Big Trouble in Little Train Town
The moonlit sign of detective Ellen's office welcomed any visitors in the midst of the chilling darkness Sodor offered on it's grassy green plate. The complete nothingness of vision mixed well with the complete nothingness of sound whilst detective Ellen worked hurriedly on her latest papers. She almost jumped when the door opened, revealing the disgruntled and panting form of the conductor.
"God have mercy, Ellen," he said, "there's been a murder in Sodor."
"Who?" asked Ellen shrewdly.
"Sir Topham Hatt," said the conductor.
Like a lightning bolt, Ellen was out the door in a flash. The conductor led her through the quiet night as the first drops of liquid fell on the normally quiet town, until they finally arrived with muddy boots at the scene of the crime. Detective Ellen stared down at the bloodied body of the poor, fat man.
"Shotgun, no doubt," she said. She stuck her finger in the bloody crevice of his body with no second thought, studying the wound the way she knew to be most helpful: tactile discovery. Most detectives were too weak to do so, but Ellen was no ordinary detective. "Assemble the court tomorrow morning. I've gotta sleep on this."
The court assembled, all the trains chugging along with frowns on their animated faces, piercing eyes of defeat laid on the body of the poor, grotesquely fat victim. He had died as he lived: whilst he ate meal during his vim and vigor, in death he ate metal. "If someone hadn't a' killed him now, diabetes woulda later," commented the detective.
As the gossip subsided with the banging of the weighted gavel, the doors burst open in a flashy fashion, revealing a disgruntled Percy chugging along the tracks. "I know who killed Sir Topham Hatt," he said.
"Who did it?" asked Ellen.
"I killed him," responded Percy.
A collective gasp went through the crowd as Ellen grabbed at his face, searching for a chin to hold onto (with no luck). "Why'd ya do it, Percy?"
"You know why," said Percy. "Where'd you think he got all the money to sustain that fat ass of his? You think he taxes us fairly?!"
"I'm ashamed of you, Percy," said Ellen. "I could've looked into it."
"He deserved harsher," said Percy, his mouth in a murderous snarl. Ellen studied his face closely. Those shining eyes told a different tale. They were filled with a look no killer would ever feel. She saw no hatred in his gaze: only fear.
"Take him away, to the prison!" said Ellen.
Percy waited nervously in his cell, speaking to himself all alone. Unbeknownst to him, Ellen smashed down the prison bars with her bare hands.
"WHY'D YOU LIE, PERCY?" she asked, holding a blowtorch to his gas tank.
"No, please, I didn't lie!" he said.
"I know the look of a killer," breathed Ellen heavily, grinding her teeth, "and damnit, you're no killer, Percy. Who set you up to this?"
"No one!" said Percy.
Ellen stared at his face. And then, glancing behind his large, green body, she saw a tiny hole in the wall, with a face studying them, sucking in every delicious detail of their heavily painted faces like some ravenous art critic waiting to strike with his best quip yet.
"Hello, detective Ellen," murmured Thomas.
"Thomas, what the Hell are you doing here?" she asked.
"Well, you know, it's so easy to play with Percy," said Thomas, rolling his eyes and licking his lips like a hungry coyote. "He's sooooooo…. Put-upon." His lips smacked at that, an inward chuckle developing in his mouth like uranium atoms bouncing inside an atom bomb just waiting to blow. Staring at his face, Ellen felt that the next time he opened his mouth, one would. She looked up on his back and saw a mounted machine gun.
"Why, Percy?" she whispered.
"He threatened he'd kill Mavis," cracked Percy, crying. "I… I was going to propose this weekend!"
"And what about you, Thomas?"
"A shame you won't find out," he muttered, a devious smile addressing his face. In a flash, Ellen threw a bomb disguised as lipstick at his face. She dived out of the scene as Thomas opened fire, murdering Percy instantly. She had escaped, though, and she ran to talk to the conductor.
Ellen's eyes were peeled like fresh cheese and bacon coated Idaho potato skins, filled with fat and carboholic vision of the railroad that she required to look for Thomas with. Finally, she saw his maniac form, barreling down the tracks at high speeds, his machine gun blaring as he whistled an eerie, theme-song-esque toon (Doo Doo Doo Doo, Doot Doot, DOOOO). As Ellen ducked out of the way, feeling this was the end, she saw an engine charge at Thomas and explode as he collided. Thomas and the other engine fell onto the ground. The blue figure seemed dead, but the other, mysterious brown figure…
"Diesel," muttered Ellen. "But… why?"
"Wanted… to be remembered… as a hero, not a villain," he muttered, finally croaking.
She kissed him on the nose, a highly unsanitary and yet touching move. As she closed his eyes, she whispered, "Sleep well, my sweet prince."
Lady wept at the four person funeral, although Mavis was much more stoic, instead simply staring at the ground as her would-be husband was lowered into the ground. Splatter and Dodge also looked on, crying, Splatter especially.
"'s a shame," muttered the conductor. "They say Splatter and Diesel used to chug through the country side, revving their engines together as the sun fell."
"I… never knew," said Ellen, wondering if Sir Topham Hatt would've allowed such a bond.
The funeral ended, and the case was solved. The CIA came in to study why Thomas went insane, not to mention how a giant train could talk. The first question was the simple answer of rabies, but the CIA could never answer the second question. Perhaps it was leprechaun magic. She'd never know.
All became peaceful as the town descended back into the quiet depths of normality. Splatter found himself to actually be bisexual, and he married Mavis, while Lady joined the train army and went off to fight in a war, and gained several medals of honor, later moving to Argentina. All was quiet.
But some say, amidst the darkness of the night, when the full moon shines brightly on that quiet hill where Thomas charged Ellen, you can still hear the whistled song.
Doo Doo Doo Doo, Doot Doot, DOOOOOOO…