Sam's Revenge On Weasil

21 August 2026

2005

R. Linda:

SO! After enduring accusations, an international phone argument, a Scottish investigation, the Dragon, Weasil, Sam, and Wolfie's grand entrance—all because me Mam moved a plate of sausages—I have survived all that and an entire crime over something that was never stolen in the first place. What is me life like? 

With the sausage mystery solved, everyone stayed to eat them, which was me worst possible outcome because instead of people leaving, me Mam started cooking again. AND, I hadn't forgotten that Weasil and Sam really hadn't got to know each other. Sam was busy being attentive to Ms. Jaio, which was a good thing, but Weasil was slit-eyed, watching his every move. 

I was thinking Wolfie interrupted the sausages; could I get him to interrupt the Weasil somehow? 

I could see that once full of sausages, the Weasil remembered. I could almost hear his mind saying, "Wait a minute. Dissy 'ere is the fellow Fioner says is Gabe's new bestest bud." 

Yup, and here I thought the crisis was finally over, only to discover the real crisis hadn't even started yet. Why do I feel escalating disaster coming me way? Because it did!

Sam was just sitting there, throwing a smile Ms. Jaio's way every so often. Or was that a smile to himself? It was then that I looked at Sam; he looked at me. Then he smiled. That was when I knew we were all doomed. I realised me problem was not Weaz, but Sam!

Ugh, where was this fiasco going to go? I ask you. Weasil had brought some high-priced bottle of Scottish rotgut that he and Robbie expounded upon. They cracked it open for all of us to have a glass with the sausages. Wolfie declined; I should have known then it was strong stuff. Tonya and Ms. Jaio both choked on it, but Sam and I were good at covering how much we were struggling with it. Somehow Weasil knew this and went on bragging about how well he handles it. Sam became strangely interested in this. The more questions Sam asked, the more boastful Weasil got. 

I started to realise Sam was plotting something, and I needed to stop him without alerting the women in particular, because whatever Sam was thinking of doing, the women would blame me.

So there we were, me watching Sam, Sam watching Weasil, Weasil obliviously running his mouth, Robbie encouraging him, Ms. Jaio suspicious, the Dragon entertained, me Mam believing for perhaps the first time all evening that everything had finally settled down, and then there was Tonya, buying none of it. 

It was about that time that Sam said the most terrifying words I could possibly hear: "Here, Weasil, I've an idea."

Knowing Weasil, whatever challenge Sam had come up with, Weasil would simply not be able to refuse, because we are talking Weasil here, a slightly inebriated Weasil. Sam had talked with the lad long enough to know what button to push; I was certain of it. 

Sam convinced Weasil that there is an old Irish/Scottish test of nerve called 'turgnamh misnigh' that Weasil AND Robbie never heard of. It means a trial of courage. Like walking into a haunted room and staying put for five minutes. Robbie immediately scoffed at that and said it was rubbish. That alone made Weasil more determined to prove he could do that. Sam insisted that every Irish lad knows about it, but I knew perfectly well Sam just invented the whole thing. And Weasil? Well, anything an Irish lad can do, a Scottish lad can do better!

And there I am thinking, Ah Jaysus. I see this setup developing too late to prevent it. The whole idea Sam had must have fallen in his lap when Robbie mentioned the old dilapidated house a few roads away. While we were eating the sausages and other goodies Mam had put out, Robbie mentioned that sinister old farmhouse and how spooky it looked as they passed by. 

“What's that old wreck down the road?”

Before I can answer, Sam does.

“Oh, that place.”

I looked at him. That place? Sam knows something I was thinking. Then Sam very casually tells them there's a room upstairs nobody will stay in after dark.

The Weasil immediately scoffs.

Robbie: “Why?”

Sam shrugged.

“Door closes.”

The Weasil laughs. "Doors close, Sam. Dat's generally wot dey're fer."

Sam didn't react.

“Not like this one.”

Tonya wanted to know what he meant. But before he could open his mouth, me mam told Sam to stop filling people's heads with nonsense. But the Dragon is interested because she recognises entertainment when she sees it. 

I am still watching Sam, and I realise he is enjoying this far too much.

Eventually the story comes out: supposedly you walk into this particular bedroom and stand near the window. Everything is fine. Then, very slowly behind you…creeeeeak. The door closes.

Open it again.

And creeeeeeak.

Closes again.

Naturally, the Weasil announces that the entire thing is bollocks.

And Sam says:

“Probably.”

Sam was letting the Weasil challenge himself.

The Weasil asked whether Sam has actually seen it happen.

“Yep.”

“Then show me.”

“No.”

Now I know. And how did I know? Because Sam wanted Weasil to say that. 

"And why notty?" Weasil asked, exasperated. 

"It's dark. The place isn't safe. We'd be trespassing."

Every objection only made Weasil more determined to go there. Then Robbie made the fatal mistake: "I'd like to see it."

Now they were all going, except the two smart ladies: me Mam, and me wife.  

Sam had embellished the house's history to the point where I almost believed him, but I knew better. He talked about voices in an attic room where doors close, and that if someone stayed in the room for five minutes, it would prove their courage. 

I sat there like a man who had accidentally wandered into a room full of people carrying lit matches. Me worst fear was Wolfie. He left shortly after. He came to ask if the help he gave me in NI was satisfactory and to drop off a bottle of Irish whiskey I couldn't find while I was there. Seems he's on his way to see Capt. Jaack and me being along the route, it was convenient to drop off the bottle. After he left, I really felt catastrophe creeping up on me.

I remembered glancing at Wolfie earlier, who was looking at me, and I knew he knew before I did that Sam was setting Weasil up. He knew what turgnamh misnigh meant and nodded at me. I leaned toward him (I was sitting next to him), and he said quietly so only I heard, "Let it play out." I knew then he was aware that Sam had a plan and Weasil would walk into it, and that I should let it go. "Just desserts and all that," and then, raising his voice, he said he had to be on the road and couldn't stay for tea. 

I walked back towards the kitchen after seeing Wolfie out. I stopped to regain me courage. I noticed this first: Sam wasn't engaging Weasil as much as Weasil was trying to engage Sam. Sam was being good, and Ms Jaio was maybe the reason. Was he trying to impress her? No insults were hurled Weasil's way; Sam hadn't even growled at some of the stupid things Weasil was saying. And Weasil was critiquing our Bigfoot adventure (See Story 1196, The Bigfoot Stakeout, 31 July 2026), and it wasn't flattering. Yet, Scotland was brought up several times by Robbie, who was oblivious to Weasil's poking at Sam. Yet, Sam was polite to Robbie, never made a disparaging remark about Scotland, sausages, or anything else for that matter. 

When I stepped back in the kitchen, I heard Sam deliver the hook to Weasil, "Sure, if you're frightened, Weasil, just say so." I knew instantly, DONE, HE'S GOT HIM. And suddenly, they were up and getting ready to go to the old farmhouse. I looked over at Dragon, who had an innocent look on her face, which gave me pause, a lot of pause. Dragon hasn't had an innocent look on her face since 1987, and she wasn't innocent then either. What was up with the Dragon lady, I wondered.

I didn't have time to wonder, as Tonya said she was staying with Mam to clean up and get dessert ready for when we returned from our "great adventure." 

"You going too?" Her daughter asked her mother.

"Oh, wouldn't miss this for the world." Said she. "Gabe's coming too." 

"Like hell I am."

"You scared too?" Sam asked, like he was surprised. 

And suddenly, ME—who saw the entire disaster coming—began trudging off behind Sam and the Weasil, while me Mam calls after us, "Don't be long, boys. Dessert's nearly ready."

Dessert. The woman was worried about dessert. 

However, it was Sam, Ms. Jaio, Robbie, Weasil, Dragon and me all participating in the "great adventure." I just knew Sam was leading Weasil and me toward certain death; Robbie was following because apparently Scotland has no sense of self-preservation; Ms. Jaio was only going because Sam was; and Dragon, for some reason, had her phone out. All I could think was that Dragon knew this was going to be good and intended to have photographic evidence.

This be where we went

"Here we are," Sam said as we came up the old driveway. "There is an old room upstairs where the door I told you about shuts by itself. That's when the voice comes through."

We all went inside. We had torches so we could see our way. Up two flights of rickety stairs we went single-file, Sam leading the way, Weasil behind him. There was a noise, and we all stopped dead in our tracks. 

"What woz dot?" Me Chinese ex-intern said aloud. No one had any idea, but Sam said the old dumb waiter probably dropped with the vibration on the stairs. This sort of settled everyone's nerves, so we continued up the stairs, stepping lightly like we didn't want to wake the dead or the dumb waiter. Then I noticed Dragon at the bottom of the stairs. I motioned for her to come up, but she shook her head, no. I shrugged and continued to bring up the rear. 

So six of us walked into the room. Within 3 seconds, the door creaked shut. 

"Oh, thots yer mutha-in-law," Robbie says and goes to the door. No one there. He walked out, and there was Dragon at the bottom of the stairs. He walked back in, and it wasn't 1 second before he was back in the room; the door creaked shut again. 

Weasil's face was set in determination to prove there is nothing frightening about the house.

Then . . . from somewhere inside the wall beside him, very faintly: "Weasil . . . "

We all heard it. This frightened the bejayus out of all of us. Ms. Jaio grabbed onto Sam. Sam stood there, looking perfectly innocent. Then the house said it again. 

"Weeeeasil . . . "

The Weasil was out of that room like a greyhound.

Robbie, the fool, was doubled over laughing at his best friend running down the stairs like Seabiscuit running the Kentucky Derby. Ms. Jaio was yelling she was scared and wanted out NOW! I tried to get down the stairs without looking like I was running. And Dragon was recording everything. And Sam? Sam hadn't moved. When he was ready, he slowly made his way down the stairs with a shaking Ms. Jaio. 

Well, it wasn't until today that I got the low-down from Sam on what actually happened in that house. Sam knew that the door to the attic room swings shut if somebody walks across a certain section of the room. He also knew the stairs vibrate enough that the dumb waiter shifts in the walls and makes a noise. He also knew an old speaking tube carried sound strangely through the house. Sam knew exactly where the other end of the tube is, at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway. 

It seems Sam and Dragon were talking together when the sausage fiasco was taking place. Somehow, he enlisted her to be a "delicious" part of the conspiracy (she told me). If I had known any of this, the mere thought of that combination alone would have terrified me.

Oh, one note: once Ms Jaio found out what Sam arranged, well, we are back to square one. She's outta there, and he's single . . . again.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

Letter to Fiona: Re: Sausages Mostly

20 August 2026

2004

R. Linda

AND

Fiona:

It all started innocently enough, or I thought it did. Me Mam was busy in the kitchen making sausages, special sausages because her favourite person in the whole wide world let us know (for the first time, we got a heads-up) he was coming to visit AND he wouldn't be alone, he'd have his Scottish sidekick Robbie with him. Yes, you guessed it, Fiona, after all the hints you gave him, the Weasil took the bait and arrived last night.

That's not all that arrived last night; the Dragon lady flew on her broomstick from the shores of New Jersey to alight upon our doorstep as well. And why? Because me darlin' wife shared her angst that The Weasil was arriving, and you know the Dragon is a Weasil fan as well. Tonya's reasoning was that her mother would keep Weasil busy and out of our hair. I've heard lame excuses before, so I rolled with this one out of defeat that I could stop any of this.

In between all this, you'll be happy to know that Sam and Ms. Jaio are "starting over." Isn't that sweet? Last night was a community supper, and Sam invited Ms. Jaio. After the supper, they dropped by to say hello. Yes, they did. Now Ms. Jaio has met the Weasil, but Sam has not. After all the fuss you, Fiona, made over Sam being me best new friend, Weasil couldn't let that happen, as he considers him my best friend. So you may imagine the angst that caused yours truly to have them both meet for the first time.

I was expecting one-upmanship from Weasil. But that didn't happen because the sausages me Mam made suddenly disappeared. Nobody admitted to taking them. This happened when we were all in the kitchen, introductions were happening, and me Mam suddenly piped up about missing sausages. That stopped everyone's polite chatter. 

"Sausages? Missin' Missus O?" Robbie whined at the thought.

"Well, yes, I had 'em 'ere on da counter an' wuz goin' ta serve 'em up to yas." She said, looking around for them. 

"OH NO, NOT THE SAUSAGES!" Robbie shouted in a muck sweat, looking under the table, lifting chair cushions. 

"What is wrong with you?" The Dragon asked him.

"Missus, never coom b'tween a man an' his meat an' pastry-based snacks!" 

Sam piped up and said he thought we should investigate, and I thought he had lost his mind. 

"Only another Scotsman would take sausages," Robbie said, looking suspiciously at that fellow Scotsman, who looked innocent as the day he was born, or at least, was trying to. 

"Iz bein' unfairly blamed fer being a sausage-loving Scotsman," Weasil said, holding up a finger like he was giving a political speech. 

Just then, the phone rang, and I picked it up to hear the melodic voice of me sissy Sheila on the other end. Everyone in the kitchen was talking at the same time, and Sheila could hear all this, and she somehow accused ME of being the culprit, and she wasn't even in the same country!

"Ack! This sounds like the "Sausage Roll Row" that's been goin' on! Dare be da debate over semantics gooin' on over 'ere. Everyone be debating da definition of snack food. Dey be callin' sausage rolls, "Savoury plant-based puff pastry cylinders."

"Jayus, Mary an' Joseph dare, Sheila," I said, "Thot has nothin' to do wit wot's bein' 'debated' in me very own kitchen!" 

After more back and forth, and the people in the kitchen getting louder, I hung up on me sissy. Yes, I did. Somehow it was me fault I had started the 'sausage roll debate' back home AND in me house. The phone started ringing again; I hung up, then took the receiver off the hook because I knew who it was, and I was not about to defend meself over something so stupid. 

Everything stopped when Wolfie suddenly arrived. 

"I rang the bell, but no one answered, so I let meself in and called out, but all the loud shouting, not one of you heard me." He said.

And with his handsomeness standing in the doorway, everyone forgot about the sausages. Yup, Wolfie managed to steal the spotlight without doing anything but looking good. When I think about it, I have spent years developing relationships with people only to have the handsome Wolf walk into the room and instantly become everyone's favourite. 

"I did not know you were coomin'" I was so flustered by all this and all of THEM that me Irish was making itself prominent in me speech. 

"Oh sorry," Tonya gasped, "I knew, and I meant to tell you but with all this going on . . . "

Wolfie had no idea what he walked in on. I wasn't going to apprise him of the situation because, frankly, I couldn't get a word in. They all started talking again at once. That is until me Mam took Wolfie by the arm and seated him at the head of the table and said, "Haf ya eatin', luv?" The woman was in Mam mode, and it was obvious who her favourite was.

Of course he hadn't, or said he hadn't, and she immediately forgot other people were standing in her kitchen who apparently could have starved to death without troubling her in the least. "I'll git ye sumthin'," and she started rummaging around to find something to give him. Robbie stood there in the middle of everyone, looking quite a bit put out, if not appalled, that the Wolf apparently was going to get fed when the SAUSAGES ARE STILL MISSING!

Instantly, Weasil started cosying up to Wolfie; the word food was music to Weasil's ears, and he'd think nothing of picking food off Wolfie's dish.

"EXCUSE ME!" Robbie shouted. "We still 'ave a meat-based crime tae solve, yeah?"

"There is no crime," I said.

"There's missin' sausages!"

"That does not constitute a crime," Sam put in, backing me up.

"It does in Scotland."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, "Actually, Gabe, technically if somebody took them—"

"Don't—no," I said, shaking me head.

"I was only saying—"

"Well, don't."

Sam was somehow getting dragged into the missing sausage mystery by interviewing Robbie. The Dragon, seeing the smart way Sam was questioning the Great Scot, started interrogating everyone else. Interrogating being the operative word here. Ms. Jaio was trying her hardest to be polite to the bullet-quick questions Dragon was shooting at her, something about spring rolls resembling sausage rolls. 

The Weasil had positioned himself beside Wolfie now, probably hoping some of Wolfie's handsomeness might rub off on him. It wasn't going to happen. Sam was watching the two of them; Robbie was still suspicious of Sam; the Dragon was watching Robbie; Ms. Jaio was watching everybody; and Tonya was watching me because she knew I was approximately thirty seconds away from ordering every last one of them out of me house.

Tonya, seeing this, had stepped in, thinking that apologising for everything that had happened in the world would make it all go away. It did not. 

And me? I stood there realising this is me abode, and I have abso-bloody-lutely no control over anything happening inside it. 

Meanwhile, in her dramatic apology, Tonya placed the phone back on its cradle, and it instantly started ringing. Before I could shout, NO! Tonya had picked it up, and Sheila was BACK! Just as Tonya was about to hand me the receiver, I said, "DO NOT GIVE HER TO ME."

"Hi, Sheila."

"TONYA!" I couldn't believe this.

Everybody went quiet. Even from where I was standing on the other side of the room, I could hear me sissy squawking through the phone. 

"She wants to know if you've found the sausages."

"Tell her I have left the country."

"You're standin' right 'ere," Weasil said loud enough to carry to the phone. I threw a dirty look at him, and he shouted to Tonya, "Tell 'er he said to lie he's not 'ere."

Tonya listened to Sheila and told me, "Your sister apparently told half of Northern Ireland that YOU are involved in an international sausage controversy."

I stood there with me mouth open in astonishment, and everyone else stopped what they were doing and looked at me suspiciously. Everyone but me Mam, who was busy putting together a plate of food for her favourite person, Mr. Wolf. It was then that she opened the dishwasher to put a utensil inside when she discovered, yes, you guessed it, the missing sausages! 

Seems the woman was afraid that Robbie, the Great Scot and lover of sausages, would get at them before everybody else. 

"Oooh 'dere dey be," says she. "Now I remember."

Every head turned towards her.

"Wot?" Robbie asked.

She looked at Robbie, then she looked at the dishwasher.

Robbie slowly rose from the chair cushion he had been inspecting. 

"Remember wot?" 

Mam reached into the upper tier of the empty dishwasher and pulled out a covered dish. There was silence. She removed the cover. Sausages. Robbie made a sound I have only heard previously from wounded livestock.

"THERE THEY ARE!"

Weasil stared at me Mam. "Why were dey in dere?"

She shrugged, "I hid 'em."

"You HID them?" I said.

"Well, yeah."

"Why?"

She pointed at Robbie.

"Because I knew he'd be coomin'."

The kitchen exploded.

"I KNEW IT!" Robbie shouted.

"Knew what?" I yelled. "You've spent the last half hour accusing every Scotsman in New Hampshire!"

"I wuz protectin' the sausages," me Mam said indignantly.

"FROM ME?" Robbie cried.

"Well, ya ate fourteen sausage rolls las' time ya wuz, 'ere."

"Twelve!"

"Fourteen. I counted."

"That's slander."

"It's not slander if she counted them," Sam offered.

I turned on him.

"Samuel."

He shut up.

Sheila's voice came from the phone. "WOT'S HAPPENIN'? DID DEY FIND 'EM?"

I grabbed the phone.

"YES, SHEILA! THE INTERNATIONAL SAUSAGE CRISIS HAS BEEN RESOLVED."

There was a pause.

Then she said, "So ya took 'em."

I hung up.

Again.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

MEANWHILE Back At The Office

18 August 2026

2003

R. Linda:

I left Sam, our romantic wounded hero, and moved on to HER, the woman who said, "There was no engagement. There is nothing to discuss." Only said with a Chinese accent. And then, there be me, the man who be told is responsible for this (See Story #2001, Hammocks, Matchmaking, And A Misplaced Diamond, 16th August 2026).

When I saw Ms. Jaio yesterday morning, she looked anything but happy. I've never seen the "glum" side of Ms. Jaio, and I hoped that would end soon. She's all business and doesn't seem like her old self at all. No snide remarks about what Jessica Lee in Fashion is wearing, no criticism of Tony's poor choice of ties or lack of, no nothing. 

So, adventuring in, since I feel like I have nothing to lose, I said to her in passing, "Ms. Jaio, Sam seems kind of—"

"No."

"But I didn't—"

"No."

"I was only going to—"

"I know what you were going to ask."

And THAT was the entire conversation. 

I came to the conclusion that Sam is miserable. Ms. Jaio won't discuss it. Tonya concludes something must be done. No one has told ME how to solve this dilemma, yet they all seem to imply, in manner or words, that I am responsible for fixing it. This is where the trouble begins: I mapped it out in me mind. I need Ms. Jaio's side of the story. Unfortunately, she is not forthcoming. 

I saw her at her desk, looking out the window with her readers on, which told me she wasn't looking out the window; she couldn't see a damn thing. I approached carefully. 

"Ms. Jaio, can I ask you something?"

"No."

"You don't what I'm going to ask."

"Yes, I do."

That stopped me for a minute. But me being me, I decided to carry on anyway. I tried a different route.

"Sam's been kind of quiet. I saw him last night at the town meeting."

"Good."

"He doesn't seem himself."

"I'm sure he'll recover."

"He thinks—"

"Gabe." She looked at me for the first time over her glasses. She meant business.

And that was it. End of conversation. BUT I tried many times today, and she headed me off every single time. She's clever, I tell ya. But you know me, it takes a lot to deter me when I get something in me mind that needs be done. Since me first approach was going nowhere, it was time to invite the two of them somewhere they'd have to meet face-to-face.

I rang up Tonya. I told her the plan I had hatched. 

"Nothing elaborate, I'll be simply inviting both of them somewhere without telling either that the other will be there."

"You didn't do that yet, did you?"

"I thought if they just talked—"

"She specifically said she didn't want to talk about it."

"Right."

"So YOU arranged for them to talk about it."

"Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound like such a good idea."

"It's an approaching disaster, Gabe."

"Too late," I said softly.

Yes, I arranged a meeting. I did that. Desperate measures for desperate times, as they say. I bribed my administrative assistant to talk Ms. Jaio into going with her to the little coffee shop down the street after work.

"Tell her you need some advice."

"On what?"

"Anything. Some girl thing."

"Girl thing?"

"Oh, I don't know. Tell her you are dating a Chinese Art Student at Harvard, and would love to know how to go about that so you don't insult him somehow."

"Insult him? Really, Mr. O'Sullivan."

"No, you know what I mean, like, he is from another country, her country, and you want to make a good impression. Something like that."

"You mean lie."

It took some fast talking, but I got her to do it. Then I waited. She came back and whispered, all set. Then she asked me why she was doing this favour for me. I was counting on her not asking me, and when she didn't at first, I thought I was home free. I decided honesty was the best policy and so I told her why. Her reaction? She laughed. She thought the whole thing was a hoot. She also told me I was going about this all wrong and should leave sleeping dogs lie. Well, I can't do that. 

"Just get her to the coffee shop, and I'll take it from there," I said. She said she would, but I owed her. Of course, I do. I never get anything for free. 

"I want Friday off. This coming." She said.

"Done." 

Once this transaction was complete, I rang up Sam and gave him a song and a dance about the cemetery downtown with all the famous colonial names and GHOSTS. I said I was free early today; if he could get off work and meet me at the designated coffee shop, we could grab a bite and head out. He, of course, hasn't lost interest in this ghoulish business and said enthusiastically, "Yes, I can make it."

"Bloody hell," I said to me self-satisfied self. I was pulling this off. 

So, the time arrived; I was there ahead of everyone. Shortly after, Ms. Jaio and me assistant arrived. I acknowledged them like it was no big deal and went about stirring me cup of joe. Then right on time, Sam walked in. The first thing he saw was Ms. Jaio. I braced meself; was he going to walk out? Would she see him before he did? 

And? Nothing happened! Ms. Jaio said hello, Sam said hello. They behaved like two perfectly civilised adults. Me assistant slipped over to me table and asked me, "How's it going?" 

I couldn't hear what the two setups discussed; it looked like something utterly mundane. Maybe the weather, food, something that needs fixing? I was completely baffled. I was expecting Gone With The Wind. Instead, I get two people discussing whether it's going to rain. In hindsight, I think that's exactly what Sam needs—not a reconciliation, not an explanation, just proof life continues. Or, maybe that's what I needed.

My assistant had slipped out with my blessing. Ms. Jaio left after her conversation, but not without a glance at me and a mouthed "thank you," and I cautiously approached Sam. 

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How do you feel"

"Fine."

"So you're over it?"

Sam looked at me.

"I didn't say that." Then after a pause, "Did she ask about me before she came?"

"No," I said.

Sam suddenly became depressed again. This threw me. Now I felt terrible that I had set him up, but not enough not to lie.

"She might've," I said, as if remembering something.

To this, Sam perked up. 

"You think so?"

For once I knew enough to keep me mouth shut. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

The Sam Side Of The Story

17 August 2026

2002

R. Linda:

Sam, Sam, Sammy boyo! The man is determined to make an art out of being depressed, BUT, and this is a big BUT - he's doing it with dignity! I saw him last night; I made up some birdbrained excuse to discuss a ghost in a cemetery I heard about (I didn't really), and I knew that would get his attention. SO, I was expecting to wind the conversation around to Saturday night's fiasco, and was ready to hear about how Sam's heart was broken, but no, that announcement didn't come. Instead, he acted like a man who suffered one of history's great romantic tragedies, while insisting nothing was wrong. 

He told me we should go to the Community Centre (the Congregational Church) because there was a meeting on "The Pit" (you remember the hullabaloo over mineral digging, same subject, new venue), and maybe we should just go. I figured, well, it was his way of getting his mind off Ms. Jaio, so OK.

When we got there, I went for refreshments; he didn't want any. I was mingling with me neighbours, but I did notice the usually talkative Sam was sitting alone. He was sighing for no apparent reason, but I suspected it was over that Chinese ex-intern of mine.

After a while, I bit the bullet and went back to Sam, who by this time was talking to single-guy Jeffrey Longworth. As I walked over, I was surprised to hear that suddenly Sammy had developed opinions about marriage, women, fate, and the unreliability of human communication. 

Jeffrey had been headshaking as if in agreement, but as soon as I joined them, he took me arrival as his chance to get away, and he did! 

I asked Sam what was wrong because he looked down in the mouth.

"Nothing."

Five minutes later, Sam said, "Gabe, you ever notice how a man can be engaged one day and completely unengaged the next without actually doing anything?"

I was gobsmacked but acted serious. In the back of me mind I be thinking, Sam needs cheering up. I wasn't sure how to proceed and made a mistake by mentioning Ms. Jaio.

"I'd rather not talk about her." He said.

"Okay."

There was a pause, and then he asked me, "Did she say anything?"

"You said you didn't want to talk about her."

"I don't," he sighed, "I just asked if she said anything."

UGH! I understood then that Sam was all at the same time, miserable, proud, curious, hopeful, and completely unwilling to admit any of those things. I was saved by the meeting being called to order. 

Tonya had arrived for that meeting, which I knew she was attending, but when she had asked me if I was going, I told her I'd be commiserating with Sam. She raised an eyebrow at me and a head nod at Sam. I smiled brightly like, "Yes, we are here."

During a break in the 'action' (it was a very heated discussion), I had a moment with Tonya.

"Since YOU are responsible for introducing them, why don't YOU fix it? I can see Sam is sad."

"Well . . . yes, I did introduce them." I reluctantly admitted.

"So can't you introduce them again?"

"They already know each other, Tonya."

"Well, it worked the first time."

"Since when do introductions come with a warranty?"

After the meeting, stragglers stayed to finish up the goody spread that the committee had put out. There was Beth MacAfee, a very pretty single woman who had just moved here. I'd seen her a few times, but Sam had never seen her. I heard him ask Jeffrey, "Who's that attractive woman over there?" I stood with me mouth gaping open as Sam made a beeline for Beth. He introduced himself, and gone was the romance is dead attitude; he was very distracted by the town newbie. 

Tonya floated on by me and said under her breath, "Sam in recovery."

For five minutes, Sam was completely himself. I couldn't help but notice after the doldrums I had been subjected to. I said, "You're feeling better."

"About what?" He said, eating a piece of CAKE.

"Ms. Jaio."

Sam immediately became melancholy again. He realised what he was eating and put it down unfinished.

"I told you I don't want to talk about that."

I realised I accidentally reminded him of his heartache. 

I drove him home, and he invited me in. He seemed to really want my company, so I went in. Sam got us both whiskies, but he was quiet, something very out of character for him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You look terrible."

"Thank you."

I knew, with that retort, that something was definitely wrong. And that something was Ms. Jaio. So, I kept probing until Sam gave me enough information that me brain kicked in with an idea, a deadly one, but at the time, it seemed like a good one.

"Some things aren't meant to be, Gabe."

"What things?"

"Things."

"What kind of things?"

"Women things."

I understood that, or thought I did. That's when Sam's dog, Bowser, wanted out. I didn't offer to go with him; I thought to give Sam some alone time to clear his head. So I rang up Tonya. I was curious to know what she thought because I had introduced the two ex-lovebirds, and how she thought I possessed some mysterious authority over the relationship, or lack thereof.

I reported Sam's condition to her and Ms Jaio's refusal to talk when I rang her earlier that day.

"What are you going to do?" Tonya asked me.

"About what?"

"Sam and Ms. Jaio."

"What am I going to do?"

"You introduced them." She pointed out needlessly.

"That's a lovely leap of logic, Tonya. Let me say that introducing two adults does not make one responsible for whatever subsequently happens between them."

"I'm not convinced. You got them into this."

"I introduced them, Tonya. I didn't get them into anything."

"Well, somebody did."

Silence on me end. Then she said, "The best thing you can do is leave Sam alone."

But I didn't hear that; I heard Sam needs cheering up and the idea in the back of me mind was starting to take form. And how better to do that than give him romantic advice? Yes, indeed, that's the thing. But I found out quite quickly that Sam, despite the current evidence, considers himself vastly more knowledgeable about women than ME!

When he came back, I started this low-key (at least to me) conversation on the subject. HE just stared at me! Finally, he said something.

"Gabe, how many women have you been engaged to?"

"One, me wife."

"And it stuck. I don't see how you're qualified to advise me."

"You weren't engaged; that was an accident that happened, sort of."

SILENCE.

I realised I made a major tactical error. Then he said: "I know you were engaged. That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

He didn't answer. I was convinced that despite everything I'd been told, there was one simple solution: Sam and Ms. Jaio needed to talk. I know everyone thinks that's a terrible idea, but I got it into me head to arrange an accidental meeting. Yes, I know, I know, I can hear you saying, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I TOLD YOU NOT TO GET BACK IN THE MATCHMAKING BUSINESS, AND I EMPHASIZED NOT TO GET BACK IN THE MATCHMAKING BUSINESS; IT NEVER ENDS WELL FOR YOU!"

I would simply invite both of them somewhere without telling either that the other will be there. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Hammocks, Matchmaking, and a Misplaced Diamond

16 August 2026

2001

R. Linda:

As I get to know Sam, I feel bad about me first impression of him. He is nothing like I thought. Well, let me correct that: he's a little bit like what I thought. Anyway, we have quite a bit in common, like telling exaggerated stories, investigating anything bizarre, and appreciating a quiet camaraderie when needed. Yes, Sam be a hammock guy just like this guy!

I found this out when I dropped off a borrowed stud finder at his abode. He told me he'd be around back, so just come there. I did, thinking to find him hard at work mowing his lawn or something like that, but no, no, there he was stretched out in his hammock sipping a coconut water. 

I had to stop in me tracks; I did, What-ho! Sam in a hammock, like moi? Instead of doing yard chores, he found time to laze about like ME? Well, this led to a conversation about hammocks, iced tea vs coconut water, getting out of yardwork, and similar ills we seem to share.

A few days later, he stopped by me abode and found me, just like him, in me hammy, sipping on an Arnold Palmer, letting the grass grow high. 

Next to me hammy is another one that I got for Tonya, who has yet to lie in it. She's too busy in the garden, she says, so I invited me new bestest bud to try it out. I poured him an Arnie, and we both sighed, satisfied with our little worlds, and swung gently in the breeze, both of us lulled into naptime. That's how the wife found us. It must have been her shadow blotting out the sunlight that awakened us. 

She wore her garden gloves and her sunhat. An arm around a flower pot and the other wiping sweat off her forehead. 

"Uh . . . yes?" I said, acknowledging her presence; how could I not?

"I hate to disturb what looks like my kindergarten naptime, but YOU, mister, have got to get this lawn mown today before your mother starts on the snakes in the tall grass thing that gets quite a bit annoying."

Then she looked down at Sam and smiled,

"Hi Sam, how are you?" Said she, like he mattered and I was chopped liver.

He got up, said his pleasantries back, and offered to take the blame for me inactivity, but she knew better. He left after that.

"Well, sorry if I chased your little friend away, but the grass?" She said with one hand on her hip, which is a sign she means business NOW!

"Tsk, okay, I will get to it, but did you have to be scary and run off me new best bud?"

"Oh, pull-ese." She said, leaving me to it. Then she threw over her shoulder, "You know, you were both lucky I didn't start that mower underneath you."

And why didn't she? I wouldn't put it past her. Probably didn't think about that until after. 

So, after I finished the lawn, I did some matchmaking. I know, I know, I promised never to do that again, but in this case, I just couldn't help meself. I got the idea for this from listening to Sam and Ms Jaio tell me how much their love life sucks. She is always complaining about Maureen at work and how she's always setting up Patrick to date her single sister, Rose. I am guilty of not keeping you across on all this, I know, but hashing it out is exhausting. Anyway, Ms. Jaio expressed an interest in getting Maureen to help HER find someone, just not Patrick. 

"Sum ting always goes wrong for me." She had said when it came to dating.

This has got on me last nerve, it has. I seriously started looking around the office for someone to sic on Ms. Jaio to keep her busy and keep me ears from listening to the stories of non-dating woe she spews to me daily.

Before our naptime, as Tonya calls it, Sam told me the dating pool in town was sparse. He has one lady who just loves him, but he can't abide her for more than two minutes at a time. So, here it is: I like Sam; he isn't married, said he's not met the "right one" yet, and he assumes he will die a bachelor. When he said this, Ms. Jaio's image popped into me head and well . . .

I introduced the potential love birds. And they hit it off, I'm pleased to say. SHE said, "He's not verr good luckin' but afta that Patric fiasco I'm glad." 

"He's a nice guy," I said. "Looks don't mean everything."

"I know he is. I jus mean that's a plus."

As for him, he was intrigued because he thinks Ms. Jaio is the most interesting woman he's met, ever. Things have been going well; he does have a small problem: she's in Boston, so it's a drive. They don't go out but on Saturdays because of that, and he sleeps in his hammock most of Sunday to recover. 

As for Ms. Jaio, she's very cheery and talks Sam all the time. It's Sam this, and Sam that, and well, at first I was thrilled, but now it's getting old. Sam has attained superhero status, and I was starting to get nervous about what I did. I actually looked in the mirror and said to meself, "WHAT DID YOU DO? ARE YOU CRAZY? What if those two get married and then you have BOTH of them closer to you than before? You can't get away. I know Sam is okay, but can you really, really take more of Ms Jaio? Because, GABRIEL, she's going to be in your life 24/7. At least during the day, Sam can get away from her, but not you, Mr. O'Sullivan. You will see her outside work and at work. Your smile will be a permanent frozen feature on your face FOREVER!"

However, all that self-recrimination wasn't necessary. And, I'll tell you why.

This last Saturday, Sam made reservations at some Boston bistro that his Ms. Jaio likes. He wanted to surprise her with a card that said, "Happy 4th Anniversary," because it would be 4 whole weeks since they started dating. I thought that was a bit premature, but hey, I'm not Sam.

Well, here's the kicker. Everything went well. At dessert, he handed her the card, and she was touched. Very touched. As she gazed into his eyes with adoration, the cake she ordered arrived, and, letting go of his hand across the table, she picked up her fork and took a bite. Then she took another, then a third. When she was marvelling to him how wonderful the cake was, she stopped mid-chew.

He sat there with his fork in midair, staring at her. He knew something was amiss. He watched as she got her napkin to her mouth and spit something out, her eyebrows furrowed in indignation.

"What's wrong?" He whispered across the table.

She held a hand up in wait as she reached into her napkin, which she had placed in her lap. Then all of a sudden (he said), it was like the sun came out. She looked at him with surprise written all over her face.

"What?" He asked, really curious.

"Oh, you," she giggled, tears in her eyes. Then she held up the diamond sparkler, wiping the cake icing away to show him.

He said he sat there gaping at the sparkling ring, wondering where the hell it came from. Was this a prank she was pulling on him? 

"I . . . I . . . " was all he got out.

"YES! I will marry you!" She blurted out.

OH TOO LATE NOW, SAM.

But Sam did notice one thing out of the corner of his eye. Everyone around him and Ms. Jaio were smiling at the 'newly engaged' couple, except one couple. The man at that table was waving for the waiter, and the lovely woman with him looked very jealous of Ms. Jaio. Sam saw the waiter bend down, listening to the gesturing man as he pointed at Ms. Jaio and the ring. 

Suddenly, the man got up from his table and accompanied the waiter to Sam's table. 

"Excuse me," he said to Sam, "Is that your ring?"

"Well," Sam said, clearing his throat and trying not to look at Ms. Jaio, "No, it is not."

"Wha . . . ?" Ms Jaio said, looking at Sam.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong cake." The waiter said to Sam and Ms. Jaio. "That order was for that table. My apologies to both tables."

The almost not engaged man held his hand out to Ms. Jaio, who dropped the ring in his palm. With that, he turned on his heel and went back to his relieved lovely, who was all anticipating a proposal.

An awkward silence fell between Sam and Ms. Jaio as the waiter offered to bring them another piece of cake each, gratis, for the mistake. But that wasn't necessary; they both had lost their appetites, especially Ms. Jaio, who was mortified and Sam, who was embarrassed. 

I haven't seen or heard from Ms. Jaio, but I will see her at work tomorrow. As for Sam, I did see him, I was asked to come over for a chat. I didn't know at the time what it was about. But when I walked into his backyard, I noticed a second hammock and a pitcher of Arnies. I was touched he'd get me a hammock, but now I'm not so sure about that.

I spent two hours commiserating with him over his forced faux engagement. We went through two pitchers of Arnies mixed with rum that Sam had the forethought to have handy. It seems everything fell apart last night after that. SHE had little to say and wouldn't discuss the tragic event at all. He said he'd call her; she said no; she needed to not hear from anyone. 

He's not sure he wants to call her. Married life came too close for comfort last night, and he's rethinking bachelorhood. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

HUH? Of Crazy Headlines And The Lack Of Gravitational Pull, Or Not

12 August 2026

2000

R. Linda:

I tell ya!

While at work, me fellow British ex-pat Tony came over waving one of those British rags at me.

"You have got to see this."

He slapped it down in front of me. The headline read:

CHEATING DAD WHO KILLED FAMILY AND HIMSELF THEN BURNED DOWN HOME

Tony tapped the paper.

"How do you kill yourself and then burn down the house?"

I took another look at it and shook me head.

"Maybe he was very organised."

Tony snorted.

"Sounds like a story you could get your teeth into."

"It's a good thing me mother-in-law isn't here," I said. "She'd have a field day with that. That is, if she didn't write the bloody thing herself."

I've seen misspellings and botched headlines plenty of times. When one gets into print, the powers that be get rather ticked off, and everybody in the line of fire ducks.

Or tries to.

Tony, however, was now enjoying himself.

"Remember the one about the London Underground? Too much sunshine to blame for Tube delays."

"Sunshine?" I said. "On the Underground?"

"Exactly! Where's it coming from? Is there some enormous window down there nobody's told us about? And more to the point, where's all this sunshine in London? I haven't seen it."

I shrugged.

"And the Pooh one!" he said.

That one I remembered.

SEWER BLOCKED BY LARGE POOH

Underneath was a photograph of a discarded Winnie the Pooh lying across a sewer drain.

We both started laughing.

"Then there was The surprising reason people use umbrellas," Tony said.

"Rain?"

"Apparently this required investigation."

"Do you remember 'Can fish get thirsty'?"

"Slow news day."

"Rain expected to make roads wet."

"Investigative journalism at its finest."

"Headless body in topless bar."

Tony raised a finger. "Now that is a headline."

I sat back in me chair.

"Well, I've got one for you."

He looked interested.

"Yesterday I saw an article online saying that today, at precisely 10:30 in the morning, gravity was going to disappear for seven seconds."

Tony stared at me.

"Disappear."

"That's what it said. Apparently, NASA has something called Project Anchor. Two black holes were supposed to collide and pull the gravitational waves away from Earth. Or push them. Or suck them up. I don't know. There were black holes involved, so naturally it sounded scientific. Anyway, we were supposed to float up in the air along with everything else."

"Oh, yeah," Tony said. "I saw that rubbish."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Didn't happen."

"I know."

I must have sounded more disappointed than I intended because Tony looked at me rather suspiciously.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Gabe."

"All right, fine. At 10:25 I went out to the parking garage."

He stared at me.

"Why?"

"I wanted to be ready."

"For what?"

"For gravity to disappear."

"What exactly were you planning to do if it did?"

"I got in me car and waited."

Tony was quiet for a moment.

"You got into your car?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I looked at him.

"I was pretending it was a spaceship."

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Lights On Pumpkin Hill

05 August 2026

1199

R. Linda:

I was thinking about Sam and me going into the woods in search of Bigfoot. That little adventure was fraught with happenings we could explain, but not really. I mean, barn animals on the loose, yeah, the bear and raccoon family looking for food, yeah, the doe was strange though. It came right up to us practically and stood looking at us like it wanted to convey what we think was, 'you two don't belong here.' A couple of Sam's selfies he didn't mean to take showed some figure in the forest watching us. Well, that is unnerving in itself and after the fact, but had we known then, I be not sure what we would have done. 

Besides all that, there was another thing that happened, that I didn't tell you about because I wanted to reason it out first for meself. While Sam and I were out there, there was a hill we could see just above the trees. It's called Pumpkin Hill because in olden times, pumpkins were grown on it. Well, while we were in a lull between animal visitations, Sam noticed lights appearing over Pumpkin Hill. He didn't say anything right off, but was deep in thought about something, which I thought was Bigfoot, but no, the lights had his attention, and he was trying to discern what he was looking at. After a time, he asked me outright, "What are those lights on Pumpkin Hill? Do you have any idea?"

Mystery Lights On Pumpkin Hill

Without looking, I quipped, "Aliens."

But when I did look, I was taken aback. The lights were three in number, and the middle one was getting brighter and bigger. 

"Not to sound moronic, Gabe, but those aren't stars." Sam pointed out the obvious. "You really think Aliens?"

I didn't know what to think, so I said so. We stood there watching as the two smaller lights blinked and turned out or were gone. The other one hadn't gotten any larger or brighter, but was still there, casting an eerie glow on the top of the bare hill. 

"You know our science editor at the paper would tell us that is 'temperature inversion.' But I think because the other two lights acted differently and blinked before disappearing, it's some government experiment, maybe."

"Why would the government pick HERE of all places for that type of thing? No, I think it's something else."

"Hum." I didn't have to ask what the something else was. But then, in the back of me mind I remembered something I read. "You know, whatever that is, it's been seen around town if memory serves. I remember reading one of our town geniuses blaming whatever that is on Canada."

That statement caused Sam, who was taking a swig of water, to spit it out as he choked on the water with laughter.

"Yeah, ok." He chuckled. "What townie came up with that? I wanna know."

"Why Edna Whipple, the town gossip who knows everything before it happens," I said.

"Ohhh yeah, good old Edna. Into everyone's business, especially when they don't want her to be."

"Yup, that Edna Whipple."

As we were talking, we didn't notice the light fade and disappear. We were busy stuffing our faces with peanut butter and jelly sannies. A good stakeout will give you the munchies, and well, we only noticed the gone light when one of us looked back at the hill. This phenomenon clearly had Sam going. He was offering up all kinds of theories, but then it hit him that light or those lights actually happened, and here we were in the middle of nowhere, pretty defenceless and well…

"What to do?" I said, "Well, we could take a walk up that hill, but I don't think we'll find anything."

Neither of us wanted to do that. Instead, we went back to our main purpose and got quiet listening to the sounds of the forest at night. I know we both had a chill, not from the cool evening air, but from apprehension, not so much from the thought of seeing Bigfoot, but from those strange lights behind us. 

As it happened, we were nearly taken out by a loose goat, and that was the end of the discussion about the light phenomenon. However, days later, when I was down at the Genny, I overheard Walter Finch, our resident retired Yankee tinker who invents machines that almost work, laughing about a group of women who saw the mystery lights on Pumpkin Hill the other night and called Sheriff Parker, but Parker was out chasing a loose goat. 

"So they went down to the police station in town, if ya can call it that, and they found Chief Regan in. He said they were all a twitter and chattering like magpies all at once, and he couldn't understand a word they said, until he heard the words: lights, Pumpkin Hill. He said Edna Whipple and Harriet Pritchard were leading the charge. Once he got everyone calmed down, he explained to them in detail how the construction company that is mining the minerals on that property (that they are all protesting about), was working nights so as not to disturb the daytime traffic, like there is any," everyone laughed, "told them all there were no mystery lights, no aliens, no goverment drones in the sky spying on them, no, it was the combination of distant vehicle lights and atmospheric conditions, added to the dust they are stirring up while digging. They were told they couldn't hear the machinery because it was on the backside of the hill and the hill buffers the sound. That shut them up fast."

There was a lot of agreement on that and nodding heads.

I didn't stick around for the rest of the village gossip. I had the explanation and was debating whether I should tell Sam or let him keep thinking the village was going to be taken over by aliens and Bigfoot. I know he can see Pumpkin Hill from the back of his abode, and he did tell me he has spent a few nights watching the lights. I'd hate to spoil his fun, so I think for now I won't say a word.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Town Meeting

04 August 2026 

1198

R. Linda:

New England! Known for its Town Hall Meetings, its Select Board meetings, its Presidential campaigns, its political signage that blights the highways and byways of small hamlets, etc., all of which can be extremely annoying to those of us who aren't used to these things. Mainly me.

Long ago, me little village was a mining town. The "Quarry" is now a swimming hole; it was a town of potato growers, known for its starch mill. Now it is a horsey town filled with the equestrian set who are reluctant to any kind of change, all very traditionally minded, so when something like cable TV was offered, they voted it down. It's a wonder we have electricity!

Now history has a way of repeating itself, and a mineral company bought up some extensive woodland and is ready to mine it. THAT has everyone in an uproar. How did this happen? Wool was pulled over eyes, somehow. So now the up-in-arms villagers are getting up petitions to stop THIS TRAVESTY, and meetings abound in old colonial homes, leading up to the Selectmen's meeting at the town hall. 

Now I could care less about this tragedy because the property in question is not near me nor would it inconvenience me in any way, shape, or form. However, me neighbours are all upset (yes, they are part of the horsey set) and being a good Joe, I said I'd support their efforts to have the mineral company stopped in its tracks, but this was merely lip service on my part.

Because I am a journalist, but more because of my Bigfoot story and the solving of several stupid town mysteries, I have gained some fame and, unfortunately, a voice. I really didn't want any part of this business but found meself in the centre of it anyway.

I'd never been to a town meeting of any kind, and I don't know too much about the selectmen, only that one is me neighbour and she's a woman, so selectwoman. In the past, she has told me these meetings were highly boring, or, in her words, "dull." Well, guess what? Lucky me got to attend one that turned into utter chaos. 

After a few subjects that had to do with a fund to rebuild the burnt-down cattle barn, and ploughing under the old cellar where Jack Mavens had his fall so that it would never happen again, well, that last erupted in a few folks saying they weren't paying for a backhoe, signs were just as good and they'd make them themselves if need be to keep town costs down. This last got so heated that a farmer stood up and shouted for everyone to shut up and sit down; he'd plough the old cellar and fill it in free with his backhoe. Well, ok then. That was that.

As I went to let out a breath of relief that THAT was over with, someone else stood up and said, "What about all these escaped barnyard animals lately? What ya gonna do bout THAT, ay-yuh."

"Jesse, the cows are all accounted for except for the Highland whatever you call it, and the goat is back in its pen, and I don't know of any other barn animals on the loose, so there's nothing to worry about there." One of the selectmen offered.

Well, Jesse wasn't having it. He wanted some kind of insurance that none of that would happen again, especially since THE goat ate all his garden veggies and the owner won't "get off his duff to pay fer all my hard work gone inside his goat's belly!"

"Jesse, that's between you and Al, and I think that's a court thing, not a town thing."

'A thing.' Okay, I thought. Good to know.

Jesse threw a "You'll be hearin' from me in court, Al Sheppard!" 

Al was sitting with his arms folded, but as soon as he was addressed by the angry Jesse, he smiled at him and waved, like ok do your darnedest. This body language brought old Jesse flying across the room at Al, and a shove out of the chair was had, with Al getting up to deliver a good left to Jesse's jaw. Every man in the vicinity scrambled to pull the two apart, and the women were holding heads or purses, screaming and running for the other side of the room. 

I tell ya!

Both were told to leave, but not together for obvious reasons. Al left first, and I guess they forgot about Jesse because he stayed, looking smug about it. 

It was, but ten minutes later, the door opened and in came the goat! The very goat that trampled Sam and me and ate Jesse's veggies. Jesse stood up, threw down his hat in anger, and started yelling, "I tole ya!" Once again, the ladies fled, and the men scrambled to catch the bletting goat. They had cornered it when Al walked in and said, "Oh, is that my goat? Someone let it out." He said it as innocently as if he were not the one.

Guess who

This got Jesse going again, and they nearly came to fisticuffs, but Al had the goat between them. 

Once Al left for the second time, this time with his goat, and Jesse's ruffled feathers were smoothed by sympathisers, the meeting continued. 

The next subject before the mineral company discussion was that one person got up to complain that two candidates in the prior election had the same name, and she voted for the wrong one. She wanted a better accounting of just who was who and to have her vote changed, which would make the one she didn't vote for the winner. She said, "I am the deciding vote, and here I am to do just that."

"Mrs. Alerton, that's not how things work." One of the selectmen said.

The argument was another heated thing, with people in the room shouting out their opinions for and against. I had a headache.

Finally, the mineral company fiasco was set to be discussed and was the final subject of the rather taxing evening. BUT and that's a big BUT, just as the horsey set representative took to the microphone, the power failed. Not only that, but then the fire alarm went off. 

"What is going on?" Someone shouted.

"Everyone out." Someone else shouted, and we all started to leave with the alarm ringing in our ears until we were almost deafened.

It seems Al Sheppard's goat leapt out of the back of Al's truck, causing Al to turn around in the driver's seat and drive his truck into a tree that not only smashed Al's truck's front end, but the tree came down on the power wires, and the whole village was thrown into darkness. The fire alarm was caused by sparks on the roof of town hall from one of the transformers that decided to burst afterwards. 

And that's how me first New England town meeting ended—not with democracy in action, but with a fistfight, a runaway goat, a power outage, and absolutely no discussion of the thing we'd all come there for. I left wondering how this village had survived long enough to become historic.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Case Of The Missing Gnomes

02 August 2026

1197

R. Linda:

I was looking forward to a quiet weekend of doing pretty much nothing. We had some very heavy weather, and the ground was too wet to do anything outside, so I was going through my emails and paying bills when I got a text from Sam. 

"Did you happen to notice and hear about the gnomes?"

I stared at the text, thinking Sam was losing it. Since I showed him that photo of him and what looked like Bigfoot standing behind him, he had been hot to trot out to the woods for a second go-round, but then he had thought better of it. I have successfully put him off thus far, but now gnomes? What is up with THAT?

I ignored that text for all of two minutes until my curiosity got the best of me silly self, and I texted him back with, "What about gnomes?"

Yes, I knew better but …

"Garden gnomes are disappearing around town. Not stolen, moved, Gabe. Every morning for days they are found somewhere else, set in silly scenes, as if they're alive at night!"

"No," I whispered to meself, "Gabe, doncha get pulled in."

But as usual I couldn't help meself, and I bit.

"Explain, please."

"I'll be right over, easier in person." He texted.

Oh good. A visitor. I went to put the coffee on and warn Tonya and Mam; they were about to have a Saturday morning guest.

Well, we all sat at the kitchen table, because the ladies were interested, along with me eldest, who considers himself a bit of a sleuth. O'Hare insisted the whole thing was supernatural. Tonya suggested it was neighbourhood kiddos up to no good, and Mam, well, she's got this thing about the "little people"; leprechauns were the culprits. No one was entirely right.

"The gnomes keep disappearing and reappearing, like some were set up to be fishing in the mill pond, another set was up by the community centre having tea on the front lawn, and three were set at the green corner with a sign that said "Uber" like they were waiting for their ride. 

Just then Guido brought in the local paper. He slapped it on the table and pointed to the headline: GNOME THEFTS CONTINUE  LOCAL GARDEN GNONES FOUND WATCHING SOFTBALL GAME - Police have declined to comment as residents are urged not to confront suspicious lawn ornaments after dark.

"WHAT?" I blurted out after Sam read the headlines out loud. 

"We need to get out there," Sam said. 

No, no, we didn't need to get out there. I was reluctant to buy into this village foolishness. But me three family members egged me on to go and investigate. They said Sam and I were getting quite the press and good reputations for our Bigfoot investigation; we should keep going. I was thinking if only they knew about that picture I have of a possible Bigfoot, they might be scared for our safety to go out at night in our woodsy little village. But who am I fooling? No, they'd be all about the media attention! So I kept mum; I had agreed with Sam we'd save that investigation for another time, when the two of us weren't so jittery about being in the woods at night. 

Sam and I, with O'Hare, who insisted he was now part of the "team," drove around the village to check out the gnome situation. 

"No kid could've moved forty-seven gnomes in one night," O'Hare said.

"No, but a determined twelve-year-old with a wagon probably could," I replied, thinking of me youngest kiddo.

"But the locals would hear that rumbling down the road." He countered.

"Not if it was on grass." Sam offered.

It was decided we'd take a stroll around 10:00 into the village and see for ourselves what would be what with the little ceramic men. 

We were too late. We found forty-seven gnomes lined up on the rail trail and into the woods. Were we spooked? You can take that as an affirmative. We got into the woods a ways when we heard laughter from the head of the trail. We crouched into the woods and watched two teenagers giggling as they collected a few gnomes. 

"Larry, I swear I didn't do this," the other teen said, picking up a fourth gnome.

"Well, I didn't, so who is moving these guys?" Larry asked.

"I don't know, but let's get these set up at the church. I have to be home by 10:30!" 

"Well now," Sam whispered to us. "There seem to be two sets of gnome stealers. Those two and someone who did this," and he pointed to the row of gnomes leading into the woods. "Let's follow this line of gnomes and see where they take us."

As silently as we could, we walked deeper into the woods when suddenly we saw a small person setting gnomes up in a single file ahead of us. He had a wagon (so I was right about that). We watched him until he was out of sight and then carefully crept forward again. In the moonlight, we could see a young boy putting the last gnome down, being as quiet as he could. He was looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction from us. We could see smoke coming out of an abandoned cellar, and this puzzled all three of us. The young boy did not want to be caught; that was obvious, and he hurried as silently as he could back to his wagon and started up the trail towards us. 

"Let's get 'em," O'Hare said.

Well, we didn't want to scare the child, so we let him pass us and get away ahead. 

"O'Hare, you catch up with the kiddo and Sam, and I will investigate the smoke. Don't scare that kid, now you hear?"

"I won't." 

Sam and I crept slowly forward, listening for any sound. 

Meanwhile, O'Hare had caught up with the wee one, a ten-year-old, who shouldn't be out that late and was more anxious about that than his being guilty of stealing gnomes. 

"What are you doing out here, Lonny?" O'Hare recognised the child.

"I've been trying to get people to notice the gnomes are leading to someone living in the woods!" Lonny defended himself. "I told my parents, and they didn't believe me or didn't care. I told a few adults in town, and they just brushed it off, but everyone notices when their garden gnome disappears, so I thought …"

"Say no more, I got it."

"But some kids started stealing the gnomes and setting them up all over town, and no one was following my trail," Lonny whined, exasperated.

Sam and I had made our way silently to the abandoned cellar. There was nothing left to it but three high walls, the fourth a tumbled-down mess of stones. We could smell and see the smoke from a small campfire. We looked down inside it. Next to the fire was an old man with one leg stretched out. He was plucking blueberries off bushes that had taken root in the cellar. Sam recognised him as Jack Mavens, a reclusive widower who hadn't been seen in days, actually, since the gnomes started disappearing from their gardens. 

Sam called down to Jack, who looked up at us and gave a relieved laugh. "Finally, someone has found me." He croaked. "Broke my leg, can't move, been livin' on rainwater and berries."

Sam scrambled down to Jack while I called 911. 

Jack was rescued and recuperating. Seems he fell into the cellar while gathering blueberries. Lonny became a pint-sized hero, the teens were never identified, and the next morning every gnome was back exactly where it belonged, including the six the teens had taken…that is, except one. 

A single gnome was standing on me front deck, tipping its hat. No footprints, no explanation. I had opened the door to get the paper, and there it was. 

"I…didn't do dat." Mam whispered. "Moost be da little men did it."

I closed the door.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Bigfoot Stakeout

31 July 2026

1196

R. Linda:

Never in me born days did I think I'd be professionally assigned a Bigfoot story! Never, never, ever, but that's what happened, and I be still smarting from the whole idea of it. I tell ya! Is no man safe from the silliness that seems to permeate our society of late? I ask ya!

Unbeknownst to meself, I was not aware I lived in the village known for Bigfoot sightings in the entire State of New Hampshire. I was blissfully unaware until recently. Yeah, yeah, I noticed the yellow road signs to "Brake for Bigfoot," but I thought they were jokey things the locals put up to amuse passing tourists. Never in me life did I think they were serious. Imagine me surprise!

A town over, there is a small local breakfast joint where the locals go nearly every morn to gossip and eat chocolate-covered bacon (of all things), and one of the subjects they chatter on about is…you guessed it, Bigfoot! Well, seems the place was buzzing with this latest sighting in me own little village. 

"Ooh, the smell," a man said.

"Ay-yah, and the thumping inta the woods proves it's a weighty monstah!" Said another.

Well, somehow this talk got to the ears of me, Editor-in-Chief, one Cruella. She called me into her office and informed me that since me little hamlet has a reputation for Bigfoot sightings, I should "Go prove it's another guy in a gorilla suit."

I thought she was joking, but no, no, she was not. 

"I do NOT believe in Bigfoot," I stated to her, hoping to stand me ground on this.

"We need this debunked." Said she, standing hers.

"Do we? Do we really?" I half-whined, feeling defeat coming. 

Well, I won't bore you with a conversation you can probably guess at. I went back to me office and sat there staring at the wall for a while, wondering WHY. But I knew why; it was because of where I unfortunately lived. "Thank you, community of crazies," for this, I whispered many times over. Heaving a big sigh, I picked up me phone and started setting up interviews. Yup, I did. I felt like an idiot saying I was looking to interview such-and-such about Bigfoot sightings in the area, but I swallowed hard each time. By golly, I set those puppies up for 1. the retired game warden, 2. the teenager who's got a blurry selfie he's posted on the town FB page, and 3. (the best for last), the old lady who claims "Biggy" returned her garden rake. 

I drove home, and by noon I started me first of three interviews. I was done by 2. All these witnesses sounded sincere, and you can see they truly believed every word they uttered. And for me, every story was absurd. 

Knowing the interviews would not be enough, I rang up Cruella and volunteered to spend an evening in the woods just to see what happens and if "Biggy" would appear. SHE was all enthusiastic and laughing, which threw me for a loop, but I was more determined than ever to do this thing. 

I rang up Sam and convinced him with little effort, I might add, to spend the night in the woods investigating (that word gets Sam every time) Bigfoot. 

Being me analytical self, I overprepared. I knew it when I was gathering all the things I told Sam we needed (this was more to keep Sam enthused). Why not? We spent all that money on ghost hunting equipment when all we needed was a potato (see Story #1195 Ghost Hunting With Sam July 29, 2026).

We had the thermal camera, a digital audio recorder, wildlife guidelines (Sam's contribution), topographic maps (also Sam's), GPS, emergency radio, bear spray, and enough snacks for a weekend (thanks to Mam). Sam and Mam together had supplied marshmallows (because it was said "Biggy" likes those), a lawn chair (for who, I don't know), binoculars, and a six-foot cardboard cutout of Bigfoot "to lure in the real one." This last was Sam's idea, which horrified me. What be wrong with him? 

Before we left me house, Sam said he had also read somewhere that Bigfoot likes peanut butter. Me Mam said she heard, "It's apples, but it could be bacon." Well, before long we accidentally set out with what you could construe as the world's strangest picnic fare.

Sam and I got out to a rail trail and followed that to where there were homemade signs that said things like: BIGFOOT AHEAD, TAKE CAUTION, and THIS WAY TO BIG FOOT (with a finger pointing in the direction you are to take). Well, we tramped into the woods just as the sun was starting to set. It was quiet, and the birds had stopped chirping, which gave me the heebie-jeebies. We were deep in the woods, off the trail, and I was wondering if we'd ever find our way back, but then I realised we had food for months!

Village idiots put up signs

We set up camp, and quietly chatted about this and that, everything but the reason we were there. I think Sam was as spooked as I was, and that's why we avoided the obvious subject. It was just as darkness fell that we heard something and turned around slowly, thinking IT was behind us. IT was rifling through one of the food bags, and when we looked, we found a raccoon family rifling through the marshmallows. Sam frightened them away, and we settled back in, wondering if lighting a fire would be a good idea; then we thought against it. We weren't sure what the fire rules were. 

"Be just our luck we start a forest fire," I had just finished saying when I looked at Sam for the joke laugh, but his eyes were bugging out of his head, looking over me shoulder. I slowly turned around, and we had a black bear in the marshmallows. This wasn't good. I slowly got hold of the bear spray and turned toward the bear. Maybe it knew what I was about to do, and I will say I was not thinking of what could happen, but it took the huge bag of marshmallows, grunted at us and left. 

"WOW!" Sam said, fear still in his eyes. "What if that thing comes back?"

"Oh wait a minute, THAT thing is less scary than Bigfoot, don't ya think?" I was incredulous that here we were comparing apples to oranges.

No sooner had we settled down than a doe traipsed through our little camp, disturbing nothing, just giving us a doe-eyed look like "You aren't supposed to be here." 

"I hope that's it with wildlife," Sam said. 

I was fitting meself into the lawn chair, thinking I'd had enough, but I had to wait this out, so I settled back and closed me eyes as Sam fiddled with the thermal camera. 

I heard it first. It sounded like someone screaming "Baaaaaaaaaa!" I jumped up as Sam looked around.

"WHAT IS THAT?" I shouted at Sam, who got the camera ready. 

"Turn on the audio," he directed at me, and I did. 

We both hunched down and listened to the unusual scream. He, camera ready, and I recording audio.

Suddenly, this thing broke into our camp and upset the two of us because it nearly trampled us. We were so flummoxed by the sudden break it took from the woods that we didn't quite know what it was, but it had a bad odour. 

"Wha…wha…what was it?" Sam asked me, desperation in his voice.

"I don't know!" 

He checked his camera but had a blurry image that told us it wasn't Bigfoot but might be a baby Bigfoot. It was hairy and beige, but we couldn't make it out. I didn't get to check the audio because, just as suddenly, we heard the cracking of twigs under a bigger foot than what had just run through our camp.

Try discerning what this is in the dark

"Oh God, it's Bigfoot's mother!" Sam cried.

Before either of us could stand up and run, a torch light flashed in our faces, and a man's gruff voice said, "What the hell?"

It was Sheriff Parker on the hunt for a loose goat! That's what trampled through our camp: a goat! Did we feel like jerks? Yes, we did.

We explained ourselves, and Sheriff Parker shook his head like we were morons and left us to find the loose goat, but not before warning us, "No fires." 

It wasn't 10 minutes later that we heard him shout, "GOT IT!" and then it got quiet again. Well, kind of. Nothing happened the entire night but that the two of us were chilled to the bone. We snacked on the snacks Mam packed for us, leaving hardly anything for Bigfoot. 

We were hardly awake, both of us grumbling about empty coffee thermoses, when we heard huge footsteps coming our way, branches snapping like twigs, and something enormous walking towards us through the morning mist. I froze; I am not afraid to admit it. This was different from everything else we had gone through. Sam stood just behind me, frozen as well, staring at the thing coming in the mist. It is huge, it is hairy, and it is…walking on four legs.

A very shaggy Highland cow, the last of the loose cows and the only Highland one, was making its way towards us. I started laughing; I couldn't help meself. But then, something else howled from the much deeper woods. It was impossibly loud; the cow bolted at the sound, every bird went silent, and we stood there frozen again.

"That wasn't a cow," Sam whispered.

I checked me recording, and nothing was there. It captured complete silence. No howl, no footsteps, no explanation. It didn't take us long to pack it up and get the heck out of there. We'd had enough.

Back in Boston, I wrote a perfectly sensible article explaining why most sightings are misidentifications. I submitted it to Cruella. I went back to me office as she was starting to look at it. I had Sam's photos of mostly a blurred goat, and then I noticed that when he got excited or, more accurately, scared, he took accidental selfies. I had to stop and look hard at one of them. I could see a dark figure standing between two trees. Just standing there, looking right into the camera. Neither of us noticed this at the time. I quietly closed the laptop.

"I don't get paid enough."

Sam's selfie with "Biggy"?

Gabe

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