WINKER ON THE CASE

A prompt response to ~  http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/

No.361. Detective: Write about a detective searching for clues or solving a mystery.

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WINKER ON THE CASE

by John Yeo

  There they were!….. Dangling from the streetlamp a pair of the most frilly outrageous bloodstained knickers that PC Everard Dickens had ever seen. After the initial shockwave and the rush of blood to the head had worn off, the erstwhile Constable, called his superior officer; Detective Sergeant Winker.
“It looks like we have the first clue to this gruesome case here Sir!”

“OK! Stand aside Dickens we need a ladder and the usual equipment for recovering clues to avoid contamination.”
  DS Winker stood there pondering over the situation as it had unfurled from the time of the anonymous phone call that had led to the gruesome discovery of the two victims.
  ‘I wonder how they got up there, or indeed if they are connected to this case at all. We have the battered and broken bodies of two pensioners discovered, with their arms tied around each other. The forensic scientists are combing the entire area for clues, something doesn’t seem to add up here. My initial feeling is the garment in question is the wrong size for the deceased; now if they were a pair of outsized bloomers hanging up there logical connections could be made.’

   “Dickens!” He called loudly. “I am sure this is an amateurish sort of a red herring to lead us off the trail onto an illogical tangent. Get the garment off to the lab without delay.”

   “Yes Sir!”

   “Dickens; I want this whole area of scrubland around this path combed for clues.”

   At that moment an officer arrived with the news that a large quantity of ladies underwear had been found secreted in the bedroom of the apartment where the badly beaten man and woman had been discovered.

   “Underwear? Ladies underwear!” DS Winker exclaimed.

 “Yes Sir; in a wide variety of sizes and colours Sir!” replied PC Smithers.

    “Wow! This puts an entirely different light on the matter. I put this down as a revenge slaughter, Dickens. Someone found out the old pervert was nicking knickers off washing lines and took their revenge. I wager when that pair of soiled pants comes back from the lab the DNA in the blood will point the finger at the spouse of the culprit. Sadly we are unable to verify this without the evidence of matching DNA. Most people are averse to randomly surrendering their DNA, for any reason at all, particularly to rule them out of a murder inquiry.”

“Yes Sir this will probably finish up in the cold case file.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

 

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CHASING A FEELING

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Chasing a Feeling

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CHASING A FEELING

by John Yeo

  That split second the day the world stopped turning and stars seemed to be exploding and bursting all around.

An explosive mixture of sensuous sparks bursting through the brain cells igniting unknown, unused, pure pathways of pleasure. Blood racing through every venous pathway of the body unlocking previously unknown levels of the heights of pleasure. Love had arrived, unannounced and unintended in the shape of this anonymous lady of the night.

Then before he had time to react, she was gone leaving a physical wreck of a man.

James knew he had just experienced something irretrievable. The moment was gone forever, nothing would ever come close to recapturing that magical moment of unique fantastic coming together of nerve cells stimulating nerve cells culminating in a peak of plasmatic perfection.

James became a social butterfly flitting from flower to flower desperately trying to recapture the perfection of a moment that had gone forever.

I am Dr. Eva Swanson, a practicing Hypnotherapist, James was fast becoming a nervous wreck, out of touch with reality, when his GP doctor referred him to me.

 I examined the young man standing before me closely. I looked into blank, black eyes; eyes that revealed a tortured soul looking out. Eyes that refused to connect, I can only compare them to a pair of moths that refused to settle on an incoming gaze.

“Hello James;”

  “Hi!” Came a monosyllabic reply, in a voice that seemed to have been dragged under a steamroller and flattened.

  “I have studied your records and I have come to the conclusion that I can help. I have a  revolutionary new therapy. “Hypnoempathy.”   I regress your mind and your experience to the point of the disturbance and we mentally share the feelings together and work through this extreme disturbance empathically.”

“OK!” Came the flat monosyllabic response.

“I will see you again in a week’s time James; I would like you to see my secretary on your way out and she will make an appointment and give you the date.”

“OK!” Was James flat reply.

One week later  I welcomed James to the consulting room with Nurse Maria present. And we started the first of ten empathic preparatory sessions. We were using the new untested hypnotic drugs for maximum effect.

On the eleventh week, my patient and I were ready to experience and perhaps counteract the effect of the original experience.

The nurse retired from the consulting room and the empathic regression began.

Sparks flew as our two minds regressed to the point of the heights of an astonishing level of sensuousness as our joint feelings exploded into an orgasmic physical frenzy. I have never experienced the purity of these deep sensuous feelings before.

At the end of the hours, consultation the nurse arrived and the regressive experience was over.

My patient was a new man after this treatment, but I felt there was room for improvement and I asked him to make a twice weekly appointment until further notice to cement his new personality.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

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EDIBLE PORTAL

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Edible Portal

http://bekindrewrite.com

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EDIBLE PORTAL

by John Yeo

  The two minuscule friends, from the rodent  “Mus musculus” family, scurried across a floral patterned carpet on the cottage parlour floor.  They were members of a nocturnal family of uninvited residents who lived in the thatched roof of the period cottage in the centre of the village. There was a new large colourful structure in the corner of the parlour.

  “Oh! Look at this wonderful new house in the corner here, this is just right for the children; the doors are locked, though!”   said Minnie excitedly.

    There was a loud snore from the bedroom and a grunt as Colonel Travers, the occupant and owner of the cottage turned over in his sleep restlessly. The two friends dived for cover. In the process, Micky knocked a lamp down that crashed to the floor. That sound brought a figure wearing a nightshirt and a floppy nightcap rushing from the adjoining bedroom carrying a shotgun. Stomping around the house the Colonel,  searched high and low looking for intruders.

  Cursing loudly he picked up the lamp and headed straight back to bed.

  “Oh, that was close Minnie! Let’s try and get inside this house and have a look around. The door is pretty solid but my word it does taste good; I think if we bring the whole family in we should eat our way inside and have a good look round.”

  “OK! Micky, I’ll call everyone together and we can have a feast.”

    The whole family were soon eating their way into the gingerbread house.

There was a knock on the door the next morning that got the Colonel out of bed early.

“Hallo!” Called Mrs Manners “Are you home?”

“Of course I’m bloody home, where else would I go?” came an almost inaudible reply. “Coming!” Came a louder response and the Colonel opened the door still wearing his floppy nightcap.

“Hello Colonel, I’ve come to finish the gingerbread house, how’s it looking?” said Mrs Manners, as she bustled into the cottage.

“Oh Wow; judging by the look of it, a whole nest of mice must have visited.”

“Good lord!” said the Colonel and raised his eyebrows. “You will have to demolish the house now, I will set some traps to catch the mice.”

“Sorry Colonel, I will get the ladies together to construct another house for you in time for your great grandchildren’s arrival. Merry  Christmas!”

“Thanks; Merry Christmas, Mrs Manners.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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EVERYONE ELSE WAS LAUGHING

A writing prompt from Grammar About..

http://grammar.about.com/od/topicsuggestions/a/50Prompts.htm

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EVERYONE ELSE WAS LAUGHING

by John Yeo

   The show was billed as a top-notch experience, not just a comedy, an amusing experience; one that would cheer everyone up. It struck Gino’s nerves to the core when the lights finally went down. He knew then that this embarrassment would never make him laugh. There he was with his trousers in his hand being chased out of a farmer’s field by a fierce bull with long sharp horns. His face was hidden, but his bottom was clearly on display as he desperately tried to outrun the fierce bull. He knew very well whose rear that was; he had a clear recollection of the course of events leading to this unfortunate incident.

  Gino and Alex were out filming and photographing wild birds with the local photography club.

  “Look Alex! That’s a rare Egret on the banks of the brook running through that field: Let’s climb over the gate and try to get some photographs.”

  “Should we?” Alex cautiously asked. “Surely it’s private property. I’ll come with you to the gate but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

   The rest of the group also declined to enter the field and waited with Alex watching and filming the Egret from a distance. Gino quietly crept up on the unsuspecting bird and secreted himself in some bushes on the bank and began filming. Suddenly Nature of a different variety intervened and he thought, ‘It’s a good job I’m under cover. That curry I had last night is having a devastating effect. I will squat here behind these bushes.’

 There was heard a bellowing roar and the sound of galloping hooves as a huge 2000 lb bull arrived and charged towards him.Gino grabbed his trousers and ran hard for the gate where his friends from the group were waiting and filming his escape, curled up with hysterical laughter.

  Now one week later the group were sharing their birdwatching experiences!  ☮

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

HEY!

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Man’s First Word

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HEY!

by John Yeo

   There was silence in the outer hemispheres of the galaxy for millennia. The elder trolls were unique in the areas of communication throughout the exo-galactic panoply of extraordinary people. Their way of communicating by nonverbal means had been raised to new heights.

  On an extraordinary blue planet, life was formed and developed. Asteroids had collided and re-collided. Comets visited;  bringing chemicals to permeate a life-giving mix of chemicals giving rise to unique life-forms. Exoplasm mingled and re-mingled again in the hands of the entity that was controlling the flow of matter.

  The life forms mixed and remixed, soon a survivor in the likeness of the controller emerged. “Hey!” Thought the controller; “I am almost there!”

 Then to his delight, he heard the word. “Hey!” Repeated back to him.

 Shocked he silently strained his ultrasonic hearing to the limits.

  Then the silence was broken by the familiar sound of his Mother’s voice resonating around the galaxy.

  “God! put your toys away! It’s late!”

“Oh; Mother! Please; Can’t I just have another couple of eons?”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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THE INFERNAL EPISTLES according to the BARD

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: Infernal Epistles

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THE INFERNAL EPISTLES according to the BARD

by John Yeo

 The Bard sat at his writing desk and began to write another play. This would be

the most fiendish, frightening, fantastic play he had ever put his name to.

Just as he had sharpened the nib on his favourite quill pen, there was an unruly din from the ground below. Someone was knocking vigorously on his door and shouting his name raucously. He recognised the familiar tones of his good friend and fellow playwright Kit. He opened the window quickly and shouted;  “Hold fast Kit, I’ll come and join you!”

   Leaping down the stairs two at a time the Bard opened the door gingerly, the busy muddy path was thronged with people going about their business. His good friend Kit stood way back from the rickety house grinning all over his face. “Greetings Bard, I come to tear you away from your dubious scribing. Let us retire to the nearest ale house and consume vast quantities of good sack.”

  “An offer too good to refuse Kit, Let’s go!“

 The two friends were soon in a popular local hostelry, quaffing flagons of sack together, toasting the success of the Bard’s last phenomenal production.

“What are you working on now Bard?” asked Kit

“The play is almost complete Kit, based on a number of scrolls that have come into my possession, this is the story of an evil scribe, the good lady Agatha. She will be ruthless, cold-hearted, cold-blooded with no morals whatsoever, harsh with her friends; her enemies would rapidly become terminated, one way or another.

 Lady Agatha is a woman with ambition to dominate: Her power and her control over the life and death of victims will be absolute. Lady Agatha will  be in a position to raise people up to the heights, then smash them back to earth. Without the slightest compunction whatsoever, Kit.” said the Bard excitedly.”

“Zounds! Where did these scrolls come from? How did you get hold of them?”

“The scrolls were recovered from a cellar beneath the infamous Bedlam asylum. They are so full of mysterious ritualistic killing and unhealthy feelings of murder and mayhem. They could become a blight on future generations, indeed they could become addictive and even popular. I obtained them on loan from a satanic priest who stole them from the archives. They are believed to be so dangerous that the Queen has ordered them to be burned. I have since learned that the thief has been hung drawn and quartered, and his head now resides on a pole above London Bridge.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Kit. “You must be in grave danger being in possession of these infernal epistles! You should be in hiding!”

 At that precise moment, there was a commotion as a person whose face was obscured by his cloak lunged at the Bard with a knife. Kit turned and received a wound in the eye that killed him instantly. The Bard turned and made good his escape through the rear door of the hostelry before the constables arrived.

The Bard returned the epistles from whence they came.

 History relates that the infernal epistles survived into the early twentieth century where they were updated and published by another famous Agatha, who became a well-known scribe. Controversy still rages over the content of the infernal epistles.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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