11:07 a.m.
"Mink? Yeah, it's Nosegay. What's going on with this meeting? Am I allowed to come or what?"
"Nosegay, what the fuck are you doing? Didn't the mayor tell you those phones can't be trusted?"
"Relax, I'm on my cell."
"Look, I'm very busy, ok? No, you are not allowed at the meeting. You are to stay in that house and if anyone comes, HIDE! Do you understand me?"
"Yeah, Jesus, calm down. I was only asking. Hey, what's up with that-," she looked at the card she'd been absentmindedly turning over in her hand, "Pinky chick from the state? What a bitch, huh?"
There was a very conspicuous silence on the other end of the line. Nosegay squinted, "Hello?"
"Was she there? Did she see you?" He was talking very quickly, he sounded excited about something.
"Yeah, she came by about a half hour ago. Is she gonna fuck things up? Cause you know if I go down y'all are coming down with me."
"Shit. Shit, this isn't good. What did she say?"
"I don't know, she was looking for the mayor. She didn't know who I was."
Click. He'd hung up on her.
"Ugh!" she said, throwing the phone onto the floor in disgust, "Asshole!"
11:08 a.m.
Mink dropped the phone and raced towards the door, not even bothering to shut off the television or the ziti baking in the oven. He ran as quick as he could, past the message board with it's soggy postings, past the gyroid still dancing it's crazy dance, past the dandelion field Kitty had painstakenly planted in front of her hideous pink and yellow house. He didn't bother stopping for breath until he'd reached the Wishing Well plaza, where he collapsed on the hard grey cobbles.
"Jesus, Mink, are you ok?" Mable asked, looking up from the boquet of wildflowers she was trying to tie onto the micorphone stand.
He nodded, gulping in massive quantities of cold, wet air. His throat began to burn, and he started to cough.
"Cripes! Mink, here, have some water."
She handed him a half-empty bottle of Evian, which he finished in one grateful swallow. Mabel was looking around distractedly, "Nook should've had that beverage cart here already. Where's Pete?"
She left Mink still gasping on the ground and walked over to where Booker was scraping some chalky white substance off one of the folding chairs, "Where's Pete? He was supposed to be here in case we needed him. Parden my french, but if that beverage cart isn't here soon the mayor will have my ass."
Booker shrugged, "Maybe he had some mail to deliver."
Mabel stared at him in disbelief, "It's Sunday, you blockhead. Are you high?"
Mink stood up, and hiccuped. Mabel turned around and saw him filling the now empty bottle with water from the wishing well.
"Mink, don't do that. It's probably all rain water."
"Actually," said the well, "I'd much appreciate someone letting out some of this excess fluid! I feel as bloated as Anna Nicole Smith!"
Mink took a swig of the putrid water and winced. He turned to Mabel, "Have you seen the mayor? It's urgent."
"No, not today. He should be here soon though, the meeting's been pushed up to one o'clock."
"Since when?"
"Don't you read the board, silly? Anyway, Mink, I really need to get this done."
Mink swore under his breath and poured the rest of the water back into the well.
"I sense a great sadness about the land!" it screamed, but Mink was already walking dejectedly back towards his house. He needed to talk to the mayor before the town meeting. If Pinky truly hadn't recognized Nosegay, they might be ok. Even so, they'd have to be prepared with an appropriate cover story for the strange aardvark-looking thing in the mayor's house. A maid? A mistress, or granddaughter perhaps?
When he reached his house, Pete the pelican mailman was sitting on his front stoop, reading "Postman's Weekly". When he heard approaching footsteps, he looked up and, seeing Mink, grinned and leaped to his feet.
"Morning, Mink! Hey, didja hear about Sven?"
"Awful, wasn't it Pete?"
"Oh, yeah. Wasn't Sven always such a nice guy?"
"Yeah, listen Pete, I'm real busy, what can I do for you?"
"Oh, yeah! I usually don't deliver on Sunday, everyone knows that, but I got this package here at the office this morning, it says "real urgent" and "please rush", so I thought I'd bring it on by."
"Well, thank you Pete." Mink took the small, heavy box from Pete and dug out his wallet with his free hand, "Look, here's something for the trouble. Now get going."
"Jeeze, thanks a ton Mink! See you at the meetin', huh?" And, without waiting for a response, he flew off.
Mink shook his head and looked down at the box. It was a plain cardboard box but, sure enough, someone had furiously scrawled "urgent", "please rush", "life or death" and others on it's front and sides. The small white label read simply: "Mink, Lemon."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and gave the box a good hard shake. Something heavy wobbled about inside, maybe a bowling ball? Genuinely curious now, Mink set the box down on his welcome mat and tore it open.
Inside was Sven's severed head. Someone had sewn his lips shut and his eyes were scratched and burned. Mink backed away slowly, transfixed. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the head, or the words that'd been carved into his forehead:
YOU'RE NEXT.
"Mink? Yeah, it's Nosegay. What's going on with this meeting? Am I allowed to come or what?"
"Nosegay, what the fuck are you doing? Didn't the mayor tell you those phones can't be trusted?"
"Relax, I'm on my cell."
"Look, I'm very busy, ok? No, you are not allowed at the meeting. You are to stay in that house and if anyone comes, HIDE! Do you understand me?"
"Yeah, Jesus, calm down. I was only asking. Hey, what's up with that-," she looked at the card she'd been absentmindedly turning over in her hand, "Pinky chick from the state? What a bitch, huh?"
There was a very conspicuous silence on the other end of the line. Nosegay squinted, "Hello?"
"Was she there? Did she see you?" He was talking very quickly, he sounded excited about something.
"Yeah, she came by about a half hour ago. Is she gonna fuck things up? Cause you know if I go down y'all are coming down with me."
"Shit. Shit, this isn't good. What did she say?"
"I don't know, she was looking for the mayor. She didn't know who I was."
Click. He'd hung up on her.
"Ugh!" she said, throwing the phone onto the floor in disgust, "Asshole!"
11:08 a.m.
Mink dropped the phone and raced towards the door, not even bothering to shut off the television or the ziti baking in the oven. He ran as quick as he could, past the message board with it's soggy postings, past the gyroid still dancing it's crazy dance, past the dandelion field Kitty had painstakenly planted in front of her hideous pink and yellow house. He didn't bother stopping for breath until he'd reached the Wishing Well plaza, where he collapsed on the hard grey cobbles.
"Jesus, Mink, are you ok?" Mable asked, looking up from the boquet of wildflowers she was trying to tie onto the micorphone stand.
He nodded, gulping in massive quantities of cold, wet air. His throat began to burn, and he started to cough.
"Cripes! Mink, here, have some water."
She handed him a half-empty bottle of Evian, which he finished in one grateful swallow. Mabel was looking around distractedly, "Nook should've had that beverage cart here already. Where's Pete?"
She left Mink still gasping on the ground and walked over to where Booker was scraping some chalky white substance off one of the folding chairs, "Where's Pete? He was supposed to be here in case we needed him. Parden my french, but if that beverage cart isn't here soon the mayor will have my ass."
Booker shrugged, "Maybe he had some mail to deliver."
Mabel stared at him in disbelief, "It's Sunday, you blockhead. Are you high?"
Mink stood up, and hiccuped. Mabel turned around and saw him filling the now empty bottle with water from the wishing well.
"Mink, don't do that. It's probably all rain water."
"Actually," said the well, "I'd much appreciate someone letting out some of this excess fluid! I feel as bloated as Anna Nicole Smith!"
Mink took a swig of the putrid water and winced. He turned to Mabel, "Have you seen the mayor? It's urgent."
"No, not today. He should be here soon though, the meeting's been pushed up to one o'clock."
"Since when?"
"Don't you read the board, silly? Anyway, Mink, I really need to get this done."
Mink swore under his breath and poured the rest of the water back into the well.
"I sense a great sadness about the land!" it screamed, but Mink was already walking dejectedly back towards his house. He needed to talk to the mayor before the town meeting. If Pinky truly hadn't recognized Nosegay, they might be ok. Even so, they'd have to be prepared with an appropriate cover story for the strange aardvark-looking thing in the mayor's house. A maid? A mistress, or granddaughter perhaps?
When he reached his house, Pete the pelican mailman was sitting on his front stoop, reading "Postman's Weekly". When he heard approaching footsteps, he looked up and, seeing Mink, grinned and leaped to his feet.
"Morning, Mink! Hey, didja hear about Sven?"
"Awful, wasn't it Pete?"
"Oh, yeah. Wasn't Sven always such a nice guy?"
"Yeah, listen Pete, I'm real busy, what can I do for you?"
"Oh, yeah! I usually don't deliver on Sunday, everyone knows that, but I got this package here at the office this morning, it says "real urgent" and "please rush", so I thought I'd bring it on by."
"Well, thank you Pete." Mink took the small, heavy box from Pete and dug out his wallet with his free hand, "Look, here's something for the trouble. Now get going."
"Jeeze, thanks a ton Mink! See you at the meetin', huh?" And, without waiting for a response, he flew off.
Mink shook his head and looked down at the box. It was a plain cardboard box but, sure enough, someone had furiously scrawled "urgent", "please rush", "life or death" and others on it's front and sides. The small white label read simply: "Mink, Lemon."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and gave the box a good hard shake. Something heavy wobbled about inside, maybe a bowling ball? Genuinely curious now, Mink set the box down on his welcome mat and tore it open.
Inside was Sven's severed head. Someone had sewn his lips shut and his eyes were scratched and burned. Mink backed away slowly, transfixed. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the head, or the words that'd been carved into his forehead:
YOU'RE NEXT.
