Convincing John
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Well, it's just a smidge early for Halloween, but what the hey. This chapter has some additional spookiness to it. Enjoy!
Chapter 15
"Ah yes, yes, this looks like a sufficient place to begin our questioning. Right here, it seems, the citizens of this street are doing some rennovation. An excellent job for decent, hard working Americans." Sam was studying the row of worn, yet colorful doors behind him.
Rizzo sighed. "Dis ain't no rennovatin'. It's supposed to look dis way! Dis is where Big Boid lives!"
Sam looked down his beak at Rizzo.
"Ugh! You disgusting rat! What would you know about this street, let alone this...Big..."
"Big Boid! He lives right over dere. Dese are his doors." explained Rizzo.
"A large bird lives here? What species is he? Another bald eagle, perhaps?"
"No. He's just Big Boid. He's all yellow--"
"Yellow?" interrupted Sam. "A canary, then, or perhaps a goldfinch, but these birds are very small in stature. Perhaps to you they are big, but not to me."
"Oh, he's pretty big all right," replied Rizzo. "he's eight feet tall an'--"
"WHAT?" Sam interrupted again. "There is NO bird in the world, especially in America, which fits such a description! What you are describing is completely imaginary."
As Sam continued to lecture, some low-range brass and bassoon music played from somewhere around the corner. Slowly, shuffling along on shaggy feet, Mr. Snuffle-upagus walked up to them.
"Oh, hello Bird!" Snuffy blinked. "Wait...you're not Bird."
Without missing a beat in his lecture, Sam patted Snuffy's snuffle with one wing as he pointed at Rizzo with the other.
"Simply nothing in zoology looks like that bird you described. When you claim a creature to be real, you must know what you are talking about. As you can see here, this is a fine specimen of the North American Wooly Mammoth! One would think this creature is extinct, but thanks to some of our best scientists in the field of...DNA..." he paused, struggling for the word. "...doohickery...in the country, here a mammoth stands before us! You see? You must have proof that something exists!" He picked up Rizzo by the scruff of the neck and held him up to Snuffy's face. "This is quite clearly real." Sam swung Rizzo up to beak level. "the concept of an eight foot yellow bird is completely imaginary. Huh! I suppose next you're going to tell me this eight foot bird can talk."
Rizzo tried his best not to smile at Sam's ignorance. "Dat boid's so smart, he can sing da whole alphabet as one long woid!"
"Enough of your blather," Sam let Rizzo drop to the pavement. "you will waste no more of my time with your ridiculous stories. I am going to find a resident of this street, a cultured one mind you, that will actually provide some real assistance in our search. If Kermit is looking for me, tell him I will be discussing these and other matters of importance with the distinguished scholar, Professor Hastings. Good day, vermin! Ugh!" Sam turned around. With his beak (and tail feathers) in the air, he stalked off muttering "eight foot yellow bird...in-deed! Completely imaginary! Hmph!"
Rizzo shook his head in disgust as he tried to pick up the drawing. From behind him, a deep, slow, hollow voice asked a question.
"What was that all about? I couldn't understand a word that bird was saying."
Rizzo let out a chuckle and looked up. "Believe me, you ain't the only one, pal. Say, you wanna help me wit' sometin'?"
"Ohhh, sure!" Snuffy nodded.
"I need to find your yellow friend in dere, but I'm it's too hard ta open da door wit' dis picture I'm luggin' around. Can you give it a push for me?"
"No problem. Ho ho ho ho..." Snuffy lifted his snuffle and opened the door to his best friend's home.
"And after we talk wit' your pal, we'll grab sometin' ta eat!"
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a place unlike any other on this street, or even in the city. Just beyond the street and around the corner, the pavement became cracked and uneven. Even the sky, which was sunny and pleasant elsewhere, was now filled with billowing thunderheads and silent sheet lightning. Buildings stopped, replaced abruptly by a prickly, imposing forest. The leafless trees seemed to reach up to the tumbling sky like a hundred skeleton hands. Sidewalks reached dead ends, yielding to wild crabgrass covering a series of lumpy hills. Crabgrass changed to dead, wheat colored grass. The dead grass encircled something no other place in this area should have:
A moat.
The moat was filled with murky, churning water and the ocassional snake--or what seemed to be a snake at first. If one decided to glance a second time, they would see the long, slithering tentacle, then the bulbous head of a golden octopus gliding through the moat.
There was only one road here: the cracked, uneven, cobblestone road. It had been here for hundreds of years, it seemed. The road stopped at the edge of the moat.
If one thought it was strange for a moat to exist in New York City, then the building the moat surrounded was even stranger.
It was a castle. It wasn't a storybook castle with pointed towers and a pretty princess at the top. There was no king or queen, no knights, no brilliantly painted coat-of-arms or even flags.
This castle looked like it had been abandoned for centuries. The decayed stonework around its edges made an imposing silhouette every time the lightning flashed. The castle's charcoal grey bricks seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Some bricks were missing around the towers. One massive stone had fallen into the moat ages ago. It made a "home base" for the undulating octopus.
There were windows. Each one was cracked, smudged or had pieces missing from the absract designs in the faded stained glass. Through one hole in the glass, an eye could be seen from behind a glinting monacle. The eye blinked, then vanished into the darkness.
"Oh Beakie! Isn't it just wonderful?" asked Bunsen as he admired the surroundings. Never have I seen such sudden and rapid decomposition in a concentrated area! We must conduct some experiments here once we finish our task for Mr. Kermit!"
Beaker nervously followed Bunsen as they approached the edge of the moat. As the octopus swam lazily by, Bunsen lifted his glasses momentarily.
"And such exotic examples of fauna here!" he remarked. "One wonders how such an excellent specimen of the Enteroctopus dofleini migrated this far into the city!"
In the distance, somwhere from the edge of the forest, something howled like a very large, hungry, feral dog. Beaker's head swiveled around to see something wolflike lumbering along on two lanky legs. It tossed its head back and howled again at the moon.
Bunsen noticed it, too. "Oh my goodness!" he twiddled his fingers. "it's an excellent specimen of a lycanthrope! Too bad we didn't get to see it transform." he sighed. "They are such fascinating creatures of legend."
From just inside the castle, the scientists heard the sound of two massive chains being pulled. As the chains rattled and clanked around an unseen, groaning wooden wheel, Bunsen stepped to the edge of the moat to get a closer look.
A massive, double-ironed drawbridge lowered slowly. Beaker's jaw fearfully imitated it. With a soft thump, the edge of the drawbridge touched the ground a mere six inches from where Bunsen stood. The drawbridge extended into the castle's main entrance, which was pitch black, save for a single torch inside.
A cloud of bats flew out of the castle door and swooped around the towers as the lightning flashed again. As the thunder rumbled softly, the lightning reflected off the waves in the moat and the curling, glistening tentacles below.
Bunsen walked across the drawbridge, intrigued.
"Come along, Beaker."
Beaker shook his head. "Muh-uh!"
"Oh come on!" scolded Bunsen. "Don't be such a baby!" Bunsen got behind Beaker and pushed him from the back. Another primitive howl from the forest scared Beaker into running across the drawbridge.
"That's the spirit, Beakie!"
As Beaker realized what he was doing, he stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him was the castle's entrance. A figure emerged. It almost seemed to float from the torch's flame shadows. The figure was nearly enveloped in a flowing, dark green cape. Only part of a lavender face could be seen. A set of squinting eyes, one magnified by a monacle, peered at the scientists.
As if on cue, a set of ominous, descending organ notes played as the figure stepped closer and unfurled its cape.
"Greetings!" it said with a pointy-toothed mouth. "I am the Count. Do you know why they call me the Count?"
"That is an excellent question!" answered Bunsen, not a bit afraid. "Why do they call you the Count?"
"They call me the Count because I love to Count things!" the Count answered happily. "And now I have something new to count! I have--" the Count pointed to Beaker, then to Bunsen. "One, two! That's TWO wisitors to my castle! Ah ah ah ah ahhh!" The Count wrung his hands in jubilation.
Thunder pounded overhead as sheet lightning glowed through the clouds. A jagged, wild finger of forked lighting streaked into the distant, dead trees. Beaker's head retracted into his shoulders as Bunsen looked up at the dark, billowing clouds.
"Fascinating!" he remarked. "Your counting has the ability to create thunder and lightning!"
"Vell, it's a natural talent," the Count shrugged modestly. "sometimes my counting makes balloons and confetti fall, too. So vhat can I do for you?"
"Ah, we are so glad you asked! I'm Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, and this is my assistant Beaker. We're here to help Kermit with an important assignment. May we ask you a few questions?"
"Ah, of course!" answered the Count. "You can ask the questions and I, the Count, vill count them! Come into my castle."
As the three of them entered the castle, the Count waved his fingers tenderly to the octopus.
"Hello there, Octavia. Vonderful to see you getting your exercise." From the forest, the werewolf howled again.
"Yes, yes, Euba, ve vill play later."
The interior of the castle was just as ominous as the inside. The two scientists followed the Count into his crumbling, cobweb-infested parlor. Beaker's face paled as he watched the Count pass by a dusty, cracked mirror. He saw his own fearful expression and Bunsen's inquisitive face, but that was it. The Count left no reflection in the mirror.
"I vasn't expecting guests, othervise I vould have put up new cobvebs." the Count explained. "just make yourselves comfortable."
Bunsen took a seat on an ancient, dusty couch. Beaker sat next to him and immediately noticed the only illumination in the room: a candleabra with four globby, dripping candle stubs. The candleabra sat on what looked like a long, bulky coffee table...until Beaker noticed the handles on the sides...which were clearly meant for pallbearers.
The Count himself settled in an ancient, wrought iron chair opposite them with blood red cushions. The back of the chair was sculpted in a design resembling a twisted, dead tree with bats in its branches. Beaker could see the chair in the mirror. Indentations in the upholstery appeared in the reflection...but nothing else was there.
"So, vhat can I, the Count, do for you two wisitors?" A jet black cat hopped into the Count's lap. Fatatita purred as the Count scratched behind her ears.
It was up to Bunsen to explain the situation. As he did, Beaker noticed a tickle on his arm. he looked down and his mouth popped open in shock. A fat, hairy, curious tarantula slowly crawled up his sleeve.
"Ah, that's vhat I love about my pets," the Count smiled. "They are so wery affectionate."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ding dong...chimed the doorbell.
"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Grover. "My cute little doorbell is ringing! I shall go see who it is!"
Grover put down the book he was reading ("How to Avoid Exhaustion While Commuting Near and Far Between Multiple Jobs") and went to answer the door.
"Waak! Waak wak!" a crowd of penguins stood in the doorway, shuffling to get a better look at the furry, blue monster.
"Oh, look! Look at all the cute, little penguins! What can I, Grover, do for you?"
The penguins all wanted to tell him about what was going on, but they only succeeded in squawking and waddling towards Grover all at once.
"Please!" pleaded Grover. "I cannot understand you if you all talk at once! You have to --ulph! My foot!"
The penguins crowded around him. One of them waved the drawing in his face.
"Oh, that is very nice. Did you cute little penguins do this picture?"
The penguins unanimously shook their heads and quacked out a chorus of "no's" and "huh-uhs".
"Well, it is a very cute drawing, even though you did not do it."
"Waak waak?" a penguin asked as it tilted its head inquisitively.
"No, it is not my picture. I did not do it." Grover shook his head. A chorus of sighs responded. Some penguins lowered their beaks in disappointment.
"Oh do not be sad," Grover answered sympathetically. "I have an idea. How would you all like to stay for lunch with me and Mommy?"
The penguins responded with grateful squawks and embraced Grover with their sleek wings.
"Oh, you are welcome, nice birdies! Now I just need Mommy to drive us to Long John Silver's. Now, where is my cute, little checkbook?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More to come.
Convincing John
Chapter 15
"Ah yes, yes, this looks like a sufficient place to begin our questioning. Right here, it seems, the citizens of this street are doing some rennovation. An excellent job for decent, hard working Americans." Sam was studying the row of worn, yet colorful doors behind him.
Rizzo sighed. "Dis ain't no rennovatin'. It's supposed to look dis way! Dis is where Big Boid lives!"
Sam looked down his beak at Rizzo.
"Ugh! You disgusting rat! What would you know about this street, let alone this...Big..."
"Big Boid! He lives right over dere. Dese are his doors." explained Rizzo.
"A large bird lives here? What species is he? Another bald eagle, perhaps?"
"No. He's just Big Boid. He's all yellow--"
"Yellow?" interrupted Sam. "A canary, then, or perhaps a goldfinch, but these birds are very small in stature. Perhaps to you they are big, but not to me."
"Oh, he's pretty big all right," replied Rizzo. "he's eight feet tall an'--"
"WHAT?" Sam interrupted again. "There is NO bird in the world, especially in America, which fits such a description! What you are describing is completely imaginary."
As Sam continued to lecture, some low-range brass and bassoon music played from somewhere around the corner. Slowly, shuffling along on shaggy feet, Mr. Snuffle-upagus walked up to them.
"Oh, hello Bird!" Snuffy blinked. "Wait...you're not Bird."
Without missing a beat in his lecture, Sam patted Snuffy's snuffle with one wing as he pointed at Rizzo with the other.
"Simply nothing in zoology looks like that bird you described. When you claim a creature to be real, you must know what you are talking about. As you can see here, this is a fine specimen of the North American Wooly Mammoth! One would think this creature is extinct, but thanks to some of our best scientists in the field of...DNA..." he paused, struggling for the word. "...doohickery...in the country, here a mammoth stands before us! You see? You must have proof that something exists!" He picked up Rizzo by the scruff of the neck and held him up to Snuffy's face. "This is quite clearly real." Sam swung Rizzo up to beak level. "the concept of an eight foot yellow bird is completely imaginary. Huh! I suppose next you're going to tell me this eight foot bird can talk."
Rizzo tried his best not to smile at Sam's ignorance. "Dat boid's so smart, he can sing da whole alphabet as one long woid!"
"Enough of your blather," Sam let Rizzo drop to the pavement. "you will waste no more of my time with your ridiculous stories. I am going to find a resident of this street, a cultured one mind you, that will actually provide some real assistance in our search. If Kermit is looking for me, tell him I will be discussing these and other matters of importance with the distinguished scholar, Professor Hastings. Good day, vermin! Ugh!" Sam turned around. With his beak (and tail feathers) in the air, he stalked off muttering "eight foot yellow bird...in-deed! Completely imaginary! Hmph!"
Rizzo shook his head in disgust as he tried to pick up the drawing. From behind him, a deep, slow, hollow voice asked a question.
"What was that all about? I couldn't understand a word that bird was saying."
Rizzo let out a chuckle and looked up. "Believe me, you ain't the only one, pal. Say, you wanna help me wit' sometin'?"
"Ohhh, sure!" Snuffy nodded.
"I need to find your yellow friend in dere, but I'm it's too hard ta open da door wit' dis picture I'm luggin' around. Can you give it a push for me?"
"No problem. Ho ho ho ho..." Snuffy lifted his snuffle and opened the door to his best friend's home.
"And after we talk wit' your pal, we'll grab sometin' ta eat!"
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a place unlike any other on this street, or even in the city. Just beyond the street and around the corner, the pavement became cracked and uneven. Even the sky, which was sunny and pleasant elsewhere, was now filled with billowing thunderheads and silent sheet lightning. Buildings stopped, replaced abruptly by a prickly, imposing forest. The leafless trees seemed to reach up to the tumbling sky like a hundred skeleton hands. Sidewalks reached dead ends, yielding to wild crabgrass covering a series of lumpy hills. Crabgrass changed to dead, wheat colored grass. The dead grass encircled something no other place in this area should have:
A moat.
The moat was filled with murky, churning water and the ocassional snake--or what seemed to be a snake at first. If one decided to glance a second time, they would see the long, slithering tentacle, then the bulbous head of a golden octopus gliding through the moat.
There was only one road here: the cracked, uneven, cobblestone road. It had been here for hundreds of years, it seemed. The road stopped at the edge of the moat.
If one thought it was strange for a moat to exist in New York City, then the building the moat surrounded was even stranger.
It was a castle. It wasn't a storybook castle with pointed towers and a pretty princess at the top. There was no king or queen, no knights, no brilliantly painted coat-of-arms or even flags.
This castle looked like it had been abandoned for centuries. The decayed stonework around its edges made an imposing silhouette every time the lightning flashed. The castle's charcoal grey bricks seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Some bricks were missing around the towers. One massive stone had fallen into the moat ages ago. It made a "home base" for the undulating octopus.
There were windows. Each one was cracked, smudged or had pieces missing from the absract designs in the faded stained glass. Through one hole in the glass, an eye could be seen from behind a glinting monacle. The eye blinked, then vanished into the darkness.
"Oh Beakie! Isn't it just wonderful?" asked Bunsen as he admired the surroundings. Never have I seen such sudden and rapid decomposition in a concentrated area! We must conduct some experiments here once we finish our task for Mr. Kermit!"
Beaker nervously followed Bunsen as they approached the edge of the moat. As the octopus swam lazily by, Bunsen lifted his glasses momentarily.
"And such exotic examples of fauna here!" he remarked. "One wonders how such an excellent specimen of the Enteroctopus dofleini migrated this far into the city!"
In the distance, somwhere from the edge of the forest, something howled like a very large, hungry, feral dog. Beaker's head swiveled around to see something wolflike lumbering along on two lanky legs. It tossed its head back and howled again at the moon.
Bunsen noticed it, too. "Oh my goodness!" he twiddled his fingers. "it's an excellent specimen of a lycanthrope! Too bad we didn't get to see it transform." he sighed. "They are such fascinating creatures of legend."
From just inside the castle, the scientists heard the sound of two massive chains being pulled. As the chains rattled and clanked around an unseen, groaning wooden wheel, Bunsen stepped to the edge of the moat to get a closer look.
A massive, double-ironed drawbridge lowered slowly. Beaker's jaw fearfully imitated it. With a soft thump, the edge of the drawbridge touched the ground a mere six inches from where Bunsen stood. The drawbridge extended into the castle's main entrance, which was pitch black, save for a single torch inside.
A cloud of bats flew out of the castle door and swooped around the towers as the lightning flashed again. As the thunder rumbled softly, the lightning reflected off the waves in the moat and the curling, glistening tentacles below.
Bunsen walked across the drawbridge, intrigued.
"Come along, Beaker."
Beaker shook his head. "Muh-uh!"
"Oh come on!" scolded Bunsen. "Don't be such a baby!" Bunsen got behind Beaker and pushed him from the back. Another primitive howl from the forest scared Beaker into running across the drawbridge.
"That's the spirit, Beakie!"
As Beaker realized what he was doing, he stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him was the castle's entrance. A figure emerged. It almost seemed to float from the torch's flame shadows. The figure was nearly enveloped in a flowing, dark green cape. Only part of a lavender face could be seen. A set of squinting eyes, one magnified by a monacle, peered at the scientists.
As if on cue, a set of ominous, descending organ notes played as the figure stepped closer and unfurled its cape.
"Greetings!" it said with a pointy-toothed mouth. "I am the Count. Do you know why they call me the Count?"
"That is an excellent question!" answered Bunsen, not a bit afraid. "Why do they call you the Count?"
"They call me the Count because I love to Count things!" the Count answered happily. "And now I have something new to count! I have--" the Count pointed to Beaker, then to Bunsen. "One, two! That's TWO wisitors to my castle! Ah ah ah ah ahhh!" The Count wrung his hands in jubilation.
Thunder pounded overhead as sheet lightning glowed through the clouds. A jagged, wild finger of forked lighting streaked into the distant, dead trees. Beaker's head retracted into his shoulders as Bunsen looked up at the dark, billowing clouds.
"Fascinating!" he remarked. "Your counting has the ability to create thunder and lightning!"
"Vell, it's a natural talent," the Count shrugged modestly. "sometimes my counting makes balloons and confetti fall, too. So vhat can I do for you?"
"Ah, we are so glad you asked! I'm Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, and this is my assistant Beaker. We're here to help Kermit with an important assignment. May we ask you a few questions?"
"Ah, of course!" answered the Count. "You can ask the questions and I, the Count, vill count them! Come into my castle."
As the three of them entered the castle, the Count waved his fingers tenderly to the octopus.
"Hello there, Octavia. Vonderful to see you getting your exercise." From the forest, the werewolf howled again.
"Yes, yes, Euba, ve vill play later."
The interior of the castle was just as ominous as the inside. The two scientists followed the Count into his crumbling, cobweb-infested parlor. Beaker's face paled as he watched the Count pass by a dusty, cracked mirror. He saw his own fearful expression and Bunsen's inquisitive face, but that was it. The Count left no reflection in the mirror.
"I vasn't expecting guests, othervise I vould have put up new cobvebs." the Count explained. "just make yourselves comfortable."
Bunsen took a seat on an ancient, dusty couch. Beaker sat next to him and immediately noticed the only illumination in the room: a candleabra with four globby, dripping candle stubs. The candleabra sat on what looked like a long, bulky coffee table...until Beaker noticed the handles on the sides...which were clearly meant for pallbearers.
The Count himself settled in an ancient, wrought iron chair opposite them with blood red cushions. The back of the chair was sculpted in a design resembling a twisted, dead tree with bats in its branches. Beaker could see the chair in the mirror. Indentations in the upholstery appeared in the reflection...but nothing else was there.
"So, vhat can I, the Count, do for you two wisitors?" A jet black cat hopped into the Count's lap. Fatatita purred as the Count scratched behind her ears.
It was up to Bunsen to explain the situation. As he did, Beaker noticed a tickle on his arm. he looked down and his mouth popped open in shock. A fat, hairy, curious tarantula slowly crawled up his sleeve.
"Ah, that's vhat I love about my pets," the Count smiled. "They are so wery affectionate."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ding dong...chimed the doorbell.
"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Grover. "My cute little doorbell is ringing! I shall go see who it is!"
Grover put down the book he was reading ("How to Avoid Exhaustion While Commuting Near and Far Between Multiple Jobs") and went to answer the door.
"Waak! Waak wak!" a crowd of penguins stood in the doorway, shuffling to get a better look at the furry, blue monster.
"Oh, look! Look at all the cute, little penguins! What can I, Grover, do for you?"
The penguins all wanted to tell him about what was going on, but they only succeeded in squawking and waddling towards Grover all at once.
"Please!" pleaded Grover. "I cannot understand you if you all talk at once! You have to --ulph! My foot!"
The penguins crowded around him. One of them waved the drawing in his face.
"Oh, that is very nice. Did you cute little penguins do this picture?"
The penguins unanimously shook their heads and quacked out a chorus of "no's" and "huh-uhs".
"Well, it is a very cute drawing, even though you did not do it."
"Waak waak?" a penguin asked as it tilted its head inquisitively.
"No, it is not my picture. I did not do it." Grover shook his head. A chorus of sighs responded. Some penguins lowered their beaks in disappointment.
"Oh do not be sad," Grover answered sympathetically. "I have an idea. How would you all like to stay for lunch with me and Mommy?"
The penguins responded with grateful squawks and embraced Grover with their sleek wings.
"Oh, you are welcome, nice birdies! Now I just need Mommy to drive us to Long John Silver's. Now, where is my cute, little checkbook?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More to come.
Convincing John