Chapter 19: The Honeydew Meadow Massacre Part III.

It was a beautiful morning for hunting shrooms!

Wally Otter certainly thought so. An older gentleman now enjoying his well-earned retirement, he supplemented his monthly pension by foraging for shrooms with his beloved hound, Bessie. Together, they’d idle the weekend hours away in the beauty of nature, enjoying the majestic ambiance of Honeydew Meadow as only a woodsman and his dog could. But today, something was amiss.

On the way to their usual spot, Bessie had suddenly froze, and no matter what Wally said, the beast would not move.

“Come now, dearie. Them shrooms ain’t gonna sniff ‘emselves out!” Wally said. But for some reason, the dog was reluctant to obey him. “’ere, now! I said some! Come, girl! Oi, yer not that old, lass! Don’t act like ye cannae’ ‘ear me! Come on with ye! Come on, now!”

Still, the dog refused to move. Instead, she began to dig at the earth, barking excitedly as she did so. Wally was incensed. Most useful shrooms didn’t grow in flat patches of the land because the nutrients they needed to grow were more easily provided by close proximity a tree. Whatever his girl was digging up, it wouldn’t be worth the effort.

“Stop with this nonsense now, ye wee silly thing! T’ain’t no truffles there, ye willful little…oh mae GOD above me!”

In the dirt, its fingers cruelly tightened by the grip of rictus, a hand jutted forth from its shallow grave.

“MURDER!” shouted Wally, as he ran from the sight with Bessie in tow. “Murder! Murder! MURDER MOST FOUL!”

__

“Oh, lemon drops, what evil has come to Honeydew Meadow?” murmured Detective Dachshund as the body was removed from the ground.

Detective Dachshund was a police dog from the big city, and in his time spent serving the public good, he’d beheld many an awful sight. Seen people behave like animals. But still, even on his worst days on the job, he’d never seen anything like this.

Never seen such butchery.

“We got name for our victim?” he asked.

“Lydia Whiskerwit,” replied Constable Carrot. “I recognized her right away. She worked for the Bubblebelly family, providing services as a maid. I saw her just yesterday afternoon during the Baddieburr incident.”

Detective Dachshund nodded to himself. Carrot was a good bunny. Professional, attentive, and possessed of a sharp intuition. The kind of reliable rabbit the public could believe in.

“Providing services, you say?” snorted Patrolman Pig. “I wonder what sort of service she provided, hur hur hur.”

And then there were idiots like Patrolman Pig.

“What do you mean by that, Pig?” Carrot asked in a mild tone of voice.

“Oh, come on, Carrot. Think about it. This lady being what she was, this was probably a late-night tryst gone wrong.”

“And what was she, exactly?”

“She was a mouse! You know their type. Fast reproducers are what! She probably had a beau waiting for her in these woods and it got a little out of hand.”

“Like slaughtered like a pig, out of hand?” asked Carrot pointedly.

“Watch it, bunny! Thems offensive words! Like I said, she was a fast reproducer and—

“And you have a problem with fast reproducers, do you?” asked Constable Carrot, a proud father with thirty-seven children of his own.

“Well, it’s not like our ecological system can support them!” Protested the pig.

“Horse pucky! You know we've got owls around here!”

“Why are you getting so offended, Carrot? We all know you’re one of the good ‘uns!”

“Don’t pigs maim and eat their own piglets?”

“HEY! Only the weak ones who won’t survive, you stuck-up little hopper!”

“There we go! There’s the magic word! You've been wanting to call me a hopper since the day you met me, haven’t you, you five-chinned truffle snuffler!”

“Boy, you gonna act like a hopper, I’m a call you a hopper, and I don’t care how civilized you act. You ain’t better than me!” yelled Patrolman Pig.

“Well, I bet you ain’t gonna call me one again,” said Carrot as he rolled up his sleeves. “I just bet you won’t.”

“That’s ENOUGH!” barked Detective Dachshund, literally. “Pig, get out of here. I mean it! Get going.”

“What? You see how this bunny treated me? I’m a veteran of this force—

“You’re a dog-damned drunk and a disgrace to that uniform! You think I can’t smell that flask in your pocket? Get OUT of here!” ordered Detective Dachshund.

“You can’t treat me like this! I got friends higher up!”

“You also have two years left until you can draw that pension of yours, and if you want to make it until then, what I say GOES! Now go home! And don’t come back until I say fetch.” warned the dog.

After Patrolman Pig left, Detective Dachshund turned to Constable Carrot and said: “I’m sorry about that, Constable. Ol’ Pig over there is a holdover from the good ‘ol days, and the good ‘ol boys, if you get my meaning. I’d love nothing more than to fire his curly tailed ass but doing it would cause considerable mischief for us.”

“I ain’t worried about the likes of him,” Constable Carrot said. “You give a bully a whoopin’ and what you get then is a quiet bully.”

“I can’t approve of that officially, but I can appreciate the sentiment,” said Detective Dachshund. He turned back to the body and sighed. “We found a ring on her, y’know. Poor little thing was betrothed. I wonder who to?”

“Hmm. First, I’ve heard of it,” said Carrot. “Maybe the Bubblebellys know? I can find out.”

“Let’s put a hold on telling anyone outside of her family,” Detective Dachshund said. “In a situation like this, the tighter we control the flow of information, the easier it’ll be for the killer to give himself away. Got it?”

“I got you, Chief.”

__

“Bunch of sons of bitches is what! Bunch of ignorant sons of bitches! Damn city slicker gonna come down to Honeydew Meadow and tell me my gab-blabbed business! Take a hopper’s side over mine? This town has truly gone to the dogs!” raged Patrolman Pig on his way to the Baddieburr farm.

He kicked the screen door loudly for several minutes until Scotty Baddieburr came scurrying to answer him.

“Oh, hey there Patrolman Pig—” he began to say before Pig slapped him out of the way.

“Move it, Runt! Is your Pa home?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah! He’s just sleepin’ off the night right now.”

“Well go GIT him, stupid! And git me somethin’ to drink too. I’m a thirsty porker, ain’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah! All right! Sorry,” scampered Scotty as he cringed and ran about to do as he was commanded.

Scooter came into the den a few moments later and frowned at the sight of the pig. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded.

“Well, hello to you too, Godson,” snorted the Pig. “I’m here to see your pa, if it’s any of yer business. Got some news he might like to hear.”

“News about what?”

“Now hold on, and just let your pa get here first. I heard about that business with the Bubblebellys last night, by the way”

“Oh. Yeah, that was daddy’s idear.”

“Heard that hopper put his hands on you, too.”

“Don’t say that word! Cheeze wiz, how much of a stereotype of a small-town pig are you?”

“My friend can say whatever he likes under MY roof, boy,” growled Horace Baddieburr as he stomped loudly down the stairs. “You got a problem with it; you can find your own place to live.”

“Got your drink, Uncle Pig!” Scotty said as he came back into the room, holding a mug.

“Well, where’s mine, you worthless little runt?” snapped his father.

“Oh, Daddy! I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t know you wanted one,” said Scotty apologetically.

“Yeah, well you don’t know much of anything, do you, stupid? Go! Get me something!”

“Wish you wouldn’t talk to him like that,” muttered Scooter.

“What’s that? Talk like a MAN if you’re gonna say something to me, boy,” said Horace.

“I SAID I wish you wouldn’t talk to him like that! Scotty tries, don’t he?”

“Doesn’t try NEARLY hard enough! Too much of his hoor mother in him,” Horace said.

“Don’t you TALK about my mama like that!” Scooter said, his chest puffed out and his fists balled.

“Oh, what’s this? You all grown up now, Scooter? You think you can handle your old man?” Horace asked in amusement. “Well, why don’t you then? If today’s the day, then make it happen! Come on now! Come on! No? Well then sit your badger ass down.”

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Horace pushed his son roughly into a sofa and sneered at him. When Scotty arrived with his drink, he took a seat himself, with Patrolman Pig at his side. Then he asked:

“Now, what’s this big news you’re so pleased to share, eh, Piggy?”

“Oh, your fiendish badger mind is gonna love this, Horace,” Pig said gleefully.

“Out with it then! You remind me of my wife when you act this smug.”

“Well, to hell with you, too! Anyway, you’re not gonna believe this, but that hoor maid workin’ down at the Bubblebelly farm, y’know, that mouse girl—

“Pure vermin if I ever saw one,” Horace said contemptuously.

“Indeed,” agreed Pig. “Linda Whiskertits I think her name was.”

“Lydia Whiskerwit,” corrected Scooter. “And what about her? What's happened?” asked Scooter worriedly.

“Heh heh heh, well that little vermin hoor went and got herself raked! Someone carved her up like an autumn-feast turkey!”

“What?” asked Scooter in shock. “No, no, no, you can’t be serious…”

“I can! I was the first one on the scene too! Hey, lookie what she was wearin’ on her finger!” Pig reached into his pocket and produced a small golden band. “Can you believe someone was fixin’ to marry that vermin trollop? Makin’ a proper lady of a mouse? Shee-eet. Our Honeydew Meadow, she ain’t what she used to be!"

“No…no…Lydia…” whimpered Scooter.

"Hold on a second," Horace said. He snatched the ring from Pig’s hand and gave it an appraising look. Then he raised a baleful eye to Scooter.

“Piggy, why don’t you go on home, yeah? I need to speak with my oldest.”

“What? But I just got here!” Protested Patrolman Pig.

“Piggy, get the FUCK out of my house! I need to talk to my boy.” Horace said in a tone that brooked no defiance.

“All right, all right. But hey, what about my ring—” he sputtered before Horace slammed the door on him.

Horace stood silently for several long moments before turning to face Scooter. “This is the ring I gave your harlot mother. Before I threw her out of this home, I took it back! You want to tell me what it was doing on the hands of some dead vermin slut?”

Scooter stood up. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk about Lydia like that again, you mean, loveless old bastard. She was my woman, and she was going to be my wife, and I will KILL YOU if you disrespect her one more time!”

“By the happy man in the sky, my son, my son, my only son—

“Hey!” said Scotty in a hurt tone of voice.

“Shut up, you runt! Scooter, you was really going to defile your blood like this? I know I raised you better! I KNOW I did! Did my best to make you into a real man, and this is how you repay me! By betraying your blood and your species! You wanna be a mouse, boy? HUH? You wanna be a damn MOUSE?”

Horace stomped over to the larder and returned a few moments later with a large block of cheese.

“Here you go! Here you go, Mr. Mouse! Mice eat cheese, don’t they? DON’T THEY?”

Scooter tried to say something, but before he could, Horace was on him, beating him to the ground with heavy, heavy hands. After knocking his son senseless, he took the cheese and began ripping chunks of it off and stuffing them into Scooter’s mouth.

“Go on, boy! Go on, boy! Eat your cheese! Eat your cheese! EAT YOUR GODDAMN CHEESE!”

Scooter struggled and writhed, and then began to choke. His father pressed his hand so hard against his face, that he could feel his nose begin to break. Finally, with a desperate surge of strength, he rocked his body left and threw his father off him.

Before Horace could recover, Scooter launched himself at him and wailed away with a furious set of clumsy but powerful punches that bloodied the older Badger’s mouth and nose, and blackened one of his eyes.

Once he was finished, Scooter climbed to his feet, sputtering, and screamed: “I hate you! I hate you, you evil old bastard and I ain’t NEVER coming back here! I hope you go to HELL when you die!”

“Scooter! Scooter, come back!” Scotty cried as Scooter went stomping out the door.

“Forget him, runt! I said forget him! He ain’t no kin to us,” Horace said groggily from the floor.

But for once in his life, Scotty ignored his father. “Scooter, please! Scooter come back!”

But Scooter never returned.

__

“Lydia,” Scooter moaned to himself as he wandered directionless through the woods.

“Oh, Lydia why?”

Scooter knew what other people thought of him. The Baddieburrs were a no-good family of real baddies. That’s what everyone said. He even believed it himself for a time. It hadn’t been his fault. His father was crazy. Everyone knew it, himself most of all. He was a drunk, a coward, and a wife-beater, and slowly, bit by bit, he’d ruined everything around him; especially his sons.

Old Horace was obsessed with getting one over on the Bubblebellys. He blamed his every misfortune on them and wanted nothing more than to destroy their lives. He especially wanted that recipe for cream soder, for some damn reason, and had recruited his sons into every one of his hairbrained schemes. And Scooter, who for a time had wanted nothing more than to earn his father’s approval, had gone along with them. Even as recently as yesterday…

But no more. Because he’d met Lydia. And she had gradually convinced him that he could be a better badger than he’d let himself become.

On the morning he proposed to her, he’d let her know he was obligated to enact just one more of his father’s stupid plans. But then, that would be it, and he had no intention of letting it succeed. He’d go crush some walnuts at the jail for a few hours like usual, then pretend he’d seen the light and do mischief no longer.

It wouldn’t have been a lie either. Because Scooter had seen the light. And that light’s name had been Lydia!

But now she was gone. Taken away to paradise and leaving him in darkness.

Forever.

“She deserved it,” whispered a familiar-sounding voice.

“Who said that?” Scooter demanded. “Pa, is that you? I told you I was done with you! Git!”

“I could smell you on her. I knew what you’d done. She was bad. She was very, very bad. And you’re bad too. You’re a nasty, naughty Baddieburr,” said the voice mockingly.

“You…YOU KILLED HER?” Scooter swore in a sudden frenzy. Out of his pocket he grabbed his switchblade and sprung it forth. “You bastard, you bastard, I’ll cut you for this, I swear—

Before Scooter could attack, a heavy edged weapon swung down and severed his paw from his arm.

“I’m the one who does the cutting here!” sneered the voice.

Shlek! The weapon swung horizontally and caught Scooter in the gut. He fell to his back, paralyzed with agony. It was pulled free in a shower of gore and then brought down with savage violence.

Chop!

“Lydia…” Scooter whispered.

Chop!

Chop!

Chop!

__

The next afternoon, they found Scooter hanging between two trees. This time, his killer hadn’t even bothered hiding the body. Instead, he’d left his victim on display. As though the mad dog who’d done this ungodly work wanted to share it with others.

Detective Dachshund shook his head in disgust.

“What in the name of happiness is happening here, chief?” asked Constable Carrot in dismay.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a rabid beast running wild in Honeydew Meadow,” Dachshund said in a brittle voice. “But the question is…who?”

__

“Hey, Max?” Lucy asked me after waking up that morning.

“Hey-hey!” I said happily. Lucy was my best friend!

“Max…where did you go, last night?”

“Hee-hee-hee! That’s a seeeeeecret!”

Hee-hee-heee.

Continued.

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