St Muckymuck Episode 3: Damage Beyond Repair

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

The following morning, Shug Grant came downstairs in preparation to run to Kibble, the local supermarket.  As he lived on the top floor, not much ever reached him by way of the neighborhood goings on.  He never noticed that the lady who ran the shop two doors down from him lost her license for selling Listerine to underage minors and that the store had been locked up with chains and sported a hideous yellow sign forbidding entry by anyone.  He never noticed that the lady who lived two floors below him always wore black and hid her face when he passed her.  He never noticed that there were mysterious damages being wrecked on the entrance way to his flat.  

That is, until this morning.

 

He came down to the second floor and noticed obscene stick figures drawn in white paint on the walls.  Above each figure was a single letter.  It wasn't until he got to the ground floor that he noticed the letters spelled S H U G  S U X.  This disturbed him greatly as he had had face to face confrontation with Myra Dick two weeks prior at the evening mass on Halloween.

Then when he got to the front door, the full extent of the damage met his eyes.  The glass had been kicked in and was lying in tiny shards all over the entrance way and the sidewalk.  But on the door itself was the unmistakable outline of a cat scrawled into the wood.  It had what looked like a knife sticking out of it with red running down the door all the way to the ground, pooling there like some macabre puddle of blood.

*  *  *

On her lunch break on Fridays, Holly Gordon normally went to the corner SKAR store to buy a sandwich, a paper, and a lottery ticket.  This was because as part of her duties as treasurer of the Mocheomoc Cathedral choir, she took up a collection for the lottery.  Everyone chipped in a pound and picked the numbers.  The sun was shining but it was dreadfully cold.  She bought her items and stuffed the lottery ticket in her purse, almost automatically.

This week, nearly the entire choir had put in.  So Holly was giggling to herself as she ate her chicken and dressing sandwich in the chilly sun in St Bunnicula Square wondering what everyone would do with the winnings split 23 ways.  Especially if it was only £5 or something.  Amazingly, at that moment a £20 note went floating by on the cool breeze and settled itself right next to her.  She looked around, her mouth frozen in mid-chew.  "What is this?"  She picked it up.  No one came by running after the lost bill and she looked around even more.  A man stood talking on the phone in an office building in the distance facing the square but there was not a soul nearby. She pocketed it and finished her lunch.

Later that afternoon, she was frapping away on her computer for the Kilcathclyde Foreigner Centre trying frantically to finish her work.  Her boss, a dumpy, short old man named Ferguson, approached her.  

"And here's your bonus cheque, my dear."  

Holly blinked.  "A bonus cheque?  For me?" she said. "Are you sure you have the right Holly?  Maybe it's for Holly McPherson on the second floor."

"Nope!  It's for you!" he said, walking away rifling through the stack of remaining cheques in his hand.

Holly opened the envelope containing the check...and fell out of her chair.  It was a cheque for £500.

Later that evening, she opened the door to her modest but comfortable flat on St Hamish Street.  Her beautiful white cat, Silk, met her.  Mewing and purring loudly her usual greeting.

"Hello, my sweetie..." she said, picking up the mail strewn on the floor.  The cat cuddled next to her as she began looking through the mail in the entryway.  "What's this?" she said.  A long white envelope caught her attention.  She quickly opened it and scanned down the letter.

Dear Ms. Gordon,

 

Please see the attached cheque in the amount of £2538.76.  This is for the settlement brought against your factor,Fatbottom and Cheatertons, by your flat block.  A further cheque will be issued for damages as soon as the judge has recovered from his bout of St. Haughmaugh's bumboils.  This is expected to be within the next two to six weeks.

You may direct all inquiries to the number printed at the bottom of the page.

Yours Sincerely,

Delilah

  

Delilah Glassworks Solicitors, Ltd.

Holly shuffled through the remaining pages and found the cheque as informed by her solicitor.  Her knees buckled from underneath her and she sank in weak disbelief to the floor.  Silk meowed loudly.

             

*   *   *

The cool sun shone down on St Bunnicula Square where Holly Gordon sat eating her sandwich.  Damon Swashbuggles was busy talking on the phone, gazing out over the square.  "I don't care, Johnny.  You get her on the phone in the next ten minutes or there'll be hell to pay!"  He slammed down the phone.  Why did these things always happen to him?  Didn't the people of Kilcathclyde, of Scotland, of the world realize that he had things to do.

A tall, cool blonde entered the double door office.  "Mr. Leach is here to see you, SB."

Before he could finish, a thin, very effeminate and good looking man walked through the door.  "I'm sorry, SB.  The traffic was terrible.  I could hardly get into Sam n' Ella's for lunch."

"No problem, Stacy.  I know.  The square's been so crowded with all these folks here in town.  You know how it is when we're gearing up for the Scottish Homegrown Intercity Talent Show.  The Centurion Hotel across the square is completely booked."

"Yes, that's right, it's busy here just now," said Stacy.

"We were just trying to get you.  Is everything all settled?  Any questions?"

"Well, just one very quick one."

"Ask away, Stacy Leach.  Anything!"

"Well, as you know my client likes her privacy.  Can this be assured?  She had a dreadful setback several weeks ago.  She's very emotional."

"I'm sure of it, Stacy," said Damon , patting him on the shoulder.  "I'm absolutely sure of it.  We'll get her her own trailer with special access to the stage.  It won't be a problem."

"Shall we drink on it?" asked Stacy.

"Excellent idea!  Let's head over to the Tempestfork and get the local goss while we're there!"  And they exited the office together...the door closing behind them.

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.