(Inspiration can be a terrifying thing.)

        The desk phone in San Viano's 42nd Precinct rang. It rang, and it rang, and it rang, and the aging pigeon sitting at the desk simply ignored it.

        This had been going on all night. Bishop was tired of crank callers. Yes, the thunderstorm outside was truly spectacular, and yes, it was rather entertaining that the Sci Fi network was running a Frankenstein marathon, but after twelve “It's alive! Alive! AHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” calls and twenty-three “Run for you lives! The monster's escaped, and he's out for blooooooood!” entries, he'd had enough. If it was really serious, they could always call 911.

        A pair of cops entered the station, soaked to the skin.

        “Freaking undead pains in my tail,” Ferdia muttered. “Waste of a perfectly good nightstick, too. 'Stake him.' Bah. You have any idea how much we're gonna need to fudge this report to make it sound even remotely plausible?!?”

        “Some,” her partner nodded, shaking some of the mud out of his hair, “Although we might want to avoid mentioning the golems entirely.” He caught sight of Bishop, who merely raised an eyebrow at the pair.

        “I know better than to ask,” the pigeon said, shaking his head wearily. “But I'll probably want to read the report. Creative writing used to be a hobby of mine.”

        “Thanks, Bishop!” Ferdia cheered.

        “Bad night for prank calls?” Squeaks asked, indicating the still-ringing phone.

        “More so than usual. Feel free to answer it, though. The last time you two did that, we didn't get any cranks for a week.”

        “Spoken like it's a bad thing, Bish,” Ferdia joked.

        Squeaks picked up the receiver. “San Viano Precinct 42. Arcadia here.”


        Squeaks held the phone at arm's length as the caller continued. The three cops shared a look.

        “This can't be good,” Ferdia sighed.




ECM: (happily bouncing in) Awe look Veggie-san, she fell asleep.

Vegeto: (trailing behind and giving the blond annoyance an evil look) Sure enough the lunatic did. I told her she'd never hold out.

(Both study the Author, curled up asleep on the writing couch surrounded by assorted Muses and Bishonen all snoring contendedly and clutching a handful of pages)

Vegeto: (holding one sheet up) Well she did leave an author's note so I guess I'll read it. To everyone who actually made it this far - thanks for reading, who knew there were so many masochists out there? Anyway, if you didn't figure it out from the epilogue, the inspiration for this bit of insanity came from the last scene in Open Season. So thanks also to the Jennies for not only writing such inspiring scenes but also actually willingly letting someone else play with her characters. Told you I'd give 'em back relatively unharmed (and no, I'm not paying for Bob's therapy bills – he's got too many other issues already). Anyway:

McKiwi Burgers and Banana Shakes for everyone!
Good night all, I'm outta here.


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