A Selection of Short Stories by Sue Scott

A Selection of Short Stories by Sue Scott, Part I

See Part II

Roaming

I prefer sleeping on the ground, but there are too many nasties here lookin to snuggle up to a warm body. Woke up once with a rattler curled up along side my feet. Pure wonder I didn't get bit. Can't guess how many times I had to shake scorpions from my shoes. I hate them worst of all. Least sometimes you can reason with a snake.

This here's coyote country. Saw one t'other morning slip out of the fog quiet as can be, crossed the road not ten feet in front of me, then slipped back in. Thought maybe I dreamed it, except that coyote looked at me with its yeller eyes, tellin me, "keep your distance."

They're damned smart, coyotes. Too bad ranchers around these parts consider them pests and set traps. Sprung quite a few of them traps and left a note saying, "you'll never get me!” Signed, Wile E. Coyote.

I got the idea from those Road Runner cartoons from when I was a kid

I like to follow the train tracks. When one lumbers by I gotta stop and watch, and ponder on where it's going and where it's been. Lonely things, train tracks. If you're on the train you're at least goin’ places. If you're walking the tracks, you're not goin’ anywhere's at

all.

Used to have me a pickup truck and a nice little mobile home. I was a roughneck- worked them oil rigs sometimes twelve, fourteen hours a day. Then the price bottomed out in the mid-eighties and me and my pals got laid off. Sort of lost everything and took to wandering around.

Texas is a flat place. You can walk for miles and still see how far you got left to go. There's nothing like that sky though. So big it curves at the sides, following the roundness of the earth. And at night you can near see every star the heavens have to offer. You can't get no closer to greatness than that.

I love layin out watching the stars and listening to the whistle of far away trains. Does something to my insides, kinda like the call of coyotes. Sort of sad, sort of lonely.

A Ludicrous Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a world full of people who did nothing but complain. They griped about their jobs, the weather, burnt toast and bad hair days. That’s not the whole list of course, but it’s the general gist.

So anyway, the GREAT IRONIC RULER OF ALL THINGS got tired of hearing about stupid crap that didn’t matter in the big scheme, and he took care of it.

One day when all the television forecasters had promised warm and sunny weather, it started to rain, which really played havoc with everybody’s hair. As it kept on raining, people moaned about wet feet and whined about flooded cars. Oy vey! Just because a SUV is sitting in water up to its roof, it’s considered flooded?

The GIROAT just laughed with wicked glee and made it rain even harder.

When the waters were high enough to suit, he caused a sudden freeze. People, cows, TV forecasters and other odds and ends were caught, suspended like pieces of fruit in a Jello mould. That’s when the penguins took over.

The only things to escape the freeze were penguins and polar bears. Since penguins were of the higher intelligence they became the bosses. Naturally the polar bears weren’t very thrilled about that. A vicious ten-year war promptly ensued, after which the penguins declared themselves the victors. The polar bears didn’t object. They were tired of listening to the shrill, screeching voices of the little birds, so they just quit. The penguins magnanimously let the loser bears have a small chunk of glacier to call their own.

The penguins named their home “The Land Of Freedom And Joyousness,” and the polar bears named theirs the “Land Next To Many Pains-in-the-hineys That We Will Eat.”

Life went on, as it is wont to do, and everyone was fairly happy. Everyone above the ice, that is. The suspended whiners were cold and cramped and had to go to the bathroom, but nobody paid attention to them.

One day Joe Q. Penguin noticed that there weren’t as many guys hanging around the nesting grounds as usual. He hadn’t had to fight for a prime egg sitting spot - the first time that had ever happened. It was troubling. This conundrum took over Joe’s normally healthy one-track mind. He and a group of the smarter geek penguins got together to try and figure out what was up with that. They performed many scientific studies, but got zilch in the answer department.

All the penguins began to worry. Were aliens abducting them in the night? Could they be disappearing due to internal combustion that burned with such high intensity that it left no trace of the body, and yet didn’t affect the surrounding area at all? The number of daft theories grew, and so did the number of missing penguins.

The GIROAT almost busted his gut with hilarity the morning the National Enquirer’s headline screamed, “Purloined Penguin Problem! Puzzled Public Petrified!!”

By now the stupid polar bears had gotten so fat that their feet could barely touch the ground, what with their enormous stomachs. They sort of paddled along the ice. That worked just fine as long as they didn’t hit a rough patch and get stuck. Then other polar bears had to butt the stuck one with their heads until they had pushed him onto smooth ice again. This was no easy process, and could take a day or more due to the lack of energy that came along with the extra poundage.

The polar bears knew the penguins would get wise to them sooner or later. Since the PBs were too fat and lazy to fight another ten-year battle, they devised a plan to round up all the little feathered buggers and eat them in a one-time feeding frenzy. Of course the flaw in their plan is obvious to anyone with more than a pea for a brain, but we’re talking polar bears here.

So anyway, they sewed together the pelts from all previously munched birds into huge semi- penguinish costumes.

The GIROAT was so amazed at the sight of these fifteen-foot, 400 pound hulking faux penguins that he forgot to be ironic for a whole second. They really were something!

It was snowing lightly when the first Penguinosaurus came lumbering over the glaciers. The little birds were frozen in place, but that was most likely due to the fact that they’d been swimming and then went and sat on the ice. Something their poor beleaguered mothers had warned them about time after time.

“If you swim and then sit on the ice, not only will your butt fuse quite firmly, but monster mega-penguins will come and attack you!”

The penguins were more than slightly frightened. If they could have gotten themselves unstuck, they’d have run screaming across the barren tundra and into the night. This is where the term “easy pickin’s” was invented.

It was right around this time that the author became entirely bored with the story and decided to drop it. Besides, the pizza delivery guy just knocked on the door. You, the gentle reader, can take it from here. If you invent a really good ending, send it to me. I’m not in the least ashamed to plagiarize.

THE END!

(This was published in aboutteens.org, then George (editor) from uhad2bthere wrote asking if he could publish it on his site).

Old Lang Zine

“Testing...” The reporter spoke into a microphone she grasped in one mittened hand, the other pressing against an earmuff, which covered a headset. She wrapped the long ends of a knit scarf over her head, tucking back wisps of red hair that blew across her face, and said to a burly man setting up a video screen, “Clem, I said to Joe Henry ‘You might be my boss , but that don’t mean you ain’t a liar.’ Plum job my foot! It’s creepy here and blasted cold. I got on every stitch of clothes I own, but my nose done turned blue half an hour ago. Why couldn’t I have gone to some glamorous party, where I could wear my old prom dress and get a manicure? Instead, I got to stand here, all bundled up and looking lumpy as Ma’s mashed potatoes.”

A light flooded the area, making her squint at its source. Clem gave her the “go ahead” sign, and she smiled brightly on cue, “Hi to all y’all out there! Happy New Year! This here’s Tammi Dupree, from WKTY, Curlew, Kentucky’s number one station. I’m standing…,” Tammi gazed around then shrugged, ”Well, somewhere… waiting for Father Time to come and hand over the torch to Baby New Year.”

“Tonight wee have a live report from my no-good cousin Willis Wilson on the celebration in Times Square. He’s going to personally meet Dick Clark! Dingo Jones is on stand-by in Australia and is reporting on the going’s-ons there. Folks, you come to the right place for loads of fun and excitement tonight!”

Tammi checked her watch and looked at the camera again, “Midnight is still ten minutes off yet, so why don’t we head on over to New York and find out what’s happening there?”

“Hey Tammi, Willis here!” A giant nose and mouth with crooked yellow teeth appeared on the screen behind her, the nose squashed as though pressed against glass. “I ain’t never seen so many people in my life! Iffen you took everyone in Toad Hollow and multiplied them by six, it still wouldn’t be as many people as are down there in Times Square. Not even if you multiplied them by ten!”

“Listen Willis, you got to step back from the camera,” Tammi put a hand on her hip and scowled. “How many times have I told you to keep an arm’s distance away? Now clean them nose smudges off and go on.”

“Sorry.” The screen went dark as a monstrous tongue licked the lens, then a hand swiped it several times. A blonde man in a flannel shirt and torn jeans waved, then walked over to a window, “All I can see looking down is a bunch of heads. Cain't even see the streets, ‘cept where the cops got their cars parked.”

Willis faced the camera again, wiping his nose on his sleeve, “I don’t know what this here building’s called but it’s got more floors than I got fingers and toes! We have a real clear view of the ball. It’s all covered with lots of light bulbs, and near blinds me iffen I stare at it too long.” He motioned the camera to follow him and went to a control panel set up between the room’s two windows, “When Mr. Dick Clark comes, he’s gonna push this here big red button and start the ball going down, when it stops it’ll be midnight on the dot! Don’t ask me how they know what time to hit the button exactly though, I reckon it takes long division to figure that out.”

On the video screen, the room suddenly shook as if in an earthquake, then focused on buffet tables. Willis’ voice boomed through the camera’s microphone, “Tammi, you should see all the food they got set out! I swear I ain’t ate as much in my whole life as they got sitting on tables around here! At first I reckoned someone up and died, specially since most people here are all gussied up in black. Maybe I shoulda worn the jeans without the holes, huh? Least I washed the shirt afore I came up.”

Tammi tore the earmuffs and headset off, “Willis! Step away from the mike, for cripe’s sake! You want me to go deaf?”

“Sorry.” His voice continued at a normal volume, “I tried some stuff a lady said was ‘caviar,’ but it weren’t nothing but fish eggs. Shoot, I done been eating that since I was a kid. Give me roasted ‘possum and a mess of fried okra, that’s good eatin! It don’t do to make a pig of yourself over the okra though, or you won’t be fit company for a good while. I remember once, I liked to gas myself to death,” Willis stepped in front of the camera, made a face and fanned the air, “Whew! Talk ‘bout a smell! It was enough to gag a maggot.”

“They have a bar set up here with more kinds of alcohol than I ever knew there was, and we can drink as much as we want for free. What’cha think of that?”

Tammi frowned, shook her finger and warned,” Willis, don’t you be touching any of that likker now! I told Joe you’d come through with a real good report, you’d best not let me down, if you value your worthless hide! Got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sheesh, I tole you I was gonna behave, didn’t I?” He turned towards a commotion off-screen, “Oh! Here comes Dick Clark! Hoo boy, my first real live celebrity up close!”

He disappeared, after a long pause his nose and mouth filled the screen again, “Tammi, can you hear me? I got to whisper, but you ain’t gonna believe this! You know how everyone cain't get over how Dick Clark never ages? Well, I done found out the secret! He’s a puppet! It’s true… He sure looks real, but he ain’t. He’s kinda stuffed like a scarecrow. They done wheeled him in on a hand truck and propped him up near a window so people on the street can see.”

Willis’ face disappeared, and the screen filled with the image of a life-sized Dick Clark doll. A man skulked behind it, maneuvering the hand to make it wave. Willis reappeared, “That’s all from New York for now! I don’t know about these city folk, getting’ all in a sweat over what someone tole me was ‘pate.’ It looks like already-chewed food, the same as what we had to feed Gramps after he lost the last tooth in his head and afore he made up them dentures outta gravel…”

“THANK YOU Willis. Our audience ain’t interested in Gramps, I’m sure.” Tammi cut him off, then looked around, “No sign of any action here yet, so let’s hear what our Australian correspondent has to report. Dingo, you there?”

A picture of the Australian continent came up on the screen, with an arrow pointing to a spot in the middle.

“Oy mates! And a happy new year from down under! Dingo Jones here in the wild Aussie outback. It’s the first of the year already, but we’ll play as if it weren’t. Right-o, not much life about… Hold on! Here come a couple roos. Let’s see if the blokes will give a comment or two about their plans for the New Year.”

“Hey, you lot made any New Year’s resolu… wait a mo’, just wanted a word…”

“Sorry cobber, they’re hopping off at top speed. Guess I’ll go walkabout and check the action at the billabong. That puts me in mind of a song. ‘Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, under the shade of a coolibah-tree...’ Da da Matilda, hmm hmmm Matilda, who’ll come a-waltzing da dum dum with me… Back to you Tammi! ”

“Er, thanks for that great report Dingo! The minute hand on my watch is getting near to that big twelve, so I expect to see Father Time coming along any second now. Hold up y’all! I think I see… Over there, Clem!” The camera panned on an old man with his pants pulled up to his armpits, hobbling towards Tammi. “This could be him! Father Time come for the meeting and the passing of the torch!”

The man said something in a hoarse voice and she leaned down to hear, “No, I don’t know where no bathrooms are. Get outta here you old geezer!”

“Ahem, sorry folks, false alarm. Let’s drop back in on Times Square for a minute… Willis, how are things shaping up over yonder? Willis…hello?”

The silhouette of a male in the window filled the video screen, and the crowd outside could be heard chanting, “Take it off! Take it off!”

“Oh Lordy! “ Tammi slapped her forehead then shouted, “Willis, I done tole you not to touch the whiskey till after the ball dropped. WILLIS! Put your clothes back on and get outta the window! You’re fired, you durn chowder head, you hear me?”

“Dang blasted idiot,” she muttered, then looked to her right and gave a start. “Oh! Here comes the man of the hour! This better be him, I cain't take much more waiting. Geeze, it must have been one tough year, he looks right beat up.”

A weary-faced frail man, in a belted tunic and barefoot, limped into view. He stepped on his trailing beard and stumbled, but managed to right himself and move on.

Tammi walked over to meet him, “Now Mr. Time, there ain’t no reason to be looking like the hermit of the hills! I know a lady who works down at Vernetta’s Beauty Grotto, and she’d do a right nice job on those toenails. I’m sure she could take care of that ear and nose hair too, and give you a real good-looking style with what’s left on your head. Just ask for Trisha, and if you say Tammi sent ya, she’ll knock a dollar off.”

Tammi turned, pointed and cooed, “Awww, here’s Baby New Year. What a little angel! He’s a crawlin along fast as you please. I sure hope whoever put that diaper on fastened the pin tight. My nephew, Duke, done got stuck with a diaper pin and developed the septic shock and near died. He turned all black and green and stunk to high heavens! His momma, my sister-in-law, ain’t worth two cents when it comes to taking care of her seven little ones. Hits the bottle a bit too often, if you want my opinion. I hope you’re listening LaVerne Lucille Dooley Dupree! Right ashamed, that’s what you should be, you five-hundred pound hussy! Letting my brother Charlie go to work in dirty overalls. So what if he is a pig slopper? They got to have some pride too!”

“Oh shoot, here I got to running off at the mouth and missed the passin over of the flame. Father Time has gone off somewhere and the Baby New Year is crawlin away with the torch in his teensy hand as I speak. Hope he don’t burn himself, though I suppose by now he should have the hang of it.”

Just like that, it’s a whole fresh year, kinda makes you think… I hope y’all have a happy one! Thanks to Dingo Jones in Australia. Willis Wilson- just you wait till I get my hands ‘round your scrawny turkey neck! Chunk-headed moron, ain’t even got the brains God gave a tree stump! This is Tammi Dupree from WKTY, signing off.”

Clem made a “cut” motion and Tammi grimaced, “Now I got to find my way home from here. This is the last time I pull this gig, I’ll have you know! The traffics going to be monstrous bad at this hour. I’m telling Joe I ain’t coming in to work tomorrow, so he can cover the Toad Hollow New Year’s Day parade and fish fry on his own, unless he wants to bail out that worthless cousin of mine.”

The Case of the Stolen Sock Caper

I was seated behind my desk when the classiest dame I'd ever seen strolled in. She had legs up to here and arms out to there and a righteous set of lips, which she pointed in my direction. "Are you-"

"That's right."

"Well then, you know what I'm here for."

"Chair's right there, " I gestured at it with my chin, since I'd shut my fingers in a desk drawer.

She oozed into it and I heard the shk-shk of corduroy as she crossed her legs. She had that brownish-red color of hair and that tannish color of skin, and those mirrored kind of sunglasses that reflected my blue eyes so well. A real cool customer.

"My name is Jessamy Lythgow. I desperately need your help, Mr. Stoner-"

"Shucks, no formality here. I'm just a regular Joe."

"Okay, Regular, I desperately need your help."

We'd covered that already, but I didn't want to embarrass her by mentioning it. "What's the scoop?"

"Someone has stolen a sock, and I simply must get it back."

I decided to impress her with a little impression. "Sho, you shaid you lost a shock, shweetheart?"

"No, I've lost a sock."

I narrowed my eyes and sneered, "I shaid, a shock."

Oh god! I'm sorry- I didn't realize you had a speech impediment!"

I coughed, cleared my throat and loosened my tie for good measure- almost throwing my elbow out of joint as the clip-on came away with a violent yank. "That was Humphrey Bogart."

"Oh... right. Can we get back to business now?"

There was some business I'd like to get to with her, but suggesting it would most likely earn me a smack and lose me a client. My wallet was so empty it echoed, so I set my libido to a low simmer.

"So," I said, slapping my hands on the desk, "YAAAAH."

She looked startled, then concerned as I pried three thumbtacks out of my palm and hurled them across the room. "Ooh, I bet that smarts."

"Heh heh. Not to worry." I whipped out the first aid kit and expertly cleaned the wounds, dressed them with a mile of gauze and gave myself a tetanus shot.

"Now, about this missing sock." I opened a notebook and attempted to wrap my wrapped fingers around a magic marker. Only the tips were sticking out of the wads of gauze, so it was a difficult task. But I'd faced worse.

"Do you need help?"

"Yeah, thanks," I tossed them at her. The magic marker left a purple streak on the shoulder of her $80 blouse. My eagle eye hadn't failed to notice the price tag still attached to it. "Could you take notes while we talk?"

"No problem, I used to be a secretary before..."

"Before what?" I said, sensing a secret.

"Well, before I married the boss, divorced him, married the president of the company, then left him for his wife. When she mysteriously disappeared, I took up with the janitor, who was the only ticket holder for the $3.9 million Powerball lottery last month. We flew to Cancun and..."

I went to slap a fly off my forehead and forgot I'd been fiddling with a hammer. When I regained consciousness, she was still going on with her tale of woe.

"...So then I lost the shirt off my back, which was no big deal since I was in a topless bar. I made $400 in tips that night, and when I came home I found out the sock was gone."

"Could you describe this so-called sock?" I said succinctly.

"Well it's gray argyle-"

"Do you need some water?"

"What?"

"I thought you were choking."

"No."

"Sorry. Continue." I waved my hand in an impatient gesture and knocked a pencil holder off the desk.

"It was gray argyle-"

"Do you have a cold? You sound phlegmy."

"No."

"Sorry, go on." I smoothed my mustache, and it fell off. So much for Elmer's glue.

"With dark green and burgundy diamonds, and yellow lines- you know the kind."

"Hmmm, they sound kind of loud. Now these are socks," I said, pulling up a pants leg to show off my new purple knee-his with little bumblebees flying all over them.

Jessamy wasn't impressed. "Not loud at all, they're most fashionable."

"Whatever you say. Are you getting all this down?"

"Every word." Jessamy held up the notebook.

What's the big whoop about this sock? I mean, a sock is a sock is a sock is a sock- am I right?"

"This particular sock had some irreplaceable things in it, and I must have it back." Jessamy wrung her hands, cracking the knuckles in a most feminine way.

"What? Microfilm, a blackmail tape? Porno photos?"

"A pair of 10-carat diamond earrings and the Snowsbury emerald."

"Bless you!" I reached for the Kleenex box.

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't you sneeze?"

"No."

"Sorry. Continue." I waved my bandaged hand in an impatient gesture and punched a hole in my computer monitor.

"The emerald is famous, and worth over $2million. And it's all I have, aside from the penthouse condo, Porsche, BMW, twenty full-length fur coats, the designer wardrobe..."

"I get the picture, you're hard up. Short on funds, strapped for cash, low on dough."

"Exactly," Jessamy purred, "so, can you help me?"

I eyed her casually, she watched me expectantly. I smiled charmingly and gulped a manly swig of coffee. "Aauugghhh hot, hot! I hink I caulded my mouff."

I whipped out the ice bucket from the mini bar and stuffed my mouth with cubes, then we negotiated an agreement, charade style.

"You want money," she guessed when I rubbed my fingertips together, "five oh oh... $500 as a retainer!"

The way she giggled at her cleverness was adorable, and the way she jiggled wasn't so bad either. The ice in my mouth steamed at my seamy thoughts.

I agreed to check out Jessamy's condo later that afternoon. She gave me back the notebook and swished out of the office, knocking over a file cabinet by the door. I gazed at what she'd written for a long time, blinking hard. With relief, I realized it was shorthand, not a relapse of that mysterious eye disease I'd picked up in the Congo last winter.

I showed up on her doorstep promptly at 2:37, and the doorman directed me to the service entrance. Something about scaring residents in the lobby.

I checked out my reflection in the mirrored elevator on the way up to the ninety-eighth floor. The generic hair dye I'd slapped on to disguise my blonde locks dripped down my face in thin black streaks. The prosthetic hump had shifted to the middle of my back. I'd considered wearing my fake buck teeth, but the crooked yellow ones were uglier. One day I'd make it to the dentist.

A hairy mop with teeth some woman claimed to be a dog took a strip out of one pant leg when I left the office, and I slipped on the pile of doo it had just finished depositing. I collided with a garbage can, knocking it over, and did a belly flop into the foul smelling contents strewn across the sidewalk.

I tripped getting off the elevator and stumbled across the tiny tiled alcove, slamming into Jessamy's door. A butler opened it and refused to take my card, even though I'd wiped all the green goop off. He left me standing in the alcove while he gagged and buttled his way to the inner sanctums.

He escorted me to a bathroom, where I had to strip and stand in the shower. After being pelted with hot water and soap for half an hour, I was allowed to see Jessamy.

She looked wonderful in a red robe kind of thing, propped up on pillows and luxuriating on one of those chase lounges. She almost rolled off it when she got a gander of me. The butler had taken my clothes for a visit to the incinerator, and I was forced to borrow a shortie robe of hers. I had to admit I liked the way the silk felt against my naked, flower-scented body.

"So, show me the sote where you last saw the sick. I mean the site of the sock."

Jessamy led me into her posh bedroom and pointed to a tall bureau, "I kept it in the bottom drawer, hidden beneath my risqué underthings."

I bent over to check out the drawer and heard her gasp.

"Sorry," I straightened up, "The butler took my boxers too."

"It's just that you have the hairiest... well, you know, that I've ever seen."

"Uh-huh." I couldn't help wondering how many asses she'd assessed in her career as a hottie. The drawer didn't offer much in the way of clues, but she had some lingerie that I'd only seen in the Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue I kept next to my toilet.

I started to sit on the edge of her bed, so we could have a little Q & A session.

"Wait! Don't sit yet!" She ran out of the room and came back with a red biological hazard bag, which she spread out on the spread. "Okay, go ahead."

"Do you live here alone?"

"Yes." She was playing it close to the vest.

"Who has access to your bedroom?"

"Only Jacobs."

"That's the guy who stole my clothes?"

"Well, I wouldn't say stole exactly, but yes."

I snapped my fingers and stood up.

"That settles it then," I said, peeling the plastic bag off my rear, "the butler did it."

"Not Jacobs, I'd trust him with my life."

I tried to raise one eyebrow, but both of them went up. That looked goofy, so I lowered them again. "Yes, but what about your jewels?"

She stewed over the idea for a split second, "No, it wasn't him. He'd been on vacation that whole week- cruising the Caribbean."

"You mean the cara-be-in?" She was a doll, but the way she pronounced things made me nauseous.

"Didn't I say that?"

Jessamy was so gorgeously confused, I didn't expand the explanation. Instead, I wandered around the penthouse, poking in cupboards, closets and cabinets. Nothing helpful turned up, just lots of expensive cutlery, china and crystal.

I was standing in the kitchen, lost in thought, when suddenly a thought occurred to me. Excited, I spun around and knocked Jessamy flat on her derriere.

"Sorry, didn't realize you were sticking so close behind me." I helped her up. "Who does your laundry?"

"Jacobs. There's a laundry room in the sub-basement."

My skin crawled at her words. I could feel hives and boils breaking out on my neck, and one eye puffed up like a blowfish. I wiped my runny nose on the sleeve of her robe- I didn't want to muck up the one I was wearing- and told her to lead the way.

I developed a mortal fear of basements last fall, when Grandma said Satan had moved into hers, and kept me prisoner in it for three days. It took that long for me to deduce the door was unlocked and make my escape. Grandma was gone by then, they'd carted her off to the asylum. I still miss the old coot, she had a great sense of humor.

The sub-basement wall I leaned against dripped with moisture, I was sweating like a hog.

"Sh-sh-show me the w-w-washers and d-d-dryers," I stuttered and twitched. I was standing on the exposed wires of a frayed extension cord.

Jessamy yanked the plug and headed down a long, dark hall. I followed, doing a little involuntary skip now and then.

The laundry room was brightly lit, but something was amiss. I scanned the place with my good eye and made a mental list of details like they taught in correspondence PI school. Finally I deduced that the place was empty, thus the eerie silence.

There was a bank of six washers against the wall to my right, an island table for sorting and folding in the center of the room, and six dryers along the wall to my right, er, I mean left.

A sinister soda machine sulked silently against the far wall, and there was a row of mismatched chairs next to it. A stack of girlie mags was piled in an overstuffed armchair. I leafed through them, same old stuff- Woman's Day, Cosmo, Redbook, Family Circle. You see it all in the PI business.

Something beneath the island sparkled and caught my eye. I dived to grab it and slid under the entire length of the table. When the doorframe collided with my head, little birdies tweeted and angels strummed on harps.

Jessamy's voice cut through the ruckus, "Are you alright?"

She slapped my cheeks harder than necessary until I opened my eye. Sensing I was still groggy, she punched me in the jaw, then asked what I'd found.

In all the excitement I'd forgotten about the sparkly thing. I opened my hand to reveal a shard of glass embedded in it. Of all the times to leave my first aid kit at the office!

"It's a piece of glass," she said, stating the obvious.

"Yes," I agreed.

"So, is it important? Like a clue or something?"

"No, well... uh, yes. Yes- it's a clue. A most important clue." I wiped off my bloody hand with a dryer sheet I'd fished out of the trash. "Only a craven scoundrel would leave dangerous glass laying around, right? I have a feeling we're getting closer and closer to finding- shit!"

I'd stubbed my toe on the trashcan. I grabbed the injured digit and proceeded to hop around. Unfortunately in my mind-numbing pain I'd dropped the clue, which I hopped onto and buried deep into my heel.

"Piss! Piss!" I was bouncing from foot to foot, not knowing which to favor, and I crashed into the trashcan, toppling myself and it. This was getting redundant.

Jessamy swooped down, plucking up an object among the many covering my body and gave a cry of delight, "You found it, my argyle sock!"

"Bless you," I said, letting go of a few rip-roaring sneezes myself. I was buried under a ton and a half of lint.

"I've got to go now. Thanks so much- send me a bill." She danced out of the laundry room and out of my life.

I was left to find my weary way home via the police station. It wasn't my fault a truck drove by, with the ensuing gust of wind blowing up the shortie robe at the same time a bunch of kids on a field trip happened to be walking along. I'll pad Jessamy's bill to cover bail, court costs and lawyer fees.

And so another case was successfully solved by yours truly. I tossed the folder containing Jessamy's cryptic notes on top of the fallen filing cabinet and seated myself behind the desk, waiting with bated breath for the next client to walk through the door.

This story was written for an LSS Writing Forum when the assignment required closing one's eyes (in Sue's case, not necessary) and pointing to an entry in the dictionary, then writing a children's story about that word - Sue chose Trudge.

Trudge Village

Captain Plop was a flop. Almost everyone who lived in Trudge thought so. Not that Trudge Village was a big deal either, being a speck of a place squeezed between the booming metropolises of Toad Suck Hollow and Slubburb.

Mayor Florence loved her tiny town, but that didn't stop her from constantly thinking of ways to improve it. One night, after a terrible dream where a giant pepperoni and mushroom pizza with no legs chased her all over the countryside, she sat up in bed and yelled, "Eureka! I know what's missing, and have a brilliant idea!"

The noise scared the mayor's Schnauzer, Tikki, who had been snoring away, head on a pillow and little body under the covers. He gave a "yip" and scrambled under the bed, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.

As soon as the post office was open, Mayor Florence mailed a want ad to the Trudge Argus, and this is what it said...

"Trudge wants YOU!!

Needed: First-class superhero to hang around and do whatever superheroes do.

No pay, but we'll shower you with appreciation!!"

Well, times being what they were and all, even superheroes had to make money for their efforts. Needless to say, Mayor Florence's ad didn't attract a single first, second, or even third-class hero. In fact, only one person applied for the position, so the citizens had to make do with what they could get.

When Captain Plop tripped over his size thirteen feet and crashed through the bakery window, or bumped his long nose against a lamppost, or got his head stuck in a mailbox, they shrugged their shoulders and sighed.

"He's no Superman," Joe the baker said, as he swept up bits of glass.

This was true. Captain Plop had the shape of an overstuffed potato, with noodle arms and legs. He wore a hot pink T-shirt with a giant "P" on the front, plaid Bermuda shorts and sandals with black socks. He had swimming goggles and an orange cape with turquoise polka dots, for performing heroic feats.

"I think he's wonderful!" Marlie put her hands on her hips and stamped one sneakered foot, "He saved Poochy's life, didn't he?"

"Yes," Joe the baker had to admit, being fair, and not wanting a twelve-year-old to throw a temper tantrum. He reached in through the broken window and handed Marlie an eclair. "But he did it by accident."

"Thanks!" Marlie said in an absentminded way, and shoved the pastry into a pocket of the overalls she wore year round. She eyed Joe the baker, to see if he was teasing, but he looked pretty serious. She tugged on one long brown braid, something she only did when thinking very hard, and remembered the rescue.

Captain Plop rode his bike five times around the Town Square every fourth day to keep in shape. On the day of the rescue, he happened to wobble and fall off right next to the spot where Marlie sat, chewing on the end of one braid, which she only did when very upset.

Plop got up and rubbed a grass stain from one knee. After he turned his cape right way round he said, "Hey little dudette, why the frowny face?"

"Poochy's afraid of heights." Marlie pointed straight up.

Captain Plop stepped back and craned his neck. Sure enough, a gray speck clung to the tiptop of the pine tree. Poochy had only planned to climb a couple of branches, but it was so much fun that he kept going. So, as silly cats often do, he got stuck.

"Easy breezy! I'll fly on up and rescue the puss in peril." Captain Plop snapped the goggles into place, adjusted his cape and leapt into the air.

"Oh!" said Marlie.

"Oompf!" said Captain Plop.

"WHAP SPROING!" said the tree as it whipped back and forth.

Captain Plop had only managed to rise ten inches into the air, but mini jet boosters hidden in his sandals sent him crashing into the tree at top speed. He thudded to the ground, and was wishing he'd worn a padded helmet when Poochy made a perfect bull's-eye landing in the center of his soft stomach.

"Thanks so much!" Marlie scooped up her cat and kissed it, "Naughty Poochy, bad kitten! Scaring mommy like that."

"No problem... glad... could help," Captain Plop wheezed as Marlie skipped away. He slumped back on the grass and decided to rest from his heroic efforts for awhile.

Ever since then, Marlie took up for Captain Plop whenever she could. Anybody who'd rescue Poochy was number one in her book.

"Um, gotta go!" Marlie crinkled her nose at something behind Joe the baker, then ran the other way.

Joe the baker leaned on his broom and groaned. Mrs. Parker, the nosiest woman in Trudge, was halfway across Bleaker Street and was clumping in his direction. She was not only nosey, but cranky, with a witchy face and wild gray hair poking out every which way from under a porkpie hat. Today she intended to find out the price of a new bakery window.

Mrs. Parker paused on the corner, her mouth dropped open and her eyes bulged. Then she sped down the sidewalk as fast as her stumpy legs would take her.

"What's here," she croaked.

"What?" Joe the baker had never seen Mrs. Parker in such a state.

She jumped up and down, "Yes! Do something!"

Joe the baker scratched his head, "About what?"

"Right, about What!" Mrs. Parker glared at him, "Don't make me say it again!"

Joe the baker almost asked Mrs. Parker if she needed to take a nap in the back of the bakery, which surely would have earned him a swat with her enormous black pocketbook, then he caught a glimpse of What standing on the corner. His own eyes bulged as he hollered, "WHAT'S here! Run for cover!"

What was big, blue and burly. It had muscley stovepipe arms and legs. What's head was too little for it's body, so it had the shape of a cantaloupe sitting on top of a washing machine. And the brain inside of that head was the size of a kidney bean. What was a bully, too.

"I'll eat you for breakfast, I will," What snarled at little kids, then laughed when they started to cry.

"Boo! Scram, vamoose!" What yelled at dogs or cats or chickens or cows.

"You cruisin' for a bruisin'?" What asked grown-ups in a growly voice that made their knees knock.

Since it was a warm day, the small park in the center of the Town Square was filled with dads and moms and kids, and other various folks. Kites flew and swings swung, and everyone basked in the spring sun.

The Slog & Waddle Cafe, which was directly opposite the bakery, overflowed with hungry customers. Every single person heard Joe the baker and major confusion broke out.

"What?" Some people asked.

"WHAT!" Others yelled, pointing to the monster.

By the time What lumbered into the square, it was empty. Even the bugs were hiding, since What liked to squish them for no reason.

What scratched its back on the statue of General Dorf in the center of the park and wondered where everyone had gone. A minute ago there had been lots of people around to pick on, but now there wasn't even an ant to mush.

Joe the baker worked up enough courage to open the bakery door and yell, "Scoot! Skedaddle! Go to Toad Suck Hollow, you big baboon!"

What spun around and licked its lips. Joe the baker gulped, and started thinking he might not have done the smartest thing, since the window Captain Plop had broken was still broken.

What stomped to the bakery, and its stomach growled. Even monsters can't resist doughnuts and cupcakes. He reached through the glassless window and started munching. Joe the baker ran into the back room with the ovens. He put on a giant mixing bowl helmet and grabbed a long wooden spoon, then peeked around the door. What saw the peek and narrowed its eyes.

"Hey! You crubid fo a bruibid?" What's mouth was full, and crumbs shot all over the place.

Joe the baker unpeeked and crawled under a table, where he sat wondering what to do.

Mayor Florence had offered Captain Plop a small, but cozy apartment over the bakery for a very low rent, since Trudge's budget didn't stretch enough to pay him. There was nothing breakable in it, he'd managed to break everything breakable long ago.

Captain Plop dozed on the couch, enjoying the spring breezes that came in through the open windows. The shouts of townspeople as they ran for cover woke him up, and he lay there for a few minutes, trying to figure out if he'd been dreaming. When the world outside his windows grew silent, his superpowers of deduction warned him something was afoot. Donning his swim goggles and cape, he prepared to check it out.

On his dash to the window, Captain Plop tripped over some super-gear left lying carelessly about. Before he knew A from B, he sailed over the ledge and into space.

"Yiiiikes!" said Plop.

"Yurg," said What, as Captain Plop landed on top of it, squashing it like a big, blue, monster-sized bug.

All the townspeople had been peering out of windows and doors, and now they ran to Captain Plop, cheering and whooping with glee. Joe the baker helped Plop stand up, and wiped What-goo off him with a rag.

"You're a super duper hero!" Mayor Florence shook his little finger, the only part not covered with ick, then held up her hands until the crowd grew quiet. She announced, "Today will be officially known from here on out as 'Plop Day' in Trudge Village!"

The townspeople sang "Happy Birthday to you," then called for a speech.

Captain Plop blushed, cleared his throat and said, "Gee, thanks!"

All the people hoo-rahed and clapped, and then a celebration like no other in Trudge Village's history began. Joe the baker gave away free chocolate chip cookies, and everyone danced and played in the square until eleven o'clock that night. Even the bugs were happy.