Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.
When last we heard from our heroes, they’d solved The Case Of The Purloined Mummy.
“Rather,” exclaimed Neville. “Aunt Pippa, I could do with a bit of rest and perhaps some biscuits after that recent adventure.”
Aunt Pippa, who always looked after the clever boys, pressed her hands against her apron.
”I’m sure you clever lads were up to your ankles in fun,” she said, smiling.
“We certainly were,” shouted Ivor. “I just about shook in my boots when I first saw that mummy. I thought he might be the real thing.”
”Yes! I, as well, old bean,” assured Neville. “I thought I’d lost my senses. There are no mummies in Wolverton!”
Neville, Ivor and Aunt Pippa laughed and laughed.
”Man, when I saw that fucking thing, I nearly shit myself,” brayed Tom.
Neville and Ivor closed their eyes. Aunt Pippa smiled tightly.
Tom, perhaps misinterpreting their silence as indication that they hadn’t heard him, reinforced his position.
“I almost dropped a brick out my ass, I was so fucking terrified!”
“Tom,” Aunt Pippa asked softly, “When will you be returning to Canada?”
”When they track down my dad,” gurgled Tom, who was trying to stuff a Bakewell tart into his mouth. Little bits fell onto the countertop.
“Try not to talk with your mouth full.”
”Oh, fuck a tramp, this Bakewell tart is aces! Here, have you blokes heard about the spectral lighthouse? It’s alleged to be haunted by the ghost of a frogman whose pressure suit went on the blink. Fired his colon clear out the seat of his trousers. Died instantly, I’m afraid. Anyway, he’s supposed to roam the lighthouse looking for his lower tract. We should investigate.”
”Indeed we should,” offered Neville, quietly.
“The lighthouse can’t be all that big. Perhaps only two of us need go,” suggested Ivor.
“Oh, fucking hell fuck fuck fuck a donkey,” ejaculated Tom! “My glass eye’s fallen out, again. Watch where you step!”
The mischievous orb rolled around the kitchen floor as Aunt Pippa dialed the telephone.
“Hello, operator,” she said in a clear, resonant voice. “I’d like to hire an assassin. Have you any suggestions in the area?”