Detective Prescote Issacary by Claire Thornton
A perplexing letter has appeared in my mailbox.
I do hope it’s a new case, I haven’t received one since the tragic murder of Hichery Brown, a plump boy. The vicious citizens never face the facts which are hidden beneath layers of sand like numerous invisible treasures to be uncovered. However, mysteries keep me relatively sane in this tragic waste of a potentially wondrous world. I scurry outside in the frigid storm which gushes relentlessly. I am able to view a gloomy figure. I instantly hurl myself into a vast bush, ducking in indignity. I grin squelching in the infernal sludge on my bare knees. I rapidly run to my rosy red mailbox decorated maliciously with several ominous arrows. I snatch the letter out of the mailbox shivering and pondering if the struggle was worth it. I plummet into my beloved chair located next to the fireplace feeling rather content. I open the letter with a sensation of intrigue. The letter reads:
One of my sources – Brom the Bear – witnessed the Sandstorm Beast collecting potion ingredients in the Forgotten Woods. I need you to go speak with him…. He might be difficult to find, if you follow the right bear prints you should be fine…
I’m astonished, there isn’t a moment to lose. Nonetheless, this letter is relatively bizarre, perhaps a wretched red herring. I gather my resources and plunge them into my detective satchel. A breeze slaps me in the face, possibly a disastrous indication of major distress to be imposed upon me during my expedition. I jump into my red car escaping the ferocious climate. Yes, I’m rather fond of red, the colour of blood, it’s the colour of a perplexing mystery. My GPS indicates the extensive journey shall merely take three minutes to arrive at my desired destination. I accelerate across the dull endless soil boulevards. I stop abruptly and inspect the bear tracks.
I pursue several remarkable prints. A majestic bear… I found it. But the bear is no match for me, the Sandstorm Beast. Now is the precise period which I shall viciously assassinate the bear. I seize an immense piece of weaponry. I charge at the fowl bear undetected by the malicious mammal whilst I injure it with a knife. A red substance leaks from the bear and provides an eerie sensation of the once spectacular forest, a residence supposedly stable for all creatures. The dreaded suffering grinds in my stomach as if a thousand bombs are agonising my stomach. The Sandstorm Beast inside me has taken over me again. I plunge into the mud as my bones begin to disappear, behaving as minuscule grains of sand. I have a final glimpse of the world, suddenly losing consciousness as my extensive gaze becomes blurred by swirled storms of meaner grains which blind my eyes forever … the bear is gone as am I. A certain despicable fate bestowed upon all.