Scooter's Journal, under Sam's bed, late
I came home. I don't miss the noise, or the snoring, or having to write entries from way under a bed...but I do know, as long as I am in Lealand...I won't see her. So I came home. Fozzie, at least, was pleased to see me. He threw a bear-hug, pun intended, and asked if I'd do musical guitar accompaniment for his Silent Jokes for the Blind routine.
It's really one of his funnier routines, so I agreed, see, what happens is -
JOURNAL CUT SHORT DUE TO UNFORESEEN EVENT
Sam's Diary, next day
Yesterday, at approximatly 12:13 when any good, decent, half-sane American citizan would be alseep, I was disturbed by something most distressing. I thought I heard some pencil on paper going on in the room, and peeked one eye to be sure that Scooter, he rooms with me, was getting his all American fourty-winks. Instead of Scooter I saw some hooded-creature of darkness. Then everything went black, fading to red, white, and blue and dreams of an America where creatures of darkness are banned. Most distressing, I say. Most. Sam.