…I was awoken by moisture on my face applied by a small dark, leathersome object, darting up and down as it searched for my weak spot. As alert consciousness began to take control I could see that this beacon was no slug, but the attached to the very jaws of some beast of death. It’s eyes peered at me as if in some murderous frenzy and it’s jaws salivated with expectancy, as I, it’s prey, squirmed beneath the great beast.  

I reached for my cane, for I would not perish under the weight and hunger of this ungodly beast. I was still under the bush, it’s branches now heavy with damp, wet snow, and I could see it lodged in the undergrowth, out of reach.  

The beast, meanwhile had climbed atop my person, bearing it’s full weight upon my slight frame and was leaning in, it’s dripping tongue looping from side to side within it’s devilish jaws as it decided where it would start it’s meal.  

And then it came: it’s tongue slapping across my face as if to tenderize, it’s putrid breath pouring over me like 3 year old pea soup rejected years ago from a two-bit cabane à sucre. 

“My pistol”, I thought as I grappled with the monster, clumps of golden fur in my hand. My life was now a toy in the great beast’s jaws and I was facing certain doom. I realized that my pistol was my only item of salvation. Fending off the canine with one exposed arm, I dug deep into my winter coat’s pockets to pull out the weapon.  

My heart sank, and a small whimper came from deep within. It too was gone.  

Most likely was I doomed as I continued to struggle. Panic was fast setting in, and as my retaliation became more frenetic, so did the almighty beast’s tongue-lashing.  

I reached around, looking for something, anything to beat the hound with… a twig to pierce the eyes, a log to bash over his skull. Tugging on a branch, I was granted the former, and I extended my arm in readiness for the deadly act.  

As I lunged, the stick flew from my grasp and soared through the air and onto the icy, powdered pavement.  

The beast jumped, and leaped roadward, leaving my beaten form as it had re-targeted it’s prey. 

I had only seconds before the hellhound would return, I was sure.  

The smell came back to me, omnipresent and overpowering… somehow it seemed stronger than before and clung to me as if I had become it’s very host.  Still, there was no time to worry about the pungent odour. I reached for my cane and then turned towards the other bush to attend to my deceased aide.  

He was gone. Where there had been human form at the last of my memory, there was now nothing but grime and compressed snow.  

A heart stopping growl to my left. It was back… slowly I rolled over and faced the behemoth. The sight which awaited me made my blood run cold.  

It was hunched, no more than 2 feet from my face, it’s haunches coiled and ready for it’s final deadly assault. It dropped the very stick with which I had used to try to blind the animal in an act of sheer defiance, it’s rear shaking uncontrollably with it’s heinous bloodlust. 

I braced myself, a small silent scream forcing it’s way from my petrified lungs. Through all the adventures, all the cases, I had never been so soundly beaten, so soundly humiliated. I felt the branches bend down, as if to secure my tomb.  

Finally, a high pitched sound! An angel calling me. I closed my eyes tightly and felt peace – relaxed – awaiting my fate. There would be no pain, no suffering, just sweet passage to a better place.  

And then… nothing. 

Nothing but a large clump of cold, wet snow descending from atop the highest branch onto my moustache. The beast was gone; the only remnant was my murderous stick, lying inches from me.  

Instinctively I clambered up, brushing off the snow and grime and was surrounded immediately by a myriad of questions: 

Why had I collapsed so suddenly? What was that ungodly smell? Why had the beast come for me? Where had it gone? What of my allegedly deceased friend?  

I brushed off the grime from my well starched chemise and winter long coat, the putrid odourous grim clinging to them like… manure… 

The wretched stench was indeed foul and impossibly strong, but my resolve was strong. I must find my reborn colleague for surely he held the key to this mystery.  

It was then that I realized that I was indeed fortunate, for the curious climate conditions for as the snow had fallen, it had left a canvas for footprints to be detected.  

And being the ever observant detective that I am, it seemed elementary that the footprints that lead from the bush beside would indeed lead me to my mystery’s answer.  

And those footprints lead haphazardly out onto the pavement and towards the park where the beasts do play.  

From there, would he seek refuge on the mountain? 

Or seek refuge in the dark underbelly of the city below?  

Pulling my collar up, I strode, purposefully into the dark night…

It was a most curious evening.

The festival of Easter was upon us and yet the dark evening air hinted of a cold chill perhaps even snow, not the promise of spring, daffodils and croci.

I had retired for the evening with my journal and my thoughts when a whistful glint caught my eye from the pavement below. 

Startled, I jumped from my chair and blew my candle light, allowing the room to sink into darkness. Again the glint appeared – directed at my window – directed at me.

Was I being stalked? Watched from afar? I edged slowly to my lead-lined window and rose to peer through, a solitary bead of swear beginning to form on my brow. Two stories below, skulking beneath the illuminated streetlamp stood a dark shadow.

My heart stood still, my pupils dilated: This shadowy figure was staring at me, his eyes burrowing into my soul like a pair of red hot irons. My darkness did not conceal – and this demon had come for me, of this I was sure.

He beckoned – gently at first, but then with more fervor. Subtley, yet with distinct distress.

Could I deny this ungodly wretch my attention?

I peered closer as the glint once again hit my eye – he had coins – MY GOD HE WAS SHOWING ME COINS!

I nodded once and backed gently into the darkness of my room feeling for my long coat, my peaked hat, my pistol and my cane.

Silently and stealthily I exited my home, locking and double locking my door for fear of assailants that may take refuge in my humble digs. The dully lit hallway which lead to the leadlined elevator groaned and creaked as I skipped across from side to side, ensuring that the eyes that peered from the portrait artwork on the wall would be distracted should they wish to challenge me.

As I approached the front door, I noted that my mystery visitor had retreated somewhat from the bath of light, cascading from the overhead streetlight – he stood, nervously under a barren, leafless tree. A wave of confidence covered me, filling me with renewed courage. This was no demon – just a man.

A man in need of my help.

I slipped out of the door, immediately bracing myself against the snowladen air – it had not fallen yet, but it was not far away, ready to bury the city under yet another blanket of frozen white.

I edged nervously across the street, never breaking eyecontact with my mystery pursuiant… he appeared agitated and nervous, clearly a man with much on his mind.

I approached and said nothing.

“Mr LeClair”, he said, never raising his dark, troubled eyes from the pavement, his feet moving fleetingly as if ready to take flight at a moments notice.

“I needed to see you… to ask you… to beg of you…”. His voice trailed off, terror streaming from his eyes.

“You must help me, I understand that you can. Help?”

“My good man”, I said gently, “I am at your service, what I can do I will, but do tell – what is it that troubles you so?”

“It is the air. It is filled with evil”. The man lurched at me, grabbing my lapels, his eyes pleading with mine.

“I cannot breathe…”. He began to choke, the very life of him seemingly disappearing before my eyes.

“The poisonous air… where does… it… come from…”.

He respired once more, and expired.

Panicked, I looked around, the very blood drining from my face as I heard the distant wail of sirens approaching. Looking left, then right I saw no man or woman on the street – it was barren. I dragged the corpse of my newly expired associate into the undergrowth of the neighbouring appartment building and deftly covered his slight frame with whatever aged leaves and dirt lay beneath the bush I had deemed suitable for his grave.

Then it hit me.

As I scraped throught the dirt, the first whiff of fowl, putrid stench. It was encompassing, surrounding, overwhelming. I wretched, not once, but two times and dug deep into my pocket, searching for my handkerchief to cover my nose and mouth, sweat pouring from my brow… as I raised the cloth to my mouth, I let out a small almost silent scream as the stench grew stronger… was I to be overcome in the same manner as my dead colleague??

My throat began to close as my vision became blurred and my muscles failed.

I tried to scream as my body finally succumbed to the poison and I collapsed under the bush, as the first flakes of Easter snow began to fall… 

..that I uncovered the mystery of the pidgeons which populated Philips’ Square – a vile a decidedly dastardly cloning ring located on the ‘mountain’ of Montréal aimed at the very abomination of mankind…

…that I dicovered the secret to those devilish underwired braziers. Laced temptation, fashioned with up-lifting charletanery…

I took time away.

Away from all of this. In the deep south, rediscovering and honing my talents so that I may return, a finer, wiser man - devoid of the wretchedness that had befallen me.

 I am back in residense at my Docteur Penfield apartment. Looking… watching… onmipresent to answer and to slueth…

 …to wear my sideburns of fury.

 …to rescue the commonperson from the darkness that befalls them.

I ask that no payment be forthcoming. Only that you provide me with the opportunity top better serve my mankind…

I await your mysteries, with loyalty and anticpation.

 LeC.