Monthly Archives: July 2014

The Mothman Cometh…

From Dr Watson to Sherlock Holmes Esq:


I wanted to jot down my notes on the rather bizarre and frightening events of yesterday evening before my mind insists that I dreamed the whole thing. Even now, I wonder if my senses deceived me and I was somehow a victim of one of those mass hallucination effects I have heard you speak of. No matter, I detail here my recollections…

Mrs Hudson perhaps did us a disservice with her convivial bonhomie, as I believe, had we followed our usual routine and retired to the Snug and Woofit for pie and mash, our wits might not have deserted us in quite the fashion they did. Though I cannot imagine our experiences would have been very different.

Our midnight surveillance in the shadow of the Sir Robert Peel Inn (its renovation work hiding us from passersby) was a cold and dreary affair and I was doubtful that Gere’s so-called ‘Moth-Sense’ had any bearing on reality, so I make no apologies for supposing that our vigil would be a complete waste of time. Had it not been for the amusing stories of Gere’s days with Charlie Pinkum’s Giggling Circus, Lestrade, Douglas and myself would no doubt have slept through the entire night (though you, of course, were as alert as ever, your keen eyes missing nothing).

However, I was undeniably wide awake when we were alerted to the presence of what Gere likes to call The Creature, and though I suspected he had supped too long at the bottle of Bourbon he perpetually kept lodged in his inside pocket, I could not have predicted how his quick actions kept me from harm. Even as we gave chase, I sensed the presence of danger and readily allowed myself to be led as Gere grabbed my collar and hauled me to one side in time to see the scaffolding collapse around us.

“Oi! Mothman!” I heard you shout, as we stumbled out from the mass of planking and metal tubing. Within seconds, we gave chase and followed the apparition down towards the river in time to see what appeared to be a mass of grey, swirling matter hovering above the ground in front of us. The shape took form and for a fraction of a second, I thought I could see the figure of a man – a man who looked like a gigantic moth!

The Mothman (if indeed that’s what we had seen) flew away from us, up over the embankment towards London Bridge. It was then that Gere gave a low moan like a wolf in pain. Then he muttered something that sounded like: “Oooooooh, fuuuuuuuck…” and before us the apparition whizzed across the water and…

Well, as you know, what happened next stunned us all: as we stood on the bank watching, the Bridge itself began to shake and crumble, its very foundations giving way with a deep and mournful growl, as if the Bridge was some living thing, a being that was faced with its own destruction. Oh, Holmes, I know you’ll think me a fool for spouting forth such language, but like you, I was there and I know (or at least, I think I know) that what we experienced was not of this world.

It was only then, as we struggled to gather our thoughts, that I realised Master Douglas was not with us. For a strange moment, I foolishly imagined that perhaps he was the Mothman. But then I saw him stumble out of the mist that had descended upon us. He walked slowly towards us, his face as grey as the grave, and said, “He left this,” and handed a small white card to you, Holmes. We gathered around and peered at the copperplate typeface that said: You have been Visited by The Mothman…Ner ner ner-ner ner…

No doubt you have wondered, as have I, if what we saw with our own eyes was some sort of dream or nightmare or that we had somehow been cast into some trance-like state in which we, all four of us (since Douglas had fallen foul of the Scaffold), been privy to some wretched foretelling of the future. Even now, as I stand here on the banks of the Thames writing these strange words, it is hard to accept as true that London Bridge is still standing, proud in its glory, British to its core, stone upon stone (you get the picture).

I shall not be sending my account of this episode to The Strand, since I consider it might tarnish our reputation somewhat.

I shall pop round later when I’m feeling more myself.

Tired and emotionally yours


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Posted by on July 20, 2014 in Detective Fiction


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Of Moths and Men

From Sherlock Holmes Esq to Dr J Watson:

Watson – Would that you had mentioned the fact that this insufferably self-absorbed man was a past acquaintance of our “friend” Master Douglas I should have been spared an evening of terminal boredom and crushing wearisome recanting of Anecdotes and Incidents from The Boards…I almost believe you refrained from mentioning that choice piece of information just for the secret pleasure of imagining my discombobulation and Total Ennui…had Inspector Lestrade not arrived just at the point where I was about to throw in the towel and disgorge some of my own musings and Tales, I do believe I should now be an inmate at the Douglas Institute itself.

However, that worthy gentleman Did call just as the last of Mrs Hudson’s Crenulated Fancies had been devoured, and made me privy to the latest development at this Place of Worship you mentioned, where a sighting of The Creature had been noted and duly confirmed. I hastily threw together a Bag of Articles I believe to be necessary for our Investigation while Gere and Douglas were in the process of causing Lestrade’s eyes to glaze over at the relentless bombardment of his senses caused by their interminable witterings and ridiculous posturings; I have not seen him like that since the renowned and much-lauded Sir K. Bertie Branagh held an Evening of Reminiscences in the Local Mission Hall. ( I do believe your good lady attended said Function and unfortunately found herself held at Her Majesty’s Pleasure afterwards…I forget the details …)

Anyhow, I shall expect you for Dinner this evening – Hudson is preparing Broadway Brisket and Manhattan Meringues in honour of our guest….I believe she is somewhat in awe at his credentials, or somesuch – stuff and nonsense, if you want my opinion, but the woman is easily set a-quiver, as you know only too well…

Come prepared, Watson – we may need your trusty firearm…

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Posted by on July 18, 2014 in Detective Fiction


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Don’t Go into the Light…

From Dr Watson to Sherlock Holmes Esq:

Many thanks for the cakes, countless glasses of Madeira and your many entertaining anecdotes the other day – I wish I’d jotted a few of them down (I’ve to give a talk to the Sisters of Many-a-Muckle-Mission in Legless Lane on Tuesday week and your tale about Brother Gorilla and the Convent Girls would have given them a few titters).

However, the reason for this missive is to let you let you know about a letter I received this morning: The famous American theatrical actor Richard Gere has apparently been involved in a stage play about something called The Mothman. The play, he tells me, is based on some fantastical idea about a fictional character who takes the form of (as I’m sure you’ve guessed) a giant moth that, on numerous occasions, appears to various individuals shortly before some major calamity or disaster. Gere himself is currently in London and is at this moment performing the aforementioned farce at Drury Lane twice nightly to apparently rapturous applause. More worryingly, he claims to have ‘seen’ the ‘real’ Mothman several times on his way back to his lodgings each evening and is somewhat alarmed that a real disaster may be imminent.

Obviously, I would not care to put too much store in the ravings of a slack-jawed thespian, but Gere has offered us a large sum of money if we will merely take the time to look into these sightings. More interestingly though, our very own Inspector Lestrade visited me just now – he is investigating the collapse of a church roof on seventy God-botherers near where Mr Gere is lodging and seems to think the actor’s ravings may have more substance to them than might otherwise be the case. Curious or what?

I shall pop round to Baker Street later to discuss your thoughts on the matter.

Be good

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Posted by on July 9, 2014 in Detective Fiction


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Very Blithe Spirits…

From Dr Watson to Sherlock Holmes Esq:

Glad to hear you are back to normal, Holmes – you do seem to have encountered a series of unfortunate events recently. Here’s hoping we can shortly resume our normal activities

Also, apologies for not replying last evening – Mrs Watson had me in a rather vulnerable situation for most of the night and refused to cease her exploratory activities even though I shouted, nay – screamed, our agreed safeword (unicorn) for several hours. Eventually, she recalled that we had in fact changed the word from our previous phrase (No, Please Sherlock!) as it proved too long to say with a gag in one’s mouth.

Anyway, I am now recovered from the ordeal and the focal point of my wife’s actions has now returned to its normal function, so I shall pop round to Baker Street this morning. I trust Mrs Hudson’s tasty bites have not all been gobbled up?

By the by, I do have a bit of news concerning what was to have been our engagement with Charles Condomine and his recent apparition: it seems that the poor fellow was killed in a freak accident when his car ran off the bridge near his house. Madame Arcati called me just now to say she believes the spirits of his dead wives (two of them, apparently) may have colluded in arranging some defect with his car, but quite frankly, I think the woman has finally lost the few remaining marbles she may have had.

My scribblings on the case so far are hardly enough to warrant one of my usual articles in The Strand, so I thought I might pass my notes on to that old wag Coward – I bumped into him the other day and he declared that he ‘could derive more dramatic action, dear chap, from a wet phart in a pissing contest than anything I’ve penned all fucking year’. Perhaps he’ll be able to turn it into one of those stage plays he used to be famous for…

Needless to say, we no longer have a case to investigate, so we can perhaps relax for a few days until something new comes up.

I’ll send a boy round with this and will join you shortly.


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Posted by on July 6, 2014 in Detective Fiction


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And Again…

From Sherlock Holmes Esq to Dr J Watson:

I now feel able to furnish you with the remaining details of the ghastly experience I was unfortunate, or foolish enough – the Jury is Out on that point…to recently have undergone…the flashbacks are happening less frequently, and thankfully becoming less acute, gradually losing some of their vivid hyper-reality and hallucinatory properties (I have to confess I was quite taken with That aspect of the Post-Traumatic effects, always being partial to a bit of altered realities, as you know only too well…)

But I digress…As I said, I was  fully prepared to finally meet my Maker (if such exists…), but it was not exactly the time or the place for an intellectual Debate on the Matter, as the actions of The Brothers called for most of my attention. In the circumstances, you can imagine that my first thoughts on seeing Master Douglas suddenly burst in on the proceedings, my pulverised senses took him to be but a figment of my imagination, conjured up in my hour of need to remove me from the Place of (probable) Execution…I admit I Was rather taken aback that my Avenging Angel should take the form of someone who, previous to this scenario, had hardly entered my consciousness, let alone held a special place in that rather sparsely-populated territory…

However, all I could see was the fact that perhaps Death now was Not such a foregone conclusion, and my spirits leapt and regained some of their fortitude; as his eyes met mine and locked on to my Fear and Loathing in “Ma’s Degas” (being the moniker of the Brothers’ Lodging-House – so called from Ma’s insistence that the worthy gentleman in question had once lodged there, and being somewhat strapped for cash at the time, had paid her in kind ….hence the somewhat blurry and indistinct portrait which hung in the Hall…though either M. Degas was somewhat the worse for wear at the time of execution, or it was his attempts at a flattering depiction of said landlady, whose looks unfortunately would never have been her ticket to the Miss Whitechapel Lovely Ladies Competition…or any such Fol-de-Rol based on a comely form – I believe your good lady to be a past Winner of some such nonsense, but I digress once again…Mrs Hudson believes it to be an after-effect of my recent trial, but then again she is ignorant of the consequences of substance abuse…

Anyway, Watson – to cut a long story short (“Thank C—-t!”, you will be muttering under your breath), Douglas demonstrated why men and women look up to him (well, maybe not the second…), and with nary a loss of breath, composure and hair out-of-place, put paid to the Scoundrels’ machinations; I was never more pleased to see a fellow in my life – well, next to you, perhaps…but there was just one thing I still cannot work out – he kept asking me whether I had seen a woman called “Alex”…

I still do not know what he was doing in that seedy Boarding-house…but I cannot deny my relief that he was, and having heard the suspicious noises emanating from the room, that he decided to investigate…Yes, Watson, there Are things in this world beyond our ken, and I for one are jolly glad for that!

I trust you will be round this evening to partake of Supper? Mrs Hudson has knocked up a batch of Strawberry Tartlets (her cousin-once-removed having a glut of said fruit at the moment), and also has received a supply of Gentleman’s Relish from that new place off The Strand – “Gervais and Merchant’s” –  I believe their Pilkington’s Peril is to die for…

Till Supper, your friend, snatched from the Jaws of Death,

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Posted by on July 5, 2014 in Detective Fiction


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