McGee did not like Mona Fox Yeoman. She seemed artificial, self-important. She was provocative rather than seductive, a dare more than a desire. She made a man want to shake her up, to mat that twenty-five dollar hairdo and knock that lady-of-the-manor style of hers on its can.
But nobody ever would Because in one minute she was a big creamy bitch standing right next to McGee - and suddenly she was fallen cooling flesh skittering into the dust with a hole as big as your fist through her wishbone.
For McGee, that should have been it. The client was dead. No fee. No tears. Forget it, boy. Pick up and pack out.
Yeah. Sure. You better believe it.
Not McGee.
Big creamy bitch, indeed.
"Oh, like wow, Tippi!" the disembodied voice shrieked. "I've like totally misplaced one of my earrings. Did I maybe leave it in your Vette or what? Like I'm so totally freaked without it, my head looks so geeky with only three earrings on the left. Can you like go look or what? Call me!"
Give me a break, thought Tippi, as she turned her attention to her computer and logged on to check her email. There were the typical messages from guys wanting to hook up with her, a few blatant ads for various grooming products, and a slew of messages from Tiffi bewailing her lost earring.
Oh well, thought Tippi, I might as well see what I can do. I've, like, got some time before my tanning appointment and I really don't feel like working out today. She fumbled under her tousled bed-clothes and pulled out her cellular phone. Careful not to break her already fragile three-inch nail, she speed-dialed Tiffi.
"Yeah," growled Spot. "Come to me when you've got troubles. And you call yourself a police dog!"
"It ain't funny," snarled McGruff. "I'm the laughing stock of the precinct. There's talk of putting me back on a beat. The sergeant even joked about getting me - Gasp! - neutered."
"Humans have no sense of humor," Spot sympathized, and shook himself. "I'll see if I can shed some light on the case. Have you sniffed out any clues?"
"None," whined McGruff. "I can't even scratch up a suspect."
"Hmmm, too bad," said Spot, licking himself. "Tailing a suspect is one of my specialties."
That was true. Spot Phydeaux, Canine Sleuth, was known far and wide for his dogged determination. Even if doubt gnawed at him the way he might gnaw a lambchop, but he'd never admit it to man or beast.
After McGruff slinked out with his tail between his legs, Spot put on his special agent undercover collar and headed down-town, stopping every so often to leave his customary calling card at his favorite fire-hydrants.
The author comments, "Hopefully some wag will add to this."
As Timmy Tuckerman arose from his nap at the Jack'N'Jill Preschool where
he was an outstandingly precocious student, he noticed right off the bat
that something was amiss. The freckle-faced tot, known by his teacher to
be the most successfully toilet-trained tot in his group, and who washed
his hands like a good little boy without having to be scolded, knew all
his colors and could recognize most of his numerals on sight. Letting his
innocent baby-blue eyes wander to the pile of blocks, he was quick to spot
that the red block with the number three prominently embossed on its side
was nowhere to be seen on the lower shelf where it was usually kept along
with all the other blocks and some of the Lego blocks. Timmy was sure it
had been there earlier when Miss Swinford had read her usually rousing
rendition of "Mrs. Wiggs and the Cabbage Patch", a tale that usually held
the charming little tot in thrall, though after several readings in the
last month the plot was wearing a little thin for his sensitive taste.
A potential anal-retentive type in years to come, the chubby cherub was
more than somewhat distressed by the glaring gap between the blue and green
blocks which he had painstakingly aligned earlier that morning during 'free
play', a time used by larger tykes to bully their weaker chums into relinquishing
their mid-morning milk and cookies, but a time Timmy had painstakingly
set aside to further structure his already ordered world and thus win Miss
Swinford's undying admiration.
Timmy looked around at his still-dozing chums and wondered who the culprit might be. Was it Otis Orblemyer, who still sucked his thumb despite the teasing of his peer group and had twice wet himself while teeter-tottering? Was it Muffie Brendlesnip, known by one and all to be a notorious tattle-tale and nose-picker? Or perhaps it was Tristan Peebles, who had perpetually sticky hands and who lisped in a peculiarly irritating way. Timmy couldn't be sure, but he vowed that before the class was forced to watch another episode of Sesame Street, he'd find out!
The author comments, "Enough of these teen detective stories! Now that children are being pushed to achieve at an increasingly earlier age, let's give them some real responsibilities!"
It was a dark and ominous castle, resting in a dank and moist valley filled with unwholesome vapors and unpleasant mists that lent a chill to the air even of the days and nights of the height of summer and that caused the fungus to grow with rank vigor even upon the very stones of Greycastle Manor; the sight of which manor's dark grey exterior, dripping walls, sagging rooflines, and windows besmirched with the grime of a hundred generations filled me with a dark foreboding that I would get to know intimately all the repairmen of the surrounding environs.
Brandi blinked, her madcap crop of ginger locks dancing in the wind. "Why Molly! I may be jaded and loose. But I always know where my protection is." She patted her purse protectively. "And I don't mean my pearl handled Derringer. Don't you remember how I pulled us through that sticky situation at the All-Nighter Hotel in The Case of the Concealed Contraceptive? Now not another word about me! We've only got ten minutes to get across town, find you a more flattering dress, and meet that scrumptious District Attorney at the Gallery Opening. I'm sure he holds the answers to The Pink Panty Puzzler and I'm going to pry them out of him if it's the last thing I do!"
With one swift dive, Joel cut the water like a knife through
butter, or a spoon through jello.
"Golly, no, Joel!" cried Bitsy Bankridge, famous teen detective, as she ran a despairing hand through her locks of curly gold. She shook her head in alarm as she watched her athletic cousin disappear beneath the placid waters of the Forest Hills reservoir. "That boy will be the death of his mother, my Aunt Elizabeth Ann Bankridge-Vermont," she exclaimed, her madcap hands planted firmly to the hips from which a stunning A-line sunfrock in freshly-pressed yellow and blue cotton with a yummy floral pattern hung.
Mary Murgatroyd looked doubtfully at her chum. "Swimming is good exercise, Bitsy, isn't it? I lost three pounds swimming last summer."
Bitsy winked good naturedly at her plump friend. "And gained it all back eating the nougat chocolates Captain Wilberforce of the Forest Hills Police sent me in a platonic gesture of friendship after I solved The Case of the Mobile Mannequin, didn't you? Of all people, Mary, you should know that swimming so soon after a snack - even a light repast of grapes in lime gelatin with salad dressing, celery boats with peanut butter, a malted, and wholesome fried potatos (Nature's natural energy food!) - can lead to debilitating stomach cramps and coma! Why, remember? That's how we caught the crook in The Mystery of the Tapping Stiletto Heels?"
"Oh, fudge", Mary cried as her roadster sputtered to the curbside.
"My radiator is leaking", the attractive slender young woman realized,
"and I'll never get to the hop in time to meet Stan!"."Oh Mary!" exclaimed Bitsy Bankridge, the girl detective with the locks of curly gold. "Forget Stan. Besides, as I showed you in The Case of the Dress-Left Dummy, there's nothing a girl can't do with her hairpin!" With a mischievous wink, the bubbly girl detective jimmied open the hood of the roadster and before her nail-biting chum could say the word 'Moxie', she had repaired the naughty radiator and replaced three of the spark plugs. "There!" she said with all the conviction of a girl who had been voted Miss Forest Hills Intellectual Girl three years running. "Now we're off to finish The Case of the Gibbering Ghost!"
Mary looked doubtful. "Oh Bitsy," she cried mournfully. "You'll never catch a husband with those dirty fingernails!"
'Besides' she added, almost as a slowly formed afterthought, 'wasn't it
in The Mystery of the Half-Hearted Coiffure that you used your hairpin
to save us from disaster? When evil old Mr. Green was going to turn
Bab's Beauty Boutique into a counterfeiting operation, and you saved
Babs and me from that horrid basement just before the explosion?'
Bitsy smiled a tolerant smile at her long-time friend, and tossed her head, letting her crop of unruly golden curls bounce in the gentle breeze coming in through the roadster's open window. 'We mustn't call Mr Green 'evil', Mary. He was just misguided and unable to make good choices. And you know, you and Babs were never in danger in that basement. You could have used the heel of your pump to excavate the loose mortar around the one window, if you'd remembered what I showed you in The Case of the Wandering Wallet'
Bitsy's much-needed tutorial was cut painfully short, however, by the abrupt appearance of a ghostly spectre which suddenly loomed in the headlights of the roadster. Mary slammed on the brakes, her eyes wide, 'Oh, Bitsy' she exclaimed, 'Why do you have to have such a knack for mysteries?'
Smoothing her tousled golden curls deftly back into place, Bitsy
smiled a little less-tolerantly, but still within the bounds of friendship,
at the agitated Mary.
"Oh, Mary!" she exclaimed, "Some of us just have a natural talent for solving mysteries, so naturally mysteries which cry out to be solved will just naturally be attracted to us. Why, I would be severely shirking my duties if I didn't attempt to solve them."
Mary, momentarily distracted by the lumbering figure of the spectre approaching them, opened wide her red lips (which she had carefully highlighted with just the right shade of lipstick to complement her rosy cheeks) and screamed while closing her bright blue eyes so that her carefully curled and mascaraed lashes interlocked with the proper degree of tightness to prepare for the worst.
"Open your eyes, Mary," said her more-confident comrade, "and you'll see that what you perceive as a ghost is none other than Stan in his Halloween outfit. If you'll remember The Mystery of the Spectral Sweater, you'll realize that a ghost does not leave foot-prints. Especially not with size ten crepe-soled saddle oxfords like Stan wears."
"Oh, Phooey!" said Stan, as he approached the roadster. "I really thought I had you girls going. I waited around at the hop for what seemed like forever. The other guys were kidding me that you'd stood me up. Why, you wouldn't believe some of the things they said about you!"
"Now, now," admonished Bitsy, careful of bruising Stan's insecure male ego, "a true gentleman doesn't spread gossip." Still, she was a bit curious about what the guys had been saying, though she'd never admit it. Instead, she tossed her naturally golden curls flirtatiously in Stan's direction. What he saw in Mary, she'd never know.
Before she could engage him in some light-hearted banter, the conversation was cut short when a speeding black sedan rounded the curve behind them and side-swiped the roadster. Fortunately, Bitsy was able to yank Stan into the rumble seat and out of harm's way.
"Wow, Bitsy, said Stan with a note of admiration in his still-shaky voice, "where did you learn to do that?"
"If you'd read The Case of the Bouncing Bandit, you'd know," answered Bitsy coyly. "But," she added, "did you see that car? All the windows were painted black.We'd better see what they're up to. Step on it, Mary!"
Knowing it was useless to disagree with her knowledgeable chum, Mary revved up the roadster and took off in hot pursuit, while Stan scrambled to an upright position in the rumble seat, the better to admire the way Bitsy's golden curls blew in the wind.
In each of the paintings were the armoured human-looking creatures in hunting parties or on collecting expeditions. Each scene was basically the same but the backgrounds and creatures being hunted changed drastically. In one scene, the armoured creatures appeared to be in a purple underwater landscape using giant nets to captures huge crablike creatures. In another scene they were in the shooting leathery winged creatures out of a dark red sky. Something stranger than normal in the drawing was the two suns in the background. One was red and the other was a coppery color with big black spots on it. In other paintings were some of the creatures Travis and David had seen on their trip to the ruins. They both got a chill. What in the hell was going on here. Who were these armoured creatures. Where did they come from. What were they doing here in the jungle.
David took out his video camera and started filming. Travis narrated their findings having more questions than answers. They were walking down the main corridor when they heard a scraping noise from above. When they looked up they could see one of the crablike creatures staring down at them through the gold grating. It looked a little smaller than the ones in the paintings. Were the creatures mating and this was one of their offspring. Travis hoped not. Its pincher struck at the grating with but did not break through. The six eyed crustacean drooled foamy saliva from its teeth riddled mouth. Travis and David were revolted by the design of the creature thankful however for the gold grating which separated them from it. David thought he would never be able to eat lobster again. They ran cautiously down the corridor to escape the multiple eyes of the creature. In the next room they found what appeared to be a kithcen. There were geometrically shaped pots and pans all around the floor and vials with strange powders in the honeycombed racks on the wall. There was a clickity-clackity sound coming from the hallway. Travis turned and saw two crab-creatures moving sideways down the hall toward them. There were two doors out of the kitchen, one toward the crabs the other next to that same door but going down another corridor. Travis ran for the door yelling for David to follow him. David was too late though, by the time he was running for the door the first crab entered the room cutting him off from the exit. Travis yelled for David but he knew he was trapped. David took aim at the crab which blocked his exit toward Travis and shot three times. Each bullet richocheted off of the creatures shelled body. They were starting to close in on David. Travis yelled at the creatures to divert their attention but they knew where easy prey was. Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. They started around the giant stove crushing pots and pans that were in their way with their powerful pinchers. From behind Travis
The crabs were closing in. David looked for a way to make it to the doors but there was no way. Directly behind him was what appeared to be a garbage chute. Clickity-Clack. Snap. Snap. He turned and opened the chute. Barely enough room but what laid at the bottom of the chute and how far down did it go? Clickity-Clack. David jumped into the chute as the crabs lunged at him. He was sliding down as he heard the crabs rip off the chute door in dispair. They were too big to follow. David slid down farther and farther into blackness.
Somehow he managed to make it to an exit at the rear of the underground city. The change in humidity seemed to drain his remaining strength, but he knew he had to keep running. In the distance he could hear the approaching malformed crabs. He sprinted for the area that he and David climb into the courtyard, but the trees providing his escape had been knocked down. He was trapped in the courtyard with the crabs. They must have knocked down the trees to prevent his escape. They emerged from the subterranian city foaming at their mouths more than before. The creatures advanced on him swiftly. He thought of his family and how he embedded in their minds to never give up, no matter what the odds were. He looked to his left and saw a door to one of the guard towers, but he saw something else as well. He just hoped his plan would work. He ran for the guard tower but the crabs saw this and quickly scurried to block the entrance. When he was thirty feet away, he broke right and sprinted for a vine that hung against the wall. He just prayed that it would hold his weight or he would be dead. The largest of the foam-spewing creatures saw his plan and sidestepped with its pinchers snapping so fast that Travis thought he saw sparks coming from them. It was ten feet and closing. "All or nothing.", Travis thought and jumped onto the vine. It holds. He starts to climb up when the claws tear at his pants. He could feel deep cuts in the flesh of his leg as the creature seeks purchase. He reaches higher and pulls himself up two more feet. The strike of the claw was not aimed with percision, therefore it couldn't grasp Travis to pull him down. He climbed as fast as he could blocking out the pain coming from the wound. The creature grabbed at the vine and started to snap at it in a frenzied attempt to pull it down. As Travis reached the top, he could hear the frustrated mewling sound of the crab-creatures. He didn't stick around to see if they could pursue him any further.
He found a log down to the outside of...
To the author - this part got snipped out. The line length in the form must be finite - add some carriage returns next time. Where you want a real paragraph break, add two for a blank line.
He always told his son stories of his adventures. Sometimes he embellished them to make them more facinating for the boy, but when he told this story, he said everything was true. Michael, of course, had a hard time believing everything in the story but he was so intrigued that he had to find out for himself. His wife Tracy heard the story as well and saw the strange gold ingots t hat Travis brought back. They decided that they would follow in Travis' tracks but would bring back the video that he couldn't. Travis was gravely ill from the wound to his leg. Infection of an unusual sort was taking effect around the cut leaving a green pus-filled streak. Doctors were baffled and were doing research on the biopsy.
Michael and Tracy met in the Himalayas at a base camp. They were spending a couple of days at the base camp to get acclimated to the altitude before the rest of their mountain climbing party arrived. They knew of eachother through mutual friends but they met on that fateful trip. A day before their ascent there was an avalance that buried a team of six returning from the summit. Michael, Tracy and two others organized a search and rescue team. Michael was very impressed with Tracy on her leadership qualities and her quick thinking. Thanks to Tracy they saved four of the six on that freezing mountain. In middle of all the conflagration, they fell in love. That lead them on many journeys but none quite as hellish as this.
"Of course, sweet muffin. It's Thursday, so that means roses for you, my tasty delight!"
Lawrence had never met such a considerate lover as Ferdinand. First the luxury apartment, the butler, and now flowers. And all on a travel agent's salary! But...suddenly, a pounding on the door.
"Open up, Larry, you slut!", a deep voice bellowed.
"Oh, no! It's my ex-lover, the lumberjack! He'll beat you!", cried Lawrence. "Hide, quickly!"
The author comments, "This pathetic entry looks so lonely! Enter the contest, please!"