|The Case of the Haunted Pen: Chapter V
|Continuation of the bi-weekly serial
from the fountain pen of
David Lee Mason
The Vengeance of the Pen
Molly's phone rang at 3:23 A.M. It was Pinkie, of course,
awestruck by the enormity of it all. "Molly, mmmm... Molly!
You've gotta help me get rid of this thing!"
Molly asked, "What
thing is that, Pinkie?" knowing full well her own wickedness.
"That, that... PEN!" sputtered the Pinkster.
"Oh, you mean the
silver/blue Vacumatic Major with a fine flex nib and slight
brassing on top of the clip and capband? That pen?"
Molly, I know I should have told you right away that I had it I'm
really really sorry I'll never..."
"SHUT UP!" Pinkie groveling
here, Molly firmly in control. "What'd you think, Pink? That I
was lying to you about the silver/blue Vacumatic Major with a
fine flex nib and slight brassing on top of the clip and capband?
That pen is haunted, Pinkie. You've got to get away from it right
now before it GETS you."
"But Molly, where am I going to go?!? I
mean, it's in my home!"
Molly took mercy on him. "Awright,
Pinkie, hold tight and I'll be there within the hour. Just make
sure you don't go to sleep around that pen, and whatever you do,
DON'T PICK IT UP!" Pinkie blubbered a bit around the apartment,
Amodex'd himself off as well as possible and put on his
monogrammed silk pajamas and his Royal Blue velvet robe with the
Big Red Duofold rampant embroidered on the back. While he awaited
Molly's arrival, eying the sinister Vacumatic, he couldn't help
but wonder, "how come Molly knows so much?"
HOW COME MOLLY KNOWS SO MUCH
The intrepid Molly Penn had been tracking the history of that
particular Vac for a long long time because of an eerie
historical anomaly - her beloved Grandfather had owned just such
a pen which disappeared, mysteriously, the very night of his
demise. How Molly cherished the memories she had of playing with
her Granpappa's pens! He used to delight in his solemn-faced
little granddaughter whose entire face lit up when he allowed her
to doodle and muss to her heart's desire. Molly's stern yet
loving governess used to sigh with exasperation every time Molly
came home from a visit to her beloved Granpappa, stained and
spattered with a multiplicity of inks. Molly remembered a pen
like that, a pen just like that silver/blue Vacumatic Major with
a fine flex nib and slight brassing on top of the clip and
capband and the Big Molly wondered, couldn't help but wonder if
it might be - if it could be - the very same pen that the Little
Molly used to draw daffodils and butterflies lo those many years
ago. Of course, that was back before the darkness set in. Back
before - the tragedy.
By the time that Molly arrived at Pinkie's pad, he had more or
less pulled himself together. However, Molly's eagle eye took in
the ink-stained carpet, the tremor in Pinkie's hands and the
odor of good scotch under cheap mouthwash. A faint reek of Amodex
lurked. Presiding vulture-like over it all was a silver/blue
Vacumatic Major with a fine flex nib and slight brassing on top
of the clip and capband. "All right," Molly's voice was firm yet
gentle, a fist of iron in a velvet glove. "What's going on around
here? Part of Pinkie wanted to break down and tell her the truth,
part of him wanted to gloss everything over and make it all O.K.
again. After all, Machismo was at stake here.
Coming Next: What Pinkie Told Molly