21 March 2009

The Case of The Black Shedding

Having been in the military, Watson, you must certainly be acquainted with the deeply unsettled and jarring feeling of waking only to find oneself in a strange bed. Imagine if you can, good fellow, the shock to one’s body and mind ’twould be to awaken from a sleep lasting nigh 100 years. For this, Doctor, though I have not yet an explanation that would satisfy your or me, is exactly what I experienced not so very long ago!

I awoke to the sensation of my body sitting up quickly and the sound of myself gasping for and drawing in the longest breath of my entire existence. Next, I found myself flying as though hurled towards the nearest open door—thankfully enough, the toilet—emptying the surprisingly copious contents of my stomach by force into the commode.

After spending no small amount of time there easing the occasional heave of bile and mucous, I wet my face in the odd wash basin and lay back down on the bed on which I had awoken in order to regain my strength and vigor. I rested with eyes closed on that mattress with no thought in mind, save the faint awareness of my own drawn in and expelled breath, and for how very long I cannot say, thought I believe the sun had faded considerably. ‘twas noticing the sun’s change that, finally and, after perhaps several hours, engaged my mind to take in my surroundings.

Apart from the sun’s shift, the first thing I noticed was a large bowl of fruit beside my bed to which I lunched with a speed beyond my control and I, seeing a domesticated bird partaking apparently healthily of the food, I judged it to be safe, ate furiously until I could feel the warmth of nutrition spread over me.

Once sated, sleep overcame me once more and, when I awoke, the intense sun casting rightward shadows through large windows visible in part outside the open bedroom door told m e it was morning once more in my Southerly-facing rooms.

I feasted again on the fruit to the right of my bed and noticed it had been replenished with new fruit and beside the bowl were also toasted bread with butter, tea—strong, thankfully—and a newspaper, all indicating someone had entered the flat in my sleep to provide me these rations and the news of the day.

A quick skim of this newspaper, if it was to be believed, indicated the date was 16 November 2007, 153 years and one day from the date of my birth. I rejected this at once as fancy for reason o f the date, the paper and print used, and the notion that a black Irish-American named O’Bama might attempt to enter the office of the Presidency of the United States of America. No, for neither could an American slave—American as clearly told by the grammar and spelling of the paper—own land or gain suffrage, let alone hold political office. Yet, after the strange fixtures on the wash basin I encountered the day prior, this paper and its outlandish date was the second clue left to indicate that I was in quite another time and place from my own.

Over the next several days, consumed with the question of how and I why I found myself in my present circumstance, I examined each of the rooms closely, seeking some trace of the person or persons responsible. I found the rooms to be quite like those we shared at Baker Street, Watson, but with a kitchen in place of one dormitory and a large black glass over the mantle.

Pressing a button on this glass brought to life the most startling sight—recorded pictures, Watson! Pictures recorded and played at great speed giving the impression of the subjects’ motion, complete with voice. A visual and auditory phonograph had been invented, further suggesting my place in a future time. I found myself quite taken by these audio/visual recordings and, before realizing it, all of my days for at least a week were spent in front of it soaking up news of the day and recordings of various types, all feeding my more and more information of the world I found myself in. Of particular interest to me were certain dramatic programmes of depicting the detection of solution of crime upon crime both heinous and vile.

And the manner of person and colorful expression I found, Watson!

In any case, each day I awoke to a delicious breakfast, cleaned rooms, and freshened clothes. Whoever my opponent in this mystery was, also served as my very magnanimous benefactor, caring for my every need while staying beyond my grasp. Yes, this person had even provided for my mental need to solve this problem of the empty rooms, knowing, I now believe, that it’s in my nature to exhaust myself in resolving the problems that would otherwise go unexplained.

Do you recall, Watson, of the occasion whereupon our caretaker, Mrs. Hudson, demanded whoever of us was at blame for clogging the bath take action to avoid the problem’s recurrence? While you protested and swore yourself not to be the culprit, an examination of certain evidence proved it to be you who caused the slow drain of our bath.

Well, aside from those spent staring at the glass, my days of searching yielded me nothing; not one clue. I was so near giving up hope that I know it to be true that you would not believe me. However, while upon my hands and knees in the toilet, I found—A-ha!—the clue I’d been seeking: a single, black, curly hair, doubtless from the pubic region of my curious benefactor or benefactress! Applying the same reasoning I’d shown you—that the length, color, stress and curl pattern of the found hairs would match exactly those remaining on the groin from whence it was shed—I now had the evidence I’d need to identify my keeper.

Additionally, dear friend, for my invasive methods used in that case, I continue to offer my most heartfelt apologies.

In any case, and to borrow a phrase from the staring glass, I know find myself in possession of my opponent by the shorthairs, and am cocked and loaded to identify them.

1 comment:

Kevin said...

LOL. These are well done! Good job, Sherlock.