hand atop his full belly. But while the king dabbed his beard with his napkin, his smile slowly gave way to an expression of utter distress. A great, menacing sound slowly erupted from his bowels that could be heard throughout the castle. What followed shortly afterwards could only be explained as...the utmost embarassment."

"Jack was escorted immediately to the dungeon where he was sentenced to be locked in a small box as punishment. A hole on top of his cell allowed him to stretch his body which was his only exercise. But every time he took advantage of this ability to move, he was forced to stick his head out thereby risking abuse at the hands of his keepers in a form of torture known as...Whack-a-Mole."

[Baron Brain]
_____________________________________________________________

After their brief tangent, Don Diego said “To eet or not to eet ees the question.”

“Eet!” was the unanimous reply from the troupe. So they all headed off to Burger King for a little sustenance before continuing their journey.

Arriving at the fast food tavern, each one picked a number, fascinated with the concept. Being gentlemen, they let Fleur go first. She placed her order and as she was carrying it on a tray to a table she tripped, but managed to hold onto her tray. When she sat, she realized that some of her drink spilled onto her now favorite, and only, pair of pants. As the men returned to the table they heard her say “Out, damned spot!”

After a delightful meal, after which no one suffered any ill effects, they headed for the door, planning to mount up and resume their quest. As they walked out they noticed their horses were gone and so was the priest! Geoffrey, in frustration, shouted, “A horse, a horse, my future kingdom for a horse!”

[Lady Macbeth]

____________________________________

He turned to his followers and said, "A little neglect may breed great mischief... for want of a burger the horses were lost; and for the want of the horses the riders were lost; and for the want of the riders the quest was lost! Oh, woe is us, to have come so far only to be laid low by the thievery of that Iberian Iago, that Spanish swindler, that Latin lowlife! Diego the Deceiver! The Troubadour of Trickery! The Minstrel of Malice! The Sinful Singer of ..."

"OK," interrupted Fleur. "We get it. What do we do now? Do we have enough bucks between us to buy new mounts, or do we go back to the forest and emulate that robbing hoodlum that William used to work for and steal some steeds?"

"Hey! I like that!" Jolly said. "We're bad! We're bad! We're baaaaad!"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes heavenward as if to say, "spare me!" then looked at Jolly and remarked pointedly, "'The saying is true, 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.' Please do not prove it. Just zip it. Zi PIT!" Addressing the small band, he went on, "'There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things.' Cowboy up. We'll get through this."

No sooner had he finished speaking than he heard a voice behind him. "Jou made a mistake. My Ingles een't so good, but even I know that jou should say 'There are' and not 'there is.' Occasions is plural!"

"I know that," rejoined Geoffrey. "I was quoting someone else who said it that way. So just butt out. Now..." He did a double-take. "Wait! Diego? Diego! Where've you been and what have you done with our means of transportation, you thieving Castilian con man? I oughtta..."

"I was in de men's room," Diego replied. Jou would be surprise at how hard it is to find a men's room in our thirteenth century environment. Ees no mean trick, I tell jou! As for de caballos, I don' know nothing 'bout no steenking caballos!"

"Hey! Here's my vote," Fleur said, louder than she needed to, exasperation nibbling at the edges of her words, "Let's hike over to the church, which isn't far, get the document we need, then get our nalgas" (she looked at Diego and said sarcastically in a lower voice, 'comprendes nalgas, amigo?') "into the forest. Instead of robbing the rich I think we should rob the dirty thieves who rob the rich in the first place. Get that robbing hoodlum in the old cross hairs. And William is just the person to find him! Then we can get back to Osric's castle."

A cheer went up from the small group. "OK, let's go!" they said in unison.

[The Prince of Persiflage]

_______________________

Despite the fact that they now had to travel on foot, the group, armed with a plan, took their nalgas and followed the seenger/priest over hill and dale to the little iglesia. If Diego was indeed telling the truth and it did indeed hold the documentation Geoffrey sought, the group could check the priest off their quest list and continue their search for the remaining items, the pendant and the pest. "Soon," Geoffrey thought to himself, "we can give this godforsaken quest a rest!"

After what seemed to be hours later the tired travelers stopped in front of an unassuming little structure. The only indication that the place might have any connection to God was a small cross carved into the wooden door. Don Diego waved his arms excitedly and exclaimed, "Ees mi iglesia. We here!"

Don Diego opened the door and the group tumbled in after him. All seemed to be wondering whether this quest was really going to result in something other than thieves, dragons, gnomes, castles and whatnot. Diego walked over toward the small, simple altar, knelt before the crucifix that hung above it, mouthed a silent prayer and crossed himself. He then turned toward the altar. He ran his hands over the back side of it tapping lightly. When he found the spot he was looking for Diego tapped three times. A tiny door swung open. Diego slipped his hand into the opening. Geoffrey, Thud, William, Jolly and Fleur took a collective breath. Suddenly, Diego smiled. "Heere is vat you vant!" he said triumphantly.

Geoffrey walked over to Diego and took the paper from his hand. Since Geoffrey had been educated in reading, he looked over the document and nodded to the group. "It shows that Catherine was indeed a princess and that Richard and Catherine were indeed married!" "Hallelujah!" the group shouted simultaneously.

Everyone was so busy hugging and high fiving the priest and each other that they did not immediately notice the woman standing in the doorway. Her shadow caught Geoffrey's eye and he turned to see what attracted his attention. When he saw her, he went still. There was something very familiar about her. He knew her! "Mom?" Geoffrey whispered. Tears began to stream down his face and hers. As he continued to look at her he noticed the heart shaped locket hanging on a chain around her neck. The woman nodded, walked to Geoffrey and folded him into her embrace. It was then that Geoffrey realized that this woman was Catherine, the beloved wife of Richard and his mother. That meant that he, Geoffrey, was the son and rightful heir to the throne England! "Unbelievable!" he thought.

Once reunited, Catherine told her story. She explained that she had been afraid that John would discover that Geoffrey was really Richard's son, afraid for Geoffrey and herself. With the help of those delivering her child, Catherine faked her own death and sought the help of the priest who had married her and Richard. Though she desperately missed her son, she knew he would be safer without her. Since her "death" Catherine lived here serving God and taking care of the poor people who attended the iglesia.

As much as Geoffrey didn't want to leave Catherine, he knew he had to finish the quest. He had the proof from the priest and the pendant from Catherine. Now to find the pest and head back to King Richard! Geoffrey promised to return once the quest was at rest.

As he tried to round up the troupe he was met with a lot of grumbling. "This is a touching situation and all," said William, "but we are hungry!" At that Catherine smiled widely and disappeared. She soon returned with a tray covered with a cloth. She pulled off the cloth to reveal little fried cakes. "I call them donuts," she said. Fleur collapsed at Catherine's feet in utter joy. "I never thought I would see those delectable little treats again!" she shouted. When asked about the recipe, Catherine explained that she had gotten it from a little magical forest gnome named Harvey. To Fleur's delight Catherine sent them on their way loaded with donuts and the recipe.

Refreshed, the five travelers bade Don Diego and Catherine farewell and paraded back in the direction of the forest, stolen horses and Osric's castle.

[Caroline]

_________________________

As they trudged along, Fleur turned to Geoffrey and commented, "I feel really good about finding the wedding record and the locket, but I have to say that I'm relieved to have left that Diego person behind. OK, he did lead us to Holy Moley number one, but there was something not quite right about him."

"Really? Like what," Geoffrey responded.

"Like did you notice his accent? When he extracted the marriage record he said, "Heere is vat you vant." He went from sounding like a Puerto Rican baseball player (or would have if I knew what Puerto Rico and a baseball player are) to sounding like Vlad the Impaler (if only Vlad had been born by now.) There was also a little je ne sais quois about him that didn't ring true. And that business about the horses bothers me. There is something really fishy about that. Who ever heard of a men's room?"

Soon the little band of adventurers reached the dark and forbidding forest. Something made Geoffrey uneasy. He turned to his squire, Thud, and asked for his sword. Thud drew the sword out of one of the large saddlebags that he had removed from his horse at Le Roi de Burgairs and now carried over his shoulder, and offered it to his master. Before Geoffrey could grasp it, however, it fell to the ground. "Hang on!" Geoffrey exclaimed. "What's up with you, my ambisinister amigo? My fumble-fisted friend? My slipshod sidekick? My ham-handed..."

Fleur interrupted, batting her eyelashes and lowering her voice, "You're babbling again, Big G."

Geoffrey looked at Fleur. There was something in her tone that he hadn't heard before. Something about the way she looked at him. He felt himself blush. He had been aware of how beautiful she was but somehow the difficult quest had demanded so much of his attention that he had given it little thought. Now, however, he realized what a striking figure she had, apparent even in men's clothing. No wonder that Diego character had hung around her so closely (he felt a twinge of anger at the recollection.) He gulped. "What a babe!" he thought to himself. Did he dare dream that at some point his interest might be reciprocated?

He shook himself. "Sorry, Thud," he muttered as he leaned down to pick up the sword. Now armed, he motioned the group into the woods. What intuition made him ill at ease? They had traversed the forest before. Somehow, something was different this time. Something wasn't quite right. For some reason he sensed menace, danger. Soon, gloom enveloped them.

[WBS]

_______________________

Geoffrey couldn't believe it. The quest he started with such zest he now wanted to put to rest. He didn't want to deal with gloom and danger. He simply wanted to go home and explore the possibility of a relationship, or at the very least mad, passionate sex, with Fleur, the babe with the bodacious bod.

However, Geoffrey didn't like to leave things unfinished. So he led his motley crew once again into the woods. He knew that his little group shared his frustration given all of the grumbling and growling he heard behind him. They hadn't gone far when Thud, ever the trusty servant, said observantly, "These woods sure are gloomy. The air seems a little thicker than before." William and Jolly nodded their agreement as they both began to cough.

Fleur looked around and realized that the gloom was a result of a fire that was blazing just ahead of them. At first she thought that the dragon had resurfaced and toasted a lost traveler. Upon closer examination she noticed a couple of odd elfin-like shoes. She then understood what had happened. Fleur turned to the group and said, "It looks a like several of the wood gnomes were together when they self-immolated. That's what caused all the gloominess. Once we get a little farther this smoke should dissipate."

At this point no one knew how or why Fleur would know anything about gnomes, their rituals, including self-immolation, or the characteristics of smoke for that matter, but no one cared. All shared Geoffrey's waning enthusiasm for the quest. And why not, all that was left was some stupid mole statue that may or may not have the power to make a man king. So they trudged forward through the smoke looking for the final object that would put an end to their journey.

Suddenly the smoke dissipated as Fleur predicted and the questers found themselves once again in the clearing where Osric's castle stood. Geoffrey shook his head and looked again. "Could we really be near the end of this quest?" he wondered aloud. Shouts of potentially premature enthusiasm arose from those behind him and he felt those feelings of joy overcome him as well. Geoffrey took a deep breath, smiled and said in a confident voice, "To the Holey Moley!"

Without so much as a plan the small group stormed the castle, swords at the ready (though useless against a ghost it seemed like the thing to do). The five of them tumbled through the front door landing on one another. Once they had managed to separate themselves from one another, William said, "I think we need to spread out, each go a different direction in search of the mole. Whoever finds it yell but don't touch it. We wait for Geoffrey! And then we see what happens!" The team huddled, stacked hands and threw them up and cheered wildly. As he went off Geoffrey realized he was too tired at this point to be concerned about a ghost named Osric or fondling a golden rodent statuette. If need be he would do it and take his chances. With luck nothing would happen they could end this nonsense and go home.

Geoffrey wandered into the great hall, lured by the fire. He stood before the blaze and rubbed his hands together warding off the chill in the castle. Suddenly a glint of light caught his eye. He looked up and saw the golden garden pest occupying the niche in the wall next to the fireplace. Geoffrey couldn't believe his eyes! He let out a whoop and his companions came running into the hall.

Desperate to put this quest to rest Geoffrey didn't think, he simply walked straight over to the golden mole and picked it up. He placed his right hand on the head of the statue and began to rub. Soon Geoffrey began to glow as if lit up from within. Then, as previously indicated, he felt a tingling sensation, then more of a burning. "Is it possible? Am I the true heir to the throne of England?" Geoffrey thought. Suddenly he was jolted from his thoughts when Fleur shouted, "Geoffrey, you're on fire!" Apparently a flame from the fireplace licked Geoffrey's cloak as he reached for the mole. Fortunately Thud had taken the fire safety class, one of the requirements for being a squire. He ran toward Geoffrey, tackled him and rolled him across the floor, the early version of "Stop, Drop and Roll." When the fire was out, Thud helped Geoffrey to his feet.

"I guess this means I must be the rightful heir to the throne of England," Geoffrey said with a smile. He picked up the statue and packed in his bag along with the document proving the union between Richard and Catherine and the locket. Then he said the words everyone longed to hear, "Let's go home!" Shouts and whoops of joy could be heard throughout the castle and beyond.

Epilogue:

The questers returned to King Richard and presented him with the three Holey Moleys. King Richard congratulated the group and knighted Thud, William and Jolly. As he was a progressive king and supported equality for women, he knighted Fleur as well. He gave Geoffrey, his now legitimate son, the official title of Prince of England, heir to the throne.

Geoffrey told Richard that he had no interest in being the king. Instead, Geoffrey asked Fleur to marry him. With the money they received as a wedding gift from King Richard the two started their own donut company with the recipe given to them by Catherine. This company was the precursor to the modern day Dunkin' Donuts.

Will, Thud and Jolly formed their own tour company. They took travelers on tours which included the gloomy woods, Osric's castle, the Castle of Secrets and Don Diego's iglesia and the highlight, Best in the West Donuts run by Geoffrey and Fleur.

The quest is now at rest.

[Caroline]

Caribbean Interlude

2008-05-09T14:15:00.000-07:00

"Naiomi crouched in the dark. She could scarcely see her hand in front of her face but she knew that the way out of the room was somewhere in front of her. She knew that she had to move but she was unsure of what obstacles lurked in her path. She tried again, unsuccessfully, to stop her hands from trembling. She felt disoriented and unsteady. Her fear enveloped her like a chill mist. She took a deep breath in an attempt to regulate her gasping respiration. Her pulse was racing. She had to do something. If she remained where she was she knew she would die. She had to move to save her life and her sanity. Naomi reached out with her left hand to take the hand of her friend Minerva who cowered by her side. "Min!" she whispered hoarsely, "we have to go now before we're discovered! We can't stay here! If we do, it will find us and we'll die! I don't think we're hidden in the darkness! I think it can smell us!" Naomi tugged at her friend's hand. Something was terribly wrong! In an instant she realized that there was no resistance. The weight was wrong. It was slippery. She wanted to scream! In her left hand she held the severed hand of her friend. She leaped to her feet, but the floor was wet, too, and she slipped and fell. She was up again in an instant but now she was covered in what she knew must be blood. She could feel it run down from her scalp onto her face. She could feel it trickle down between her breasts. She could feel it drip from her outstretched arm. Naomi's stomach churned. She had to escape! She threw herself forward in the blackness toward what she prayed was the exit."

Sara snapped the book shut. Horror novels weren't the kind of reading that made for a relaxing, lazy day on the beach. She stretched out on the canvas lounge chair and drew her feet toward her a few inches to ensure that they didn't extend beyond the shadow of the large umbrella planted in the sand next to her. An attendant in a white cotton jacket appeared at her elbow and presented her with a tray on which sat another ice cold martini. Sara removed her sunglasses and took the frosty glass.

Sara had promised herself this Caribbean vacation for years. Finally, she had been able to break away from her demanding schedule and book two weeks at a luxurious beach-side hotel. The only thing that would make it better, she reflected, would be to meet the man of her dreams. Oh, there had been a dalliance here, a brief affair there, back home in London, but nothing that held the promise of developing into real love. British men were so undemonstrative, so cool, so aloof. Perhaps she would meet her soulmate here in the tropics where everything but the cocktails was hot.
[Maddog]
____________________
Sara took a sip of the delightful cocktail, a Cosmo. She lay back on the lounge chair and closed her eyes. When she next opened her eyes, it was dark outside. How strange. She could have sworn she had closed her eyes for only a minute or two. She sat up and looked around. The beach was so dark at night, away from all the ambient light of the big city. She heard the lapping of the gentle waves in front of her and thought about how peaceful it was. The quiet was suddenly disrupted when she sensed someone near her. She looked to her right and she saw a dark shadow approaching. She looked again and she could swear she saw the gleam of a knife dripping with blood. Sara closed her eyes and let out a piercing scream. She wanted to run but her fear pinned her to the canvas chaise. Her heart was racing and then she could feel and smell the hot, minty fresh breath on her face just before she heard a masculine voice say “Miss, are you alright?” Her eyes flew open and she saw the handsome attendant leaning over her. In one hand he was holding a plate of cheesecake covered in a thick cherry sauce and in the other a large knife with which to cut the dessert. Momentarily confused, she looked around and then saw the couples and other vacationers sitting on the veranda of the beautiful hotel behind her, sipping wine and enjoying fancy desserts, like cherry-covered cheesecake! Her heartbeat slowed to almost normal as she once again heard the voice of the attendant. “Even though you missed dinner, I thought a beautiful woman like you wouldn’t want to pass on dessert. I’m so sorry I startled you.”
[Margaret]
______________________

Sara looked at the man with the cheesecake. "Are you the idiot who brought me the cosmo? I was drinking martinis! In fact, that last drink even looked like a martini! But I know martinis, and I know cosmos, and that was a cosmo! Of course I drank it anyway, but that's beside the point! When I want gin I want gin, not rum!" She paused a moment to regroup. "What's in a cosmo, anyway? I think I was thinking mojito when I said rum. Oh, well, in any case it wasn't what I wanted."

The man from the hotel looked crestfallen. "Actually, it was a martismo. A cross between a martini and a cosmo. The bartender just invented it and wanted to see if the guests liked it. That one's on the house." He perked up and smiled. "Would you like another?"

"Oh, barf. By the way, you look familiar. Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"You may have seen me working along the beach at the Blotto Grotto Bar. Or waiting tables at the Wino Rhino. I only fill in at the hotel once in awhile."

"No, that's not it."

"I used to be at the Groggy Frog." Sara shook her head. "The Tipsy Gypsie? The Wine Swine? The Drunken Skunk?"

"No," replied Sara. "I'm sure I'll think of it. And take that cheesecake away. I can't eat cheesecake. I'm addicted to it. One bite and I'd have a relapse. I'd buy up every piece of cheesecake in this banana republic, lock myself in my cabana and roll in it. I'd eat until they hauled me out on a gurney. I just spent a month in detox and rehab, so don't offer me cheesecake!"

As the waiter turned to make the sandy slog back to the hotel Sara took stock of her situation. "I've been vegging out on the beach, getting myself spooked by reading horror novels. This is no way to spend a vacation. Tomorrow I'll do something like take the tour to the Mayan ruins. Perhaps that will keep the brain cells alive. It might even be interesting. And who knows, I could even meet someone whose intellectual universe is a bit larger than..." she looked at the waiter's disappearing figure "...serving cocktails and cheesecake on the beach."
[Maddog]
_____________________
Abruptly, Sara stood...
[Caroline]
__________________
up.
[Margaret]
_____________________
Just before dismissing the waiter completely from her mind, she wondered again where they had crossed paths. However, being haughty, shallow and self-centered, Sara soon was thinking of other things. For example, just how stunning did she look in her teeny weeny polka dot bikini and was the waiter hot for her. Lost in thought Sara collected her belongings and headed back toward her luxurious beach-side hotel and her extravagant suite. She deserved nothing less than the best, after all she was daddy's girl.

Sara had almost reached the hotel when her cell phone began sing. The sound, completely unexpected at this hour, startled her so much that she dropped her bag. She fumbled around until she grabbed her phone. Sara glanced at the display but didn't recognize the number. After the briefest moment of hesitation she answered the phone. "Hello?"

A deep throaty voice responded, "I know where you are."

Sara nearly dropped the phone as she felt a tremor of fear course through her body. The horror novel that Sara had been reading earlier in the day had left her a little edgy. She had been sure that the waiter was carrying a large knife dripping with blood. And now this phone call. She was going to have to curtail her cocktails and change her vacation reading.

Overcoming the temptation to hurl the phone and flee in fear, Sara commanded, "Tell me who you are!"

She heard some heavy breathing on the other end. "I've heard that sound before," she thought. It was the sound she and her sorority sisters used to make when crank calling some of the dweebier co-eds at the university.

"Candi, is that you?" Sara demanded. "Bunny, are you there?"

Giggles erupted on the line. "Oh, Sara," her sorority sister, Candi, hollered into the phone. "Your dad told us where you were we decided to join you! All of us from the Omega 3 Beta Carotene Sorority are here!"

Much screaming ensued. When things had quieted the girls made a plan to get together. Sara put all thoughts of intellectual pursuits aside as they decided to spend the next day sunbathing, drinking cocktails and playing their favorite game, "Critique the Geek."

Sara, her momentary fears forgotten, headed back to her suite. Though she had come to be alone and perhaps engage in a dalliance or two, she was excited to have her "sisters" here. It was going to be a great vacation!
[Harry and Lucie]
___________________
Sara paused. "Hold it!" she told herself. "Hol dit!" She was a professional business woman whose position and accomplishments commanded respect, Daddy or no Daddy. She was a partner in the prestigious English law firm Barrister, Barrister and Sara. She argued cases for multi-million pound clients. She drove a Roller and lived in a luxurious flat overlooking the Thames. Even though she was vacationing far from home in the Caribbean someone might recognize her. Could she really afford to misbehave with her old chums from her undergraduate days in the United States at Vassar? "How can I put the brakes on this without offending Bunny, Candi, and the rest of the old sorority?"

Lost in thought, it was a few moments before Sara heard a sound behind her. She turned and peered into the darkness. It had come from the direction of the ocean. As she searched the horizon she heard it again, barely audible above the crash of the surf. She walked to the water's edge. There it was. A large shape just a few hundred yards offshore. The water around it was agitated and slightly phosphorescent. She strained to see. Slowly, she discerned the outline of the object. It was a submarine! "What in the world is a submarine doing here?" she thought. "It must be some sort of practice maneuver." Intrigued, she continued to gaze seaward. A few moments later, she caught another motion out of the corner of her eye. A smaller object closer to the beach. Quickly it became apparent that it was a swimmer. A man in scuba gear. The mysterious frogman came ashore. Intent on the lights of the hotel he didn't see Sara there in the darkness. Stooping, he pulled off his flippers and slipped out of the harness that held his air tank. Next, he shed his wet suit. Sara was astounded to see that he was fully dressed. "Very Bondian," she commented silently to herself. The dark figure crossed the beach and headed for the hotel.

"This is too strange," she thought. "I need to find out what's going on. My colleagues back in London will never believe this." Then she considered, "Maybe I need help. If I can get my sorority sisters to behave for awhile we could keep a collective eye out... what one doesn't see or hear another might." Sara gave a sigh and with more than a few misgivings pressed the call back number on her cell phone. "Candi? Sara. Look, we need to talk. Ditch the girls for awhile and meet me in my room. I have something that could be..." she searched for a word that would appeal to her friend... "fun. I'll see you in a few minutes."
[Maddoggie]
_____________________

It was only a matter of minutes before Sara was back in her private cabana. She had just stepped into the shower to rinse off the pound of sand she had accumulated on the beach when there was a knock at the door. Wrapping one of the hotel's soft oversize towels around herself she peeked through the peep hole in the door, then opened it. It was Candi, her old friend from college. "Candi! It's such a surprise that you all turned up here at Las Pulgas! In addition to you and Bunny, who else made the trip?"

Her friend Candi was physically Sara's opposite. Sara was blonde, blue-eyed and statuesque. Her friend was brunette, dark-eyed and rather round. Sara could be animated, but her friend was effervescent and ebullient, outspoken and bouncy. Sara could spend hours with a good book or in intellectual conversation. Candi found it difficult to sit still for more than a few minutes. She bounced into Sara's room.

"Who else is here?" she echoed breathlessly. "Well, there's me, Candi, of course, but there's also Sandi, Mandi and Bambi. Bunny, Honey, and Sunny are here, too! Ooh, this is going to be so much fun! All us girls together again! It'll be like spring break, twelve years later!" Candi stepped forward and impulsively gave Sara a big hug. "Gosh! I haven't seen you since we graduated and you went back to London!"

Sara looked at her friend, and saw that she was dressed in Victoria's Secret's Sea Nymph low-rise bikini with metallic polka dots and matching ribbon bra. Sara greeted her, then said, "I didn't know that Victoria's Secret made your size." She paused, and added, "In fact, I don't think they do."

Candi giggled and replied, "I always feel that less is more. Besides, here we are, far from home, on the beach. Who'll know what I wear? Who'll care? Now, what's up? I can't wait to hear!"
[Fiona and Tabasco]
___________________________
"Candi, I think something is going on around here and I want to find out what it is. The waiter looks awfully familiar but I can't place him. Also, when I was walking back to the room, I saw a strange man in scuba gear exit the ocean. When he stripped off his wetsuit I could see he was fully dressed in a t-shirt and board shorts and sporting a skull tatoo on his left calf. I don't think he saw me as he headed to the hotel but my female intuition tells me he was a man on a mission but a mission for good or evil?"

"Ooooh, this is so exciting! A mystery! The girls are gonna love this," squealed Candi.

"No, no!" said Sara firmly. "It could be dangerous. I just want them to help us keep an eye out for anything suspicious." ("Of course, that is if they remember they are not eighteen and we are not on Spring Break," Sara muttered to herself.)

"I've got it," Candi said. "We can have all the girls wear their itsy bitsy bikinis and discreetly scope out the beach. Surely they will, between them, attract every guy at this hotel and one of them might be our mysterious water man."

"And then what?" Sara asked impatiently.

Just then, the lights went out. When the lights came back on, Candi was gone. Sara's first selfish thought was that she could go back to enjoying the solitude of her vacation but then reality kicked in and she quickly looked around the room. How could Candi disappear like that? She noticed one of the french doors to her cabana patio was ajar and spied a lone flip flop and drops of blood.

Sara, thinking quickly, called Candi's cellphone. Somewhere in her room, she heard the ring tone "I Will Survive." Since it wasn't Sara's phone it must Candi's!
[Miffy and Muffy]
_______________________________________

"Of course it's not my cell phone," thought Sara. "I'm calling Candi on my cell phone. So it has to be hers. Or does it? Whoever was here during that moment of darkness and left the flipflop could have dropped it. No, that doesn't work either. Candi's number wouldn't make a stranger's phone ring." Although Sara was a brilliant and successful lawyer she had a somewhat contradictory personality in that her sorority girl, social butterfly, cheerleader side occasionally came to the fore. "Well, whatever," she said aloud.

In a few minutes Sara had located the phone. Flipping it open, she went to it's directory to see if she could find the names and numbers that had been stored there. She was hoping to see numbers for Honey, Bunny, Sunni and the rest of the old gang. She felt her heart sink when she saw names like Boris and Natasha. Where were her friend's names? How could Candi, ebullient, enthusiastic, energetic, round Candi possibly know someone named Boris? She had to find the others, enlist their support and begin an immediate search for her friend.

Sara quickly set out for the hotel's main building to see if the desk clerk could help, first by confirming that they were, indeed, guests, and then by calling their rooms for her. She had only gone a few yards, however, when it dawned on her that she was still wrapped in the towel she had draped around herself when she left the shower to answer her door. "I can't run around barefoot!" she exclaimed to herself. "I need my sandals!"

A moment later, Sara was on her way again. As she plodded through the soft sand she wondered who could have left the flipflop. It couldn't have been the mysterious man she saw come ashore on the beach... the man with the tattoo on his calf that only Sara, with her extrordinary eyesight - made powerful as a serendipitous byproduct of eating inordinate numbers of carrots - could have seen in the dark... because when he left all his scuba gear behind at the water's edge he was wearing Florsheim wingtip oxfords. Besides, who in the world would wear flipflops to a kidnapping, for Pete's sake? Odd. Very odd. Perhaps it was a deliberate red herring. Then another thought crossed Sara's mind. What if the target of the abduction had been Sara herself, and not Candi? After all, the room had been pitch dark. She shuddered at the thought. She had to find help.
[Granddog]
_________________
Sara pulled herself together and headed straight for the main building and the desk clerk. "Maybe a vacation by myself wasn't such a good idea," Sara mused. Between the horror novels she read to pass the time, the sun and the Cosmotinis she began sensing danger at every turn. This just wasn't like her. Part of the reason that Sara was so successful at her job was that she was fearless. Soon her logical thinking resurfaced. "Those girls are probably just goofing around trying to scare me. They don't seem to have matured past college high jinks." She breathed a sigh of relief sure that she had solved the mystery of Candi's disappearance and finally approached the main desk.

"May I help you?" asked the young man standing behind the desk. He smiled inquiringly. Sara smiled in return and said, "Yes. I am trying to locate my sorority sisters. They contacted me by phone but failed to tell me which cabana or cabanas they were staying in. We are all part of the Omega 3 Beta Carotene sorority."

The clerk, happy to help, searched the registry for the sorority sisters. "I am sorry. We do not have anyone listed under that name."

"Okay. What about the name Candi? Candy with an i, no last name. You know, like Madonna. My friend liked to think of herself as a porn star so she had her name officially changed." Sara queried.

"No. No Candi with an i. Are you sure your friends are here?" the young man asked.

"Yes. Yes. What about Bunny? Or Sunny? Honey? Mandi, Sandi or Bambi? Do you have any one with porn star monikers listed?" Sara was beginning to feel a little panicky. Was she losing her mind? Had she really just seen her old friend or had she imagined it?

"I am sorry ma'am. I can't find any one of those names. Can I do anything else?" the clerk inquired politely.

"No, thank you," Sara said quietly and turned to leave. Sara started back toward her room but then decided to stop by the hotel bar and have a drink. She needed to soothe her nerves. As she neared the bar she nearly collided with a tall, gorgeous hunk of man. "Excuse me," she said trying not to ogle him outright. As she stared at this man, dressed in a t-shirt, board shorts, and wing-tip oxfords, a look not many could carry off but he did oh so well, she tried to place him. He looked familiar. And then it hit her. The mystery man on the beach!

Sara smiled and said, "Hi. My name is Sara." The man returned her smile and said in a deep voice, "My name is Bob, Jim Bob."

[Caroline]
___________________________________________________

The man continued, "Nice to meet you Sara. Sara what?"

"Sara Wellington Featherstone-Smythe. And you?"

"Well," the stranger replied, "My full name is Jim Bob Billy Joe Floyd Murdley, but my friends all call me J.B. Let me buy you a drink."

Sara's first impulse was to say no. After all, having come ashore in such a clandestine manner he was probably up to no good. In fact, he could be the kidnapper! If he were aware that Sara had seen him arrive, he could have intended to kidnap her in order to silence her, only to have snatched Candi by mistake! She shuddered. What had become of her friend? She thought of the blood spot on the floor. She must have assumed the worst when she referred to Candi in the past tense at the reception desk. Her words, "She liked to think of herself as a porn star" came flooding back. Sara's eyes became blurry with tears. Poor Candi. Poor gregarious, rolly-poly Candi. One brief liason years ago with that geeky Eugene from her sophomore chemistry class, and she thought of herself as a porn star. "Tsk, tsk," she said to herself.

After a moment's hesitation, however, Sara accepted the offer. It occurred to her that, if Murdley were the kidnapper, the more she knew about him the better. Fore-warned is fore-armed, she told herself. Perhaps she could glean some hint of Candi's fate and discover what the stranger was up to. It must be big! An assassination? Something with international impact such as the theft of a nuclear device? ("Well, maybe not a nuclear device," she thought. " Even if there were such a thing in this backward, tropical, humid, tourist destination, it would get all damp and mildewed and wouldn't work.") It must be more than something like a simple jewel heist, though... after all, he had come ashore from a submarine in the dark and a run of the mill thief didn't have access to submarines. Whatever it was, it must be something worth killing for (if indeed Candi were dead.) And the stranger was a hunk. She couldn't deny that he radiated a certain degree of animal magnetism.

As they settled into their seats in the bar Sara turned to her new acquaintance and said, "So, Jim Bob Billy Joe Floyd, where are you from and what do you do?"
[El Perro Rabioso]
___________________________

Murdley beamed at Sara. After a moment's pause, he responded with a non sequitur. "You look very nice, Sara. What is that terry cloth frock you're wearing? It looks a bit like a toga. It goes well with your Jimmy Choo sandals and blue eyes."

"You look very fashionable yourself," Sara adjusted the towel and, blushing coyly, went on. "I've always admired a man in Florsheim wing tips. They give you an executive look."

"Thanks. By the way," Murdley continued, "speaking of fashion, did you know that Julius Caesar was the first real fashionista? As emperor he forbade the wearing of beige before April 1st. In fact, his last, disappointed words, as he lay dying on the steps of the Roman senate and realized what his friend and assassin, Brutus, was wearing, were, 'ecru, Brute?'"

Sara was so impressed that she momentarily forgot that her new acquaintance had avoided her question about his origins. "Wow!" she exclaimed admiringly. "You certainly know your history... and fashion!"

Just then Sara's cell phone rang. She turned to Murdley with an apologetic smile, turned away and answered it. "Hello?"

A weak voice responded. "Sara! Help! It's me, Candi. You have to come quickly! Please!"
[Anonymous]
________________________
"Candi!" Sara exclaimed. "Where are you?" There was silence on the phone. Sara thought the line may have disconnected but then she heard Candi mumble the words "Darth Vader" before letting out a blood-curdling scream.

"Candi, Candi!" Sara shouted desperately into the phone not realizing the line was dead.

Jim Bob rushed to her side. "What's going on?" he asked.

Although Sara longed to be comforted by his strong arms, in the wake of this situation she shoved aside the thought. Not only was she terrified for her friend but mystified at Candi's mention of the name Darth Vader. How were they going to find Candi and was it too late?

"J.B.," she said. "I need your help! I think someone has kidnapped and maybe even killed my friend Candi!"

"Well," Murdley said, "you are in luck. Normally I wouldn't tell someone this on the first date but I am a federal agent. Let me make a quick call and have someone triangulate the signal from your phone to Candi's so we can locate her!"

"Triangu-what?" Sara asked.

"Triangulation is a process by which the location of a radio transmitter can be determined by measuring either the radial distance, or the direction, of the received signal from two or three different points and is sometimes used in cellular communications to pinpoint the geographic position of a user," Murdely explained patiently. "I'll get on this, pronto! Just give me your phone."

Sara momentarily swooned as the thought "my hero" ran through her head. But this is no time for distraction. She is a tough cookie and smart, too. She had won many tough cases for her clients but, of course, she had lost a few, too. Her clients! That's why the name Darth Vader rang a bell! Her first case was defending a client they had nicknamed Darth Vader because he was sounded like Darth when he spoke. She had lost the case and Darth was sentenced to a life in prison for his many crimes. He swore he was going to make her pay. A chill ran up her spine at the memory.
[The Wonder Twins]
__________________________

Murdley took Sara's phone and punched in a number. After a brief wait, he barked, "This is J.B.B.J.F.M! Patch me through to Communications!" Sara couldn't pick up all of the ensuing conversation, but she heard a few fragments. "...in a Latin American backwater... of course I know you're in D.C.... no, the call ended five minutes ago.... what are you laughing at?..." Murdley snapped the phone shut and tossed it back to Sara. He looked grim. "No can do," he announced. "Sorry."

"Rats!" responded Sara. "You had my hopes up. Triangulation had kind of a sexy sound to it. Not scary like strangulation or as satisfying as adulation, but still. It was nice because it was three times better than monangulation but not ostentatious like quadangulation. Shoot. I really liked triangulation."

Murdley looked at Sara and said, gently, "You've lost your marbles, haven't you?"

Before she could answer, Sara's phone rang again. She snatched it up and answered hurredly. "Hello?"

"Sara! It's me again!" She could barely hear Candi's weak whisper. "You've got to come now before he comes back! And before I freeze to death!"

"Where are you?"

"I'm hanging upside down in the dark. I think I may be in a meat locker. Does the hotel have a meat locker?"

"I'm on my way!" Sara knew that she had to find her friend quickly. Not only was there a chance that her abductor might return but there was the real possibility that she could die of hypothermia, clad only in her micro bikini. Victoria's Secret might be adequate for the beach but it clearly wasn't appropriate refrigerator wear. She dashed for the hotel kitchen, Murdley right behind her.

As she ran through the hotel, Sara's mind was racing. She felt that she was being pulled in two directions at once. That things were spiraling out of control. On one hand, there was Murdley. Surely, he was up to something. Something big. At first she thought that he might be behind Candi's disappearance because he perceived her somehow to be an impediment to his mission. But then the name Darth Vader raised it's sinister head. If the Darth Vader Candi had mumbled about was the lifer from London, what was he doing here? If he were looking for revenge he could find it more easily when Sara returned from vacation. And if he were after Sara, why did he harm Candi? Was he using Candi as bait to lure Sara to the meat locker? There couldn't possibly be a connection between an English murderer and an American secret agent, could there? She had to sort it all out, but not now. Now she had to find her friend and find her fast! Who knew what she was rushing into? It was a comfort to know that J.B. was right behind her.
[M. Dog]
___________________

Sara had to find a meat locker, and fast! She headed for the hotel's restaurant and through the swinging kitchen doors. The waiters protested, but J.B. was behind her flashing an official-looking badge. Sara realized that J.B. hadn't actually said what KIND of federal agent he was. FBI? CIA? IRS? Since the restaurant staff probably got a look, Sara assumed she was in good hands with a policeman of some sort and not an accountant. She soon found the freezer and pried open the door.

"Candi!!" she cried. "Are you in here??"

Candi, now fully clothed in a fur coat, was sipping some rum she'd found in the freezer. "So nice of you to join me, Sara," she grinned maniacally as Murdley closed the freezer door behind them....
[Gwen]
_______________________

Sara stopped so suddenly that Murdley crashed into her from behind, knocking her into the fur-clad Candi and splashing rum all over the three of them. As they disentangled themselves, Sara shouted, "OK, everybody freeze! No pun intended. Nobody moves until I get some kind of explanation of what's going on. First, you, Candi. Why aren't you and the other girls registered at the hotel? Why were you kidnapped... it you were really kidnapped? Who are Boris and Natasha? Who is Darth Vader? And if you were kidnapped, how did you get loose and where did you get a fur coat? Finally, why did you grin maniacally when I came into the meat locker?" Then she spun around and faced Murdley. "And you!" she said. "Just who are you? What kind of federal agent are you? What are you doing here at the resort? Clearly you're not on vacation. And last but not least, you shut the meat locker door. Are we locked in? If so, you're an idiot!"

Murdley responded first. He pulled out his badge and showed it to Sara. In the dim light in the meat locker she strained to make out the tiny letters. Then she read, "Department of Health and Human Services!" She shook her head in disbelief, then looked over her shoulder and said, "Am I on Candid Camera?"
[Monsieur Dogg]
______________________

"No my dear sweet Sara", quipped Candi as she flailed her hands in a whisking manner against her fur coat "you are not on Candid Camera!!". Wearing a face of frustration over the lack of wipes of any kind, Candi explains that Sara had tricked and manipulated her by using her unfortunate body shape and homely looks to advance Sara's relationships with men for several years. "But no longer", Candi proclaims in a shrill, unattractive voice "for now the police will put you behind bars for what you have done!".

Perplexed, Sara inquires "why would they do such a thing? I've done nothing wrong surely and besides I'm a lawyer on vacation so even if I had mistakenly done something that is deemed illegal I believe I shant have a problem at all!"

"I'm afraid you will have a severe problem. After all, the evidence the police will find in their investigation will point to you as the murderer!" Candi says in a lower and more steady (but still unattractive) voice.

"Murderer? I've not killed anyone ever! What are you talking about? And now that you've managed to get the rum off your coat would you please mind covering up a bit!"

Candi gapes, eyes wide, but quickly recovers her composure complete with a deathly glare.

Sara awkwardly continues "I told you before that bathing suit does not do well to flatter your...lovely figure. I'm a bit confused here and I'd love to get to the bottom of this but you are a bit of a distraction...".

Striking a pose which unfortunately includes showing off her body, Candi sneers "It seems in a drunken Cosmotini rage you have slain all of our sorority sisters with a knife and there is a blood trail that leads to your cabana. Oh, and by the way you subsequently chopped them into little bits and stashed their remains in a place that won't be to hard to find!."

"No..our friends?!" Sara says in shock and horror.

Throwing back her head, Candi cackles "Yes!!! And you took special delight in carving up that obnoxious waif Bunny!!!!!!"

Suddenly Murdley, having apparently missed the whole conversation due to his fretting over rum stained wingtips witlessly chimes in with raised eyebrows and a winsome smile "So ladies, what did I miss!"
[Jeff]
__________________________________

"Er, I don't know what to say," Sara said.
[M.D.]
__________________________________

Ignoring Murdley's question, Sara turned to him and asked, "Run see if this hotel has an exorcist. If not, check with the concierge and see if there's one on call. While you're at it, get a psychiatrist, too. Candi is either possessed or criminally insane."

J.B. answered, "OK! But then I'll have to go. I have some business to attend to that can't wait. If I don't see you again before you or I check out, it's been nice to meet you. Quite an experience. Bye, bye." As he left the meat locker, headed for the hotel's front desk, he thought to himself, "Let me outta here. These people are not just one brick short of a load, they're raving lunatics! Why couldn't my secret mission have taken me to Cancun, instead of this cuckoo's nest? Jeez!"

As soon as Murdley left, Sara turned back to Candi, who was foaming at the mouth. As quick as a cat, she leaped upon Candi and wrestled her to the floor. She looked around for something with which to restrain her struggling adversary. Not seeing anything useful, she sat on her chest with her knees on her opponent's arms, thus rendering her helpless. Sara then slipped out of her towel and began to tear it into strips, using them to bind Candi tightly. "I'll bet the hotel is going to charge me when they come up a towel short," Sara muttered to herself. As soon as she had trussed her up tightly, Sara stood up. When she did, Candi hissed at her. "Oh, put a sock in it," Sara responded irritably, and shoved the last scrap on towel in her former friend's mouth. The struggle had created body heat, but now she was getting cold and she no longer had the towel. The fur coat! It was nice and warm, so even though it reeked of rum Sara slipped it on and sat down to wait for whoever turned up from the hotel. As she waited, her first thought was to leave for home right away and put this nightmare behind her. But, then, she began to wonder about Jim Bob and whatever clandestine mission brought him to Las Pulgas. And she remembered how handsome he was, tattoo, shorts and wingtips notwithstanding. Well, maybe when she had Candi off her hands (she was sure her erstwhile friend's ravings about murder had been the product of a fevered brain) she could stay one more day.

Just then, she heard someone enter the meat locker behind her.
[El Doggo]
________________________

J.B. went to the front desk and inquired about an exorcist. The attendant declared the nearest Catholic church was about twenty miles from Las Pulgas. He was not sure if an exorcist resided there. "Bummer!" J.B. thought to himself. "What about a psychiatrist?" he asked. The attendant explained that one of the guests on the island may be a doctor of some kind. J.B. got what information he could about this guest and headed off to look for him.

As he walked along he thought about his mission. "Could Candi's apparent delusional madness be directly tied to the radioactive emanations I'm here to check out?".

Agent Murdley was sent to Las Pulgas to investigate a potential terrorist threat. Since there was only a slight chance this threat existed and no more than a couple of interviews with locals to back it up, only one CIA agent was deployed. Las Pulgas and the chain of islands around it are U.S. Protectorates so Murdley's Health and Human Services badge acts as a cover while allowing him to have access to certain facilities and to question people with authority.

"Once I talk to this Dr. Adolf Rammstein", J.B. thought as he reached the hotel bar "I'll have to go back to the sub and break out the geiger counter".
[Jeff]

_______________________
Back in the meat locker, Sara turned around to see who had entered. It was none other than the handsome attendant she had so coldly rebuffed back on the beach. Was he friend or foe, she wondered? Would he be willing to forgive or locker in permanently? She laughed to herself at her play on words. She could feel hysterical laughter starting to bubble up with in her. This was all getting too crazy.

"Ma'am," the attendant said. "Are you okay?"

That snapped Sara out of it. She hated when people called her ma'am! "Can't you see I need some help?" she shrieked. "This girl is crazy and I am freezing my butt off in here."

The attendant looked at her like he wasn't sure which one was crazy. But the hotel paid him good money to put up with such treatment so he politely said, "Let me help you up. Perhaps you can tell me why you have trussed up this woman so I can explain it to hotel security?"

As Sara stood she said, "Because she is crazy or drunk or a serial slasher which would truly be unusual for a woman." "But I am concerned for my sorority sisters who I thought were on the island but don't appear to have checked into the hotel. Candi here said she had killed them all and cut them up and was going to frame me!"

The attendant, George Pitt, thought to himself, "I need to ask for a raise". And then he called hotel security on this walkie-talkie. "Hot one in the cold room, hurry."
[mrs]
____________________________

As they waited for security, sensing a sympathetic ear, Sara related the whole story. She even included reading a horror novel on the beach and explained that it made her edgy and nervous. Hence her rather abrupt treatment of Pitt when he came to the beach to offer her cheesecake. "I'm sorry for behaving badly," she said. "Even though I'm an influential, successful barrister, I try to treat everyone with the civility they deserve. Even those who work in menial jobs in the tropics. I apologize."

"Apology accepted, " Pitt responded. "And I may be able to help. You see, I am an exorcist and part-time psychiatrist as well as a bartender, waiter and erstwhile fry cook. After I graduated summa cum laude with a degree in English literature I discovered that these were the things I was most qualified to do. Unfortunately, exorcism doesn't keep me busy, nor does it pay very well. Psychiatry has more promise but as I don't have any kind of medical credentials I only get to practice part time in places like Las Pulgas."

Sara, grasping at straws, said, "Anything you can do would be greatly appreciated! I think Candi is in bad shape. She looks like she's about to explode." She glanced at Candi who was straining against her bindings, red in the face, eyes bulging, and sweating in spite of the cool temperature in the meat locker. "And perhaps you can learn the truth about what happened to my other sorority sisters. Did she do them in..." Sara shuddered..." or did she make it all up?"

Pitt smiled and took the gag from Candi's mouth. She immediately began to spit and hiss. Pitt put the gag back in. "I think I'll have to calm her down, first," he said. I'll gain her interest with a little information about words (my favorite subject) and when she becomes engrossed I'll see if I can open a dialogue."

"Candi? Can you understand me?" Pitt asked. "Good. Well, did you know that there are at least thirty-five words for prostitute? Here are the ones I can think of: bawd, bimbo, trollop succuba, succubus, call girl, cocotte, courtesan, fille de joie, fancy woman, drab, doxy demimondaine, Cyprian, tramp, trull, white slave, roundheels, magdalene, scarlet woman, nightwalker, paphian, paramour, slattern, slut, quean, streetwalker, harlot, hetaera, lady of the evening, strumpet and light-o-love." Pitt looked to see if Candi was still listening. "There are also a lot of words for, say, an official. Like: Dogberry, bashaw, chamberlain, dewan, chiaus, sacristan, steward, waldgrave, vizier, reeve, pursuivant, provost, proconsul, procurator, Pooh Bah, wog, palatine, panjandrum, pasha, functionary, gabbai, gauleiter, hayward, hierarch, induna, mandarin, macer, macebearer, Junker, jemadar, intendant and prothonotary!" Pitt was on a roll. "Word origins are interesting, too. For example, did you know that the noun couch refers to a long recliner or a seat long enough to accommodate several persons. The length of the seat makes it comfortable to lie down on, or as the French say, se coucher, from which expression came the English word couch." With hardly a pause, Pitt went on. "Did you know that the English word sinister, meaning evil, comes from the Latin 'sinister' which means left?"

Abruptly, Sara interjected, "George! Look! I think Candi has passed out!"

Pitt reached over and felt for a pulse. In a moment, he said in a low voice, "It's worse than that, I'm afraid. She's dead."

"My God!" Sara rejoined in a strained voice, "You've killed her! She must have died of ennui! You bored her to death! Damn you English majors!"

Sara sat for a moment, breathing heavily. But as she calmed down and began to take stock of her situation things weren't as bad as they had initially seemed. With Candi no longer a threat, she could return to her cabana, get out of the rum-stained and now sweaty fur coat, shower, dress and investigate Candi's claims. Had she done in the other girls in a maniacal effort to frame her, Sara, or was it all just the ravings of a madwoman? Next, she could turn her attention to Murdley and perhaps find out what he was up to. She could always go home, of course, but by God she was going to see this thing through. She left Pitt to sort things out with security when and if they ever arrived, and headed back to her room. And maybe, she thought with a frisson of anticipation, she could talk Pitt into helping her.
[The Ancient Dogg]
________________________

Sara walks along the low lit pathway that leads back to her cabana. Lost in thought she hardly notices the bearded man passing by her. She assumes he must be headed to the bar for a drink or to the kitchen for a late night snack. In the distance she sees a familiar glow coming from the shoreline. "Is Murdley up to something again? I'm going to find out what this covert activity of his is all about!" Sara says aloud absently.

The bearded man opens the door to the meat locker. He anticipates having to make an assessment on the mental fitness of another guest. This would be no probem for him since he is a highly acclaimed psychiatrist who specializes in quick diagnosis and pharmaceutical prescription.

As the door swings open the doctor sees the attendent, George Pitt, standing over a large and apparently lifeless body. "You?! What are you doing here?" questions Dr. Rammstein.

"Ah, the goodly doctor Rammstein", says Pitt with a heavy German accent "I've been expecting you...".

George Pitt, previously known as Georg Pittenacher, was once Adolf Rammstein's best student at the University in Berlin. Rammstein had spent several years researching and developing medication. Pittenacher became adept at chemical experimentation under his teacher's instruction. After only one year, however, Pittenacher began to introduce certain chemical agents to his drugs that were not only untested but potentially hazardous. He was finally stripped of his doctor's title once Rammstein discovered his secret experiments using radioactive medication to treat a variety of mental problems (many of which were already easily treatable with established drugs).

"I vould love to talk und catch up boot I'm afraid I cannot let anyvunn know my real identity." declares Pitt.

"Your identity? What are you talking about? Tell me you're not continuing your experiments on unsuspecting subjects!! That's grounds for incarceration!" Rammstein responds.

"You do not have to worry any more about me or my work.." Pitt says in a creepily slow and even voice as he pulls out a Lugar pistol equipped with a silencer. He aims the gun at Rammstein and pulls the trigger...
[Jeff]
_______________
...and nothing happens. He pulls the trigger again. Still, nothing. "Damn these German made Lugars," Pitt thinks to himself. "Why can't I have one of those kick-ass Austrian Glocks, like that stud Murdley?"
[Windy]
__________________

Pitt turned the muzzle of the pistol toward his own face and looked down the barrel. Then he gave it a good shake. Hitting the weapon against the heel of his left hand a couple of times to dislodge any debris clogging the firing mechanism, he once again pointed it at the hapless Dr. Rammstein. With a cruel smile, Pitt depressed the trigger once again. Just as he did so, Rammstein lunged forward in a desperate effort to deflect Pitt's aim. The Lugar fired just as Rammstein's momentum caused his would-be assassin's arm to swing to his left. The bullet that was intended for the bearded doctor pierced the wall of the meat locker instead.

The Las Pulgas resort was built some years before on a small island just off the coast of the republic of Platanos y Cocos. As there was no natural gas or electricity on the island the utilities were powered by propane, which was delivered twice a month by tanker ship. The LPG tank was located just outside the hotel's kitchen, against the wall of the meat locker. The tank had been filled only two days before the confrontation between Pitt and Rammstein.

The errant projectile from Pitt's unreliable Lugar crashed through the wall of the meat locker and pierced the propane tank. Instantly, the heat of the nine millimeter bullet ignited the propane. The resulting explosion was felt by villagers five miles away on the mainland. On flight 456 from Caracas to Miami, which happened to be passing over Platanos y Cocos, the copilot turned to the captain and asked, "Did you see that huge flash of light just off our starboard wing? What in the world could that be? There's nothing down there but jungle!" The force of the blast vaporized the meat locker, kitchen, and entire south wing of the hotel. Fortunately for the resort, the hour was late and there were no employees in that end of the building with the exception of the chef de cuisine who no-one liked anyway. Pitt and Rammstein were reduced to their molecular constituents, undistinguishable from the microscopic bits of the beef that had been stored in the locker.

[Der dog und Frau Carolein]

_____________________

Agent Murdley clambers back onto the shoreline with a very wet geiger counter in tow. "Why must I have to use outdated equipment? The government is so damn cheap! Not only am I using a personal sub from the 60s but I've got the most obvious and clumsy looking radiation detector ever! Its hard to impress chicks when they only see you in boardshorts and wingtips wielding something that looks like a giant rusty weedwacker..." Murdley mutters to himself.

"What is going on here J.B., if that is you're real name." Sara says, hands on hips, standing in Murdley's path from the shoreline. "I don't think the Department of Health and Human Services supplies their 'agents' with such fancy disguises and equipment!". Being from England, Sara finds the mysterious Murdley's somewhat outdated attire quite appealing. And what was he doing with that vintage weedwhacker?

As Agent Murdley starts to fumble for an explanation, he realizes he hasn't been able to get this beautiful English woman out of his mind since their first meeting. He throws the geiger counter down on the sand and walks towards Sara like a high fashion model.

Sara, who's been desperate for a dalliance since coming to Las Pulgas, throws her arms around J.B.. The two embrace in a very passionate kiss. Just then the couple feels a tremor beneath their feet as something, somewhere explodes. The evening sky lights up all around them. "Wow! This is meant to be!", Sara and J.B. say aloud simultaneously in amazement.

After a moment the two realize that something else had exploded aside from their desire for one another. "Um, what happened to your mentally unstable friend?" J.B. inquires politely.

"I left her with the attendent--George Pitt. He talked her to death...it was very horrible. He said he would take care of things..." Sara replies.

"Wait a minute! It can't be! I just sent a doctor Rammstein to the meat locker!" proclaims Agent Murdley.

"So what does that have to do with anything?" Sara asks confusedly.

Murdley tells her about the connection between Rammstein and Pittenacher and how the two had parted ways. "Pittenacher is wanted by several government authorities! He has many aliases including one George Pitt!!!" Murdley says as he pieces everything together.

"You think those two had something to do with the explosion?!", Sara says in shock over the whole story. "What, what do we do? What does this all mean?".
[Jeff]
____________________

'Well, for one thing, we need to get under cover. All this debris that has been raining down around us while we've been standing here on the beach is really annoying," Murdley remarked. He and Sara began to run for the shelter of the beach-side umbrella rental kiosk. He continued, breathlessly, "As to what it all means, I hope it means that Las Pulgas will comp your stay." As they ran he caught a glimpse of the crater that had appeared where half the hotel had been. "I can't think of anything less guest-friendly than a faux pas like this!"

Once Jim Bob Billy Joe Floyd and Sara reached shelter and regained their composure, he went on. "Whatever happened to Pittenacher, Rammstein, Candi and any other unfortunate who may have been caught up in the explosion doesn't matter. I have bigger fish to fry. You were right. I'm not really with the Department of Health and Human Services. I'll level with you. I'm really with the CIA, and I'm here on a mission to trace the source of mysterious radiation coming from the area of the ancient Mayan temples on the mainland just to the west of this island. It's like nothing the scientific community has ever seen before. We suspect that it may be extraterrestrial in origin. There is a real possibility that whoever discovers the technology behind this strange energy will then have the means to bring civilization to its knees. In fact, we think that Pittnacher may have discovered something and that it was that radiation that he used in his loathsome and heinous mind experiments." Murdley raised the back of his hand to his forehead and gazed at the horizon. "Tomorrow, I set out for the mainland with my wet weedwhacker."

[Maddog]

________________

Sara felt her pulse quicken and began to think of the ways they could pass the time until Murdley continued his quest. A smile spread across her face as she looked at Murdley and said in a sultry voice, "I would like to change into something a little more comfortable. This fur coat is hot, sticky and smelly. Would you care to accompany me to my room and join me for a drink?"

Murdley did a bit of a double take. His mind had been on his upcoming journey into the jungle to search out the source of the radiation. But now he found himself being invited to a beautiful woman's room for an alcoholic beverage and, if his finely tuned, highly trained sixth sense was right, an amatory interlude. He felt himself flush. Be alert, he reminded himself. This could be a nefarious ploy to deflect me from my mission or, even worse, spring an ambush. After all, the fate of civilization as we know it rests on my success. He lowered his voice and wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh my God! Would I?" he answered.

A few minutes later Sara led Murdley into her cabana. "Why don't you call room service and order us a bottle of wine while I get comfortable?" Sara said. Sara suddenly paused. "I guess room service is out of the question since the food service section of the hotel was obliterated. Why don't you look in the mini-fridge. I think there are a couple of Coronas left by the previous guest."

Murdley turned to look for the mini-fridge when he heard Sara say, "That's much better." He swiveled his head back in her direction and saw her standing stark naked. Ordinarily, Murdley was a focused and committed agent and did not let his personal desires interfere with his job. But he also was practical. His weedwhacker was still wet and he couldn't possibly do anything with it until the following morning. So he let his desire override the need to protect the world, kicked off his wingtips and closed the space between himself and Sara.

The next morning Murdley staggered across the beach toward the resort's dock. Sara traipsed along behind him, singing cheerfully to herself. They had decided that she would accompany him as she had strong orienteering skills, acquired when she was in the Girl Scouts, that could be vital to the mission. Given a compass and a topographical map she could find a needle in a haystack. She could even use triangulation to find themselves should they become lost.

There was no-one at the dock, as the attention of the hotel employees was focused on the devastation of the last night's explosion. Murdley quickly untied a powerful 500 horsepower inboard and the two of them cast off. The motor roared into life and in moments they were on their way to the mainland and the jungles of Platanos y Cocos.

A short time later, when the sun was just a few degrees higher, the pair had traversed the choppy ocean water and landed on the beach. Though a little rattled, Sara gamely disembarked from the boat and followed Murdley as he headed for the jungle.

[Granddog and Enilorac]

_____________________

After what seemed an eternity, Sara commented to Murdley, "Doesn't it seem to you that we've been stuck here on the beach for an awfully long time? Nothing's happening! A little more action, please! Let's get the show on the road! Put it in gear! Step on the gas! Boogie on down the road! I'm dyin' here!"

"I was waiting for support," responded Murdley. "But it looks if we're going to have to go it alone. OK, let's move out."

The jungle was dark and steamy. Sara didn't realize how noisy it could be. There was the sound of frogs, or what she assumed to be frogs, and exotic birds. And, of course there was the drone of insects. "I hope we don't run into any snakes," she commented to her companion. "I really hate snakes."

Murdley paused, his machete raised for another strike at the vines that blocked their path. He turned toward Sara and said, "Did you know that the most dangerous animal in the jungle is not a poisonous snake or large constrictor. Nor is is an alligator or jaguar. Not even paranas or electric eels. It's the mosquito. They can carry malaria, yellow fever and other tropical diseases. More people die of malaria than all of the other hazards combined."

"Mosquitos? You mean like the bazillion or so that have been feasting on me since we entered the jungle? Well, rats with a capital R. Really big rats. Rats, rats, rats. I should have stayed at the resort. Or what's left of the resort."

"Buck up, old girl. It's only a few more miles. We should be at the Pyramid of Tloc-Moog in about four hours. If we're lucky we will have beaten the Khazakstani agents to the source of the radiation. Not only are the Khazakstanis a loathsome bunch of fashion disasters but they're bent on world domination. They are also ruthless. Some time ago they captured one of out best undercover operatives and, in an effort to extract sensitive information, subjected her to an unrelenting ninety-six hours of Brady Bunch reruns. By the time we rescued her her mind was jelly. She was in therapy for two years but she never recovered." Sara could see Murdley's jaw muscles tighten. "She was my fiancee. So you can see why I hate those bastards!"

Sara put her hand on Murdley's weedwhacker and said, "I have faith in you, J.B. Those scum are no match for us. Better for them if they don't show up."
[Le Chien]
_________________________

Filled with determination Sara continued to follow Murdley through the dark and steamy jungle. As they dodged snakes, jaguars and various other jungle fauna, Sara reflected on her situation. "Just days ago I was lounging on the beach, reading a horror novel and sipping Cosmotinis. Since then my vacation has been one interruption after another including a crazed sorority sister, a nefarious German doctor, an explosion, a mysterious stranger, radiation and delusional Khazakastani agents," Sara mused. She decided that the first thing she was going to do when she got home would be to give her travel agent a piece of her mind. As Sara thought about what she would say she felt Murdley wrap his arm around her waist. At first she enjoyed it but then she realized, as the embrace tightened, that it wasn't Murdley who had cozied up to her but a giant boa constrictor! Sara was beginning to find it hard to breathe. Sara's eyes began to close. Just as she was about to pass out, she felt the crushing embrace relax. When Sara opened her eyes, she saw Murdley standing there. "I thought I was a goner. What did you do to the snake?" Sara asked. Murdley grinned. "I beat him to death with my geigercounter."

Murdley helped Sara up, brushed her off and started forward only to stop a few steps later. "Look," Murdley said as he pointed. "It's the Pyramid of Tloc-Moog!" Murdley and Sara made their way closer to the pyramid taking care to be as quiet as possible so as to not attract the attention of any Khazakastanis who might be lurking in the shadows.

As they approached the clearing that surrounded the pyramid, Sara tapped Murdley on the shoulder and said, "Since you used your radiation detecting device to beat the snake to death, how will be know if this pyramid really is the source of the radiation?" Murdley turned to look at Sara. "No problem. We just look for a greenish glow. The CIA likes to look official by handing out the latest technological gadgets but we ultimately rely on what we have learned from years of watching movies."

Sure enough a faint greenish glow was emanating from the mouth of the pyramid. Murdley and Sara looked around and then cautiously approached the pyramid. Once they were close enough Sara saw some type of inscription on the wall. "What does it say?" she asked. Murdley, an expert on the language of the Tloc-Moog civilization, peered at the writing. "Well," he replied, "in a nutshell it says that whoever is able to breach the pyramid, obtain the mysterious green stuff, to use a technical term, and survive will be the one to rule the world."

[Caroline]

_____________________

Murdley tossed his weed whacker-radiation detector aside. "We can see the glow of the mysterious radiation, yet my detector hasn't uttered a peep. Either I broke it when I bludgeoned the boa constrictor, or Hans Geiger (that Nazi fink) and Ernest Rutherford's invention doesn't detect this kind of emanation. Our team of scientific experts believe that the energy we seek is unlike terrestrial radiation, but rather is the product of the decay of an alien element called klarnfarnium."

Sara looked at Murdley with rapt attention. When he finished speaking, she asked, "How do your scientists know about klarnfarnium if it's an alien element.?" Murdley responded by explaining that it had been detected through the spectrographic analysis of light from distant galaxies and that it had been named for the leader of the investigative team, Dr. Karl Klarnfarn. Sara frowned in concentration, then said, "Who'd a thought?"

Slowly the intrepid investigators inched forward, taking care not to betray their position to any unseen observers. They hadn't gone far when Sara heard Murdley say, "Oops!" No sooner had she responded, "What do you mean, 'oops'?" than she realized that he was no longer beside her. In a moment of panic, she leapt to her feet only to feel the ground give way beneath her. In an instant she tumbled into a deep hole.

Sara lay still for a moment to regain her breath. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom she realized that Murdley had suffered the same fate. He sat beside her, shaking his head to clear the metaphorical cobwebs in his head and the actual cobwebs around his face. "Where are we?" asked Sara in a shaky voice.

Murdley looked around. "I think we're in a tunnel that leads into the bowels of the earth beneath the pyramid."

Sara wasn't sure she liked the idea of being in the bowels of anything, but nonetheless she followed as Murdley crept further into the depths of the tunnel. It was an arduous trek, and soon Sara had to pause to regain her strength. After alerting her companion to her need to stop for a few moments she leaned up against the side of the tunnel. When she did so, she felt something soft and dry. She could feel a scream forcing its way up through her throat as she realized that it was a mummy of some long dead Mayan warrior, still clad in decaying ceremonial dress. A spear had skewered the unfortunate Indian and pinned him to the earthen wall. Sara stifled her scream as Murdley brought his flashlight to bear. "Look!" she said, still trembling. "What is that reflective object in the mummy's hand? It looks like glass!"

J.B. reached out and wrested the object from the dessicated warrior. "It's not glass," he answered. "It's crystal. I'm not sure what it is... it has a certain anatomical look to it. Perhaps it is related somehow to the ancient crystal skulls we've read about."

Sara peered at the object. "You know, I took a couple of anatomy classes when I thought I might go to medical school. Now that I can see it clearly, I can tell you that it's a crystal coccyx."

Murdley pondered for a moment, then had a flash of insight. "This reinforces the CIA's theory that we are dealing with extraterrestrials. That's not just a crystal coccyx! It's a prosthetic device! Imagine what condition alien tailbones would have been in after light years of travel in a seated position! It must have been agony! But do a quick tailbone-ectomy and implant one of these puppies and they'd be good to go for the duration!" Excited by his discovery, he pumped his fist into the air a couple of times.

Sara was astounded by Murdley's perspicacity, but before she could say anything to him she heard a strange sound. Was there someone, or something, in the tunnel with them?

[der Hund]

_________________

Sara and Murdley turned at the sound of footsteps. A shadow proceeded toward them until they could see the source. Both gasped at the same time. It was none other than Pittnacher! He was looking a little worse for the wear but still alive. How could this be?

Pittnacher stepped toward them. In one hand was a tiki torch and the other was a Glock aimed at Sara and Murdley.

"You," Sara exclaimed. "How did you survive the explosion?"

Murdley reached for his kick-ass Austrian Glock just to realize that the Glock in Pittnacher's hand must be his. He must have dropped it when he fell through the hole.

Pittnacher smiled, albeit not a warm a fuzzy smile. "I had the good fortune to be standing in just the right place when the explosion occurred. I was propelled out of the meat locker and landed in a banana tree outside of the resort. I quickly ate my fill of fresh bananas, shimmied down the tree and then tracked you to this pyramid. I have been on to Mudley Do-Right here from the beginning. The crystal coccyx is the key to locating the source of the extra-terrestial klarnfarnium. I, too, can read Tloc-Moogian. I have spent my life searching for the source of this radiation, having heard the lore of its powers. Now, it is within my reach. Hand over the coccyx!"

Sara looked befuddled. "Excuse me," she said. "I am confused. What about the Khazakstanis? Aren't they hell-bent on world domination? Aren't you a little worried they are around her somewhere and gunning for you?"

Pittnacher looked briefly concerned but then resumed his confident and annoying Glock-toting stance. "Bring them on," he said. "I have spent years learning to rule the mind through radiation. It will be a piece of cake to rule the minds of these fashion disasters and they will become my army by which I will dominate the world. The first thing I will do is send them to capture Stacey and Clinton. They are encouraging people to dress confidently and, dare I say it, even think better or themselves. Enough is enough!"

While Sara stood looking at her outfit and wondering if she was exuding confidence (after all she loved WNTW), Murdley shook his head. This was getting sillier than a Indiana Jones movie. The good guys vs. the bad guys and a bunch of goofy stuff thrown in. Don't the bad guys know that they don't get to win? Maybe Pittnacher didn't get the memo.

Suddenly, Murdley smiled and said, "Here, catch!"

Reflexively, Pittnacher reached up as if he was in the outfield catching a fly ball. Unfortunately for Pittnacher, he didn't stop to ask what he was catching. His single-minded determination to finally access the source of the extra-terrestrial radiation distracted him from his faulty presumption that it was the coccyx that Murdley was throwing to him.

[SunnyCA]

_________________________

Pittnacher made the catch only to realize that the object wasn't the crystal coccyx but instead was a large, hairy spider that Murdley had snatched from the ruins of the mummy's face. "Argh!" cried Pittnacher in surprise and fear. He gave his hand a violent shake but the spider, agitated by the motion, sank its fangs into his hand and held on as tightly as a giant tick. In his panic, the deranged, rogue psychiatrist, bartender, exorcist and burger flipper lowered his hand, placed the muzzle of the pistol against the spider and pulled the trigger. There was a loud report and an equally loud shriek as a stab of pain told Pittnacher that he had not only shot the spider but had also blown a hole in his own hand. "Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!" he wailed as he hopped up and down.

In the confusion of the moment, no-one had noticed a new presence in the tunnel. "Drop your weapon!" a commanding voice said to Pittnacher. "All of you! On the ground!" A tall man with graying temples and a military manner waived a compact automatic weapon at them. "Natasha!" he went on nodding his head at his companion, a stunningly beautiful but cruel-looking woman, "tie them up."

"Da, Boris," she answered curtly. She reached into her utility belt and extracted a number of thick, long cable ties. As she set about securing the prisoners, Sara remembered seeing the names Boris and Natasha in Candi's cell phone. She had no doubt that these were the Khazakstani agents who were determined to recover the source of the green radiation for their own reprehensible intentions, but why did Candi have their names?

"I have to know," Sara blurted out. "My friend, well, former friend, really, Candi... did you know her?"

"We recruited her to keep an eye on the CIA 's man," Natasha replied, nodding at Murdley. "A mistake. She was very unstable. No matter. She's as dead as you will be as soon as we extract whatever useful information you may have."

The Khazakstanis turned away from Sara, Murdley and Pittnacher and began to remove instruments of torture from their knapsacks. Wires and a hand-cranked generator. A battery-operated dentist's drill. Pliers. A vial of acid. A plumber's helper. A week-old Dunkin' Donut. "Now we begin," hissed Boris.

"Er, I think you spoke too soon," interjected Murdley, looking past his Slavic nemesis. He felt his blood run cold. A silent shape had appeared in the tunnel behind the two Khazakstanis. A shape that was not human. Alien in form, yet somehow evocative of the Darth Vader character of the Star Wars films.

"Darth Vader!" whispered Sara. "Candi said 'Darth Vader' when she called me from the meat locker! Somehow, she must have seen something! Could there have been an alien or aliens on the island? Perhaps they come out at night to suck the blood of innocent victims! Perhaps that's what made Candi mad!" She could feel herself boggle at the very thought.

Responding to Sara's stare Boris and Natasha turned to see what was behind them. Their jaws dropped in horror as......

[Dawg]

_________________
The Darth Vader-like alien form approached and suddenly began to glow an eerie green. And, almost predictably, it began to emit heaving breathing noises. With each step it took, everyone in the room stepped backward (or hopped in the case of Murdley, Sara and Pittnacher who were bound hand and foot with the cable ties) until backed against the wall.

Suddenly, the room filled with music and everyone looked quizzically around. The music grew louder and they could see the alien form tapping its foot to the beat of Michael Jackson's "Thriller". Even more surprising, when its arm shot up in the air they noticed it was wearing a purple sparkly glove. And then the alien began to dance and sing....

It’s close to midnight and something evil’s lurking in the dark
Under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes,
You’re paralyzed

’cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about strike
You know it’s thriller, thriller night
You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight...

The alien knew every dance step and word to the very popular 80s hit! Clearly the alien's approach was "shock and awe" since its audience stood paralyzed with perplexity.

Once the alien saw that it had its audience's attention, it began to speak in perfect English! "Wasn't that cool?" it said. "I have been waiting for years to perform for a live audience. The spiders and snakes don't offer much in the way of feedback."

Murdley found his voice and said, "Aren't aliens supposed to speak languages we mere humans don't understand?"

The alien laughed. "Normally, this is true. I was one bored alien waiting all these years to return home, but a few years ago I pirated an internet connection from Starbucks (there is one right here in Platanos y Cocos) and wired it to my ship's computer. I have been watching American TV, MTV is my favorite, non-stop 24 hours a day. So I have learned your ways and language. Now, enough Mr. Niceguy. I want my crystal coccyx. To you humans, it means power and control. To me, it means a comfortable ride home."

Boris lunged forward brandishing the Glock at the alien and shouting, "The coccyx is mine and I will rule the world!" With that, the alien reached out its other arm and zapped Boris with a current of green radiation and Boris was incinerated. Natasha lunged forward screaming at the alien and she, too, bought the farm. Pittnacher was a little more cagey, thinking he could negotiate, even though he was only holding what was left of his hand and not the coccyx (and still bound by cable ties).

"Darth, can I call you Darth, how about we strike a deal. I have done many experiments with radiation and I think that you and I together could change planet earth as we know it." With that, the alien zapped Pittnacher as well.

Sara and Murdley looked at each other. They knew what they had to do and that it was the right thing and hopefully it would save their lives. "The coccyx belongs to you and should be returned to you." With that, the cable ties fell off of Murdley and Sara. Murdley reached out his hand and laid the coccyx in the purple sparkly gloved hand of the alien.

The alien saluted the couple and turned to walk back down the tunnel. Suddenly the place started to rumble with the force of a great earthquake and Sara and Murdley ran for cover. Moments later when it was quiet, they looked up to see blue sky above them. Where was the pyramid? In the distance they could see an odd pyramid-shaped craft flying at great speed. Could it be the pyramid was the alien's ship hidden in plain sight all these years?

Sara and Murdley looked at each other in wonder and then Sara said, "So which one of us is going to write the book? This will surely be a best-seller!"
THE END
[Margaret]

Dark Odyssey

2008-03-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

Ratcliff lay on his side, gazing at Melanie. She was asleep, the bed linens in disarray at her feet. He could hear her breathe softly. Morning sunlight streamed in from the window of his Manhattan apartment. Ratcliff could see past Melanie, through the floor to ceiling windows, past St. Paul cathedral, all the way to New Jersey. The view was spectacular, he thought, but no more spectacular than the beautiful woman who lay beside him. "So this is what love is like," he thought to himself. "I never realized that it could be so all-consuming. The other times in my life that I thought I might be in love were, by comparison, just mild infatuations." He took in her flawless features, her satin skin, and her perfectly proportioned figure. "How," he asked himself, "could I be so fortunate? How is it possible that such a woman could care for me as passionately as I care for her?" He thought forward to their wedding. He was impatient for the day to arrive. The day on which they would begin a new life together as Mr. and Mrs. Heathrow.

Melanie opened her eyes and saw Ratcliff looking at her. "A penny for your thoughts," she said dreamily.

Ratcliff turned toward her and folded his arms around her. She nestled her head against his shoulder. "I was just thinking about our wedding," he responded, "and how much I'm looking forward to making you Mrs. Heathrow. About our honeymoon to Madigascar. And about buying that house in the Hamptons that you like so much. I love you, Melanie."

"And I you, Ratcliff. Dearest Ratcliff. The only thing that prevents me from suggesting that we move the wedding date up is that we have already received invitation responses from five hundred of our relatives and closest friends. That, and the fact that there is a five year waiting list to book the cathedral. Daddy was able to use his influence to jump the line, but I don't know that he could do it twice."

"Even so, we could elope," Ratcliff responded, only half in jest.

"I would be tempted," said Melanie, looking fondly at her tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed fiance. She, too, was deeply in love. "If it weren't for my upcoming trip. There's no way for me to avoid it. But as soon as I get back from Transylvania the date will be upon us. While I'm gone, I'll be as impatient as you."

"As soon as I get back from Transylvania." Melanie's words echoed in Ratcliff's ears. Little did he know, as he pressed his lips to hers, that they would come back to haunt him. Little did he suspect what dark shadows would descend upon them. "As soon as you get back," he murmured as she caressed his....
[Maddog}
_________________

expansive wild thicket of chest hair. Ratcliff, like the men in his family, has always had an abundance of body hair. He grooms himself thoroughly and often--a fact which his fiancee is quite unaware of. Fearing Melanie will be extremely distressed and flee from his arms upon hearing of his condition, Ratcliff hopes to keep his secret until after their marriage.

"Ratcliff, didn't you tell me your family came to this country from some small town in the Carpathians?" Melanie asks with a sudden expression of delight. "After I finish business with my client I'd love to see your ancestral home. Maybe you still have relatives there! Wouldn't that be so exciting?" Ratcliff nodded deep in thought. He strained to remember the name of the town.

Being an only child and his parents having been deceased for some time, he had no one to tell him anything about his heritage. He has only vague memories of sitting in his grandmother's kitchen as a small boy where she would stuff him with goulash and tell him stories about the old country in a very thick, almost indeciferable accent. Ratcliff just thought she was strange and generally believed most of what she said was nonsense. He never knew his grandfather. And whenever he asked where he was his grandmother would say "Wulfgang is wild good for nothing dog! I vill check the pound in weeks or so..." This was followed by a long ebb and flow of muttering, cursing and drinking. If she was alive she would be the one to solve this mystery...

Suddenly Ratcliff recalls that a friend of his grandmother's may still live in New Jersey. "I'll have to pay a visit to the boardwalk in Atlantic City. My grandmother worked down there for many years as a seer with a woman named Vilma. She would know the name of the town...why, she came from there herself I think!!". Melanie claps her hands in excitement. "Can I come with you?", she asks. Ratcliff almost agrees, but then for some reason declines saying "I best go alone."...
[Jeff]
_________________

Ratcliff wasn't sure why he had agreed to go all the way to Atlantic City on what he thought of as a fools errand, other than that Melanie had asked him to learn whether he still had relatives in Romania. He was vaguely aware that his antecedents had emigrated to the United States from that part of the world, but he never thought much about it when he was growing up. In fact, until Melanie had brought it up he had pretty well forgotten it. It wasn't important to him. After all, hadn't most of the population of North America emigrated from somewhere far away, like Europe, Asia or Africa? If he weren't so eager to please Melanie he wouldn't have bothered.

Atlantic City reminded Ratcliff of an aging beauty queen who'd fallen on hard times. You could still imagine what she had looked like in her heyday, but she'd developed wrinkles, lost a few teeth, and picked up a couple of prison tats along the way. He parked his car and headed for the Boardwalk. He felt out of place in his tailor-made cashmere jacket, charcoal slacks and Italian, alligator tassel loafers.

Once he was at the Boardwalk things began to look vaguely familiar. Still, finding his way was largely a matter of wandering around. After forty-five minutes of trial and error, however, he finally arrived at a small storefront that was squeezed between an arcade and a shop that sold nicknacks made of sea glass and driftwood. The sign said, "Madame Vilma's" and displayed a hand, palm up. Ratcliff pushed through the beaded curtain and found himself in a dimly lit room decorated with a few candles and a couple of antique chairs that looked as if they were about to collapse. There was a small escritoire by the door with a bell on it. He lifted the bell and gave it a tentative shake.

Moments later, an old woman entered the room. Ratcliff couldn't guess at her age. In the dim light she could have been anywhere from eighty to one hundred. "Are you Madame Vilma?" he asked. The old woman answered in the affirmative. "My name is Ratcliff Heathrow," he went on. "You may not remember me. I was here once when I was little. I'd come to see my grandmother who was living here with you at the time. Is she still here?"

The old woman smiled and said, "Sit, sit." She gestured at one of the rickety chairs. "Ah, yes. Iliana. She was a good friend. After her husband... your grandfather... Wulfgang disappeared she lived here for a long time. Sadly, she passed away a few years ago." She shook her head in regret.

Ratcliff received the news with mixed feelings. On one hand he didn't feel a sense of loss, either for his grandmother whom he had hardly known or the information she might have given him. On the other, he was disappointed that he wouldn't have anything to pass on to Melanie. And, frankly, he told himself, it is a downer to make that pain-in-the-butt drive all the way from Manhattan to Atlantic City only to come up empty-handed.

Madame Vilma saw his expression and in consolation asked if there were anything she could do. Ratcliff explained the reason for his visit and expressed his interest in locating any kin he might have who might still be residing in The Old Country. To his surprise, she responded, "I can tell you the answer to your question. You have a great uncle who still lives in the area where your ancestors have resided since the Middle Ages. He is a retired physician. His children are still there as well. Of course, who knows what might have become of your birth parents."

"What do you mean, 'your birth parents'" Ratcliff exclaimed. "My parents live, or lived until their untimely demise a few years ago, in New York. Long Island, as a matter of fact."

The old woman took Ratcliff's hand in her own gnarled, dry hand and said, "Your parents never told you? You were adopted as an infant from a state agency in Romania. Your mother and father had tried to have children of their own but were unsuccessful. Finally, they decided to adopt a child. I suppose your father may have felt some kind of affinity for the land of his parents. They went to Romania to seek a child. It wasn't easy. The government of that terrible despot, Nicolae Ceausescu, was very repressive. Not only was it hard to adopt a child, but it was even harder to get the child out of the country once the adoption had taken place. But they managed. Your birth parents?" Madame Vilma waived a hand dismissively. "I think they were gypsies."

Ratcliff reeled in his chair. Adopted? Gypsies? He felt as if his world had been turned upside down.
[Maddog]
__________________________
Ratcliff thanked Vilma although for what he wasn't sure. He had come to this depressing place seeking details of his heritage just to learn that nothing he knew about his ancestry was true. Sure his parents loved and adored him, but they hadn't prepared him for this.

"How can I marry unless I find out who I really am?" Ratcliff thought. Although he wanted to rewind to just a few hours before and forget he had ever talked to Vilma, he knew that life as he knew it had been forever altered.

As Ratcliff sped back to Manhattan in his candy apple red Porshe 911 Turbo, he mentally started planning his own trip to Romania. He would go while Melanie was away on business. She was going to be gone for a month so surely he had time to find the answers he sought. Fortunately for Ratcliff, when his parents died, they left him a fortune so he was free to travel without the hinderance of a work schedule or weekly paycheck.

Melanie, pulchritudinous Melanie. What would she think of him when she found out not only did he have Werewolf Syndrome but he also came from gypsies? Melanie came from a line of blue bloods, the finest of the fine. Despite their deep love, would it be able to sustain these truths?

Back in the apartment, as Melanie was beginning the arduous task of packing for a long trip, she was also struggling with her own hidden truths. She was impatient to get back to Transylvania to wrap up some unfinished business. Until she put it all behind her, she wouldn't be truly free to marry Ratcliff. She longed in her heart to elope and forego the pomp and circumstance but her father would never allow it. It had surprised her when Ratcliff had gone to her father and asked for her hand in marriage, and even more so when her father agreed. She didn't take time to ponder the reasons.
[Margaret]
_____________________

Ratcliff began to mentally sketch out what he would do once he was back in the City. There were a few things on his schedule, but nothing that would prevent him from booking a flight to Bucharest within the next week or so. He was scheduled to host his monthly poker game, but he could cancel that. There was the appointment with his dentist, but he could put that off for awhile. Ditto his barber visit and his visit to his tailor. Of course there was his appointment with the cosmetologist. He'd better keep that one, he thought. He was making good progress with the laser hair removal and didn't want to lose momentum. He was getting close to being able to live free of depilatories and razor rash. Thanks to years of hair removal sessions, except for a patch of hair on his back he now had hair pretty much only where it belonged: on his head, chest, groin, and soles of his feet. Human Werewolf Syndrome had been no picnic to live with, but the end was now in sight. Ratcliff had pondered the oddities of human mores before. Why was it that body hair was perfectly acceptable on animals, especially adorable furry housepets, but not on humans? Why did women like to cuddle with puppies and kittens but not with excessively hairy men? Why is it, he asked himself, that women in particular, go to great lengths to remove all visible hair except for what grows from their scalps? Scalps. What is so special about the hair on their heads? Those hairs are nothing more than long, thin, often mouse-colored, tubular fibers that spring from the skin, infested with follicles and oil glands, that covers their skulls. Head hair is peculiar, he thought, in that it - unlike hair elsewhere on the body - continues to get longer and longer - unless cut - for a lifetime. The more the better, as far as most humans are concerned. And women are quite proud of it, this hair that sprouts out of their heads. They dye it and cut it into strange shapes as if it were topiary. They spray it and curl it and tease it to make it look fuller. They are so self-conscious about it that their hands are constantly touching it as if to reassure themselves that it is still there. Women miss no opportunity to check it obsessively in mirrors to ensure that no strand is out of place. Some men, too, are so concerned about this cranial growth that if they lose their hair they wear a strange covering of artificial fibers to replace it. "So what's wrong with a little body hair, anyway?" thought Ratcliff as he sped toward Manhattan.

Ratcliff arrived in Manhattan just before rush hour. It seemed to him, however, that any time of day in Manhattan was rush hour. He negotiated his way through narrow, congested streets, swerving to miss hurtling taxis, suicidal pedestrians and drivers desperate to leap into the few parking places that unexpectedly became available along the curb. Dropping his Porche off with the parking attendant in his towering apartment building, he stepped onto the elevator and moments later was home.

As he entered his apartment, Melanie stepped into the room and greeted him with a smile. She had just stepped out of the shower and was wrapped in a towel. He hair was still damp. Her smooth skin was still rosy from the warmth of the water and she smelled of the perfumed soap he had given her for her birthday. Ratcliff thought he had never seen anyone as beautiful. He stepped forward and wrapped her in a hungry embrace.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Ratcliff and Melanie tried to ignore it but it rang again. Reluctantly, Ratcliff went to the door and asked, "Who is it?"

"It's the plumber and I've come to fix the sink."

"Huh?"

"It's the plumber and I've come to fix the sink."

"Come back later."

"Hey, buddy. It's either now or you can wait two weeks. I got a long list of people who're waiting for me."

"Crum!" thought Ratcliff. "We can't wait two weeks. Melanie and I will be gone." He hadn't decided whether to tell her that he would be traveling to Romania during the time she would be there. No reason not to, he thought, but for some reason he was hesitant.

He opened the door and Melanie directed the plumber to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," she said to Ratcliff. "I called him quite some time ago and had forgotten he was supposed to arrive today. While we're waiting for him to fix the sink I'll slip into some clothes and you can tell me about your visit to Atlantic City. I can't wait to find out what you discovered!"
[Maddog]
___________________

As Melanie closed the bedroom door behind her, Ratcliff wondered what he should do. Would she still love him if she knew? Would her father disallow their marriage? He had to tell her something.

Ratcliff shook his head and collected himself. Seeing that the front door stood wide open, he walked over to close it. He noticed an envelope on the entry hall table. It was addressed to Ratcliff Strogonoff. "Thats odd." he thought. "My last name isn't..." Had he not recently learned about his real parents he would have dismissed this article of mail as a wrong address.

Melanie cracked the bedroom door open and called out "I'll be out in 5 minutes honey! Sorry dear!".

Ratcliff was hesitant to open the envelope. He tries to convince himself its just a coincidence that his name is the same on the label. Looking at the return address, his mouth drops open in shock. It bears the words "Bela Strogonoff Transylvania 6-5000"...
[Jeff]
____________________

A letter from Transylvania! Ratcliff was stunned. Who in the Old Country would be writing him? He had never set foot in Romania and had never even discussed his origins with his parents. How would anyone there even know he existed? And even if some distant relative were vaguely aware that he did, why in the world would they write and how would they know how to find him? He had only decided to go to Romania a few hours ago. He hadn't even decided whether to tell Melanie he was going. "This," he told himself, "is really weird." He felt a little shaky and sank into the large leather easy chair next to the mahogany bar. He tore the envelope open and peered at a letter written in thick, black letters. There was no salutation. There wasn't even a date. The letter read:

"Mr. Heathrow. Your wife must not come to Transylvania. You must tell her that her mission is an evil one. She is representative of her father's big American company who will destroy Transylvanian way of life. They come here to change the castle of Dracula into playground resort for elderly American jetsetters. They will install swimming pools and hot tubs, spas and saunas. They will add on penthouse condominiums and put in giant bay windows to look onto mountains. They will play volleyball in offensively little bathing clothing. There will be nightclub with dancing and drinking. There will even be a casino. Gambling. With stripper women. Much music and laughing and yelling and cavorting all night. It is an insult to the old ways. It is a hit in the face for the traditions. Is bad enough that the castle is already tourist attraction. This will be a terrible thing. Tell her that it must not happen or a dark shadow will fall on her and her greedy employers. She will find that the old legends maybe aren't only legends. There is more here in the mountains than you dream of. Stop now!"

Ratcliff let the letter drop onto his lap. He didn't know what to make of it. Was it some kind of prank? He quickly dismissed the idea. The letter was postmarked Romania. He was aware that Melanie worked for her father's company, which was involved in real estate development overseas, but he had no idea of what, specifically, it was doing. He knew that something was going on in Romania, just as it was in Dubai, Shanghai, and Oslo. But remodeling Dracula's castle? He'd had no inkling. He wasn't sure the letter wasn't from some crank, some loonie. And even if the letter were legitimate and Melanie's employer was about to Americanize one of the country's most well-known (perhaps its only well-known) landmark, what could he do.

He was still in a quandry when Melanie came into the room. "Melanie," he began, then he paused. He wanted to tell he how much he loved her and how much he regretted the plumber's intrusion. But he was too concerned about the strange letter he'd just received. "Melanie, do you know a Bela Stroganoff?"
[Maddog]
___________________
"Bella Stroganoff?" Melanie exclaimed. "Of course I know Bella Stroganoff! It was my favorite dish as a child. My mom used to make it for all our special occasions. Just thinking about it is making me hungry. How about if I run out to the market for the ingredients so that I can make us a special dinner?"

As Melanie chattered on exuberantly, he realized that she had no idea what he was talking about. Not to mention the fact that he had now guaranteed that they wouldn't be eating dinner until midnight as one does not simply whip up stroganoff. In a desperate attempt to derail this moving train, Ratcliff suddenly reached for Melanie and drew her in close. He pressed his lips to hers and felt her begin to melt into him. Ah...a distraction. Although he knew this would be a delicious respite from thought, he realized that come sunrise he would have to make a decision. Should he press his love for answers or pursue his own truths?
[Caroline]
___________________
Ratcliff awoke with a start. He realized that he must have dozed off after his exuberant interlude with Melanie. "Odd," he thought, "not long ago her mention of stroganoff made my stomach growl. But through the magic of love my appetite must have been redirected. Who cares about stroganoff?"

However, no sooner than he said that than he felt a twinge. Maybe he'd spoken too quickly. Some dinner wouldn't be a bad thing. On his way to the kitchen to check out the refrigerator he could hear the water running. Melanie was back in the shower. One of the drawbacks to these frequent dalliances, he reflected, was that the water bill was out of the roof. The sound of the water also let him know that it was back on following the plumber's visit. He wasn't sure what time it was when the plumber announced his departure as he'd been distracted by Melanie. A few minutes later, with a plate carrying a thick slice of cheese and some crackers in one hand and a large glass of Dom Perignon in the other, he wandered into the living room and sank into a chair. As he did so, his gaze fell on the mysterious letter he had left on the coffee table.

"OK," Ratcliff thought. "I have to figure out what's going on. I've just learned that my birth parents are Romanian gypsies and now I've received a letter addressed to Ratcliff Stroganoff. The letter began with 'Ratcliff Heathrow' but why not? That's how I've always been known. That's my legal name. The only name I've ever known. Up until now." He paused. Then he asked himself, " Am I a Stroganoff by birth?" Then his racing mind jumped back to the letter's message. "Clearly," he went on to himself, "what triggered the letter was Melanie's trip to Romania to represent her father's interests."

It was then that he decided not to mention his turmoil to Melanie. He didn't want to upset her, especially on the eve of her important business trip, with some silly, unfounded misgivings on his part. He would make his travel arrangements tomorrow. First he would check with his friend, Stoddard Farnsworth, who was a partner in the prestigious law firm of Lagrippe, Malaise and Catarrh, LLP. Stoddard had connections with legal professionals all over the world. Surely, he would be able to refer Ratcliff to someone in Romania who could, in turn, put him in touch with a private investigator.

"It shouldn't take long to find out the truth about who my birth parents were and, more importantly, who wrote the letter," he reflected. "And once I know who wrote the letter I'll be able to do something to make sure nothing unexpected comes up to interfere with Melanie's business negotiations." Ratcliff had not yet admitted to himself the possibility that anything untoward could happen to Melanie personally. And of course, he didn't give the letter's reference to legends and 'dark shadows' a second thought.
[Maddog]
__________________

As Melanie stood in the shower, she let her mind wander to the upcoming negotiations. The only way to be truly free of her father's grip was to complete these negotiations successfully. A few weeks ago she had received an anonymous letter. The letter writer attempted to dissuade her from going to Transylvania by scaring her with ancient legends of evil, but she wasn't afraid. "Everyone has their price," she thought. "And nothing was scarier than her father."

Though her father had never laid a hand on her, he scared the crap out of her. He could silence her with a withering stare and he held her, just like everyone else, to impossible standards. There was never reward or recognition for a job well done, only punishment for failure. Melanie always wondered if he was truly capable of love since he never showed it. Unfortunately, she never experienced a parent's love since her mother died during childbirth and she was left to be raised by this cold-hearted and exacting man. Still, she had spent her whole life trying to please him and win his affections. Finally, she realized that he was never going to truly love her. Her father had told her that if she successfully cemented the deal with the Transylvanians he would release her trust fund. This would secure her financial independence even if she had to use the bulk of it to pay for counseling to overcome her lifetime of emotional baggage.

Although, Melanie had her work cut out for her, she knew she could handle it. Afterall, she was Melanie Hummdinger, daughter of Trammell Hummdinger, world-renowned real estate mogul known for his ostentatious ways and a mop of hair that defied explanation. For a man that made more money than Bill Gates, it was a mystery why he didn't spend some of it on a talented barber. Fortunately, Trammell had Stacy and Clinton in his back pocket and as a result was a snazzy dresser. Melanie, too, benefited from their rules which gave her the confidence to rule the boardroom and her boudoir.

She continued to contemplate these things as she expertly applied her make-up and then straightened her expensively colored hair. She hadn't told Ratcliff she was leaving tonight by red-eye but she thought it would be easier to leave without a drawn out goodbye. Being separated from her true love would be difficult, even for a minute, so parting quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, would be easier.
[Margaret]
_________________________
Melanie looked at her diamond encrusted Rolex and gasped. "Holy Cannoli!" she muttered. "I can't believe it's so late." She began throwing her make-up into her Elizabeth Arden cosmetic bag and gathering up the last few items she would need for her trip, especially the newest Stephanie Plum adventure, Lean Mean Thirteen. She loved the protagonist's spunk in all situations, romantic, explosive or both.

The future Mrs. Heathrow/Stroganoff ran out of the bathroom eager to give her true love one last smooch before she left. However, she turned the corner into the living room and found Ratcliff snoring loudly in his favorite leather chair. She noted that the bottle of champagne was three quarters empty and the cheese plate wiped clean save for a few lingering crumbs. Melanie decided that she would let her love sleep and leave a note instead.

She went to the desk in the next room for a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote, "I'm leavin' on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again...I love you. Love, Your Little Smoochikins." As Melanie signed the letter she so hoped that this little moniker wouldn't become public...that wouldn't be good for her image. She quickly spritzed the letter with some of her Chanel No. 5. She then applied her luscious red-coral lipstick, Lancome's Hot Nights, and kissed her note. Not wanting to wake Ratcliff and delay her exit any longer, she placed the note on the cheese tray, potential cheese stains be damned, grabbed her things, walked out the door and headed downstairs to the limo waiting to take her to JFK International Airport. There she would board her father's private jet and head to Eastern Europe.
[Caroline]
__________________

The transatlantic flight from New York to Bucharest was uneventful. Melanie used some of the time to review a large volume of paperwork, which included various financial projections, completion dates and technical schematics connected to her company's Romanian project. She didn't enjoy the kind of detail that went with her work... she was happier in an outdoor setting, hiking, rock climbing, white water rafting... but it helped to occupy her attention until her flight landed. She spent the interludes in her attention to business thinking of her upcoming wedding to Ratcliff and dozing. She couldn't wait to become Mrs. Heathrow and start a new life. The prospect of leaving her father and his business empire behind was exciting.

Melanie managed to pass through customs at the airport with only a slight delay and was met by a large, dark man in an ill-fitting suit who held up a sign that read, "Hummdinger." In no time her luggage was stowed in a black limousine and she was on her way to her hotel. It was difficult to see anything through the dark tinted windows of the limousine so she sat back in her seat and relaxed. She let her mind wander and, tired from her long flight from New York, a few moments later she drifted off.

Melanie woke with a start. It took a moment for her to collect her thoughts. She realized that she had been sleeping and that something had awakened her. Was she at her hotel? No, the limousine hadn't slowed. However, the roadway had become much rougher. It was was the swaying and bumping of the vehicle that had brought her out of her dreams of Ratcliff and her new independence. She looked at her watch. What time was it? She held the watch face inches from her eyes. "Rolexes have lots of diamonds," she thought, "but precious little radium on their dials. I can hardly see the damn thing." However, by squinting she finally made out the time. She was startled to realize that she had been asleep for several hours! Melanie pounded on the partition between the passenger compartment and the front seat of the vehicle. "Where are we? What's going on?" she shouted at the driver. She was met with silence. She looked for a way to lower the partition but it was controlled from the front seat. She looked about her nervously and realized that there were no handles on the inside of the doors. Panic began to set in. She felt trapped and helpless. Was she being kidnapped? She had never even considered the possibility. Her father was a rich man... maybe that was it! She pounded on the partition again and again until her fists ached. "Oh Lord!" she thought. "Oh crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!

After what seemed an eternity, the vehicle began to slow. Finally, it stopped. She could hear a crunching sound as the driver walked back to the rear door of the limousine. Suddenly, the door opened and the large man reached in and pulled her out. Melanie took in her surroundings even as she struggled to break free of his iron grip. The ground was rocky and rough, and there were towering trees all around. No sound could be heard in the chill air. A thin mist hovered a few feet above the ground. A short distance away she could see, in the dim light, a huge stone edifice. It was toward this castle that her captor was forcing her to walk. Melanie could feel her heart pound. It was hard for her to get her breath. At first, she thought it was her panic that made it difficult to breathe. Then she realized that it was the altitude, too. She was in the mountains! "God!" she thought. "Will anyone be able to find me in this remote place?"

The driver raised the massive cast iron lion head knocker and pounded on the castle door. Moments later it opened slowly, its huge hinges creaking as if protesting the intrusion. In the gloomy interior, Melanie was greeted by a tall man in a smoking jacket. His skin looked like parchment and he had cavernous, dark eyes. He nodded his grey head and said in a deep voice, "Why, hello, Melanie. I've been expecting you." He turned to a servant who had appeared at his side as he spoke. "Igor! Igor. Get young Miss Hummdinger some warm brandy. There's a chill in the air." Igor muttered "Yes, master" and disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared. As her host turned back to Melanie she thought she could see a strange light deep inside his deeply set dark eyes. She felt something inside her wilt. "Come in, my dear," he said, "and have a seat by the fire. We have a lot to talk about." Melanie wanted to scream.
[Maddog]
_________________

So she did. "Eeeeeeee....." she paused to get her breath..... "eeeeeeeek!"

Her host looked pained. "Here's Igor with your warm brandy. Have a sip. You'll feel more relaxed."

Melanie looked at the man, who had not yet identified himself, and said, "Are you nuts? Here I am, in a strange country, in a strange castle (against my will, I might add) being encouraged to drink something that you say is brandy. How do I know it's not poison? Or a mickey? Or high in unsaturated fat?" She shuddered at the thought.

"Perhaps this will assuage your anxiety," the man said. He reached across and lifted her glass. He put it to his lips and in a single swallow emptied it. He smiled a ghastly smile. "Now, let us have our conversation."

Before they could begin, however, Melanie heard a strange sound emanating from the bowels of the castle. At first it was faint. It seemed to crawl out of the gloom. But as she listened, all of her senses heightened by her frightening situation, it appeared to get louder until, gradually, she could hear it more distinctly. It was a musical instrument, she decided, accompanied by a voice. An unfamiliar Romanian stringed instrument, she wondered? Both it and the voice were slightly off key. She turned away and strained to listen.

"Lydia, oh Lydia," the voice sang, "say, have you met Lydia?
Lydia the tattooed lady.
She has eyes that folks adore so,
and a torso even more so.
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia.
Oh Lydia, The Queen of tattoo."

Where had she heard that music before? Melanie wondered.

"On her back is the Battle of Waterloo.
Beside it, the Wreck of the Hesperus, too.
And proudly above waves the red, white, and blue.
You can learn a lot from Lydia!"

Melanie was intrigued. She didn't know whether the source of the music represented some new threat, whether it was benign, or whether she was losing her mind. It continued.

"When her robe is unfurled she will show you the world,
if you step up and tell her where.
For a dime you can see Kankakee or Paree,
or Washington crossing the Delaware.

La-la-la.... la-la-la
La-la-la.... la-la-la"

The strange man hardly seemed to notice. As he opened his mouth to pick up where he had left off before the interruption, Melanie thought to herself, "I know. I've gone mad. I must be deranged. This is just too weird. Horrors!" It occurred to her that she might feel better if she screamed again.
[Anonymous]
___________________
As quickly as the thought to scream again crossed Melanie’s mind it was replaced with a desire to laugh hysterically. And so laugh she did. This was all so ridiculous. She felt like she had awakened in the middle of a bizarre episode of the Addams Family. Where were Thing and Cousin It? Surely they were going to show up at any time. This can’t be real. Igor is always the name of the hunched-back assistant or butler in all those silly horror films. Where was the camera, the director, the best boy grip? And makeup, where was makeup? This guy needed some serious help. Doesn’t he get cable? Surely Stacy and Clinton could make some wardrobe suggestions, even for a vampire. He was a vampire, wasn’t he?

She stopped laughing and wiped the tears from her eyes. Surely she would wake up soon. As she tried to get a grip on the situation, she found herself humming the words to “Lydia, the Tattooed Lady.” It was an intriguing tune that she knew she knew but where… “I’ve got it,” she shouted, surprising herself and her creepy host. “Groucho Marx! It was one of his signature tunes! My father had the whole collection of Groucho Marx movies and I used to watch them as a kid. I really wished he would watch those movies with me so we would laugh together. But he didn’t laugh and we never did anything together…” Her voice trailed off.

Her host was a little stunned. Clearly this was not the reaction he was expecting. Yes, usually guests were a little offput by the surroundings and his manner was intimidating but no one had laughed before and no one would mistake him for Dr. Phil. “How am I going to get her back on track?” he wondered. “I’ve got to convince her that this castle is a landmark. Visitors to Transylvania expect to be terrified by vampires. If this is turned into an American playground, what would happen to him, to his family, to the legend?”

He started to wonder about her relationship with her father. He knew of Trammell Hummdinger and that he was a man who could squeeze blood from rocks. Not quite father material. His own relationship with his father wasn’t ideal but compared to Trammell Hummdinger his father was Ward Cleaver. Suddenly, he realized he enjoyed watching her laugh. There wasn’t a lot of laughter around this drafty old castle. Maybe he could find an old Groucho Marx movie on cable and heat up some popcorn? Did they have popcorn in the castle? Did they have cable?
[Margaret]
______________________

As these thoughts flooded through the old man's mind and as Melanie's own reflections began to recede from hers, there was a sudden booming noise. Melanie started. Before the thunderous sound could fade her host turned to his servant who was lurking in the shadows along the wall of of the great room. "Igor! Igor, run get the door, will you? There's a good fellow."

"Yes, master." Igor scuttled, crab-like, toward the entrance.

With a tortured creak, the massive door swung open. Both Melanie and her host crained their necks to see who was there. Perhaps it was a minority kid selling candy bars to finance a trip to Six Flags Over Transylvania, or maybe some young, well-scrubbed Mormans. No, it was a single, adult figure that stood in the shadows. Before Igor could prevent it, the visitor rushed in out of the gloom. Melanie was stunned.

"Smoochikins! What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York! How did you know where to find me? Thank God you're here!" The words tumbled from her mouth.

Ratcliff seemed equally stunned. "Melanie? What are you doing here? I thought you were at a hotel in Bucharest! Or at a meeting! Or off looking at a development project somewhere!"

"You didn't come to rescue me?"

"Rescue you? From what? I had no idea that I'd see you here." He paused, then said, "This is amazing!"

The old man watched the excited conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, turning his head to look first at one and then the other. As soon as there was a pause, he invited them both to sit. After he put another log on the fire, he dispatched Igor for more brandy. Once the shock at seeing each other wore off somewhat, Ratcliff explained to Melanie that he had come to Transylvania to seek his roots. Before he left New York, he explained, he had talked to a Romanian private detective recommended to him by a friend at a law firm in Manhattan. By the time Ratcliff's transatlantic flight had landed the detective had found the information he sought. At the airport, the private eye had given Ratcliff the name of his ancestral family and had provided directions to the home of his great uncle Bela Stroganoff.

"Are you Bela Stroganoff?" asked Ratcliff.

"You're Bela Stroganoff?" Melanie asked her host in an incredulous tone.

The old man nodded modestly. "That's me."
[Fiona and Hondo]
____________________________
Ratcliff and Melanie exchanged puzzled looks. "What the hell is going on here?" they exclaimed simultaneously. Then, overcome by the giggles brought on by fear and confusion, they said in unison, "Jinx, you owe me a Coke."

Once they got themselves under control, Melanie and Ratcliff turned toward Bela. "So, Great Uncle Bela, what exactly is going on here? Why did you wait all these years to contact me? What is Melanie doing here apparently against her will?"

Bela Stroganoff looked at his guests, smiled in an eerie fashion and then spoke. "The two of you must be tired after your long journeys. I know you Americans enjoy deep fried, sugar-filled, transfat-laden vittles so I have asked Igor to bring us some fried chicked, tater tots, Ding-Dongs and Dr. Pepper. Once you are sated, Igor will show you to your room for the night. In the morning I will answer your questions."

Melanie and Ratcliff, indeed tired, agreed. Bela chose to retire while the lovebirds sat at dining table in the castle's cavernous dining room. The two didn't speak much. Instead, they ate hungrily, relishing the taste of home. After a final swig of Dr. Pepper, Ratcliff wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sat back and burped loudly. Smoochikins giggled like a school girl. Suddenly, Igor appeared out of nowhere. Melanie jumped and let out a little "eeek!"

"I have prepared your room. Please follow me." Ratcliff and Melanie stood and followed Igor from the dining room to the foyer and up the long winding staircase to the rooms above. Igor led them to a large room with a giant four poster bed and a massive fireplace, complete with a roaring fire. Their bags were placed at the foot of the bed awaiting their arrival. Igor walked toward the door, turned and said with a spooky grin, "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite." Melanie and Ratcliff produced gratuitous giggles (afraid not to) and bid the butler goodnight.

As the two began to relax a little, the door to the bedroom swung back open with a creak. Igor peered around the door and offered a note of warning. "For your own protection, please remain in your room until sunrise." With that he closed the door with a thud. Melanie ran over to the door and turned the lock. "What does he mean by that?" she asked Ratcliff in a trembling voice.

Ratcliff, unwilling to show his own fear, drew his love close and said suggestively, "Well, if we shouldn't leave, I can think of plenty of other things to keep us busy." He then began to kiss her. First, he kissed her lips, then her neck and shoulders. Soon, Melanie found herself without her clothes and her worries as Ratcliff carried her to the bed and proceeded to make sweet love to her in the firelight.

Around 2am Melanie woke with a start, confused. "Where am I?" she thought. Then she remembered the events of the previous day and evening and rolled over and snuggled up against her lover. Suddenly, she heard a sound, a voice, and picked her head up off the pillow to listen more carefully. "I must be dreaming," she thought. Melanie laid her head back down and closed her eyes. A moment later she heard the sound again. By this time she was wide awake. She rose from the warm bed, pulled on her silk robe and approached the door. Even though Igor's words echoed in her head, she wasn't worried. Her host was nothing but polite (even if he wore a creepy expression and brought her here against her will). The voice was probably the one singing about Lydia, a recording she was sure. Though Melanie hesitated briefly her curiosity got the best of her. She opened the door and stepped into the drafty hallway.
[Caroline]
___________________

Melanie looked down the long corredor to her left. She could just make out a wide stone stairway leading down to a lower floor. She groped her way toward it, and as she approached she could make out a light. She had only gone a few steps when she bumped into a large piece of furniture. She struck the corner of what seemed to be a marble-topped sideboard. It was huge. She was sure she would have a visible bruise on her breastbone in the morning. It took an effort not to swear aloud. After a pause to get herself together she resumed her silent journey down the hall, but moments later she stubbed her toe on one of the slabs of stone with which the floor was paved. Again she stopped and stifled a yell. She would feel a lot better, she told herself, if she could have jumped up and down and screamed. She mentally kicked herself for not putting on her slippers before she left her room.

By the time she reached the stairs, Melanie could see a bit better, thanks to having become acclimated to the gloom and the slight illumination from below. She inched down the stairs and at last reached the bottom. There was a high, arched doorway to the right. She peeked around the corner to see if she could determine the source of the music. The room into which she peered was, like everything else in the castle, vast. At one end there was a fireplace with a low fire, which cast long, flickering shadows across the floor. On the walls hung large tapestries. A sound in the room drew her attention. There were voices and also a faint clicking, accompanied by a flickering light. She craned her neck to look further into the room.

She realized that she was looking at the old man, Bela Stroganoff, his servant Igor and the man who had kidnapped her from the airport and delivered her to the castle, sitting in front of a screen, watching an old movie. The clicking sound was an antique, 35 millimeter film projector. Before she could withdraw, Stroganoff, who had evidently caught motion out of the corner of his eye, saw her and beckoned. "Come in, come in, my dear," he said. "Join us. We're watching a movie. I love American movies. This is one of my favorites." He gave a grin that Melanie could only characterize as ghastly. "The Marx Brothers. Graucho. Harpo. Chico. And sometimes Gummo, although I don't think Gummo is very funny. He is more of... how do you say it?... a straight man."

Melanie hesitated. "What is he doing here?" She pointed at the large man.

"Oh," said Stroganoff. "That's Milos, my grandson. I sent him to the airport to pick you up. I gave him strict instructions to make sure you got here, no mistakes." He lowered his voice and turned his back toward Milos. " I'm afraid he's not too bright. Clearly he was a bit non-communicative and a little bit too assertive when he brought you here. He means well, but his interpersonal skills could use a little work." Melanie looked doubtful. The old man continued. "Really. He's actually a very nice boy. He's a big baseball fan. Get him started and he'll rattle on about the old Yankees teams. DiMaggio. Berra. The Babe."

Melanie glanced warily at Igor. Stoganoff caught her look. "Please," he said. "I know Igor looks a little odd, the way he hunches over and with his sideways walk. Believe it or not, he used to be a chick magnet." He paused. "I think English is a terrific language. Did you know that there is no phrase in Romanian for 'chick magnet?'" He went on. "Years ago, poor Igor had a nasty fall from his polo pony and injured his back. When my dear wife, Olga, died he agreed to move in here and help out. Maintaining a big place like this is no picnic unless you have a staff."

At the old man's urging, Melanie entered to room and tentatively took a seat in front of the movie screen. She checked to make sure she had a clear path to the door in case she needed to get out in a hurry. As she sat, Igor noticed her foot. Her stubbed toe had bled a little. "Oh," he said, sympathetically. "I'm sorry you've hurt your foot. I told you to be careful when I showed you your room. There isn't much light and these old castles are full of obstacles and tripping hazards."

"As long as you're here," Stroganoff said, "I'd like to talk. Your father's development plans hang over our heads like the sword of Damocles. I grant you, all this doesn't look like much," he waived a deprecatory hand about him, "but after all it is home. Progress, if you can call it that, isn't always good. After all, you wouldn't turn Montecello into a Holiday Inn, would you? Or Mount Vernon into a Motel Six?" He didn't wait for Melanie to reply. "OK," he went on, "maybe that is a bit of hyperbole, but you get the idea. What will we do when we lose the castle? Where will we go? What will happen to our quaint traditions? Will the gypsies, with whom we have a love-hate relationship, have to play their music for outsiders and steal from tourists? Miss Hummdinger, we need your help. Surely you can deflect your father's commercial juggernaut!"
[Maddog]
___________________
Melanie looked at Stroganoff curiously. "Uncle Bela? May I call you Uncle Bela? When I first arrived here against my will, I must admit that I was a little fearful and slightly put out by the whole kidnapping thing. You do have a curious way of getting someone's attention. However, I understand your intent. You are trying to protect your home, your way of life."

Stroganoff looked at Melanie carefully. Maybe he wouldn't need threats after all. Milos and Igor stood in the background, waiting expectantly for Melanie's response.

Melanie slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She walked over to the table in the middle of the room and spread out the plans for the new development. "Don't worry. When we move in, we don't hand out eviction notices and pink slips. In fact, you all are a perfect fit for the newest DisneyWorld twist: DisneyWorld Transylvania."

Beside her, Melanie heard the audible intake of breath from the three men. Being a true businesswoman and Trammell's daughter, she barely registered their concern and plowed ahead. "We will incorporate the castle as a big part of the park. Of course, we will need to add bats, coffins, mirrors, garlic, stakes...you know, all the typical vampire type fare. There will be a bat ride, a roller coaster ride in which the cars are shaped like coffins!" Melanie took a breath and the three men stared at the robed woman in horror and disbelief. She was going to make a spectacle out of their family's history.

Melanie was like a moving train. She went on, "Uncle Bela, we envision you as Dracula. Igor, you would be the manservant and greet the park goers. They will adore your accents!" Melanie clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. "Can't you just see it?"

Stroganoff was horrified. DisneyWorld Transylvania, indeed. Well, that just wasn't going to happen. He couldn't let the world traipse through his home, being titillated by the ridiculous spook show developed by Humdinger's company. It was an insult to his ancestors.

Bela decided that Melanie would have to be deterred. "Melanie, my dear, so many plans. Why don't we discuss them more completely in the morning. You must be tired. Why don't you return to your room now. And remember, be careful in this dark old castle." Outwardly, Bela smiled benignly at his guest. All the while, however, he thought about ridding himself and his castle of this awful nuisance.

Melanie agreed as she let out a little yawn and turned to leave. She walked back through the room past the moveie screen still showing the old Marx Brothers movie. She found her way back to the large staircase being careful not to bump into massive, hard to see pieces of furniture. When she reached the top of the staircase, she forgot which hallway led to her room and her slumbering lover. Melanie turned left and walked a few steps and then bumped into a table. After rubbing her shin, something caught her eye and she looked up to her left. She stared, open-mouthed, at the large, gilt-framed painting hanging just over the console. Melanie rubbed her eyes and looked again. She couldn't believe it. She was staring at her beloved Ratcliff.
[Caroline]
___________________

Melanie peered more closely at the portrait. It was old and dark. The paint was crackled. It must have been hanging on the wall of the castle for a long, long time. She could just make out a name on a brass plaque on the frame below the painting. It read, "Vlad III."

Melanie wasn't a student of history but even she knew that Vlad III was Vlad Tepes, known as Dracula (the son of Dracul, the dragon)! She was stunned. She turned and ran, doing her best to avoid tripping hazards, back to her room. When she entered the dark chamber she couldn't make out the bed, but after a few moments her eyes adjusted and she made her way to the sleeping Ratcliff. She reached out and shook him. Ratcliff abruptly sat up.

"Melanie! You startled me! Why are you up? What's going on?"

"You won't believe this!" she exclaimed. "I just saw your picture hanging in the corridor, just beyond the staircase. It's true! It looks just like you! Too much to be a coincidence! And guess what the name on it was!"

"Who?"

"Dracula!"

"You're kidding. THE Dracula?" Ratcliff wasn't sure whether Melanie was playing a joke. He could tell that she was agitated, however, so he decided that she was serious. He started for the door.

"Wait!" Melanie said sharply. "You can't go out there!"

"Why not?"

"You're in your birthday suit. You don't want to go wandering a drafty old pile of rocks like this one with nothing on!" She gave him an admiring glance. "Slip into your robe, and while you're at it put on your slippers." Melanie's toe still throbbed.

A few moments later, Melanie and Ratcliff, in their silk paisley Neiman Marcus robes and wooly sheepskin slippers, stood in front of the portrait. "Except for the antiquated style of dress, I could be looking in the mirror!" Ratcliff murmured in amazement. "Do you suppose this is the bad boy himself? I guess it must be!" He paused, then added, "Handsome devil, wasn't he?"

Melanie smiled in the gloom as she gave him a playful poke in the ribs. A moment later, she gave him another, gentler poke. Then she touched him again with a gentle caress. "Stop it!" she chided herself. "This isn't the time to be doing this! We have to know what the connection is between Dracula and Bela Stroganoff. And I really want to know what the connection is between that draconian, legendary despot, dead for almost 530 years, and my Ratcliff!"

Who else would have the answers but Bela Stroganoff? Melanie slipped her hand into Ratcliff's and started back down the wide staircase. After a few steps she stopped, however. There was no longer a light at the bottom. It was as dark as a cave. Another step or two and she and Ratcliff would be completely unable to see. It was as silent as a tomb.

[Maddoggie]
_________________
Melanie squeezed Ratcliff's hand a little tighter. If they were going to get answers, they had to proceed. Treading carefully, the lovebirds continued down the dark staircase, step by step. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Melanie took note of her surroundings. What was it about castles? They seemed to be built and decorated for giants! And the inhabitants seemed to have egos to match as indicated by the enormous portraits hanging on the wall, following the slope of the staircase.

After descending a few more steps Ratcliff pulled Melanie to him. He caressed her face then put his lips to hers. Melanie wrapped her arms around her lover and responded eagerly. A few moments later Melanie pulled back and whispered "I love you, Smoochikins." Ratcliff murmured his agreement and gathered her into his arms. As they held one another Melanie opened her eyes. She saw something glinting. Puzzled, she looked again and realized it was a mirror. Unable to resist admiring herself she took in her reflection and decided that she looked damned good, especially for someone who had traveled long distances, been kidnapped, stuffed herself with junk food and enjoyed some very satisfying love-making.

Suddenly, she gripped Ratcliff. "Ouch! What did you do that for?" he said, surprised. "Ratcliff," she whispered, "you're not here!" "Whatever do you mean? I am standing right beside you," he responded. "In the mirror! I saw the twinkle of glass and noticed the mirror hanging on the wall. While I was giving myself the once over I realized that I couldn't see you! What is going on?" Melanie felt a shiver run up her spine. But ever the business woman she said, "You know, babe, this mirror thing would be a great bit to include in DW Transylvania. Maybe a new version of It's a Small World but with vampires!"

Ratcliff peered a little closer into the mirror. Sure enough, no reflection. "You saw the portrait upstairs and the name, you've heard the stories, you can't see me...maybe I am a vampire!" He laughed loudly, clearly amused with himself. Melanie didn't know what to think. More steps, more questions. "We need to find Uncle Bela!"

Once more they began to pick their way down the cold stone steps. The further they went the colder and darker it seemed. "Bela?" Melanie called out tentatively. Suddenly, Melanie felt a bony hand clasp her shoulder. She knew it wasn't Ratcliff, he had large, warm, smooth well-manicured hands. Creeped out, Melanie let out an earsplitting scream. Ratcliff was so startled he almost tumbled down the remaining stairs, managing to steady himself at the last moment.

When Melanie had recovered somewhat, a small light blinked on. She turned to the source and saw Bela standing on the steps with a weak flashlight illuminating his parchment-like skin. It was not a pleasant sight. "You called?" Bela responded.
[Caroline]
__________________

Ratcliff was taken aback momentarily by the apparition. For an instant, he wondered if the old man was deliberately trying to frighten them. If so, his motive wasn't apparent. He didn't seem to represent much of a physical threat. Ratcliff decided that Stroganoff was just a reclusive, dotty, old man, unused to interacting with people from the outside world. He put his arm around Melanie's shoulders and gave her a comforting hug. He didn't think they were in any danger. And even if they were, he knew that he was up to any kind of confrontation, even if it involved the hulking Milos. Ratcliff might be the product of an Ivy League education and affluent circumstances, but the time he had spent in the military's special forces, stalking the Taliban in Afganistan, had given him the experience and the tools to deal with almost any situation. He had never been much on self-analysis but he was aware that he had a talent for aggressive 'problem solving.' It was that awareness that put him at ease, even in their eerie surroundings.

Addressing their host, Ratcliff said, "There you are. Sorry to disturb you, old chap. But we just noticed something rather odd. Bloody odd, in fact. We just passed a mirror a few minutes ago and damned if I could see my reflection. I could see Melanie next to me, and objects behind me, but I couldn't see myself! Is there something special about that mirror, or am I in urgent need of a neurologist?"

Stroganoff gave Ratcliff a thin smile. "You have no reflection?" he asked. "You must have a difficult time shaving, my boy." Then he said to both of them, "I know that you are in surroundings that must be very different for you, and that everything must seem strange, at least compared with New York. I know you have many questions about your ancestry." He nodded at Ratcliff, then looked at Melanie and continued, "and that there are also things you want to discuss about the, er, project. It all must make it difficult to sleep. But wait until tomorrow. Go back to bed. Give jet lag a chance. I can't have you wandering about the castle in the middle of the night."

Melanie and Ratcliff didn't show any inclination to move. The old man sighed, and looking somewhat exasperated said, "Alright. I suppose I can't get back to my own bed until I satisfy some of your curiosity. Come down to the great room, have a cup of tea, and we'll chat."

A few minutes later, a cup of hot tea in his hand, Ratcliff asked Stroganoff, "Who am I?" The words tumbled out. "I've just learned that I was born in Romania to gypsies and that by adoption I am related to the Stroganoffs. And now I've seen a portrait upstairs that looks just like me, yet it is labeled Vlad III. Is there a connection between the Stroganoffs and Vlad Tepes? If so, how can there a resemblance between me and Vlad the Bad? I'm not a Strognoff by blood." He paused, then concluded, "I am so confused!"

"First," their host responded, " I will tell you that you weren't gypsy-born. No. You were born a Stroganoff. However, when you were only a few weeks old, you were stolen by a band of gypsies and taken deep into the Carpathian mountains. But when your abductors learned just who they had taken they were struck by the enormity of what they had done and were filled with a deep foreboding. The old legends die hard, and the gypsies are a superstitious people. They were afraid to return to the village near the castle for fear of being seen and apprehended, so they left you on the steps of the orphanage where you remained until, a few months later, you were adopted." Then, after a momentary silence he said, rather coldly it seemed to Ratcliff, "Welcome to the family."

Bela Stroganoff turned next toward Melanie and rose from his chair. His shadow, thrown across the room by the glow of the low fire, seemed to have a life of its own as it spread up the wall and onto the ceiling. Somehow he didn't seem like the dried-up old man of a short while ago. He seemed taller, more imposing. Melanie could feel menace radiate from him like heat from a stove. "And as for your plans to create a theme park here..." the words "theme park" dripped venom... "we will deal with them in the morning!" With that, he turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Ratcliff and Melanie to themselves.

"Oops!" said Melanie.
[Maddog]

__________________________

"I think I may have taken the wrong approach with Bela," she mused. "He clearly is not seeing the benefits of converting this draft castle to DW Transylvania and senior retirement playground He can get as huffy and scary as he wants but I am going to win! After all, he is dealing with a Hummdinger and if I have learned anything from my father it is that we always get what we want. I am going to close this deal and get the freedom I want!"

Resolved and determined, she started to sing softly to herself the new DWT theme song running through her head...

It's a bat world after all

It's a bat, bat world

Meanwhile, Ratcliff was mumbling beside her. "What did you say?" Melanie asked, roused from her musical reverie.

"I was wondering what this all means. My whole life has been turned upside down since I met you! I have found the love of my life in you and also found out that I am not who I think I am! Here you are in a turf war with my new uncle and I am standing on the sidelines not even able to take comfort in looking in the mirror at my own handsome face," he wailed.

"Sweetums, it will be okay. How bad can it be Who doesn't have a Vlad the Bad character somewhere in the family tree? Bela is just trying to scare us off. He is old and a little worried about being displaced and no longer useful so he is pulling out every trick in the book to ward us off. Apparenly, his momma never taught him you can catch more flies with honey!" With that, Melanie, still confident she was going to win this fight, took her man by the hand and they found their way back to their room. Once settled snuggly in bed, Ratcliff quickly fell asleep. Meanwhile, pragmatic Melanie pulled out her Windows Mobile device with a satellite connection and started doing a little family research...

[Margaret]

_____________________

It didn't take Melanie long to discover that Bela was the inheritor of the castle. How long his family had owned it was unclear. There was no trail of Stroganoffs in the historical record... or at least what record was accessible through the internet. Apparently Bela Stroganoff was a pseudonym. Perhaps he chose to disassociate himself from the family name to avoid unwanted attention from the West. If Ratcliff was a Stroganoff, or whatever the true family name was, who were his father and mother? Was he really a direct descendant of Vlad the Impaler, Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Bad, Vlad III, the basis for Bram Stoker's famous novel? If so, what did it mean? After all, she and Ratcliff were madly in love and were to be married. His natural environment was New York, as was hers. Both were the product of an affluent, Ivy League upbringing. Romania and the region that used to be Transylvania were terra incognita to both of them. They would soon be back home where their friends were, where their favorite restaurants were, where they could resume spending long, lazy afternoons making love. Nothing was going to change...... was it?

Suddenly, Melanie's screen went dark. Had her battery given out? She tried to turn the device back on, but to no avail. It was odd, she thought, that it should cease to function. She had checked to make sure it was fully charged and in working order before she disembarked at the Bucharest airport. She moved toward the bedside lamp to get a clearer view of the small computer, but as she did so the room went dark. She tried to turn the lamp on again but nothing happened. She began to feel apprehensive. Surely the bulb had burned out, nothing more. Without waking Ratcliff, she stood, tightened the sash of her silk robe and groped her way to the door. She twisted the heavy iron lever and pulled. Nothing happened. The thick, carved panel didn't move. Her apprehension surged. "Don't panic," she told herself. "This creepy place just has you spooked. Get a grip."

Melanie reached out and found Ratcliff. She shook his shoulder. "Ratcliff! Wake up!" she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Ratcliff didn't respond. She shook him again. Still no response. Something was wrong. He was usually a light sleeper, responsive to the lightest touch. "My God," she thought, "is he dead?" She brought her face close to his. He was breathing, but faintly. She took his wrist. His pulse was very slow. "What's wrong?" she whispered to herself. "What can I do? We're trapped!" Even as she fought back the urge to throw herself at the door and shout for help she began to feel drowsy. In moments she found that she couldn't keep her eyes open. She felt the energy drain from her body as she sank to the floor next to the bed. In moments she was unconscious.
[Maddog]
____________________
Moments, maybe hours, later, Melanie awoke on the floor of the dark room. Momentarily confused, Melanie let her eyes adjust to the dark. She looked around then grabbed the bedpost and hauled herself up. She didn't know what was going on but she intended to find out. She reached for Ratcliff to let him know she was going to get the lights back on when she remembered that earlier he failed to respond to her touch. Melanie knew what he would respond to. She climbed into the bed and slid underneath the sheets, spooning her lover. She began to nibble on his ear and kiss his shoulder. Ratcliff emitted a deep growl, smiled and rolled over and began to snore loudly. Gratified that he was still breathing, Melanie crawled out of the bed, pulled her robe around her and slid her feet into her slippers. Suddenly, she heard a strange noise, a swishing sound she hadn't heard before. Melanie looked around a little spooked. Squinting in the dark she thought she saw two tiny red lights that looked like eyes. She shivered inwardly but was determined to find out what was going on. Squaring her shoulders, Melanie walked to the door, pulled it open and entered the dark hallway.

Melanie found her way, careful to avoid massive pieces of furniture. Soon she located the wide staircase that led back down the the vast room she had been in before. She was halfway down the staircase when she heard the swishing sound again. She turned her head and saw a bat hovering a few feet away. She stifled a scream and began to move more quickly down the stairs. With her head down, watching her steps, she failed to notice the pale, gaunt man with the long fingernails waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs and bumped into him with enough force to knock them both down. As Melanie stood, she noticed a reddish glint in the man's eyes.

"Bela!" exclaimed Melanie, a little nervously. "I was coming down to see if I could find the fuse box. The lights are out everywhere."

Bela smiled eerily. "Follow me, my dear Melanie." He pulled a flashlight from his cloak and led her back to the room where she and Ratcliff had spoken with him earlier. Bela soon located the fuse box and in no time the room and stairwell were back to being dimly lit. As she stood there, she glanced at the table in the center of the room and noticed the teacups. The tea! "Bela, what is going on? Why did you drug us?" Melanie demanded.

"Melanie, my dear, you are a tenacious and inquisitive sort. I thought I could easily dissuade you from going forward with your ridiculous theme park plans. I should have known that a Humdinger wouldn't be rebuffed so easily. Well, what do you think of this?" said Bela and in a flash, Bela was gone and a large bat with pointed teeth and a hungry look hovered in his place. Just as quickly Bela returned. Melanie stood there trembling, mouth agape. Soon she recovered and said, "You had me at first, but that is a cool trick, one that surely would delight the park goers!"

"Melanie," Bela hissed, "you don't get it! It's not a trick! You have heard the legends of vampires in Transylvania. Well, they aren't just legends. We Stroganoffs are descendents of Vlad the Bad, a true vampire. We exist!"

A giggle of hysteria escaped Melanie's lips. She didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Was this man mad? In a tone more cavalier than she felt, Melanie queried, "Why should I believe you. Anyone could do the bat trick. You can't scare me."

This woman was getting on Bela's last nerve and needed to wake up to the truth. "Melanie, you leave me no choice. I will tell you about your love, Ratcliff. He is indeed a Stroganoff and a vampire." As Melanie began to shake her head, Bela continued, "One doesn't become a vampire upon birth. The traits reveal themselves over time."

"Is body hair one of those traits?" Melanie couldn't help but ask. She had wondered about the stack of receipts she found indicating laser hair removal.

Bela smiled his creepy smile. "Yes, among others. The fingernails grow long and pointy, the skin becomes more translucent, the teeth change shape..." He could see that Melanie mentally was putting the pieces together.

Suddenly, Melanie started wailing like a banshee. After a few moments she settled into a moaning mixed with muttering. Bela heard her say, "How am I ever going to escape my father? Ratcliff is my love, my hope for freedom! Woe is me!"

Bela stood by and as he watched Melanie's dismay, a plan formed. "Melanie, my dear," he said most avuncularly, "maybe we can help each other." Melanie looked at Bela, asked for a Kleenex and then blew her nose loudly. "How?"

Bela replied, "I have a proposition for you. If you will agree to cease and desist with this DisneyWorld nonsense, I will release Ratcliff from his destiny as a vampire." Melanie interrupted him, "And what if I don't?"

Bela continued, "If you insist on going forward, not only will your lover become a vampire, but I will make sure that all those giggling fun-loving, thrill-seeking park goers are infected with vampirism." When he saw Melanie's skeptical glance, he continued, "Most people think that vampires are created when a mere mortal is bitten by a vampire. At times, but not always. Vampirism is also a disease of contagious demonic possession. It wouldn't bode well for the success of your venture if your guests became possessed. And before you make some witty reply about hanging garlic and crucifixes around the park, those apotropaics won't work with the disease form of vampirism. Think of this as biological warfare!"

Melanie looked at Bela with a mix of hope and horror on her face. For a moment she didn't know what to say.

[Caroline]
_________________

It took Melanie a few moments to regain her composure. Taking a deep breath she addressed Bela in a shaky voice, "Where did you get a word like 'apotropaic'? You're Romanian. English is a second language to you. Besides, Romanian is a romance language. I'll cut you some slack on words with a Latin origin, but apotropaic is pure Greek. I'll apotropaic you, you bat!" With that, she reached into the pocket of her thin, silk robe and withdrew a black, vinyl, 45 rpm disk and held it out as a defensive shield. "This will bring you to your knees, you evil creature. It's a recording of 'It's a Small World.' If you take a step toward me I'll slap in on that old Victrola over there," she gestured to the old record player in the corner, "and play it!"

Bela Stroganoff drew himself up to his full height and stuck his tongue out at Melanie. "Phoo!" he said.

Melanie continued to press what she thought was her advantage. "No matter what you do, you fiend, my father's plans to develop Dracula's Castle into an entertainment magnet for the western world, no, the entire world, will go forward. You're an anachronism. You can't prevent progress!"

Bela looked confused. "Did you say 'Dracula's Castle?'"

"Er, yeah. Duh!"

"This isn't Dracula's Castle!" the old man responded. "You've got the wrong place! OK, so this pile of rocks was once owned by the Tepes family (Dracula was a relative on my father's side of the family... a great, great... lots of greats... uncle, I think,) but the Vlad in question built a new, bigger, more up-scale place north of here and moved out around 1462 or so. That's the castle that gets all the attention. It caters to tourists and curiosity seekers. For atmosphere it even has a wild boar that doubles as a watch dog. Do you know what I think? I think there has been some conclusion jumping compounded by a failure to communicate."

Melanie was stunned. She felt herself blush. "Silly us," she stammered. "Silly, silly. Who'd a thought?"

Just then, Ratcliff staggered into the room.
[Maddog]
________________
Ratcliff rubbed his eyes groggily. He was quite pale, Melanie noticed. Ratcliff turned to her and grinned. His canines looked strangely like fangs. “I vant to suck your blood”, he said.

At first, Melanie started to respond with “Not now, sweetums” because he sounded so cute when he said it, but then she realized Ratcliff was no longer the sweet love of her life but a fledgling vampire.

She should have been horrified, even terrified but it was then that Melanie saw red. “That Bela is a liar, just trying to confuse her and protect his anachronistic ways,” she thought. He had already infected her beloved with vampirism. She was not going to stand for this. She was going to google an antidote and she was going to use her silver bullet. One that she hoped and prayed she would never have to use. One that might seal her fate to be indentured to her father forever. But, it was a risk she was willing to take, a sacrifice she was willing to make to save Ratcliff. And darn it all if she wasn’t going to have her way and turn this stinking, drafty castle into DW Transylvania.

Melanie turned sweetly to Bela and said, “My blackberry isn’t working. Can you remove the interference? I need to call Daddy Hummdinger and let him know that we have made a mistake and that we need to decamp your lovely home and invade the castle up the road.” Bela willingly obliged, not knowing what he was going to reap by his actions.

“Baby bird to Big Bird,” Melanie said into the blackberry. “New flight plan required.” When she disconnected, she turned to Bela and said, “My father is too busy for a real conversation so we talk in shorthand. He would be great at texting if he had time for it, or for me. Anyway, we will be out of your way shortly.” In reality it wasn’t verbal shorthand but a code that she and T.H. had worked out long ago in the event anything went awry.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must pack my things.” Melanie scurried off to the room, leaving Ratcliff with his uncle, so she could google the antidote.
[Margaret]
__________________________

As she entered her room Melanie's Blackberry sounded. She had a text message. Peering into it's screen she realized that it was from her father. She realized that he must have gotten her SOS. The message read,

"Where are you, Peaches?" Tramell Hummdinger was a failure as a father. He was insensitive, overbearing and often indifferent. However, oblivious to that fact, he deluded himself that he was a 'daddy' by using terms of endearment like 'Peaches.' "I've been here at Chez Dracula for almost 24 hours now, and haven't seen hide nor hair of you. Ordinarily I wouldn't care, except that you have the plans for the development in your briefcase. We need to get this underway, before the Romanian Historical Society can garner enough popular support to block the deal. How soon can you get here?" Hummdinger wasn't technically savvy so his text messages tended to be free of abbreviations and rather lengthy. It wasn't an inconvenience for him, however, as he never went anywhere without his fiendishly overworked secretary who did all his typing. Early on, she discouraged his efforts at 'textspeak' and had asked him to dictate as if he were writing letters. She couldn't understand his efforts at verbal shorthand. BTW came out as 'bwut'.

It occurred to Melanie that the easiest thing to do under the circumstances would be simply to grab Ratcliff and their belongings and catch the nearest bus, train or limo to wherever in hell her father was. Bela Stroganoff had mistakenly thought that his home was the target of the American developer, and Melanie had mistakenly thought that his castle was Dracula's medieval stronghold. They were both wrong. No harm, no foul. She could just walk away. But Stoganoff had made an even greater mistake. He had turned her Sweetums into a vampire. She was really, really pissed off.
[Maddog]
__________________

Melanie gathered her wits and, like the true business woman she was, she began organizing and prioritizing her tasks: save Ratcliff and squash Bela.

“If you can find instructions on how to build a bomb, how to do your taxes, how to save the planet, then surely there were instructions on how to create an antidote for vampirism”, she reasoned as she started searching on Google After multiple Boolean searches resulting in nothing useful, Melanie began feeling a little hopeless. What was she going to do? And then the answered hit her like a ton of bricks! True love’s kiss would cure Ratcliff. Didn’t this always work in the Disney movies she watched as a child, dreaming of her prince charming riding to her rescue? Whenever the damsel was in distress, like the chick who pricked her finger on the spinning wheel and slept for 100 years, wasn’t it her prince’s kiss that awakened and saved her? Surely, this was how she could save Ratcliff! Modern science be damned! It was true love to the rescue. Melanie looked up and realized that when she scurried off to their room, she had left Ratcliff behind with Bela. Shoot, she was going to have to get Ratcliff alone and away from Bela if she was going to save him.

But first, she was going to punish Bela for his evil ways. Hell hath no fury, so the saying goes. Melanie was about to unleash all the power she could wield as a Hummdinger. She grabbed her Blackberry and dialed the number.

“May I speak to Kelly Ripa, please?” she asked the person on the line. “Kelly! It’s Melanie. I have a ratings grabber of an idea for you!! I am in Transylvania now and have met the most fascinating man, well, vampire really. I think his life would make a fabulous reality show. Surely in the world of reality TV, among LA Ink and Ace of Cakes, Trading Spaces and, my favorite, What Not to Wear, there is room for one more about the life of a vampire, especially one that works at the new DW Transylvania supervising the ‘It’s a Bat World’ ride.”

Melanie and Kelly chattered on, formulating the details for the reality show. Melanie explained that it would be best if Bela knew nothing of the show in advance so that it would be more “realistic.” Little did Bela know that his life was about to become a living hell. “Bwah, ha, ha,” Melanie laughed wickedly.

[Margaret]
___________________________

Melanie returned to the great hall on the main floor of the castle where she found Ratcliff having brandy with Bela. She walked up behind him and whispered in his ear. The sensation of her hot breath in his ear gave Ratcliff goose bumps. He became very attentive. "Yes?" he murmured.

Melanie slipped around in front of him and gave him a kiss, then stepped back to assess it's effect. Nothing. She kissed him again, this time a deep. passionate kiss. After a long moment, she released Ratcliff. He sucked in air like a drowning man and said, "May I have my tonsils back?" Clearly, the kiss hadn't done the trick.

"It's time to use the heavy artillery," thought Melanie. Whispering in Ratcliff's ear again, she said, "Come upstairs with me," Melanie whispered, "and we will have uninhibited, unrestrained and rambunctious sex."

Ratcliff looked vaguely apprehensive. "Not gymnastic sex again," he said, sotto voce. "The last time we did that it took my orthopaedist three weeks to straighten my spine. How about something more like Olympic swimming, or even bowling?"

Melanie took Ratcliff by the shirt and led him from the room. "Don't worry about a thing," she told him as they ascended the stairs.

The next morning, Melanie awoke early and took a long look at her sleeping fiance. Her approach to curing vampirism had worked! Ratcliff's widows peak had receded and when she pried open his mouth she was elated to find that there was no evidence of the fangs he had displayed the night before. She wanted to shout with joy. She hopped out of bed and gave a little dance. If only she had brought her tap shoes, she thought to herself. She could show Michael Flatley a thing or two. What a fabulous day! Then she sobered somewhat. If hers was the only cure for vampirism then Bela and his ilk were flat out of luck. She smiled to herself. "Tough cookies," she said. Then she laughted outright.
[Maddog]
________________
Still laughing to herself a little, Melanie made her way to the bathroom to ready herself for the day. Glancing in the mirror, she thought she looked a little pale. "I need to get out of this dingy old castle," she thought. "I need some sun or I'm going to fade away."

In fact, as she was standing there, she did seem to be fading. "Oh, for Pete's sake," thought Melanie. "Knock it off with the tricks already Bela!"

Melanie washed her face and then brushed her teeth for the requisite 90 seconds. When she was finished, she ran her tongue along freshly polished teeth. "OUCH! That hurt!" Melanie said aloud, startled. Her tongue had been... pricked? "What the hell?" Melanie looked back into the mirror, which now showed very little reflection of her at all and a lot of the bathroom wall behind her. Quickly, she opened up her mouth and peered inside.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," Melanie screeched.
[Susan]
------------------------------

"Dammitdammitdamitdammit!" said Melanie. Her first thought was that she should have grabbed her Snookums and beat feet as soon as the moment presented itself, instead of hanging around to get back at Bela. But this last development was just too much. She would have her revenge. She couldn't wait for Kelly Ripa to show up. Bela's reaction to one of the most irritating people on television would be fun to watch. If Kelly could only bring Regis Philbin with her! The two of them could bring the old man to his knees just by being themselves, regardless of any reality show hoopla.

After a few minutes of savoring thoughts of Bela Stroganoff begging for mercy, Melanie's mind turned to other things. "How did Ratcliff and I turn into vampires?" She looked into the mirror again for confirmation and, sure enough, she had fangs. "Ratcliff doesn't have any evidence of having been bitten anywhere on his lithe, muscular, well-tanned and generally hairless body. Nor do I." She craned her neck and looked at herself again, although by now she could barely see herself. "I wonder if it has something to do with where we are? Whether it's something in the air, like some sort of virus?" She comforted herself with the thought that perhaps, like the flu, her condition would go away in two weeks. "And," she thought, "until I get a handle on this, what do I do about these fangs? Do they recede into my gums when they're not needed" ( needed? yuk!) or fold back like a rattlesnakes?" Suddenly a thought struck her. If she was able to cure Ratcliff's vampirism with a little energetic (she smiled to herself... energetic was such a puny word...) love-making, would he be able to do the same for her? Certainly it was an idea worth pursuing! She rushed back to her room.

Just as Melanie launched herself onto the bed where Ratcliff still slept she heard the booming of the huge brass knocker on the front door of the castle. Curious, she caromed off of her lover and bounced over to the high, narrow window. Peering down, she was surprised to see five large trucks disgorging men in jump suits, carrying lighting equipment. Standing at the door was a petite, blond woman. "Wow!" she thought. "That was really fast. It didn't take Kelly long to get here! I guess it's her talent for action that got her to where she is today... an ex-soap opera actress who worked her way up to tiresome talk show co-host. And now it's gotten her here, too. Pronto. Prontissimo. Like lightning. Wow!"
[Hondo and Harry]
________________________
Melanie was starting to feel light-headed from giddiness. Or was it something else? As she looked out the window again at Kelly and crew she found herself overcome by a desire to fly like a bat. She climbed up onto the window sill but before she could take off she felt her robe being tugged and she started to fall…

“Melanie! Wake up! Melanie!” she heard Ratcliff pleading in the distance.

Melanie shook her head, trying to get her bearings. The last thing she remembered was seeing Kelly at the front door and an insane urge to fly down to greet them. “Ratcliff, what’s wrong with me? My reflection is starting to fade, I’m growing fangs and I was seized by a desire to fly! Am I be a becoming a vampire?” she asked tearfully.

She babbled on. “This will never do. They will never take me seriously again at Hummdinger & Co. And what will my friends say when I go back to my 20 year college year reunion in a few weeks? The whole widow’s peak will be so unbecoming on me and I will look too goth if my hair turns jet black and my face pasty white. And they say red lipstick just makes a woman look old…”

“Melanie!” Ratcliff interrupted forcefully. “You are not a vampire! When I was downstairs earlier, I used the bathroom in Bela’s room. I couldn’t help but look in his medicine cabinet. I found a bottle of liquid labeled “Temporary Vampirism.” I read the back of the bottle and it is a hallucinogenic that causes a person to think he or she is turning into a vampire! Apparently Bela must keep this at the ready to ward off tiresome party guests. The bottle was half empty!”

Melanie, relieved, sat up and kissed her love. It was time to skedaddle before anything else could befall them. Relative or not, Bela was going to get what he deserved for this. He may have ensured that DW Transylvania would not be built in his backyard but he was going to get it alright. Surely Ratcliff would understand when he wasn’t invited to Christmas dinners!

Melanie and Ratcliff quickly packed their things and crept down the stairs to make a fast getaway.
[Margaret]
__________________________

They reached the bottom of the stairs just as Kelly Ripa came into the castle. Unobserved, they could see her across the great room. Ripa didn't wait to be invited to enter. She barged past Igor and paused to check out her surroundings. She nodded with approval. The great room was cavernous and dim. There were tapestries on the walls and a massive bronze chandelier hung from the high ceiling. There was a fireplace large enough for a tall man to stand in. It was just what she had hoped it would be. "I smell ratings," she said under her breath.

At that moment, Bela Stroganoff strode into the room. He looked angry. First, he had thought that a ruthless American developer was going to try to turn his home into a giant amusement park. He had tried to derail the process by writing a letter to Ratcliff, alluding to some vague danger should the plan go forward, knowing that he would try to persuade Melanie to use her influence to stop her father. It hadn't worked. Second, he brought Melanie to his castle to try to dissuade her in person. Clearly, that hadn't worked out well. Third, no sooner had Melanie arrived, than his grand nephew Ratcliff showed up, uninvited. The whole thing had been a disaster. To top it off, he discovered that it had all been a big mistake. The real target of the Hummdingers' attention had been another castle all together! And now, as if that weren't enough stress, here came a stranger, elbowing her way into his inner sanctum. Not only that, she had a small army with her!

"Who are you, and vat do you vant?" grated Bela.

Kelly Ripa started to answer, then did a double-take. Bela was wearing a rubber bathing cap and a lime green Speedo bathing suit. He had a inflatable plastic donut around his waist. "Oh," she said. Do you have a pool?"

"Not exactly," responded Bela, somewhat disarmed by her question. "The basement is flooded."

Kelly gazed at Bela, lips slightly parted. She felt herself flush. Her face felt hot. Her nostrils flared. She fluttered her eyelashes and raised one eyebrow. "I take it that you're Bela Stroganoff?" she asked in a husky voice. Involuntarily, her hand went to her breast. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

Bela Stroganoff looked slightly muddled and somewhat uncertain. "Er, yes," he replied. "And you are?"

"My name is Kelly," she purred. "I had no idea that you would be such a handsome man. I think that maturity is so attractive! I've always been so taken by men like Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. My current favorite is Sean Connery. You remind me a lot of Sean. A little older, perhaps, but equally compelling. Wise. Experienced. Debonaire." She had stepped so close to Bela that he could feel her breath and smell her Crest Double Whitening Mint Explosion toothpaste. She continued, "Until a moment ago I was expecting to make a spooky 'reality' show about a bat-infested, creepy old castle and its mysterious, reclusive inhabitant. But now that I've met you I've changed my mind. You have star potential! I see you in a role like the host of Masterpiece Theater. Every week you'll introduce and do the narrative for a series of artistic dramas set in Romania. You'll wear a smoking jacket and carry a pipe. I can see it now. You will enjoy the recognition and respect you deserve. You will be handsomely compensated. You'll be able to have a house in Tuscany. A chalet in the Alps. A chateau on the Loire. You can cruise around the world. And I'll love working with you," she added. She stressed the word love. "I can't wait to get to know you better!"

Bela was stunned. His first reaction was that it was all madness. But as he reflected the idea seemed less repugnant. A series didn't have to be shot in his castle and the money would be nice. He could pay to have someone mow the yard and could give Igor a raise. Of course, he thought, any amount would be a raise as Igor worked for free. Still, money has its advantages. And no-one of the feminine persuasion had shown any interest in him since his wife died. He looked at Kelly and said, "Let's talk."

In the back of the room, Melanie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. What she had intended as revenge had turned into something entirely different. In a last ditch effort to salvage the situation she called out, "Kelly! I saw how you looked at Bela! You're married!"

Kelly slipped the ring off of her left hand and dropped it into her pocket. "We'll see about that, " she responded.

Melanie, though somewhat disappointed, saw that anything further on her part would be fruitless. Putting her arm around Ratcliff's waist, she and her fiance stepped out of the back door and into the limousine that had brought her to the castle only a short while ago. "Where are we going?" asked Ratcliff. "To find Daddy," Melanie responded. "I persuaded Milos to drive us to Dracula's castle where I will deliver the plans and an ultimatum to Daddy. This is it, whether he likes it or not. After this project I'm out. Then you and I will be able to spend the rest of our lives together in a fog of romantic bliss."

Ratcliff responded with a long, sensuous, heart-felt kiss. Soon they would be back home in New York.
[Maddog]
______________________

Great Balls of Fire

2008-02-17T00:02:00.000-08:00

Everyone has pet peeves. For some it’s improper grammar. For others it’s talking and smacking gum. Mine happens to be obnoxious cellphone use. It happens wherever I go. People chat on the phone in public places as if surrounded by an invisible soundproof barrier. In lines, in the movies, at the hospital, on planes, in meetings, in church, in CHURCH even!

The latest offense happened on Friday night. My name is Harry Bailey and I was sitting in the Starbucks, sipping a latte covered in sprinkles and noshing on a chocolate croissant, unwinding from a long week and typing on my Mac Book Pro. I recently left my job as a paralegal and decided to work full time on my t.v. pilot. It was much harder that I expected. I was toying around with a number of different scenarios when a young man in his early twenties at the small table adjacent to mine, so close we were practically rubbing elbows, started talking on his cellphone in a loud voice. He was gesticulating wildly and describing a keg party he attended the night before. I was afraid he was going to spill his cappuccino with a triple shot of espresso (an educated guess based on the fact that the guy was practically wired for sound) on my computer. As a result I suffered from an acute case of writer’s block and cellphone rage.

Just as I started to imagine clutching cellphone guy by his throat, an older man, nattily dressed in a Prada suit, put down his mocha and arose from his table. He purposefully strode to the young man’s table and swiftly extracted the cellphone from his hand and slammed it in cellphone guy’s cappuccino. I immediately exhaled with relief, not realizing that the espresso laced concoction had splashed onto my computer. I was about to thank the stranger for his heroic act when suddenly I felt a tingle in my fingers. Confused, I looked down at my hands. I literally saw little bolts of electricity jumping from my computer to my fingers. Then I must have passed out because when I opened my eyes I was prone on the floor of the coffee shop, customers oblivious to my odd situation.

I shook my head a few times to clear the cobwebs and then returned to my seat. I took a sip of my now cold latte and then stretched my fingers. That tingle. There it was again. But no bolts of electricity. “I must be imagining things,” I thought. I did feel a bit tired so I decided to gather up my things and get another latte for the road. I still had some writing to do.

I moseyed up to the counter and addressed the barista, Janet, with a smile. “What can I get for you?” she asked sweetly.

‘I’d like another latte with sprinkles, please,” I said as I pointed to the drink menu on the wall behind the young woman’s head. Without warning, a hole, as if from a laser beam, began to form in the middle of the board. As we both stared, mouths agape, the hole simultaneously spread and sizzled. Just then the board began to crack. Without thinking, I leapt over the counter in a single bound and whisked the woman from the arms of danger (or the coffee menu of most certain death).

Once we both had recovered from that little scare, the barista gave me the latte on the house and a kiss on the cheek. I said casually, “It was nothing,” and walked out the door as if this kind of thing happens on a daily basis.

“What just happened back there?” I wondered aloud. “Was it I that caused the menu board to destruct or was it coincidence?” Whatever the case, it was a good thing I had spent all that time in college mastering the high jump so that I could rescue the damsel in distress.

What a strange night! I couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened to me. Once I walked out the door and into the night I decided to experiment a little. At first I pointed my left finger at a trash can. I watched in amazement as a hole formed in the side of the can. Ooh. Cool! Not wanting to destroy public property any further I decided to try something else. My car! Why not? It was a hunk of junk anyway. As I approached it I pointed my right finger toward my car and, lo and behold, a hole started to form once again. Right then and there I realized my life had changed forever and that it was within my control to use this power for good or evil or a really great t.v. pilot.
[Margaret and Caroline, with contributions from Snake, aka Mom]
________________________________

My first thought was that I now had it within my power to dissolve cell phones at will. I relished the thought of seeing some overweight woman in a SUV, eating a donut and talking on her cell phone, trying to make a u-turn in heavy traffic. Zap! No more cell phone. Upon reflection, however, it occurred to me that there were two things I had to figure out first. One was whether I could control my new-found, remarkable, ability. How precisely could I aim my finger? I didn't want to dissolve the hand that held the 'phone... or the woman's head, for that matter. I could be facing the possibility of some serious collateral damage. And the other thing was how to turn the power off, so to speak. This could be a kind of Midas touch. I could inadvertently obliterate my din-din!

For the next few hours I experimented. The power did not seem to diminish over time, and I discovered - much to my relief - that it didn't take long for the holes I created to close up. A few minutes after I gave my target the whammy the hole disappeared and, as far as I could tell, it was no worse for having been been zapped. So much for trying to get rid of my car, but then how would I have explained the damage to the insurance adjuster? I also discovered, the Starbucks sign notwithstanding, that I had to want to use my new, er... talent for it to work. I had to will it to happen. That was a relief. Apparently I was in no danger of shooting myself in the foot.

I was curious about the holes. They weren't just holes through an object to the other side. They were dark. Looking into one of them was like peering into a deep well. If the holes didn't just go through the targets, where did they go? What was on the other side? I couldn't resist putting my hand into one. I hesitated, and approached it carefully. Slowly. Gingerly. It was difficult to bring myself to reach out. Finally, like a swimmer getting into a pool of cold water, I took the plunge. I jabbed my hand into the hole. My hand, and my arm up to my elbow, disappeared! "Ye gods!" I thought to myself. "I've lost my arm!" I jerked backward, stumbling and falling. Dazed, I took an inventory. There was my arm, intact and unharmed! I wiggled my fingers. Everything seemed to work. Although I was afraid, I was irresistibly drawn to learn more. I had to find out what was on the other side of the holes. As they weren't just a rip in the material object at which I aimed my finger, could they actually be holes in the very fabric of spacetime itself?

The size of the holes I created seemed to depend on how long I focused my energy on the targets. After more experimentation, having become satisfied that I was in no danger of injuring myself, I aimed my finger at the base of a stone wall and, with intense concentration, pointed at it for almost a minute. A large hole appeared, shimmering around the edges, its margins slightly out of focus as if I were seeing it through a pool of water. I rushed forward. I felt as if someone, something were propelling me forward. I couldn't help myself. I stepped through the hole.
[Maddog]
____________________
Just as I put my first leg through the hole, however, I jerked it back. It suddenly occurred to me that I could get stuck if the hole closed up like the previous ones. I shook my head and wondered what I was thinking. Clearly I needed a plan before I started going off half-cocked, no matter how curious I was. A little more experimentation was required. How on earth was I going to keep the hole open?

Just then I reflected on my current situation. I didn’t have a date for the weekend, I was out of a job and my t.v. pilot was on stall. With nothing better to do and a certain amount of excitement and spontaneity lacking in my life I decided to take the plunge. "No time like the present," I said aloud, took a deep breath and jumped in feet first.

As my feet touched the "other side" I looked around. It was as if I had passed through a door to another version of my own world, one with some strange twists. First, I found myself dressed head to toe in orange spandex accessorized by a red cape and red boots. On my newly broadened, well-muscled chest was a bright white lightning bolt outlined in rhinestones that sparkled in the light. "I am a superhero!" I thought giddily. Then I paused. "I wonder what the lightning bolt means and what my powers are."

Second, I was back in a Starbucks. I was puzzled by the incongruency of the outfit and the coffee shop, but then I spied a coded message on the wall. The note read “ethay allHay ofyay usticeJay isyay undergoingyay enovationray andyay isthay illway ebay ethay uperheroessay emporarytay eetingmay aceplay.” "Ahh, a temporary place for us superheroes to meet with the added bonus of getting juiced on caffeine while we shared wrongs that needed to be righted. This is so cool!"

Just then, in walked Superman. "Hey, Lightning," he said. "It's great to see you!" The two superheroes did a complicated superhero handshake complete with hip bump. "How're your laser fingers? Are you ready to perform eye surgery yet? Har, har!"

Lightning, aka Harry, wondered how he got to the Starbucks of Justice, how Superman knew his name, and when Superman developed a sense of humor. When his fingers began to tingle, he flashed back to the cappacucino spill on his computer and the result, his newfound ability to use his fingers as lasers. He wondered if Superman knew his secret identity, and more importantly, could he go back through the hole or was this his new destiny? "At least I look rugged and manly in these tights!" he thought. "Not all guys can get away with this look."

Roused from his musings, he heard his name being called. "Latte for Lightning!" He turned and walked to the counter and as the barista handed him the latte he noticed her name was Janet. Things are getting curiouser and curiouser.
[Caroline and Margaret]
__________________________

As if everything weren't strange enough, I noticed that, right after Superman walked into the Starbucks and said,"Hey!" I slipped into a third person mode. I became 'he' instead of 'I.' When Janet Reno, the barista in the Wonder Woman costume (not a pretty sight, I can tell you) announced that my latte was ready I thought to myself, "he turned and walked to the counter." I decided that it wasn't so much an out of body experience as an involuntary use of the royal third person, as when the Queen commented that, "We are not amused." After all, we super heroes are pretty important people. "Kneel down before my omnipotence, puny nobody lowly twit!" I mused. This Lightning stuff, or should I say, Mr. Lightening to the hoi polloi, had some real potential. I couldn't wait to zap some bad guys and revel in public adoration.

It occurred to me, as I sipped my latte, to wonder about one particularly important superhero thing. How does a fighter for truth, justice, Chevrolet, apple pie, the flag and emerging democracies all over the planet go to the bathroom? After all, here I was, wrapped in orange Spandex from head to toe. There were no visible openings anywhere in the costume, which fit as if it had been sprayed on. "What happens when I have to pee?" I wondered. I felt a twinge of panic. As I pondered my predicament, a muscular woman in an incredibly tight blue superhero costume with a skull and crossbones on the chest strode into the coffee shop and ordered a raspberry frappe. I struck up a conversation and in a moment we were chatting as if we were old friends. She said that her name was The Blue Harpy. I felt I had to ask about what I perceived to be a significant drawback to the typical crime fighter outfit. "What do you do when you've gotta go?" I asked.

The Blue Harpy smiled and responded, "You know, I had the same question when I first started in the superhero business a few years ago. I never did figure a graceful way to take care of that particular problem. After all, when you're in hot pursuit of some malefactor, you can't take an hour and a half to get out of your hero suit. Besides, once you do, it's all baggy. They have to be washed to regain their elasticity. So I solved the problem by going to a cosmetologist and having every hair on my body below my eyes lasered off. Next stop, the tattoo parlor. I had this baby tattooed on. Now there's no problem getting in and out of those pesky hero duds. The only catch is that when the weather is especially hot or cold you have to be careful what you sit on. Yowch!"

Just then, Superman entered the cafe and announced that the meeting was about to begin. I was anxious to learn what was on the agenda and what my role was to be.
[Maddog]
_______________________

When Superman was pounding the gavel to bring the room to order, I casually wondered where Superman had gone when I was engaged by the Blue Harpy. Had he left his notes in the car? Had he gone to rescue a damsel in distress?

I vaguely realized Superman was speaking. I heard him say, “First, I want to welcome our newest member, Lightning.” Applause. “Who wants to recommend a tattoo parlor? Just kidding ! As many of you know, the Blue Harpy, our resident superheroine (not to be intended as a pun about her life in the 60s) has already cornered Lightning and tried to sell him on the benefits of an all body tattoo. Of course, as we superheroes know, you don’t want to tattoo the package. So, as part of Lightning’s indoctrination we will share the supersecret method for going potty. It is a great invention called Velcro. When we first got together back in the early 1940s, we tried cockleburs as a fastening device which proved to be quite painful. Fortunately, George de Mestral, the Swiss engineer, invented Velcro® and we latched onto that. We were once again pain-free and free to use the potty. Lamentably, the Blue Harpy missed the class that covered the wonders of Velcro®. She was busy trying to harness her newly found superpower, creating a windstorm of nagging (useful for nagging bad guys to turn from their evil ways), when she was accidentally nailed in the head by a gold brick. The gold brick had been dropped by a dirty rotten scoundrel and was accidentally picked up in the ensuing windstorm. When she regained consciousness, she had the burning desire to pee. After spending a good thirty minutes trying to separate herself from her costume and then realizing that it had lost its shape in the process, The Blue Harpy had a flash of brilliance. She went to see the local tattoo artist and the rest as they say is history. Needless to say, we now offer classes in 'Harnessing Your Super Power With No Negative Effects' and 'How to Dress Like a SuperHero and Still Be Able to Go Potty'. "
[Margaret and Caroline]
___________________________________

As relieved as I was to hear about Velcro, something else Superman said caught my attention. "When we first got together back in the 1940s..." If all the members of The League of Spandex Wrapped Super Heroes (the LSWSH, or L-Swish as it was popularly referred to) were fighting injustice and knavery in the early '40s the youngest of the original members must have been born in the early '20s. That would make them in their mid- to late eighties! Incredible! Mon Dieu! Obviously, this arcane and elite group of eccentrics that stands for stamping out evil, cell phones, and big hair must have found the key to immortality! A fountain of youth! A really good cosmetic surgeon! Vitamin B12! As attested to by my membership, and The Blue Harpy's (the Harpster as she was known by her friends) the group occasionally took in new blood. But apparently no-one ever retired! Clearly, I had a lot to learn about this club that I had involuntarily found myself a member of.

I snapped out of my reverie as Superman began to read the day's assignments from a loose leaf binder at the podium. "Lightning," he said. "You and the Harpster will patrol the south side of Our Fair City. As you know," he said, turning to me, "we super heroes never do anything to prevent crime. We only respond to a crisis in progress. We intervene once the bad guys have started the heist, or kidnapped the heiress, or aimed a death ray at the earth from a stealth satellite in low orbit. We respond after Timmy has already fallen into the well or the runaway horse is about to trample the old woman in the wheelchair. But you won't see us at a town hall meeting or working with the leaders of minority communities to change the culture of crime in their neighborhoods. No, we seek out misdeeds as they occur. So happy hunting and bon chance, mes amis."

As we walked out of the door, I looked down at my red boots with the sparkles and shifted my cape a bit. I turned to the Harpster and said, "Do you suppose I can fly?" I felt as if I could at least work up a flit or two. "And what about the bad guys, if they're armed? Am I invulnerable like Superman? Can I dodge gunfire like The Flash? Can I deflect bullets with special gold wristlets like Wonder Woman?"

"Hon," the Harpster replied, giving me a reassuring hug. "You'll just have to find out for yourself as you go along. At least we know you're really good at making holes in things." I stepped back. There was something about being hugged by a naked woman with a blue tattooed-on leotard with a skull and crossbones on it that made me nervous. "OK, Lightning," she said, "Let's go gettum." I could hear the tassels on my boots slap the red leather as we ran for the parking lot and the ion-powered Harpycar that she had strategically parked in the shade to make sure that the leather seats were not too hot.

"Up, up and away!" I cried.

"Uh, Lightning," the Harpster interjected, "that's already taken. Let's just go pound some evil butt."
[Maddog]
___________________________
Approaching the Harpster's car, I discovered that some superheroes have some pretty super junk food habits. I pulled open the door of the Harpycar and out tumbled assorted wrappers indicating a fondness for Twinkies, Ding Dongs and Snoballs. I looked in the back of the car and discovered a stash of empty Diet Dr. Pepper cans. Apparently my cohort keeps her nagging powers at full strength by loading up on sugar and caffeine. I'd hate to have to face her after a triple espresso and a slice of pecan pie!

Once I cleared a place to sit, one that wasn't sticky and wouldn't leave some strange residue on my cape, and sat down my partner climbed in and we took off in search of crimes that needed to be thwarted.

Soon I heard some static and then a voice detailing a crime in progress. "Yikes! Maybe my auditory sense had been enhanced as well as a result of that latte spill!" I thought. Just to be sure, however, I asked the Harpster if she had heard a voice.

"Oh, that," she said with a smile. "That's my little police scanner. When I first became part of the superhero crew, I found it rather tedious to go in search of crimes to circumvent. Instead I found it more relaxing to grab some snacks and a good book and wait for the crimes to call me." Before pulling away from the curb the Harpster reached behind her, opened a small cooler and offered me a snack. "Ding Dong? Diet Dr. Pepper?" Tanked up and topped off we sped off listening to the babbling scanner.
[Caroline]
_______________________
“The Harpster is one fast driver. Formula One should draft her,” I thought. “And she even has a cool outfit, very aerodynamic.”

She brought the car to a screeching halt that involved a very neat parallel parking job. We leapt out to face the crime in progress. As we stood, with knuckles on our hips and our capes flying in the wind, ready for battle I quickly realized that there was no fire, no damsel in distress, no bank robbery in progress. What was the crime and why were we here?

Just then I heard a well-outfitted woman yelling at a slovenly-dressed woman who was walking on the other side of the street. “That outfit is a crime! An abomination. How can you hold up your head walking around like that? Don’t you get cable and watch ‘What Not To Wear?’”

I walked up to the woman and said, “Did you call for help?” She looked at me and said, “I called for defenders against crimes of fashion and I get a blue tattooed woman with bad hair and a man in superhero outfit with rhinestones? I must have dialed the wrong number. Good grief!”

“Yes, ma’am. 911 is to only be used for real crimes. You know, murder, mayhem and the like. I do have a card for Stacey and Clinton, though. Maybe you can give them a call to rescue the poor woman you are berating.”

As the Harpster and I turned leave I said to her, “All this crime fighting makes me hungry for a twinkie. Let’s roll.” Of course, if I ate too many twinkies, I would get a roll and it wouldn’t look too great in this costume!
[Margaret]
_______________________

"Wait, wait!" a thought flashed through my head. "Hold up on the Twinkies. I have a better idea." I gave the Harpster a few directions and in moments, at a speed in excess of 200 miles per hour, we pulled into a parking spot at a Taco Cabana. It did occur to me to wonder how I knew where the Taco Cabana was, considering that I was new to this world on The Other Side of the Hole, but I decided that it was some kind of superhero intuition. As we walked into the restaurant, I turned to my blue clad, er, blue companion and asked, "Could you lend me a couple of bucks? I seem to have left my wallet somewhere."

The Blue Harpy looked at me and replied, "What... do I look as if I have any money on me?" Then she smiled and said, "Not to worry. L-SWISH has an account at most of the local establishments so we can just charge our meals."

I was relieved. Clearly, I still had a lot to learn. As we waited for our orders something caught my eye and I reached out toward the Harpster's backside. Quick as a snake, she turned and slapped my hand. I was chagrined. "Sorry," I said. "You have a Ho-Ho wrapper stuck to your butt." She gave me an apologetic look and brushed the cellophane off. Moments later, someone behind the counter shouted, "Nummer fie! Nummer fie! Joor order ees ready! Numero cinco!" We picked up our trays, savaged the condiment bar, and chose a table in the corner.

"I guess I should clean out the Harpycar," my companion commented. "I do seem to be a wrapper magnet. I wasted half an hour, once, trying to catch someone sneaking up on me but it just turned out that I was hearing the crinkle of a Twinkie wrapper that I was inadvertently wearing. Maybe we'll have time to run it through the carwash later and have it vacuumed." She changed the subject. "Our first emergency call was a false alarm, but there will be other crises. While we wait, I'll fill you in on Our Fair City's biggest problem. Most of the crime in the city is the work of the Lord of the Darkside, Maligno. We know he exists, we've seen the consequences of his evil handiwork, we've occasionally thwarted his henchmen in their pursuit of his nefarious plots, but we have never been able to find the mastermind himself. So far, all of our super powers have come to naught. We suspect that there is a mole in L-SWISH, as hard as it is to imagine."

"Well, that's unsettling," I responded. "What are the super heroes doing about it? Surely there must be some way to identify the mole, track down Maligno and his criminal toadies, and bring the sunshine of law and order back to the community!"

"Funny you should ask," the Harpster answered, giving me a sidelong glance. "We on the L-SWISH Council have been discussing strategy and have decided that, as the new guy, you may as yet be unknown to Maligno and his mob of toxic sycophants. You may be our opportunity to get an undercover operative into his organization. A mole of our own."

"But, I....."

"You'll be perfect," she continued. "A few day's worth of whiskers..." she paused and added, "I know. Super heroes never have whiskers. But a little makeup artistry should take care of it..." then she continued. "A few prison tats... we could use Magic Marker if you're squeemish... some piercings, a few chains around your neck, really baggy clothes, $300. basketball shoes... you'd look good."

"But, I....."

"Good!" my blue buddy said. "It's decided. I'll tell Superman and we'll get started right away."
[Maddog}
___________________
As I tried to process what the Harpster had just told me, a strange thought occured to me. How on earth did the L-SWISH Council have time to discuss using me as a mole in Maligno's organization? I had only acquired my "laser fingers" a few hours ago and even more recently passed through to The Other Side of the Hole. By my estimate I had just met this motley crew of superheroes (don't let that fancy handshake with Superman fool you...that was just pure coincidence and as for knowing my name he read it off the back of my costume). Besides, how capable would I be? I had a power but no real idea of how to use it. I thought about this a little more and then turned toward the B.H. (Blue Harpster).

"Wait just a minute! Nothing's decided!" I exclaimed. "I just got here!"

Taken aback by the tone of my voice, the B.H. dropped her head, her chin quivering. Suddenly, I saw a lone tear roll down her cheek. Before I knew it, she was bawling right there in the middle of Taco Cabana. I didn't know what to do or how to respond. I really didn't feel comfortable offering my companion a hug so I settled for patting her hand.

"I'm sorry I raised my voice at you, " I said in all sincerity.

The B.H. blew her nose loudly into a napkin, patted her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's okay. I just figured I could snooker you into agreeing to infiltrate Maligno's mob and then inform the Council that I had convinced you to be our mole. I hoped that I then could get back into the Council's good graces. You see, ever since I did the whole body tattoo thing the superheroes have held me at arm's length. They feel that I have tarnished the superhero image."

In an effort to comfort my companion (and to put off any more discussion of B.H.'s wardrobe misjudgements or Maligno and his crew), I suggested that we stop by the local 7-Eleven and top off our lunch with some super-sized Slurpees and a few sleeves of Ding Dongs.
[Caroline]
____________________
Refreshed with a new dose of caffeine and sugar, we were ready to rock and roll. "So, what does L-Swish do for fun?" I asked curiously.

"Fun?" the B.H. said as if puzzled by the question. "We don't have time for fun. Crime calls our names 24x7, 365."

"Really? It seems if we were better at our jobs we would effectively reduce crime so that we would have time to take vacations, sing in a band or play softball," I challenged.

"Well," B.H. said slyly. "If you infiltrated Maligno's organization and helped us bring him down, we would have lots of time for fun. That guy keeps us all busy!"

Just then I knew I had effectively signed myself up for the role of mole. I should learn to keep my mouth shut. Before I did any infiltrating, though, I was going to have to learn how to effectively use my laser fingers to do any good. I wanted to sizzle, not fizzle, on the job. "Okay," I said. "You got me. When did Superman say that class was again, the one on harnessing your superpowers?"
[Margaret]
____________________

"I think the new semester is starting tomorrow," the Harpster replied. I could tell from her expression that something was bothering her.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. "You look a little down."

The Blue Harpy started to speak, then stopped. After a pause, she said, "I'm sorry to have been so manipulative. It's just that we've been stymied in our efforts to find Maligno. It's frustrating that he stays one step ahead of us. And the idea of a mole in L-SWISH is maddening. You don't have to do this, you know. It's strictly voluntary. I'd hate for something dire to happen to you. And besides, I know that we've only known each other for a short time, but..." B.H. blushed becomingly, "...I kind of like you."

I'm not sure, but I think I may have blushed, too. The only other girl who ever professed to like me was Angina Dinglethorp, an overweight overachiever in my eighth-grade math class. She wore thick glasses and was always slightly damp. I liked to think it was from the excitement of discovering new theorems. I think I was a little bit intimidated by her directness.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "Er, I'll be OK, once I know how to use my super power to my advantage." I swallowed.

"I could go undercover with you. You know, to watch your back," the Harpster answered. "It would also be a good opportunity for me to break the Twinkie habit. Twinkies would be a dead give away." Then she added, in a confidential tone, "I hope you won't think less of me for my habit. It's been a curse. I tell everyone that I had myself tattooed because of the problem of getting into and out of a Spandex super suit. But that's not entirely true. Mostly it's because of all the junk I eat. I put on and take off pounds like you wouldn't believe, and Spandex stretches only so far. It was just too costly to maintain a wardrobe in so many sizes. "And if I were to go undercover with you, it would give me a chance to put on some clothes. Not that I mind running around in my all together... after all, most people thing I'm wearing Spandex... but it can be darn chilly. I'll bet you think I had blue tights inked on. Not so. My legs are just so blue from the air conditioning in this taco joint that they match my leotard tattoo." She continued, lowering her eyes, "But mostly I don't want you to get hurt."

I experienced the tug of an unfamiliar emotion. I was touched. And though she might blimp up from time to time, right now the Harpster looked pretty darn good. I felt the impulse to take her hand. But then I gave myself a shake. I had a duty to fulfill. I had a destiny to achieve.
[Maddog]
__________________
As I shook myself, something fell to the ground. What was this? I bent down to pick up a tattered and worn leather bound book. Now where had this come from? I sure as heck didn't have any pockets in this getup. Maybe someone at the next table over had dropped it. I glanced over, but the couple closest too us had more tatoos than The Harpster, hooded eyes, chains hanging from their pockets and they didn't look like they read much.

I skimmed the first few pages and discovered that this was definitely meant for me to find. The title page simply read, "The Rules."

Ah... maybe Invisible Man was at work here. He must have been following us around this morning, eavesdropping, and literally dropped it by. Clearly he knew I needed this.

Rule 1 Superheros are immortal -- as long as they choose to submit to their calling. They can retire freely at any time, but when they do so, they will revert to the age they should be had they never accepted their calling. (Superman, for instance, would be dead if he chose to hang up the red boots.)

Rule 2 No (more) tatoos. The Harpster unfortunately tried this route and we've since ruled it as unbecoming of a Superhero. (Some of the older Superhero costumes did tend to bleed onto the skin in inclimate weather and caused some semi-permanent tatooing, but this doesn't count.)

Rule 3 Absolutely no getting it on with a fellow Superhero. Trust us. It has happened in the past and you don't want to know what happens. This is a difficult Rule to follow. After all, we are all very buff and incredibly good looking. (Have you ever heard of an unattractive Superhero? And, no, the Incredible Hulk was not a Superhero. He was a raging monster created after physicist Dr. Bruce Banner was caught in the blast of a gamma bomb he created. He causes destruction – he does not stamp out evil, cell phones or big hair, as do we.)

Rule 4 No breaking Rule #3 – NO MATTER WHAT.

Rule 5 We’ve all been given great powers, but Superheros must be humble. We could obviously kick evil *ss with little or no effort, but let’s have some fun out there! No breaking free and capturing the enemy until the very last minute. Oh, and you’ve gotta let them get away occasionally. We don’t want to work ourselves out of our jobs. (If we didn’t have evil, we wouldn’t be needed and if we weren’t needed, we’d have to relinquish our Superpowers and if we relinquished our Superpowers, we’d lose our immortality and if we lost our immortality, Superman for sure would die immediately. You don’t want to be responsible for killing Superman, do you? DO YOU?)

Rule 6 Follow all the rules. Always.

[Susan]
__________________

As I read the Rules my heart sank. Not that I had "getting it on" high on my list of priorities, but it was probably on there somewhere. And I was attracted to the beautiful, if somewhat out of kilter, Harpster. I wondered, too, what the dire warning was all about. I'd have to ask. You'd think that all the tight Spandex everyone... well, almost everyone... wore that it would be deterrent enough to any amorous fraternization among L-SWISH members. As for relinquishing super powers, I wondered if going back through a hole to the Other Side, the place that I came from, counted. If I did go home, would I remain a super hero (after all my ability to make holes in things did originate at my local Starbucks) or would I revert to plain old Harry Bailey. The Harry Bailey who couldn't get a date. Who spent a lot of time watching TV and writing scripts that probably wouldn't sell. Losing my own immortality didn't seem like such a big deal 'cause I'm only thirty years old. After all, it wasn't as if I were an old codger like Superman. Heck, he was leaping tall buildings and outrunning locomotives in the late 1920's.

I turned to B.H. (or as I now thought of her, the Blue Beauty) and held up The Rules. "I guess you're familiar with this, having been a super hero for awhile."

She looked surprised. "Where did you get that? I didn't see Superman give it to you at the meeting earlier today." I told her how I'd come by the book and my thought that perhaps The Invisible Man had dropped it off. "That guy creeps me out," she said. "I've always suspected that he was a bit of a peeping Tom, turning up in places he doesn't belong. I don't think he has the confidence of the L-SWISH council, either. Or else he'd make the perfect undercover agent."

"Or" I thought, "the perfect mole."

Then I continued, "Is this book legit?" She nodded her head. "So tell me," I went on, "what about this Rule Number Three? What happens if two super heroes do break the rule?"
Maddog
_________________
B.B. spoke hesitantly, apparently fighting between her desire for me and telling me the truth. Her struggle was certainly understandable. Afterall I am a buff superhero, desired by many (at least in my own mind). Just then, the words came tumbling out.

"If you and I, for example, were to, uh, unite, then our superhero powers would become co-mingled in undesirable ways. It happened when Superman and Wonder Woman started swapping spit. In Wonder Woman, Superman's super-human speed was combined with her ability to speak a multitude of languages. She began speaking Greek faster than a speeding bullet. While she would be popular at the next auction in ancient Greece, it was not very useful. Superman, in turn, began wearing a golden tiara which he would throw at villans to disable them. It was handy for nailing bad guys, but it really tarnished the tough-as-nails superhero image. Needless to say, we were down two effective superheros at the time and countless criminals roamed free, creating mayhem across the land. Eventually, they ended their union for the good of L-Swish. It took many years but eventually their super powers reverted to their original states. That was a rough time back in the 50s and it is only brought up when absolutely necessary. It's not something you are going to find on Wikipedia when searching for information about superheroes."

I found myself wondering what would happen if my sizzle power was combined with B.B.s whirlwind of nagging. I could picture spinning crazily, burning holes in everything around me. That, certainly, would not be useful in any crisis. I was just going to have to remind myself of this nightmare whenever my attraction to B.B. started to surface. I would sacrifice my own desires for the good of the world. Well, at least it was noble.

If B.B. and I were going to be able to continue working together (if you could call swigging Diet D.P. and munching Ding Dongs work), she was going to need some clothes. Since there was a sale at Macy's (it was the biggest sale of the year), I took her shopping. She was going to need something to wear if we were going to infiltrate Maligno's mob. "What does one wear," I wondered? Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied Stacy and Clinton appeared. Surely, they would have tips on the appropriate dress for mob infiltration. I hurried over, B.B. in tow, to ask their advice.
[Margaret]
________________________

"We need a little advice about what to wear," I said as we approached the two fashionistas. "I wonder if you could give us a few minutes and a bit of your sage counsel?"

Stacy looked at me and then surveyed the Harpster. "You two may be beyond help," she commented in an irritating New York accent, made nasally resonant by her big nose. "But Clinton and I like a challenge. Don't we, Clinton?" She kicked him in the shin. Clinton nodded. "We don't usually do pro bono work," she continued, "but I suppose we could make an exception for L-SWISH. Besides, we're on hiatus right now. The network showed episodes of What Not To Wear morning, noon, and night. So many that it finally brought even the most avid viewers to their knees. They begged for mercy. So the brains at the network decided that a little break would be a good idea. I don't mind a little time off, but Clinton and I are getting a little bit bored. Aren't we, Clinton?" She kicked him in the shin again and again he nodded. "So what can we do for you?"

I explained to them that we needed to go under cover and had no idea where to begin when it came to putting together an appropriate wardrobe. Stacy and Clinton stepped back and gave us a look of appraisal. "I'm not sure where to start with you," Clinton said, taking in my orange Spandex body suit with sparkles, my red boots with tassels and my cape, "But you (he looked at B.H.) are certainly a tabula rasa."

"We've never dressed anyone to look like criminals," Stacy added, "But we'll give it a shot. NIck can do something with your hair," she remarked to the Harpster. She paused reflectively. "I suppose your hair can be cut with scissors," she asked, "or does it take some special tool like an arc welding torch or the jaws of life?" B.H. assured her that scissors would do, and Stacy continued. "Carmindy can do wonders with your face, too."

I had to interrupt. "Carmindy?" I asked. "Where did she get a name like that, poor girl?" Clinton looked bored, as if he had been asked the same question many times, then spoke. "Her father's two favorite entertainments were Bizet's opera, Carmen, and the TV sitcom, Mork and Mindy. You figure it out." I couldn't help thinking to myself that she was lucky his favorite shows weren't The Waltons and Dean Martin. She'd be Walmart.

"OK," said the Harpster. "I'm game. How about you, Lightning?" I concurred. She went on. "Tell me, you two fashion gurus, what does a female criminal wear these days? And can we make it quick? We have a evil mastermind and a dirty rotten turncoat of a mole to catch!"
[Maddog]
____________________
Stacy and Clinton looked at one another, puzzled looks on their faces. "Hmmm. We've redressed plenty of dumpster divers and thrift store aficionados but never a self-proclaimed criminal wannabee. In what style does this evil mastermind of yours dress?" queried Stacy.

"Does the name Maligno mean anything to you?" I said quietly.

Suddenly Stacy and Clinton's eyes lit up. "Of course it does!" answered Clinton, finally coming to life. "A while back, before we went on hiatus, we featured one of Maligno's henchwomen. Maligno himself requested that we help her. She was a mess! She had a real penchant for low cut ripped jeans and very low cut, belly baring tops without the benefit of a bra. And boy did she have quite the muffin top! To make a long story short we made her into a stunning agent of crime."

"Oh, goody," trilled B.H. "There is hope for us yet!" She began jumping around excitedly.

I looked around a little self-consciously. As taken as I was with B.H. I did find her jumping for joy a little disconcerting. If her sagging boobs flopped around any harder she would soon take flight.

Stacy and Clinton hustled us off for an overhaul. Since time was of the essence we didn't bother with the humiliation of the 360 degree mirror and the bashing of our wardrobes (besides, we superheroes only have one basic outfit). In no time the fashionistas had me dressed in a fine Armani suit. Thankfully, I didn't need much help from Nick (I have the traditional fabulous superhero hair) and Carmindy only recommended sunscreen for my face (to help with the ageless look).

Things took a little longer with the Harpster. First, she had to go through a bra fitting. Stacy told her that no self-respecting henchwoman would go out without having the girls "locked and loaded." Then, the two fitted her in a lovely printed Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and a pair of Christian Louboutin slingback pumps. Next, it was on to Nick. He highlighted B.H.'s hair and styled it in a fashionable bob. Finally, Carmindy worked her magic. With a lot of spackle and color she made the superheroine turned criminal into quite the looker.

Once they were finished with us we reunited in the main room. "Shut up!" Stacy exclaimed. "Are we good or what?"

I took a look at B.H. and knew then and there that it was going to be tough to adhere to Rule 3!
[Caroline]
______________________

Just then, as I stood there in Macy's contemplating my feelings for B.H. and how I would be able to keep our relationship professional, I heard Enrico Iglesias' crooning the words that reflected the true desire of my heart...

I can be your hero, baby
I can kiss away the pain
And I will stand by you forever
You can take my breath away
You can take my breath away

[Margaret]
________________

I snapped back to my senses. Daydreaming wasn't going to get us anywhere in the crime fighting department and, with Rule 3 looming over my head, it wasn't going to get me anywhere in the romance department, either. I decided that being a super hero wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Rats. I turned to Stacy and commented, "You know, this isn't exactly what I had in mind. I thought criminals looked more like, in a man's case, an ex-con, gangbanger, drug dealer sleeze, and in a woman's case, an ex-con, hooker, drug dealer, woman wrestler sleeze. We look as if we just stepped out of the board room of a Fortune 500 company!"

Stacy responded, "We don't do sleeze. It would be like What Not To Wear in reverse. We dress people up, not down. But look. You two can be white collar criminals. Embezzlers. Insider traders. Ponzi schemers. Fraud meisters. Pretend you used to work for Enron."

Just then, the Harpster exclamed, "Lightning! I just got a call on my cell phone! L-SWISH has just captured one of Malingo's minions and we've been asked to conduct the interrogation! Let's do a light speed boogie back to headquarters!"

"Cell phone?" I exclaimed as we ran for the car. "Where did you get a cell phone?"

The Harpster stopped. "It's a clever miniature device fitted into my ear canal," she replied. "It's no bigger than a lima bean. No, that's too big. It's about like a garbanzo bean. No, still too big. I'd say it's about like a pea. Yeah, a pea. You know, one of those little green round things that grow in a pod. That your mother made you eat when you were little, even though you hated them."

"We coulda been back at headquarters already!" I said. "Put a sock in it and let's go!"

Maligno's man was in Interrogation Room 1. Superman had softened him up and he seemed ready to talk. "No one, other than confederates like you, has ever seen Maligno," I began. "What does he look like?"

"He's a scary person," our captive answered, reflexively looking over his shoulder and shifting his eyes as if he were afraid that his boss might hear him. "Like Superman, he's from another planet. But unlike Superman, he came from an antimatter galaxy. Because antimatter and matter annihilate each other when they come in contact he wears a special suit of dark crimson that acts as a barrier between him and our world. Don't ask me what his suit is made of... if it were antimatter it wouldn't serve its purpose. He'd disappear in an intense burst of energy as soon as it came into contact with something. But if it were made of matter, the result would be the same as soon as he tried to put it on. Foom! It must be a pretty special fabric. Still, you wouldn't catch me touching it."

Our captive went on to explain that working for Maligno had some plusses. He was an equal opportunity employer. He was adamant about equal pay for equal work. He didn't have henchmen, he had henchpersons. He provided sick leave and three weeks vacation to everyone who had been with him for two or more years. There was an annual company picnic. But there were also some drawbacks, and that's why our prisoner was willing to talk. He was trying to break free from Maligno's powerful grip. "Maligno puts a premium on loyalty," he said. "When you sign on, he has a chip implanted in your brain. It's a tiny explosive device. If he suspects you of disloyalty he pushes a button and it's sayonara, baby. I might add that the turnover is fierce."

"Tell us about Maligno's weaknesses. How can we get close to him?" the Harpster asked.

"There's only one way," he answered. "It would be difficult and dangerous, but I think the way to do it would be... Urk! Ack! Gak! Ug!" Our captive slipped to the floor. Maligno, from the bowels of his secret headquarters, had pushed the button. Sayonara, baby!

"Er," said B.H. "What now?"
[Maddog}
______________________________
While B.H., Lightning and Superman pondered the sudden demise of their captive, a ripple of fear passed through the evil Maligno's henchmen standing around the master's lair of evil, darkness and petty crime. They had just witnessed the termination of one of their own on the big flat screen that dominated the center of the hideout.

One of the henchmen nudged his neighbor and whispered, "How did Maligno know where to find traitorous Tom?"

Maligno overheard the man's question and laughed, "Bwa ha ha!" He continued, "You think I would put an explosive chip in each of your heads and not know where you were at all times? The chip also contains a locator which feeds your exact position into my computer. On top of that it allows me to listen to what you are saying if the computer indicates that you are in a compromising location. If any of you even thinks of betraying me or escaping my evil clutches, think again. Once you work for me, you work for me forever! Bwa ha ha!"

"Now men," Maligno said as if nothing had happened, "we have a full agenda. Our big task is to pull off the biggest heist of all time. To accomplish this we need to create some diversions. We don't need to L-SWISH folks gumming up the works for us and interfering with our ultimate plan. To that end, Calamitous Sam, form a team. You and your group will be on havoc patrol. Wreak away. Heinous Seamus, form a team as well. You and your group are on murder and mayhem patrol. That ought to keep the superheroes busy. The rest of you are with me. I will divulge the details once the others have begun." Afraid that Maligno might think that they were not fully committed, the henchmen eagerly formed groups and went about their evil ways.

As Maligno and his confederates worked, B.H., Lightning and Superman called an emergency meeting of the L-SWISH Council. As Superman collected his thoughts B.H. and Lightning made a Starbucks run. They returned to headquarters with the fuel for thought just as the rest of the members were taking their seats.

Superman gave a quick overview of what had taken place in the interrogation room. There were murmurs and head shakes. The L-SWISH Council had been hunting for Maligno for years. This was the best intel they had to date and then POOF! their intel was gone and so, it seemed was Maligno.

Suddenly, Lightning spoke up. "I know I am new here and we don't know where to find Maligno at the moment, but we know that he is not who he claims to be!"

Collectively, the Council turned toward Lightning. "What are you talking about?" asked B.H.

"Well," began Lightning, "back on my side of the hole I took a few science classes in college. This whole antimatter business is largely theoretical. On a cellular and molecular level it doesn't exist, at least not here on this side or the other side of the hole. Therefore, Maligno, while an evil super being, is really just an evil super being in a crimson suit. He just sells this matter/anti-matter stuff to his cronies as yet another way to get them to keep the faith, so to speak."
[Caroline]
_________________

In the excitement of the moment I had slipped back into the superhero habit of referring to myself in the third person. Wonder Woman smiled at me and said, "Don't worry about it, dear boy. When I was the Attorney General I caught myself doing the same thing. "I used to say things to congressmen and senators like, 'General Reno thinks you're a twit.'" She shrugged. "Well," she went on somewhat defensively, "she, that is, I, really was surrounded by twits. After all, what is the federal government but Twit Central?"

Captain Marvel made an impatient sound and looked at me. "You doubt the existence of antimatter? The existence of antiparticles for electrons was predicted in 1928 by no lesser a person than Paul Dirac, the father of quantum mechanics. Four years later, the positron was actually discovered by Carl Anderson. It took 23 years, but the antiproton was discovered and the following year, in 1956, the antineutron was discovered! And a few nuclei of antimatter, such as the antideuteron, have been created in the laboratory. Why, in 1995, nine atoms of antihydrogen were created at CERN." He shook his head. "Tsk, tsk." He went on. "For a time scientists considered the possibility that entire galaxies of antimatter could have evolved in some areas of the universe where there is no preponderance of matter to present an annihilation threat. Now, although the scientific community has reached a consensus that this is highly improbable, Professor Hayrbrane Dufflebag, L-SWISH's own cosmological resource, believes otherwise. According to Professor Dufflebag, Maligno is either an antimatter being, as his henchpersons believe him to be, or he is a large, animate, sugarbeet. To quote the Professor, 'I vote for antimatter.'"

Wonder Woman, who looked as if she couldn't care less if Maligno were a squirrel, eyed the debris of the Starbucks run B.H. and I had made, and then at us. Clearly she disapproved of B.H.'s junk food habit. The Harpster smiled nervously. "I'm trying to give it up," she said. There were remains of low-fat cinnamon swirl coffee cake, cranberry muffins, walnut scones and a particularly heavy looking donut scattered across the table.

"Wonder Woman rolled her eyes upward. "Magna est vis consuetudines," she intoned. Then she looked startled and said, "Wait a minute! I'm Greek, not Roman, right? I forget."

"Why is it," Superman interjected, "that every time I attend a meeting with you" ...he glared at Wonder Woman... "I feel as if I've fallen down the rabbit hole?"

"Hold it! HOL DIT!" shouted Captain Marvel. "We're getting way off track. And you guys wonder why we don't get more done! Let's get back to Maligno. Antimatter monster or sugarbeet, we've got to catch his evil ass and put his sinister organization out of business! Obliterate his mob! Burn his crops and sow salt in his fields! Erase all evidence that he ever existed! OK, maybe that's a little bit of hyperbole but you get the idea. We need to get off of our super butts and do something! Now!"

Armed with a new resolve, the super heroes leapt to their feet and rushed for the door. Arriving more or less simultaneously there was a log jam at the exit. Pushing and shoving, kicking and elbowing, the mob struggled to get out. Meanwhile, I turned to the Harpster and said, "Let's slip out the back. I have a feeling that it's up to us to get that rat, Maligno. I have an idea."
[Maddog]
__________________
The B.H. and I took off, going out the back door of the building. Our exit would have been a little more subtle if we hadn't chosen the door marked "Fire Exit Only-Alarm Will Sound." Fortunately for us, the superheroes were so caught up in their need to kick some evil ass that they didn't notice the alarms. The Harpster and I made it out the door, around the corner and to the Harpycar unnoticed. We decided to use this time to regroup so we headed to Chili's for some thinking food, mainly Big Mouth Burgers, fries and Dr. Peppers, fully loaded.

As we sat in the Chili's, I vented a little. "You know, B.H., it really irked me when Wonder Woman (a.k.a. Janet Reno) subtly chided me about my use of the third person. Why does she think she is so perfect? If she were a terrific superhero she wouldn't have to moonlight as a barista. I am new at this superhero thing. It makes me feel important to talk in the third person. I'll get the hang of this soon. I am a superhero that can make holes not one that concerns himself with person or tense." Having said my piece, I munched a few fries and took a swig of Dr. Pepper. I felt much better.

"Clearly the super crowd has ADD issues so it's up to us," I said. "What do we know so far? The L-SWISH Council continually tries to thwart Maligno and his evil henchmen in their efforts to disrupt the world order only to be thwarted themselves. That led the Council to believe that there must be a mole within the organization feeding their plans back to the Lord of Darkness. We also know, courtesy of Professor Marvel (and in all likelihood, the internet), that antimatter does exist. So much for my college class with Dr. Carriker. At any rate, I, too, have access to the internet and have learned that the only way to contain antimatter (we are assuming that Maligno is antimatter composed of charged particles) is by a Penning Trap, a combination of an electric field and a magnetic field. Given this, we can assume the big M's suit is a combination of the two fields and the color red. I am not sure what we can do with this bit of information at the moment, but I do have a thought about the mole in the Council."

The Harpster looked at me in anticipation. She began shoveling in more of her burger. I noticed that when she was anxious she ate. It was her therapy.

I said quietly, "I think the mole has been in plain sight all along. If I am not mistaken, it is Wonder Woman/Janet Reno."

The B.H.'s mouth hung open. "What? That doesn't make any sense. How do you figure she is the mole?"

I took another swig of Dr. Pepper and then replied, "I know Wonder Woman is one of the honored members of the group, but she behaves in curious ways. Why does she refer to herself as Janet Reno? Why on earth is she working as a barista at Starbucks?" While I munched on more of my burger, the B.H. mulled this over.

I continued, "I learned that W.W.'s aging aunt is in need of a lot of medical care. The wages and benefits associated with being a superhero are not enough to cover the expenses. She took on the job as barista to supplement her income and feed her caffeine addiction, but it wasn't enough. I covertly chatted with a few regulars at the Starbucks who wished to remain anonymous. However, "they" intimated that they saw W.W. talking on her cellphone and heard her mention someone named the Big M. It seems that while she may want to fight for truth and justice, Maligno has better wages and a better medical plan."
[Caroline]
_____________
“I have an idea how we can test Wonder Woman to see if she is hiding something,” crowed the Harpster excitedly.

This had me a little concerned. Some of her ideas were a little unique, to say the least.

“What, are you going to hook her up to a lie detector and ask her some questions? Do you have a truth machine in the back of the Harpy mobile somewhere under the Ding Dong wrappers and Dr. Pepper cans?” I teased. Right then I should have known better. Never egg on a woman that was willing to tattoo on a costume instead of wearing one.

“Of course not,” she said. “Those things are too expensive for a superhero’s salary. We are going to slip Wonder Woman a mickey and then use her Lasso of Truth to get to the bottom of what she is up to.”

This spelled trouble but I was fresh out of ideas. At the moment I was distracted by the fact the Harpster ended her sentence with a preposition. The sugar and caffeine must be muddling my grey cells. Tuning back in, I thought, “What the heck, it could work. Right?”

We finished stuffing our faces with burgers and fries and washed it all down with, of course, more Dr. Pepper. Refreshed and ready to go we headed back to the Starbucks of Justice in the Harpy mobile. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Where are we going to get a mickey?”

The Harpster reached into the glove compartment. “I may have left the 60s behind but I always keep a little something just in case. You never know when it might come in handy. Of course, since I haven’t used it since the 60s I am not sure of its potency. Guess we’ll just have to hope for the best!”

As we entered, quietly through the front door, we saw that Wonder Woman was still barista on duty. We sidled up to the coffee bar and started to chat her up.

“How about a round for the three of us?” I said gaily.

“You two really need to kick this habit,” Wonder Woman said a little frostily. I think she was perturbed having been left behind instead of being included with the super boys.

“Sure, we’ll start tomorrow. Come on, why don’t you take a load off and join us?” I encouraged.

“Well, okay,” W.W. said reluctantly. She made our drinks and we all sat at a small table. I had to distract W.W. so the Harpster could slip her the mickey. I pointed to the fancy espresso machine behind W.W. and asked her to tell how it worked. She turned and started to explain. The Harpster seized the moment and slipped the drug right into the little hole at the top of the plastic cover. After a long, tedious explanation on the intricacies of the latest expresso technology, W.W. turned back to the table and took a big swig of her latte.

A few minutes later, Wonder Woman was passed out. We quickly tied her to her chair with her golden lasso. This was easier than I thought! She started to stir. “Are you working for Maligno?” I asked.

“Είναι οικογένεια,” Wonder Woman mumbled.

“What did she say?” I asked the Harpster. B. H. replied, “It’s all Greek to me.”
[Margaret]
_____________________________________

The Harpster reached into her Birkin bag by Hermes, the price of which would have paid for half a dozen more What Not to Wear makeovers, and pulled out a small, hand-held computer. Quickly, she typed in some information. Moments later, she burst out, "Well, rats!"

"What's the matter? I asked."

"Because my computer doesn't have a way to enter Greek characters and I don't know how to convert Greek characters phonetically into their English equivalents, I can't use an on-line Greek dictionary. Of course, I'm not 100% sure I heard Wonder Woman clearly, anyway. I guess we'll just have to press ahead without knowing. Let's just conduct our interrogation and see what we can find out. Start with the softball questions and work up to the important ones."

"Aye, aye, my azure angel." I turned my attention to our captive. "Tell, me, W.W., what's behind your dual personality? I know that you were raised on a Greek island by a matriarchy of godesses. Or were they Amazons? Or both? Where did your Janet Reno alter ego come from?"

She raised her eyes, red rimmed and unfocused from the effects of the Mickey. "I became Janet Reno in order to pass as a mere mortal among the citizens of the United States. It's hard to keep a low profile when one's dressed in red, white and blue tights and a golden tiara. I was living inconspicuously in Florida when President Clinton picked me to be his Attorney General. I may have overdone the disguise with the awkward, androgenous look, the drab business attire and the husky voice. But you've got to admit that no-one tumbled to the real me. I suppose I kept it up too long because now, like a schizophrenic, I have a hard time keeping the two separate."

"Ask her about the Starbucks connection," interrupted the Blue Harpster.

"Mais oui, ma cher, " I replied. Directing my attention back to Ms Reno, aka Wonder Woman, I continued, "Why on earth have you tied yourself into a ho-hum job as a barista when you could be a full-time crime fighter?"

"I tried hiding out in the jungle. Unless one's inclined to eat insects, roots and berries, and questionable-looking fish from a murky river all the time, it's best to have a plan B. Mine was to earn a few geeters with a Starbucks franchise in order to have the wherewithall to buy a few canned goods at the nearest trading post. It worked for awhile, until Ricardo Montalban was marooned by his movie crew and became a regular, and until some young woman found a gold stash that brought a gazillion fortune hunters to the area. That was the pits, so I gave it up. But I had developed a fierce caffein addiction along the way so when I came here, to assuage my habit I hired on just to have access to all the coffee. I drink it all, expresso to latte. I even eat the beans."

"OK, time for the tough questions," B.H. said to me.

"As you wish, my calorie-laden enchantress," I answered. I leveled my gaze on W. W. and in my best good cop impersonation began, "Janet? Or would you prefer that I call you Ms Woman.?" Then I cut to the chase. "Tell me, who is the Big M?" Janet Woman, or Wonder Reno, or whatever she called herself, suddenly sat up, as if I had slapped her. Although she was still disoriented it was easy to see that I had hit a nerve. She appeared to struggle against the forces that compelled her to answer my question, but in the end it was futile.

She opened her mouth and spoke. Her words, still slurred from the effects of the drug, forced themselves through her gritted teeth. "I am Maligno," she said.
[Maddog]
___________________
Suddenly, Wonder Woman rolled her eyes and then slammed her head into the table. The B.H. and I jumped, surprised by this development (not surprised enough, however, for me to start talking in the third person). The two of us tentatively approached her. Neither of us knew anything about checking pulses and gathering other life determining information, but she looked pretty darn dead to my inexperienced eyes. Meaning only to interrogate not terminate, we backed slowly out the door.

I suggested that we contact Superman and inform him of the latest developments and then have a snack. My beloved seconded both notions and proposed a trip to Chik-Fil-A. "I just love those waffle fries," she said, "and you know how food helps me think."

Once she was sure that we had left the building, Wonder Woman raised her head. "Those fools," she thought, smiling to herself. "They are probably off trying to contact the Council now. Little do they know that I am not only not dead, I am not Maligno. If anyone had super translation powers, they would know that I had said Maligno is my brother." Then, as if by magic, W.W. freed herself from her lasso and grabbed her cell phone.

Just before she could flip her phone open to make a call, she heard Gloria Gaynor singing "I Will Survive." Without realizing it, W.W. began to boogie around the interrogation room. She was really getting into it when she heard silence. "Darn it! Another missed call. I like that ringtone so much I forget to answer. I am going to have to change it to something so annoying that I pick it up just so that I am not tortured. Something like 'It's a Small World.' "

Lost in thought, Wonder Woman was startled when the phone began to ring again. She looked at the number and then flipped the phone open. A voice said, "Why didn't you answer?" She replied, "I think I have caught a case of ADD from those superfreaks. Hey, now that would be a good ringtone! 'Superfreak!'" The bodyless voice on the other end of the line interrupted her line of thinking, "Look, little sis, I need you back here ASAP. The heist is set. Once we complete this job, you will have enough money to set Auntie Em up with long term care and continue your Janet Reno charade in some other far corner of the world." She grunted a response, flipped the phone shut and left the building.
[Caroline]
__________________

Now, you may wonder how I knew what Wonder Woman did and said after the Harpster and I left the Starbucks where we had tied her up and interrogated her. Fortunately, it was all caught on tape by a well-placed security camera. If fact, it was a HD tape. The resolution was so good I could also read her lips and determine what she said into her cell phone. I was puzzled about how she had been able to lie to us when she was tied up with her golden lasso. My guess was that its battery was dead. But why, I asked myself, had she told us that she was Maligno? By convincing us that she was Maligno and pretending to croak, she must have intended to persuade us that he was dead so that we would give up the hunt.

The event that led me to check the Starbucks security tape was the lack of a body. After my adipose Aphrodite and I had ingested a few pounds of waffle fries and a quart or so of ketchup we called Superman and informed him of what had happened. His return call a short while later wasn't a pleasant one. He wasn't happy to discover that there was no body in the Starbucks. I think he thought that we were putting him on, and Superman doesn't take jokes gracefully. Needless to say, I was surprised and became determined to learn what had happened. Hence my review of the tape.

Once my partner in crime fighting and I learned what had happened, we put our heads together to come up with a plan. "I like putting my head together with yours," she murmured. "Your breath smells like French fries."

"I think we are going to have to split up for awhile," B.H. went on. "One us should stake out Auntie Em. After all, she seems to be the raison d'etre for Maligno and Reno Woman's criminal enterprise. My guess is that she's at the only retirement and assisted living facility in town, The Pearly Gates Senior Center. In fact, I'll bet I can get hired on teaching knitting, or macrame, or martial arts, or something."

"Good thinking," I responded. "Meanwhile, I'll look for Janet. She won't stray far from her invisible airplane and she'll need somewhere to garage it. If I can find the 'plane, I can find her. Then I can track her back to her brother, Maligno. I'll get busy checking out all the small airfields in the area." I continued, "What do you say that we meet at the Outback Steakhouse this evening at eight to assess out progress and compare notes?"

"Good thinking," the Harpster answered. "But first, let me smell your breath again."
[Maddog]
______________________________
Before I knew it, it was eight o'clock and I was waiting for the Blue Babe outside the Outback Steakhouse. When she arrived, she smiled and breathed in deeply. "You smell positively yummy," she said. I smiled in return and said, "I didn't have much luck today with locating Wonder Woman nor her plane. But I did see a Macy's ad showcasing the latest Calvin Klein aroma for men-French Fry. As I had no other success today I ran right in and picked up the largest bottle they had." My tattooed temptress swooned with delight.

After a few more minutes of idle chatter and sweet nothings, we went in and since we opted for the bar, we were seated immediately. We ordered a blooming onion and a couple of beers, kicked back and took stock of our progress. Since I had already shared my lack of success, the B.H. took the floor. "Well, I went to the Pearly Gates Senior Center and offered to volunteer and they happily accepted my offer," she said proudly. I couldn't really see the Harpster teaching knitting or scrapbooking. "So, what are you going to do there?" I asked. She responded excitedly, "I am going to do tattoos! When I got my outfit tattooed I was fascinated with the process. I have always had a flair for drawing so I took tattoo lessons. I just haven't been able to put those skills to use until now!" I didn't know what to say to that, but thankfully the waitperson arrived with our appetizer and beers. I quickly popped a piece of fried onion in my mouth and smiled.

A little later, while we were enjoying our meal, I saw a news alert flash across the television screen in the bar. I asked the bartender if he would mind turning up the sound. He complied and the B.H. and I focused our attention toward the screen. The reporter on the screen was standing in front of The One and Only Bank. The reporter on the scene said dramatically, "Just moments ago this bank was robbed, it's vault completely emptied by a clever band of thieves led by none other than Wonder Woman. Just before the police arrived the crew boarded Wonder Woman's plane and made their escape."

"Well, crap," said the Harpster rather inelegantly. "The timing on this stinks. I haven't even gotten to order the Thunder From Down Under yet!"
[Caroline]
_____________________

"Don't worry about not getting to order the Thunder from Down Under," I responded. "I tried that. Thunder Down Under isn't the name of some Australian culinary creation. It's the digestive consequence. I once had a Homeric struggle with thunder down under. And not just thunder. Lightning and high winds, too. Thank God for Imodium. Without that life saving pharmaceutical from the friendly people at McNeil Laboratories I might still be holding down the porcelain perch in a little white tile hideaway somewhere. No, I suggest that you try something a little less dramatic next time we're here."

B.H. looked concerned. "Thanks for the heads up," she said. Then she continued, "What do we do now? The Maligno Mob made a clean getaway. Unless someone spotted the gang and their loot zipping along overhead with no visible means of support and propulsion, and comes forward to tell us which direction they were headed, we're done. They could be anywhere!"

After a moment's thought I opined, "I think our best bet is for you to keep a close eye on Auntie Em. Do you think that's Auntie M as in Maligno, by the way? Anyhow, she's tied into this somehow, whether Reno and Maligno's concern for her supposed health care costs is legitimate or not. Perhaps you can persuade her to get a tattoo. While you're etching a tramp stamp onto her backside, take a good look at her. Is she the invalid we suppose her to be? If you can engage her in conversation that could be helpful, too. She might let something slip that will help us, whether she's a part of the criminal enterprise or not."

The Harpster looked misty-eyed. "I had a couple of dear aunties, once," she said. "One we called Auntie Social. She was a bit of a hermit, so as you can imagine she didn't make it big in the super hero business. The other was Auntie Bacterial. She wore Spandex of dazzling white and carried a pressurized tank of bleach on her back. She just sprayed the snot out of just about everything she saw. As you can imagine, people had mixed feelings when they saw her coming. Bleach on doorknobs and counter tops was one thing, but they looked askance at bleach on new designer frocks and Picasso paintings. She finally had to yield to public pressure and retire." She sighed. "But enough reminiscing," she went on. "Back to the task at hand. I'll continue to tattoo the old folks and stay alert for any attempts to contact Auntie Em, or vice versa. Meanwhile, what do you plan to do?"

"I'll back you up. I'll hang out at the What-a-Burger around the corner from the Pearly Gates and wait for your call." I noticed her expression. "And I'll save you some fries. And while I'm at it, I'll practice making holes in things. I really haven't had much of a chance to use my one confirmed super power since I started this gig."

We jumped into the Harpymobile and as we drove away from the Outback Steakhouse my cerulean Circe looked at me and said, "Lightning, I have a hunch something big is going to happen soon."
[Maddog]
_______________________
Sure enough, something big was happening. Just as B.H. and I pulled up in front of the Pearly Gates, we noticed the sky had grown darker and the wind was really starting to pick up. Trees were bending toward the ground and cats and dogs were starting to be swept up by the wind. This was no ordinary windstorm! The sirens were sounding the impending doom of a tornado.

My sapphire sweetie turned to me and said, “My feminine intuition is telling me that we should both wait here. I think that Wonder Woman is going to return here out of concern for her Auntie Em. If she and Auntie Em are as close as we think they are, she is not going to be able to abandon her aunt in this time of need.”

“I think you are right!” I exclaimed. I had just remembered that my research on Wonder Woman also netted the fact that she has a sister named Dorothy. After that business in Kansas a few years ago, surely Wonder Woman would want to return to ensure her aunt was okay.

As we were sitting in the car, it began to rock. I turned to my sweet siren and said, “It sure would be handy to have Superman here so he could blow the tornado away. Where is the fraternity of super brothers when you need them? It’s going to be up to the two of us to capture Wonder Woman and her band of thieves. Any thoughts?”

Just then, the blue bomb kissed me and it rocked my world. Okay, it could have been the gale-force winds rocking the car but I was pretty sure it was the kiss. I was curious at the timing, though, since we were on a mission. “What about Rule number 3?” I asked.

“Well,” she said. “I think we can combine our powers to thwart Maligno’s team. I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the cause if you are. Besides, I can no longer resist your French fry scent.”

As we stared at each other, I could hear the timeless lyrics of the King…
Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you
Shall I stay
Would it be a sin
If I can’t help falling in love with you
Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be
Take my hand, take my whole life too
For I can’t help falling in love with you

It was then I knew because our love was pure, not tainted with evil like that between Wonder Woman and Superman, the combination of our superpowers would be for the good of all mankind. We would be able to use our powers to bring down Wonder Woman, Maligno and their evil henchmen and restore peace and justice to our fair land!

I reached for my blue goddess, wrapped her in my embrace and kissed her until we were both breathless. My fingers began to tingle and I felt the heat sear through my body. Suddenly I shot through the roof of the car. Momentarily disoriented, I shook my head to clear the confusion and found myself giddily humming “your love keeps lifting me higher and higher” as I soared into the sky.

Although it took me a couple of minutes, I realized that I was flying! Not only could I fly, I had retained my sizzle power. As I was flying, I wiggled my fingers and managed to zap a couple birds with friendly fire. I was going to have to harness my powers quickly before I got creamed by an invisible plane.
[Margaret]
__________________________

How does one steer when flying through the air? Airplanes have flaps and rudders. Birds have wings and feathers. Bats have wings. I didn't have any of those advantages. I found myself hurtling through space with no way to control my flight. I was headed straight up and already it was getting cold and the air was getting thin. Was there a limit to my ascent? Was my life to end in low orbit around the earth? I tried flapping my arms. Nada. I fluttered my feet up and down. Nope. I bent in the middle to face the ground to see if I could reverse my trajectory. I only found myself flying upside down. I felt something sting me on the arm. And again on the leg. Before I could react something struck me on the head. It hurt. Then I realized that I was being struck by hailstones! I wasn't flying in the sense of traveling voluntarily through the air from point A to point B. I was caught up in the tornado! I was in deep caca.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the wind began to abate and I began to fall. I looked down and could see the Harpster standing next to the Harpymobile. She was looking up. I felt a tug of regret. We had just found each other and here I was, plunging to my death. As the ground rose up to meet me I instinctively began to struggle against my descent. Subconsciously I kicked my legs in a rapid running motion. To my amazement, this action seemed to make a difference. I began to move in the direction I was facing, just as if I had been perambulating on terra firma! I lay on my back and went through my running pantomime and my fall stopped. I began to rise again. Feet down, I faced west and began to move west. I faced east with the same result. I couldn't fly, exactly... but I could walk through the air! Not as speedy as flying, but what the heck, I could get from one place to another by rising above obstacles on the ground and zipping along at the rate of a brisk jog! OK, not Superman but not too shabby, either.

When I stopped walking I began to fall again. So, just before I reached the ground I flopped over onto my back and began a determined walk upward. It worked. My fall stopped inches above the ground and before I could begin to rise again I settled gently to earth. "Lightning!" B.H. cried, throwing herself onto my prone body. "Are you all right? What happened? I was so frightened! Thank goodness you're safe! How did you survive the tornado?" Her words rushed out.

"Thanks to the tornado I've discovered another super power," I responded. "I thought I'd bought the farm, but at just the right moment I found that I can walk through the air. Jog, too. Maybe even run! By the way," I continued, "could you get off of me? It's hard to breathe."

"Oh, sorry," B.H. said, getting up and extending her hand. As she helped me to my feet, she commented, "I hate to tell you, but in the excitement of the storm, I lost track of Auntie Em. There was an emergency evacuation of the Pearly Gates. All the staff and all the residents have flown the coop. There was minimal damage to the building, though, so I would imagine that everyone will be back soon."

I put my head onto my hands and groaned. "And if she doesn't come back? We'd really be out of luck!"

My inamorata smiled. "Not to worry. When I was tattooing a tramp stamp onto Auntie Em's derriere I slipped a tiny tracking device into a, er, personal place. Thanks to that and the GPS in my car we can locate her no matter where she goes. I think she, Maligno and Wonder Woman are almost in our grasp!"

I felt better. Once we found our prey, how could they withstand my abilities to stroll through space and make holes in things, and the Harpster's ability to harangue even the strongest into craven submission? However, had I known at that moment what lay just ahead I would never have been so optimistic.
[Maddog]
_____________________
Naturally, discovering my new superpower required a little processing and, of course, something to eat. When I voiced my thoughts aloud, the B.H. jumped on the idea. She suggested we go back to Chili's. "I think some cheese sticks and margaritas will help. We've been through a lot lately." Sounded good to me so we hopped into the Harpymobile and off we went in search of a cholesterol spike.

Once we were finished eating, we headed back to the car ready to search for the invisible plane. "Well, my sweet, what should we do while we wait for the tracking device to alert us to the presence of Maligno and his crew? Shall we drive around looking for other crimes to thwart? Or maybe I should work on my air walk-run. Perhaps I can learn to do spins and flips, add a little pizzazz to my superpower."

"I think we should makeout like hormone ravaged teenagers," the Harpster said with lust in her voice.

Before I could respond, we heard a loud beeping. The tracking device! We looked at the GPS and stared in disbelief. The system indicated that Wonder Woman's plane was directly above us!

Immediately, my blue bodacious babe slammed on the brakes. I jumped out of the car and started running. Soon I was running through the air. What to do? Suddenly, I remembered my power to sizzle cellphones. Would I be able to use that power to stop the plane? I began running faster in an upward motion. As I neared the plane, I pointed my fingers toward it and ZAP! The plane exploded! That couldn't be good.

The explosion was so powerful that it blew me back away from the plane, away from my tatooed temptress, away from the Harpymobile, back, back...thud! I noticed a green and white light and then I passed out.

When I came to, I felt a little groggy and my face felt funny. I sat up and lifted my hand to my face. It felt like...a waffle? After a little more exploration I realized that I had been lying on a computer keyboard. What the...? Where was I? I wiggled my fingers. Nothing. I looked down and saw that I was wearing regular clothes. I looked up and saw my sprinkle coated latte and my half-eaten chocolate croissant sitting on the table next to my computer. On the computer I saw a blank page and the cursor blinking invitingly.

Starbucks! I was back on the other side of the hole in the Starbucks! Had I just awoken from a dream, living out one of the most cliched story endings ever? No, I hadn't fallen asleep. I remember the cellphone altercation, the splash of espresso and the feeling of being zapped. Suddenly, my fingers started to tingle again. I wiggled them. No bolts of electricity. But they were drawn to my keyboard. Where as before I suffered from writer's block, my fingers now flew with lightning speed over the keys. Before long I knew I had a sensational story that would soon be the newest t.v. pilot for the summer viewing season.

As I sat back and sipped on my latte, I felt a little sad. My only regret about this story is that the Blue Babe was only a figment of my imagination. I discovered I had a thing for corpulent, nutty women with a penchant for body tattoos and spandex. But then the door to the Starbucks opened and in walked a goddess, the blue beauty of my dreams...
[Caroline]