Muriel, bones cracking with age as she stood, rose from her bed with her typically cheerful smile. She stretched her aching body before reaching an arm out to her beloved pup, Courage. Her pudgy fingers brushed through the fuchsia fur on the top of the small dog's head, gently nudging a sleeping Courage.
"Courage," the woman softly called in a thick Scottish accent, "it's time to get up."
The young pooch's body stretched deeply, his eye's fluttering in a drowsy manner. He yawned, involuntarily snuggling back into the comforter. His bushy fur grazed against the cold flesh of a human foot – Eustace's foot to be exact.
"Huh?!" Eustace stirred from his sleep, jerking his foot away from the fur. He sat up quicker than normal, rubbing the sleep from one eye as he glared at Courage with the other. "Stupid dog! Can't you see I'm sleepin'?!"
"Eustace!" Muriel sternly warned, removing her polka-dotted sleeping cap and hanging it from the bedpost. "Come on, Courage; let's go make breakfast while Eustace gets a few more minutes sleep."
Courage quickly perked up from sleep. He swiftly hopped down from the bed, standing on only his hind legs as he typically did. Why no one ever questioned this (or any other of Nowhere's oddities) was beyond people living outside of this cozy neck of the woods. Using those hind legs, the pup followed his owner from the bedroom and down the rickety staircase that led to the den, then the kitchen.
"Courage," the white-haired woman sweetly began as she slammed a frying pan onto a stove burner, "could you pass me the eggs, please?"
Courage nodded, what remained of his tail was happily wagging. He quickly scurried over toward the fridge, rummaging passed jars of preserves to reach the egg carton. Once he had what was requested of him, Courage returned to Muriel with a smile, handing her one egg at a time until half of the dozen was being fried.
The smell of the eggs frying was enough to make Courage's mouth water. While he did eat dog food from time-to-time, Muriel's cooking was always a great treat. It was also a great treat to Eustace, who had just grumpily stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Muriel!" He grumbled, screeching his chair across the floor before sitting. "Where's my breakfast?"
Eustace predictably cracked open the daily newspaper and propped his feet up on the table. He glanced through a few articles, hardly paying attention to the words as his stomach demanded to have food with an obnoxious gurgling.
While Muriel continued to fry up the remaining eggs, Courage scuttled over to the kitchen table, hopping up into one of the four chairs. He sat across from Eustace, watching the old man's eyes gloss over the crumbled paper. He propped his furry chin on one of his paws, patiently waiting for breakfast to be served. He hummed softly to himself in order to keep up his patience.
The usual silence (aside from Eustace's coughs, Courage's hums, and the sound of sizzling) was interrupted by the high-pitched ringing of the telephone in the Bagges' kitchen. This sound never meant anything good in this part of the country, leaving the cowardly dog to cringe. He kept up hope that his naïve owner wouldn't answer, but that was never the case.
"Hello?" Muriel asked as she held the corded phone in one stumpy hand and the egg-filled pan in the other. "Oh, hello, Fred! It's so good to hear from my dear nephew again! What? You're coming for a visit? How lovely! Yes…. Yes, Courage is still here. Would you like to speak to him? Oh. Oh, okay. Goodbye, Fred; see you in the morning."
With a beaming grin, the elderly lady turned to her family. Her husband had been oblivious to the phone call as he grumbled under his breath, while Courage was shaking and whimpering with panic. She quickly gathered some plates, placing a spoonful of eggs onto each, and passed them around the table. As she took her seat, she looked to Eustace, who had immediately begun scarfing down the eggs in a wood chipper-type fashion.
"Isn't it wonderful, Eustace? Fred's coming for another visit with us," she said, beginning to stuff her face with her own egg platter.
"He's a freak!" Eustace snarled through a mouthful of eggs, bits of white and yellow fluff dropping from his lips and onto the tabletop. "He ain't steppin' one freaky foot in this house again!"
"Oh, Eustace, you just don't understand dear Fred. He's a very talented boy," the freaky man's aunt defended, her bespectacled eyes wandering over to Courage.
"Talented at being a weird-o," the grouch muttered, gumming the remainder of his eggs.
"Courage," Muriel began with a fret, watching as the young pooch quivered, "is something the matter?"
The purple-pink dog quickly jumped onto the table top, morphing his body into various shapes and monstrosities while frantically whimpering. His paws and tail flailed rapidly as he desperately tried to get his point across that Fred was indeed freaky.
"Courage!" The white-haired lady scolded, not because Courage was performing a Broadway show on her tabletop, but because she couldn't believe the things he had "said". "How could you say such things? Fred's a very nice boy. He's had a hard life, is all, and needs to get back on his feet."
"The dog's right, Muriel. That Fred's nothin' but trouble!" Eustace agreed with the rambling dog, which was a very rare occasion. His brows furrowed over his oval specks, which slipped down the bridge of his crooked nose. "Y'know why they had to send him to the freak farm for barbers, don't you? Because he's a freaky barber!"
At that moment, Muriel whacked her husband with a nearby rolling pin, taking away his plate as he rubbed his aching head.
"Oh, hush, Eustace!" She warned, placing the remaining dishes into the sink. "Fred can stay for as long as he needs."
"Yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah," Eustace angrily muttered under his breath, trying not to get whacked by another stray kitchen utensil. He folded his sickly-thin arms onto the tabletop before pushing himself away from the table. He stood from his chair, grabbing the keys to his truck from the countertop. "I'm goin' to the hardware store to pick up some tools for that busted pipe in the bathroom."
Without much acknowledgement from his family, the man with the bald-scalp shoved his keys into one of the pockets of his overalls. He exited the tiny, worn-down house with a slam of the rickety screen door. He walked down the creaking steps and started on his way to the hardware store, his truck giving an awful noise as it cranked and sputtered out of the non-existent driveway.
"Well, let's go get ready for Fred's visit, Courage," Muriel said with a smile, patting a stunned Courage on the head. She ruffled his fur with her fingers, fur that Courage could only hope he'd manage to keep once Fred arrived.
The woman and dog left their kitchen and headed up to the attic, where a small cot sat in the corner across from an old, bulky desktop computer. Muriel gathered a few folded sheets and blankets from the linen closet and swiftly began to make the bed. She piled a few pillows into Courage's unsuspecting arms, said pillows nearly causing his to drop to the floor. He wobbled to and fro, unable to see beyond the fluffy head-cushions.
"Thank you, Courage," the woman wearing the dark yellow dress and apron thanked, removing the pillows from Courage's arms and arranging them at the head of the bed. She fluffed them a bit to give them a little extra comfort, humming as she did so. "There. The bed's all nice and tidy. Come along now, Courage."
Courage stood there for a moment, turning his head toward the computer. He smiled as an idea popped into his fuzzy head. He frantically began pointing his paws toward the computer, jumping up and down like a child having a sugar-rush. He whined and whimpered as a way to make his statement clearer.
"Oh," Muriel chuckled, standing in the doorway, "you want to use the computer, do you? Well, I guess I'll let you alone for a while."
With that, the overweight woman continued down the stairs. The sound of her chair creaking and then rocking soon was heard upstairs, giving Courage the all-clear. The dog scrambled into the computer chair, hiking his hind legs up into the seat. He plopped down against the wooden surface, preparing to type his questions into the computer.
"Hello again, twit," the computer rudely greeted in a droning voice, the screen flashing in turquoise-blue glows. "How may I be of service to you today?"
Hello, dear friends. We meet again. As you know, my name is Fred. I say, I said, "my name is Fred". The words you hear are still in my head. When last we met, I was quite the threat. As you remember, I was very naughty.
Here I sit in the bus terminal. You see, I'm going to visit my dear Aunt Muriel. She stays in Nowhere from where I left. How happy they'll be when I arrive, I'll bet! They'll call out my name; shout "hip-hip-hooray!" They'll jump and they'll cheer all because dear Fred is here! I do hope they'll say that I look quite…. Naughty.
"Buses to Peach Creek, Foster's Home, and Nowhere are now boarding. Please have your tickets ready, and make sure to secure your luggage. Have a nice trip!"
My bus is to Nowhere, and I am now boarding. My luggage is filled with the razors I'm hoarding. You see, I'm a barber with barbering things. I like to cut hair; it's sort of my thing. My dear Aunt Muriel has a fluffy little pup, whose hair I'd just love to cut and to cut. His name is Courage, and he has the most beautiful pink-purple fur-age.
Last time I saw the tender D-O-G, these men in white jackets were called to get me. They whisked me away in the back of their truck, and hauled me away where I could not run amok. But now I've escaped from the dreary little farm; I only had to promise to not do any harm…. But I very well might get a little naughty.
I'll ride on this bus all through the night. From right at this moment until morning's sunlight. Oh, how excited I am to once again see my hairy, little family of the number three!
Fred, his crooked-toothed smile beaming from ear-to-ear, grabbed his luggage and headed for the gates. He smiled quite innocently (yet rather creepily) as he displayed his ticket to the woman.
Courage was frenziedly bashing his paws against the keyboard, somehow managing to type perfectly despite his lack of fingers. He typed in a series of words, stringing them in a fashion that the computer would recognize.
Where is Freaky Fred today?
"Well now, it's awfully rude to call someone "freaky"…. Although it does rather suit the man you want to know about. Anyhow, "Freaky" Fred, following his last visit to Nowhere, was thrown into the Home for Freaky Barbers. He resided there for nearly four years before being released for good behavior. His current whereabouts were to be monitored by the psychologists working on his case –"
"Yes!" Courage squealed happily, a wide smile showing off his even wider cavity.
"- But, sadly, the psychologists forgot to set the tracker and now have no way of knowing where Fred could be," the computer finished, instantly crushing the puppy's hopes for a clean getaway.
"No!" Courage howled with fear, quickly clamping his paws over his mouth when he heard a door from downstairs slam.
"Oh, Eustace, you're home," Muriel acknowledged with a soft smile, continuing to knit on her quilt. "Did you find everything you needed from the hardware store, dear?"
Eustace slouched, the hump in his back showing from within his plaid shirt. He plopped down in the chair across from Muriel, propping his feet onto the coffee table.
"Bah on that hardware store! They wanted twenty dollars for those cheap tools of theirs!"
"Oh? I heard their tools were rather nice."
"They're nothin' but junk! Besides, I've got plenty of better tools right here around the house."
Muriel set down her quilt, placing her needle and spool of thread into the wicker basket beside her rocking chair. She stood up, the floor moaning under the weight of her thick, black boots, and began to walk toward the door.
"Well, I'll just go hang up the laundry while you fix that old pipe. Oh, and, Eustace, would you check on Courage for me, please? He's up in the attic."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the old man muttered, crossing one foot over the other as he whipped out his trusty newspaper once more. It was clear that he hadn't heard a word his wife had said, even if he had, he clearly wasn't listening. You see, there's a big difference between hearing women and listening to women.
The sound of the screen door shutting was the last sound aside from the paper crinkling that Courage could hear from downstairs. He finally felt safe enough to finish his research, even though he knew trouble was inevitable. He glanced over to the window, spotting Muriel's brittle hair and yellow dress drifting in the wind as she hung clothes.
How do you activate the tracker?
"Ah! I see, you want to try to activate the tracker yourself? Well, it's quite simple for someone with a high level of intelligence; but since you're the only who will have access, I suppose I could teach you. Now, to activate the tracker, you must know the secret phrase used by psychologists of the Home for Freaky Barbers. That secret phrase is –"
Suddenly, the lights gave a harsh flicker before abruptly cutting out into pure darkness. The computer gave an eerie sound of static before clicking to a blank screen.
"No! No! No!" Courage cried as sweat began beading (another abnormality for a dog) on his coat of fur. His paws pointlessly pounded on the keys of the keyboard. He smashed his purple paws onto the keyboard once more before climbing out of the chair. His head drooped as he inched his way out of the eerily black attic, hoping that the power would be restored shortly.
"Muriel!" Eustace could be heard screaming from downstairs, followed by the sound of the door creaking as he stepped onto the porch. "Muriel, is that darned windmill screwing' up again?"
Muriel turned to her short-tempered husband and then to the windmill. It had indeed stopped turning, but the reason was unknown. Luckily, Courage had already defeated the curse that was caused by the windmill stopping; so, this time, the only repercussion was having no electricity.
"Oh my," Muriel softly spoke to herself, her plump fingers resting on her bottom lip. "Eustace, you'd better come fix the windmill before you start working on the bathroom. We're going to need power for dear Fred's visit in the morning."
"Cut the power! We don't want anyone getting shaved in there!" Courage recalled one officers saying during Fred's previous visit. Maybe this power outage wasn't so bad after all.
"Thank goodness he can't actually fix anything!" Courage spoke to no one directly. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it was usually to an outside force (almost like an audience of people).
I'm now sitting here on my bus. It's quite dark and quite lonesome, but I won't cause a fuss. There are a few others on the bus here, you see. But none of them deserving of a shave from me. No, there is but one little pup that I'd like to shave. Oh, how badly that purple fur I do crave!
We're hitting some bumps and the wheels are turning. All the while my thoughts are churning of just how soon I will be able to be naughty.
"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"
"Hello, friend," the blonde barber chillingly spoke to the stranger. "My name is Fred. This seat is taken unless I am dead. But, I can assure you, I'm very much alive. By the morning, Nowhere is where I'll arrive."
The unknown passenger gave a disturbed glare to Fred before quickly fleeing to another seat toward the back of the bus. He leaned next to the person he sat beside, whispering about how the blonde man with the big, black suitcase was very weird. But what he didn't know was Fred wasn't weird at all. No, he was just very, very naughty.
Hours passed, the air being constantly disturbed by the sounds of Eustace smashing tools against the windmill. He moaned and groaned, angrily grumbling words that standards would not find very kid-friendly. His skinny fingers turned white, his knuckles poking out even worse than normal as he bashed a wrench at the base of the windmill. The wrench, however, wasn't happy with this treatment and decided to earn him some "time off" by breaking right in the man's hand.
"Cheap tools! Always breakin' when I'm trying to do somethin'…. Never gonna buy another tool as long as I live…. Stupid windmill."
The sky was now beginning to blur into a deep violet. The sun was beaming a cheery orange color on the otherwise white clouds. A few stars were beginning to sparkle as night was fast approaching.
Muriel was busy inside preparing for her nephew's visit. She was dusting and sweeping while Courage was busy cleaning the dishes. They both had a few bumps and scrapes after being forced to clean in the darkness of the house.
"Oh dear, I do hope Eustace can fix the power before it gets too late. It'll be time for bed soon," the housewife wearily said, resting her dust rag on the coffee table.
As he watched his owner slowly make her way upstairs, Courage desperately hoped that Eustace's streak of terrible fix-it jobs would continue. At that moment, Eustace burst through the door, grumbling and fussing as he waved a dented screwdriver in the air.
"I'm goin' to bed! That stupid windmill can wait until mornin'."
As the older "gentleman" stomped and heaved his way up stairs behind his wife, Courage, much to his relief, noticed that the power was still very much out.
"Thank goodness," the pup sighed, wiping his brow as he scurried up to bed.