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Day breaks over Toddsylvania at dawn, as usual. Some of the town crones had carried on about day not breaking at dawn anymore, because of the evil presence, yadda, yadda, yadda - but between you, me, and the lamppost, that's just bullshit.
The citizens of Toddyslvania skip happily off to their employments in various capacities in the pudding trade. The employees of Gell-oh Pudding Corporation, a conglomerate that had of late moved into Toddsylvania, are puzzle to find the normally double-triple padlocked doors of their factory flung wide open when they arrive. Fearing the worst, they rouse a disgruntled Mayor Todd from his bed to investigate. Just as he arrives, braces all a-flyin' a tremendous bump is heard from within the factory. The crowd reels back in perturbance.
The Mayor begins consulting with his pollsters on what course of action to take, when suddenly, a huge machine of steel, chrome, and plastic lurches from the door to the factory. It is obviously a pudding-making robot run amok! One of it's blending arms spins dangerously out in front of it, while the other has been jammed stuck with a silver platter. Taped to the silver platter, obviously with little forthought, is a human head.
The robot pauses, and cocks its jauntily bemasked head and looks at the crowd. Mayor Todd raises his hand to give the order to for the gendarmes to fire, but with a spritely shower of sparks and a delightful 8-bit sound effect, the robot breaks down, falling to its knees, quite harmless now, really.
The crowd rushes over to the fallen titan, obviously impatient to find whose head had been so roughly treated. The Mayor rips the duct tape off none to gently, which a harder job than you'd imagine on a corpse (or part of one, right). The head appears to have an apple-like object lodged between its teeth. The forensics report will reveal it to be an apple. But an immediate examination reveals that the head belonged to Qalyn.
Naturally, there's a big to-do and a rush to Qalyn's house. An investigation reveals a scrapbook hidden under the bed among the pornography traditionally kept there by loyal Toddsylvanians. On the cover of the scrapbook is written in gilded ink "My First Diary." The word Diary is scratched out, ineptly, and the word "Investigation" is scrawled in Wite-Out over it. The book is filled with the detailed notes one would expect from someone trained by Captain Midnight's Correspondance School of Detectivity and Findin' Stuff Out. One particular entry catches the eye of the populace:
January 14, 2002
If you're reading this Book, then I am dead (or I just felt like sharing my inner most thoughts and feelings with you, possibly because I have a crush on you) and you know, tragically, that I did not lie when I said I was a detective. And what a detective I was! I hope you have all learned a lesson about trust. As a final malediction, I declare that BIO K9 and Whisky Priestess are NOT MAFIA. Please act accordingly, so that my death, and those of Tezcatlipoca, Chairman Maominstoat, and Jupiter Jade (though I kind of suspected him... oh well) will not have been in vain. Now, I hear my mother's sweet voice calling me, and I leave my beloved turnip Samuelo in the care of bio K9. If you eat him, I will curse thy progeny. |
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