The Distressed Cleaning Lady or The Neighbours who Worried about the Devaluement of Their Property After, well, you know … What Happened. Which Happened? The … discreet cough Tragedy. Oh, yes! That was Shocking, wasn't It?!

Once upon Monday the 31st of May at 6.00am on the dot, a cleaning lady let herself into the gingerbread cottage.

The cleaning lady was 55 (or 21, depending on who she was speaking to) and thought that she had seen it all. She hadn't been fazed when she had to clean up copious amounts of egg yolk from beneath the Thomson's wall. She had handled, with great dignity and very little greed, picking up the silver droppings left by Baron Michaelwhite's goose. She had even managed to give Queen Ciúme's mirror a good dusting and a piece of her mind on the vice of gossiping before she was subsequently tossed out on her ear.

But this, the cleaning lady decided, was going a little too far.

And don't get her wrong, she wasn't one to complain. Oh no, adding a sack of icing sugar and a piping bag to her essential cleaning tools was only practical, but getting dearer what with the prices of things these days. Never did she curse at the rain clouds though she knew it would mean four hours of shovelling sticky goop out of the garden the next day. And she was making quite a nice turnover selling dietary concoctions to combat the sudden obesity epidemic in the village.

But this, the cleaning lady decided again, was all a bit much.

She stalked out of the house and went to the constabulary office to notify them that the back half of her former employer could be found sticking out of an oven and the other residents of the gingerbread cottage were mysteriously absent.

.o.o.o.

The neighbours of the gingerbread cottage were terribly shocked when they learned what had happened.

They always knew there was something fishy about those children. That Boy had never gone outside, and That Girl never kept play dates with any of their children though she had seemed delighted to receive the invitation.

If one listened to gossip (which naturally, one didn't; but these were special circumstances), it was said that That Boy and That Girl had been thrown out of their own home! Can you believe it? The mind boggles to think what That Girl and That Boy must have done for their parents to … well! And when the old lady found Those Children, they were vandalising her property. Tearing huge chunks off it, trampling all over her azalea beds to get at the window trimmings, the doorbell was bitten clean off! Can you warrant it? But the wee dear took them in, out of the goodness of her heart; did you ever hear the like?

A week after the Incident, a rumour started flying around that recipes for properly prepared thigh bone, human thigh bone, had been found in the gingerbread cottage. And a book which detailed how to make eyeball stew; not that it specified what type of eyeballs, but apparently the helpful illustrations left very little to the imagination.

The rumour was naturally discounted. That sort of thing happened, of course, but not in Their Neighbourhood, the neighbours agreed with the unshakeable belief of those who can pronounce capitals.

The gingerbread cottage was salvaged and eaten at the harvest festival that year. On the site it had situated, a Home for Delinquent Children was built in the memory of the old lady who had taken in so many, and had been tragically betrayed by those she tried to help.

The end.

Or The Writer who Realises that this is Rather Short, and Half of It is Taken up by the Title, but She was Just Having so Much Fun and Kinda got Carried Away.

If you wish to read more of Baron Michaelwhite, you can find him in I am Jill by Allergic-to-Paradox, who very kindly allowed me to steal him.