Note from Mr Lee:
Dear reader,
Despite my retirement, I feel that it is a part of my civic duty, as a private citizen, that you should be aware of the fact that the Mortician, whom you are implicitly trusting with the truth of this tale, lives in a Funeral Home basement, illegally, with several preserved cat skeletons, thusly named: Floofball, Mittens, Beamsaber, and Doombones3000 IV, all of which are exceptionally cute and fluffy.
Yours Faithfully,
Mr Lee
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson, to the town outside the Town Hall, was a man, married to his job. He was always in his office, hunched over his desk like a dead insect, the highest complement in my humble opinion, and always had a pen in his hand, but somehow never developing finger grooves.
To everyone employed in the Town Hall, Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson was a feral racoon.
The man slept at his desk during the day, and sat at his desk, writing, at night, by candle light.
“It seemed romantic at the time,” he used to claim, before giving up.
So dedicated Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson was, forgoing baths, food that didn’t consist of leftovers, and proper human companionship were not sacrifices, but part of regular, everyday, reality.
At least I take baths and eat food, unlike that weirdo.
It was also generally well agreed, within the Town Hall, that Mayoral Assistant Lee was the man who kept the machinery of bureaucracy going. All paperwork was submitted to him, all documents were signed by him, all reports were made to him, and if the feral racoon needed to give a speech, it was Mayoral Assistant Lee who donned the hazmat suit to enter into the radioactive recycling centre that was the office of Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson.
Now, when I claimed that Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson was a racoon. I, my dear reader, meant it. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson was a racoon.
Nevermind that the man has two legs, two arms, hair only on top of his head, by some miracle, the noises that came out of that room, at night, wouldn’t convince you of anything other that some wild animal was on the loose.
It was said that random screeches and hisses used to echo through the corridors, especially loud on nights when the moon was full. If one was to stop and listen carefully, the sound of a creature, dragging its grotesque, spindly body along the walls, leaving trail marks of some unknown black, sticky substance behind, could be heard all over the building and would follow you, as you creeped your way out of a window to escape it. And if it was one of those nights, every employee knew that they should never approach the kitchens, or the bins outside.
To do so, would mark your death.
Hands would claw at your face, dirty nails infecting every cut. Horrible, evil green eyes would glower at you from atop some high bin lid perch, and the most dreadful noise would throw itself out from the creature’s throat: a cacophonous wail, comparable to the screaming of the damned souls of the dead, cursing the living for possessing what they no longer had, and cursing whoever’s ears who had the utter misfortune of ever experiencing such a sound.
And as we have already established, dear reader, the town does not have the greatest healthcare system, and those bodies were some of the most interesting to study. Bacterial decay, rotting through freshly deceased flesh, was, oh so, one of the most interesting things to watch.
Watching the spread of those colourful blobs, over such drab skin, was a delight!
I would’ve had those bodies in their glass cases for as long as it took for every piece of meat to disappear, but that’s apparently “illegal” and families used to keep asking me,” what is wrong with you!?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Dear reader, I am an artist, and I will not be shamed, due to my craft!
It’s all fine and dandy when I have put makeup on your corpses and sew up their assholes, but as soon as I want to add any real splash of colour, method notwithstanding, suddenly, I am some crazy man, living underground like he’s allergic to sunlight, and obsessed to an unhealthy degree with the corpses of the innocent. And that I should get my own family’s corpses if I wanted to do my,” insane and psychopathic experiments.”
Honestly, the nerve of some people!
I will never forget the five year old who stuck her tongue out at me.
Anyway, Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson sounded like an ejaculating fox, whenever he masturbates.
Though he does cum silently.
Hm…
Moving on.
Where was I?
Oh yes.
After several years of surviving under the tyranny of Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson’s nonsense-
Wait.
Was this bit supposed to go at the beginning?
We’ve done, like, 700 words, bitching about the former mayor. It’ll be fine.
Hindlebirth is actually kinda alright, during the day, probably because he’s asleep and under supervision.
It’s just at night, when you have to be careful.
Anyway.
After several years, Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson decided that it was time for him to retire. He organised himself a grand gala, in the Town Hall, invited all his employees, and relayed the momentous news as part of a half hour speech. The decorations, according to guests that night, were “exquisite” and “would be more impressive if we weren’t the ones who put that stuff up.”
The largest room of the Town Hall, the entryway, had been decked with balloons and streamers, hanging from the edges of the windows and the walls. The beige floor and ceiling had been repainted the morning prior, allowing each guest to take a souvenir home with them, and tables with long, flowing, white tablecloths, were placed along all the cream walls, also freshly painted.
The news itself was, as one Mr Fish put it,” the best thing that I had ever heard in all sixty years of my life!”
Though it should be noted, dear reader, that Mr Fish was thirty, and one of the prisoners from the local prison, charged with cannibalism. Three people went missing that night.
Despite this fact that was only learned of the next morning, the festivities went on. Alcohol-substitute was not properly defrosted but was forced to be enjoyed, and there were songs and dancing, by only one person, who had coincidently brought in his own karaoke set, and decided to spin around five times prior to his performance, to pretend that he was high.
He claimed that it made the party,” more interesting,” overall, and that he was,” the life of the party, dude… How did you get into my bedroom?”
Truly, a night to remembered for the rest of the town hall employee’s lives.
In the morning however, the implications of such an announcement were finally realised.
If Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson was resigning, who would take his place?
Mayoral Assistant Lee was first suggested to take on the role of his superior, by his superior, but the man fully rejected the proposal, on the grounds of,” too much paperwork.”
…
…
Oh you poor, sweet, innocent child.
It was then that Mayoral Assistant Lee remembered that they all lived in a democracy.
The following is a transcript of the ensuing conversation, recovered from the town hall archives:
/\
Stolen
MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE: MAYOR JOHNSON, WHY NOT HOLD AN ELECTION A TOWN ELECTION TO ESTABLISH THE INDIVIDUAL MOST SUITED FOR THE POSITION OF THE NEW TOWN MAYOR?
TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON: NO. IF WE DID THAT THEN ANY ONE OF THE OTHER POLITICAL PARTIES MAY TAKE THE POSITION, AND WE CAN’T LET THAT HAPPEN. IT’S TRADITION, SON.
MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE: ... SIR, WE ARE THE ONLY POLITICAL PARTY. WE RAN UNOPPOSED.
TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON: [SIGHS] THINK ABOUT THE ASPIRING INDEPENDENTS!
MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE: THERE ARE NO INDEPENDENTS.
TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON: THEN WHY DID YOU BRING THEM UP?
MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE: [SILENCE]
TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON: WHAT ELSE DO YOU SUGGEST THEN?
MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE: INTERNAL ELECTIONS MAY BE HELD TO ALLOW ANY OTHERS, WITHIN THE PARTY, TO BECOME MAYOR. EVERYONE, WHO WORKS HERE AND WANTS TO BECOME MAYOR, CAN PLACE THEIR NAME ON THE BALLOT AND GIVE THEIR SPEECHES ON WHY THEY ARE SUITED TO THE POSITION, THEN VOTING COULD OCCUR.
TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON: [TWITCHES] NO. THAT WON’T BE HAPPENING. COME ON, I’VE GOT AN IDEA.
MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE: ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOUR IDEA, SIR?
TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON: NO, AND GET YOUR COAT AND WELLIES. WE’RE GOING TO THE ORPHANAGE.
[SHUFFLING IN THE BACKGROUND]
[RANDOM ODD SWEARING FROM TOWN MAYOR FREDERICK HINDLEBIRTH JOHNSON]
[TAPE ENDS]
Dear reader, in case you were wondering, the,” random odd swearing from Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson,” directly refers to his use of,” holy fucking barbecue skewer fucking a senile duck.”
It’s just downright fucking weird really, but he is a racoon afterall.
I won’t fully be able to understand him, until I get my hands on his corpse.
Your guesses are as good as mine, dear reader.