by Peter Ponzo
When I found the green slime on the vase from Cairo, I was concerned that, somehow, that vase was involved, but the final act was so frightening, so dreadful that I was moved to write this letter of explanation.
One afternoon, just as I was about to close up shop, my husband came by. We weren't living together, not since last November when I kicked him out of my house. He said he was fired, couldn't pay the rent for his apartment and needed a place to stay for just a few nights. Now Scott usually went from one job to another. He was unreliable and an alcoholic so I wasn't surprised when he asked to sleep on the cot in the shop.
We argued and I guess I raised my voice. Scott apologized for his behaviour and said he wanted to get back together. I said that was impossible and that he should go sleep with that bimbo next door. Scott was almost in tears and I felt sorry for him ... so I let him stay. It wasn't until the next morning that I realized that it was a full-moon night. When I arrived in the morning Scott was dead. According to the medical report he had been strangled. Although I was questioned and initially suspected of being involved, the broken window in back of the store and the overturned coat rack and broken cups indicated that a burglar had been caught by poor Scott and Scott paid the price. In fact, his neck had been squeezed to such an extent that blood oozed from the injury.
But when I saw the slime, I knew it wasn't a burglar. After the police left and Scott's body was removed, I inspected the vase. On the mouth of the vase was green slime ... and blood. When I turned the vase upside down that seed fell out, but it was no longer a simple brown sphere. It was now quite green with small slimy tentacles. Could the tentacles have been responsible for all the outrageous events? Could they have broken the door in the back, overturned the coat rack, enlarged to such an extent that they ... no, it seems impossible. Nevertheless, that is the reason for this long story.
Mt. Hamadi, I hope you will understand the reason for my returning the vase. Please do not sell it to anyone.
Sincerely,
Barbara Sheldon.
I was on my way to see my granny. I brought cake and coke. My granny loves cake and coke. When I got there I saw the wolf in granny's bed. I knew what I had to say.
"What big teeth you have," I said. I was ready for the response.
"The better to eat ..." the wolf began.
But I pulled out my 38 calibre Smith and Wesson and shot the devil.
Then I realized that granny was dressed as a wolf!
Granny has such a sense of humour.
I ate the cake and drank the coke by myself.
Chapter One
The notes were kind of cute, even if they were sometimes bizarre. For example, the very first note, left on my car windshield said:
It's a lovely day for a walk.
It's a lovely day for a talk.
Smell the flowers, feel the breeze,
Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
My husband, Tom, thought it was a neighbour playing tricks or a school kid with nothing better to do. I actually hoped it was a secret admirer. After a while the notes became even stranger, especially when they appeared in my purse or on my desk at work where I am assistant to the Head of Sales. Who could get into my purse? How could it get on my desk?
A rather mysterious note came four days ago. It was attached to the spokes of my bicycle. It said:
While out for a ride,
Be sure you can hide.
The boogie man is coming.
He looks for a bride.
The boogie man? Was that a secret admirer? I told Tom I was afraid and he laughed. Imagine that? He laughed! Was I supposed to be the bride of the boogie man? Tom said that, if I were really frightened, I should tell the police. I did just that, bringing all the notes with me. I could tell that the cop at the front desk was amused. He couldn't hide the smirk on his stupid face. He made a copy of the notes and said to bring in any others that showed up. As I left, I could hear him reciting some of the notes to the others. Soon they were all snickering. Animals!
Two days ago I had lunch with Gilda, a gal from Brazil who joined the firm a year ago. We usually have lunch together on Wednesdays. When I told her about the notes, she thought they were charming and funny and she said she'd love to get mysterious notes.
"But 'bride of boogie man'?" I said. "Doesn't that sound just too grotesque?"
Gilda put her salad fork down, stared me right in the eyes and said, "Muito bonita. Tell him I'll be his bride." Then she started laughing.
It was clear that all the notes seemed innocuous to everyone except me. I was determined to find out who was sending them, but how? I would have to be everywhere at once, checking my bicycle, my purse, my office desk, my windshield. Then a new note came, just yesterday. It said:
Take a stroll along Moore's Trench.
Stop by the fountain, sit on the bench.
Light a match and give us a smile.
You'll see your future, nasty wench.
Nasty wench? Was that me? Whatever had I done to deserve such a reputation? I've been a loving wife to Tom, a good companion to my friends, a reliable assistant at work. It wasn't clear exactly when I was to take this walk by Moore's Trench. It was a popular walk, this route along the Trench. In fact, it was known as Walk the Trench. The Trench was a narrow canal that was meant to carry flood water to the lake and it was usually dry as a bone, except in the Spring. In any case, I was reluctant to Walk the Trench. Would this boogie man be there? What was this 'future' I was to see?
When I told Tom he said I should just ignore the note. Don't Walk the Trench. If I really wanted to 'see my future', he'd come with me to the Trench. Or, if I preferred, I could ask for a police escort. After the reception I got at the police station I wasn't about to go to the police again. I decided to ignore the note altogether.
Today, shortly after noon, I found a note on my windshield:
You are very bad.
You did not come.
You make me sad.
You make me numb.
I'll have you yet.
You're not so dumb.
It was a different kind of note, a different kind of rhyme. What did it mean: 'I'll have you yet'? I told Tom and he insisted we both go to the police. Tom did all the talking, saying that I was frightened, this nut who was sending the notes was off his rocker and that if anything happened to me Tom would blame the police. The police agreed to have a patrol car drive by our house from time to time, but there was little else they could do. Tom seemed satisfied with that, but I certainly wasn't. I got notes on my desk, at work. How could a police cruiser cover that?
The next day I get a note on my desk:
You saw the police, you silly gal.
I will no longer be your pal.
You must do as I say to redeem yourself.
Take another walk along the canal.
Another Walk the Trench? When? I collapsed into my chair and began to shake. Gilda saw me with my head bowed and came by to enquire. I said I got another note and it was on my desk. She said she hadn't seen anybody near my desk, but there was so much morning traffic that she could have missed it. Together we asked others in the office, but no one saw the note being left. How was that possible? Whoever left the note must have been someone familiar to everyone in the office. In fact, when a note was left in my purse, that could also have been done at the office since I often leave my purse unattended. I sat alone and looked about at all the girls. I couldn't imagine any of them being the 'boogie man'.
Gilda and I had lunch together and we went over everybody at the office who could be involved ... and came up empty. Gilda asked me a million questions about the notes, if I had any other clues, if I suspected anyone of Tom's friends. Of course, I had nothing. Gilda was a sweet gal. She was so concerned with my welfare and was so sympathetic about my concerns. She wanted me to tell her everything I knew, whatever was on my mind and when any new notes arrived. I promised to keep her informed.
That eve
ning I showed Tom the most recent note. He was livid. He got up from the dinner table and paced about the room, shouting and swearing. I've never seen him to upset. Even our dog, Cody, was upset and began to bark, following Tom about the room. Tom didn't really like that dog. It was a present from my father, soon after I got married, an adorable Yorkie pup. It took to me immediately but Cody never really liked Tom and Tom never liked the dog. Now, with Cody barking, Tom began cursing the dog.
Perhaps I should have been perturbed, hearing Tom condemning the dog, but I was so comforted by Tom's concern for my welfare. Tom has been a perfect husband, loving and understanding, always there to comfort me, to cheer me up. He always asked if there was anything I'd like him to do, around the house or in the garden. He often kissed me on the back of my neck while I was preparing dinner, his arms about my waist. He often whispered in my ear, sweet little verses. I still remember his very first verse, the night of our honeymoon. It was so sweet:
Oh my sweet, you are my life.
I take you now, as my wife.
Our perfect journey begins today.
No discord, no quarrels and no strife.
Indeed, that has been the story of our marriage from day one. I should have been a happy woman ... and I was, until the notes began. After dinner the doorbell rang. Tom answered. It was a policeman, asking if everything was okay. He had been patrolling the area. Tom was pleased, but I was still apprehensive. How could a patrol car follow me everywhere I went?
Chapter Two
I ignored the last note about another walk along the Trench. For several weeks there were no notes. Perhaps it had been a joke, a prank by a neighbour or an office worker. I mentioned my delight to Tom and he suggested we have a party for the people my office. It was a curious suggestion, but I was happy to oblige. Usually our house parties were for Tom's friends, but Tom has always been very considerate and I could tell he was attempting to cheer me up after all the frightening notes. We decided that it should be a barbecue party since the weather had been beautiful and we had a large yard. Besides, Tom had bought a brand new stainless steel BBQ with two side burners and a warming oven and I think he wanted to show off. How I loved that man!
I invited everyone at the office. There are only twelve of us, including my boss, Charlie, and they all accepted the offer. On the afternoon of the party the street was full of cars, the sun came out in force, the tub with ice and cold beer was well attended and the mixed drinks bar was crowded. I should admit that we actually hired a neighborhood kid to attend to the mixed drinks bar. He had often bragged that he knew every kind of alcoholic beverage, Mai Tai being his specialty, and indeed he never had a problem. Our guests would ask him about some exotic drink and he would recite the ingredients and, if he had them, would mix the drink. He was a big hit and I couldn't have been more pleased with the afternoon.
Tom, too, was enjoying himself. Although he didn't really know anyone in the office except Charlie, he seemed to always be in animated conversation with the girls, especially Gilda. Gilda was my black-haired Latin beauty from Brazil and I knew that Tom would find her amusing and entertaining. Even her Portuguese dialect was bewitching. When we lunched together on Wednesday's she often told me of her romantic affairs in Brazil. I enjoyed her company ... and it seemed that Tom did as well.
The party was a great success. Even our dog Cody was fairly quiet, although he did bark whenever someone was laughing. I think Cody just wanted to laugh, too, but Tom wasn't amused.
The very next morning, I found Cody in the garden. He was dead. I cried all day. Even though Tom didn't like the dog, he was clearly concerned. I felt that Tom's concern was more for me than for the dog. He promised to buy me another Yorkie that afternoon. I asked him not to. I needed some time to recuperate from the incident. I was sure it was the boogie man ... returned.
After a time I decided that I was the only one who could solve this mystery, this frightening puzzle, no one else. Since the notes were left for me to find, I would try to contact this 'boogie man' by leaving a note for him. I spent an hour composing an appropriate message and decided upon:
I know who you are.
It is not very far.
Meet me tonight,
At Danny's Bar.
I left the note on my windshield all day. I didn't want Tom along, else my 'boogie man' might not show up, so I told him that I was going out with some girls for most of the evening and he didn't object. He said I should have a good time, enjoy myself. I left for Danny's Bar right after dinner. The Bar is a favourite hangout for the local crowd. Danny himself is a fat fellow with a belly that shakes when he laughs–and he laughs all the time. In fact, I think it's his laughter that makes the place so popular. He flits about, stopping at every table, chatting, telling jokes, laughing. I rarely visit Danny's so he didn't know me, yet he came by to say my presence lit up the room. He's a sweet fellow, fat and cuddly.
I waited for perhaps a half hour. No one came, no 'boogie man', so I left. Actually, I was a little frightened at the prospect of meeting my boogie man so I didn't really give him much time to meet me. Besides, how could I be sure the boogie man even saw my note?
When I got home there was a strange car in the driveway. I didn't recognize the car, one of those old beetles, but shiny red. We have a very small driveway, so I parked up the street and walked back. When I got to the front door I could hear voices inside. It sounded like a woman's voice, in the hallway, as though someone had just arrived. I was curious. I thought I recognized the voice. I went around to the side and peered into the small window that looked in on the entryway. I could see Tom smiling and talking. I couldn't see who he was talking to, so I went to the back of the house where there's a large glass sliding door onto the living room. I'm not sure why I didn't just open the front door and walk in, but I was curious. Tom hadn't mentioned anything about having someone over that evening.
Tom came into the living room and pointed to a couch. I couldn't see the woman; her back was to the glass door. Tom sat beside her, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Who the hell was that woman? I ran to the front door and let myself in, quietly. I stood in the hall, by the living room. I could hear them talking:
Tom spoke: "... and she suspects nothing. She is a stupid woman."
The woman spoke: "I know she is very frightened." The voice was familiar.
Tom spoke: "Yes, she is frightened, especially when you leave notes on her desk." Tom was laughing.
The woman spoke: "Muito bonita, it is so funny to watch her."
Gilda! The woman was my Brazilian friend Gilda! She was in on this! I should have guessed. And the verses in the notes, that was just like Tom. And someone at the office who could easily place a note on my desk. But what were they planning?
Gilda spoke: "When will you do it? When will we be free, you and I?"
Tom spoke: "I'm waiting for the Spring floods. The Trench will be filled with a torrent of water. That will be my signal."
"Maravilhoso, fantástico. I can hardly wait. It's been so long, this boogie man thing. Please hurry."
Then there was silence. Then I heard heavy breathing, Gilda was panting. Damn them! I left the house and walked up the street to my car and sat for almost an hour, thinking. I could see the red Volkswagen back out of my driveway and head up the street. I now knew what I must do.
The Spring floods were early this year, but heavy. I waited for the next note to arrive. I knew what it would say. It came the day after the newspaper had photos of the trench filled with raging water. The note was on my windshield:
Take a stroll along Moore's Trench.
Stop by the fountain, silly wench.
We will talk, you and I.
Your thirst for answers I will quench.
I showed it to Tom and, as I expected, he insisted on joining me. I said I didn't know when we should Walk the Trench; the note didn't say. Tom said it should be that very evening, just after sunset. The walkway beside the Trench would be empty, just the tw
o of us and the flowers and birds and squirrels. And the boogie man, I thought to myself.
We had a quick dinner of warmed-up pizza and headed for the Trench. It is not far from our house and it was a lovely evening and the walkway was indeed empty. We stopped and gazed down into the canal. The water was a raging torrent. I pointed down and asked Tom if he could see that object floating in the water. He bent over the fence, I removed the hammer from my purse and hit him on the back of the head as hard as I could. He collapsed, half over the fence. I looked about. We were alone. I lifted his legs and he fell on the far side of the fence, sliding down the canal wall to the floodwater. I saw his body swept away and it was a tremendous comfort. I didn't expect to be so happy. I had just murdered my husband, a man I had loved for so many years, yet I was strangely exhilarated. I walked slowly back home.
The next day I phoned the police saying that my husband was missing. They asked me to come to the station, which I did. They recognized me at once and when I mentioned our walk by the Trench, Tom and I, they knew about the earlier notes that mentioned such a walk. I showed them the latest note. I said that Tom went alone to the Trench in hopes of meeting the boogie man. They said I should wait a day or so. There may be a simple explanation for Tom's disappearance.
