A smile twisted the corners of Monica Wendyll’s lips as she stood before the Crumplebottom House; sparks of electricity darting across her limbs in eager anticipation of what she was about to do. Slowly, after looking around to see if anybody was watching, she reached into her pocket and retrieved the skeleton key from her inner jacket pocket. Now brimming with confidence, she reached out and pushed it into the elaborately designed lock before her. Holding her breath, hoping, praying, she turned the key. Her luck held, and the lock’s inner mechanism shifted, producing a satisfactory ‘click’ as it opened, and the door slid forward, revealing an empty, unlit passageway.

Luring the family away while Monica did what she had to had proven to be an easy task. Prudence Crumplebottom’s I.Q was only ever high enough to provide for gossip, intrigue and scandal; and that was what she derived maximum pleasure from. It was also the reason why she had set a tail on Victor Goth. The politician, she felt, was the best possible target to provide her with scandal, but she had never expected to collect THIS much against the man. Her mind did not provide for any higher intellectual processes, and this fact soon became obvious to Monica when she made the call.


As a teenager, Prudence had tried almost every single contact, resource, method and scheme available to her to try and become a model for in truth, any fashion industry possible. Sadly, whatever she tried and however much influence she used always resulted in the same dead-end for her: No one would take her up. A wide variety of excuses, dismissals and denials were issued, but every rejection letter somehow had one thing in common: Prudence was too short.

When the realization finally sunk into the young teen’s head, she dissolved into a storm of tears, tempers and tantrums, which until her dying day, she referred to as her ‘Great Depression.’ It lasted for two days in total. Her parents, having grown sick of the moaning, breaking and sobbing sounds emanating from her room decided to buy her a sleek yellow car to keep her quiet, and that it did. When she ‘resurfaced’ from her G.D, she made a vow to herself and to the World, which stated that whatever else happened in life, she would have at least one daughter, and come, what may that daughter would somehow become a model.

When Monica called The Crumplebottom Residence from a payphone outside town in a fake, high pitched Italian accent, however, she was not aware of all this history. Luck was on her side when she weighed the two different possible fake calls she had in mind and found that a Children’s Italian Fashion Industry was more likely to be believed as opposed to winning an award for Best Kept Cutlery in Sunset Valley. Prudence did not need telling twice; the moment she put down the phone, she dressed up BOTH her daughters and rushed to the café where she had been told a representative from the company was supposed to meet her.


Monica stole into the house, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looked in to all the rooms adjoining the hallway. Finally, deciding that she was better off searching upstairs in the bedrooms, she walked up; ears pricked for the slightest of sounds suggesting that a muttering, frustrated Prudence had returned home. Though she was used to breaking into houses like this by now, the thrill of it never failed to buzz her. Illegal activities always had this wonderful way of bringing her deep and greater satisfaction than anything else on earth.


She crept into what seemed like Prudence’s room and walked over to the viciously cluttered desk. Lipsticks, bills and a bag of cookies lay strewn on it. A magazine lay opened to a page with a title that read: “Shaving V.S Waxing; The Debate Continues.” Smiling at Prudence’s vanity, Monica pushed the mess aside before delving into the drawers. A few minutes later, she was rewarded, just as she had hoped, with a tightly sealed brown folder. The words, ‘Victor Goth,’ were written neatly in bold black marker across it. She knew that inside it lay every single scrap of knowledge and evidence that Prudence had accumulated against Victor from the tailer she had set on him. She smirked to herself. ‘You just make it so easy, Crumplebottom. I wonder how much your parents had to bribe Simon to marry you. Probably explains why he died.’

She stuffed the folder into her jacket pocket and with the picture perfect memory that had always served her so well in the past, she placed everything just as it was before retracing her steps backwards. After peeking out of the window to check once again if no one was around, she walked out the front door, locking it behind her. She walked home at her usual leisurely pace, whistling, secretly congratulating herself on a job well done, when she saw a car come smoothly up the road towards her. ‘Evening!,’ she called out merrily. ‘Wonderful day to be around, don’t you think?’ Frustrated, annoyed and pink in the face, Prudence didn’t bother to respond. Furious after waiting for more than an hour for the Italian to turn up, she merely nodded in acknowledgment and continued on her way, not noticing the giggles that Monica was trying her hardest to contain as she walked on.


A couple of minutes later, as she strolled into Central Park, her good cheer evaporated when she came across a mother holding a gurgling child close to her heart. Her mood took a further downswing when she recognized the woman as none other than Gretle Goth and her daughter, Frida. The child was Victor’s, and this knowledge did nothing to please her. She gazed at the pair hungrily as Gretle tickled her little daughter and the girl replied with a delighted, high pitched squeal that made everyone around turn and smile for a second. Shivering despite the warm leather jacket she wore, she turned on her heel and strode out of the park.

Angry tears filled her eyes, which she brushed away quickly. Tears were for the weak, tears were for the broken, and Monica refused to accept that she was either. She had long known that she would never be able to have children. Monica had never wanted a companion or a life partner; she had never felt the need for such dependencies. However, the desire to create life, to produce another being from herself, to procreate was something that she had always wanted; more than anything else in the world.

She had tried everything. Initially, she had felt that the men she bedded were incapable, but after more than 10 failed attempts, all with different people had produced no result, she had decided to seek professional help. This was when she learned the truth about herself. She was infertile, and the chances of her having a child were almost none, and nothing that science had in it’s vast arsenal could possibly help her. The effect this knowledge took on her psyche was immense; her one desire, the sole thing she wanted most in the world was nigh on impossible, and depression sunk in. Sleepless nights, muttered words, tears shed and months later, she recovered, but the bitterness never left her.


The overpowering distress creeping over her felt like a shadow of a large predator, looming ahead, hoping to gobble her whole. She fought back against it and the roiling emotions subsided for a time. Anger filled her in it’s place. She hated politicians. She hated everything about them, and Victor Goth was the perfect model of one; strong, proud, untouchable and convincing. No one knew the other side of him, the greedy, power hungry man that he was. She smiled to herself. Most of what she had come to Sunset to do was accomplished… However, there was just one piece of the puzzle that remained to be slotted in, and once that was done, she would leave the town forever, with none ever the wiser….






Buster shifted nervously as the cast of The Sunset News prepared for their late night broadcast. He had decided that instead of being badgered by every citizen around town for the latest news on the murder, this was the best way possible to make a public statement.

‘Inspector, you’re live in 5…4…3…2…1’


‘Citizens of Sunset Valley,’ he addressed the people of the town, visualizing some of them in his mind’s eye as he spoke. ‘Recent events in town have probably kept all of you on the edge. As Inspector of the police force here, I implore you all; do not panic. Our forensics are, at this very moment, working their hardest to find Sylvester Thompson’s murderers. I ask you all to take all the necessary precautions such as locking your doors after sunset, not straying out late at night alone, and most importantly reporting any and all suspicious behavior by any, including your family, to the police.’

‘In retrospection, I realize that you all need proof that we are trying our hardest to locate the killer, and this is why I will now reveal to you all that we have detained Earnest Kennedy, in charge of military defense for Sunset Valley as a probable suspect. His wife, Eithelia Kennedy will take up charge in his absence, until he is convicted, or all accusations against him are cleared.’

‘Till we have further information, there is nothing else that can be said as of yet. Take heart, my friends. We are with you all in this time of fear and suspicion. We’re all in this together.’


Catharsis 108; as usual, thank you so much for your feedback and comments; always makes my day Yes, well a military commander is expected to remain in tip-top shape, isn't he? As for the planted evidence theory, I can't say much, now, can I, for that would just ruin the suspense of the entire thing! But all will be understood, in time :P

As for the rest of my readers, I love all the feedback and comments you have to give me, so it's all more than welcome I've tried my best, experimenting with various writing styles and things like that. This is a learning experience for me, too, so please help me along that path by commenting and giving feedback as much as possible. Thanks,

The Observant Lefty.