1:01 p.m.

Mayor Tortimer cleared his throat, surveying the small crowd before him. There were the villiagers in their metal folding chairs, the scattered press from neighboring towns, and his own police force in the back, arms folded, looking not unlike a couple of bouncers slightly past their prime.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming," he said, "Especially on such short notice."

Mink sat in the first row, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

"As you all know, a terrible tragedy has befallen the good people of Lemon."

As Tortimer continued, Mink closed his eyes and let the sound of that low baritone lull him into a light sleep. His hands slipped, and his arms dangled uselessly at his sides as his head lolled back on his neck.

He was standing in the middle of a lush green valley. In the distance he could hear the sweet symphony of the birds, the rustling of a gentle summer wind in the trees. Beside him, Sven held his hand tightly. A huge smile stole across Mink's face.

"Sven," he whispered, turning to face him, "Sven, you've come home."

Sven's eyes were scratched and bleeding. A long, sinewy gash ran the length of his battered face, and blood and pus had plastered his hair to his skull, framing it like some sort of twisted renaissance painting. His mouth opened, and a river of squirming maggots issued forth, and through his screams Mink could hear these whispered words, like a prophecy:

"You're next."

He awoke with a start. On the hastily constructed stage, Mayor Tortimer was bending down towards him, leaning on his cane. Mink looked around and realized everyone was staring, mouths open wide.

"Boy, are you alright? You're talking jibberish." the Mayor stood up, his knees giving very audible pops, "Now, if you're quite through, I'd like to continue."

Mink nodded quickly, not meeting the Mayor's eyes. Around him, people continued to stare.

"Mink, are...are you ok?" Mabel asked beside him. She looked deeply concerned.

"What happened?"

"You must've fallen asleep, and then you started screaming."

Mink narrowed his eyes, "What did I say?"

"You called Sven's name. You said, 'his head, his head'."

Mink took a deep breath and forced a smile, "I guess I was having a nightmare."

Mabel took his hand in hers, "I know you and Sven were good friends. And he was such a nice guy, he's going to be missed. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here for you. You know where to find me."

Mink nodded, and was greatly relieved when she returned her attention back to the mayor's speech.

"We need to show whoever is responsible for this cowardly crime that we will not stand for it. Whoever did this to our town, know this: We will hunt you down like an animal. We will find you and smote you!"

There was a scattering of applause from the villiagers, and immediately the reporters gathered below the stage began to bark out questions.

"Now, now," Tortimer said, "One at a time, one at a time!"

Mink stood up, and a few others follwed suit, while the rest stayed to hear the mayor answer the reporters' questions.

His head was pounding. He'd taken a handful of aspirin after he'd safely burried the box with the missing head in the back of his pear dresser, but they hadn't seemed to kick in yet.

"It's been two fucking hours," he mumbled. He'd opted for the long-lasting over the fast-acting and regretted it.

"Mink!" behind him, Nook was struggling to catch up. Mink pretended not to hear and walked faster.

"Mink! Mink, I need to talk to you!" his voice was growing more distant, and Mink slowed his pace. Finally he reached his house and tore open the door, glad to be in, out of the cold and the low roar of the excited villiagers talking amoungst themselves on their way back to their houses.

"Mink!" It was Nook, pounding on his front door. As he slid beneath the covers of his four-poster bed in his luxurious second-floor suite, he almost wished he believed in God or Allah so he could thank them he'd gotten that Schlage lock imported from Calistan last month. Nook continued to pound away for a few more agonizing moments before finally giving up and heading reluctantly back to the shop. Mink let out a deep breath and hugged himself, shivering.

1:47 p.m.

The door to the cavana dresser stood ajar, and a shadowy figure emerged from it's depths. It climbed out from it's confinement and glided across the room, silently pulling a long, thin instrument from it's garments. It stopped when it'd reached the bed where Mink lay, snoring slightly, and hoisted the instrument high above it's head.

It brought it down in one smooth, fluid motion. Mink's head was instantly severed from his neck, and it's only regret was that it had to be so painless.

"You were warned," it growled, gently removing the head from the sopping pillow where it rested. It retreated down the stairs, out the front door, and disapperaed in knot of trees a few yards in front of the house.

6:34 p.m.

The town of Lemon rested peacefully, nestled between the majestic Mt. Timber and the endless blue that was the Shiny Sea. On it's white beaches, the fisherman were tethering their rickety boats to the pier, and one by one, each of the small homes in the villiage was illuminated from within. Children were being called to dinner, men and women were coming home after long days working at the train station, docks, or the illegal sweat shop run with machine-like effiency by the Able sisters, and in the wishing well plaza, the stage that had been so urgently erected had just as quickly been taken down. Anyone who hadn't been there earlier would have been hard-pressed to say anything had happened there at all.

Lights were dimmed a little earlier than usual that evening: it'd been a long day for everyone. But tonight they would sleep well, safe in the knowledge that the worst was behind them.