Blood Moon on the Rise
by K.H. Daly
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“Clickety
Clackety. Clickety Clackety. Clickety Clackety.” Went the cold shoes
on the cold pavement, like a “Something is fishy and I intend to get to the
bottom of it” says Sargent Steve. “Yeah, you’re breath. P.U.” said Bluddaugh. “That’s you’re last demerit” Sargent Steve
is saying. “Your outta here” says S.S. Bluddaugh: “Yeah well I know the fishy thing is
you because your corrupt. This place stinks to high heaven and I intend
to get to the bottom of it.” “Give me you’re badge. Your crazy.” Just then, a tussle. Sarge’s hired goons (Officer
Bullet, Travis, and Officer Shawn Kemp) came out of the woodwork and
decended on Bluddaugh like a colony of mealworms on a pile of oats. He
would of standed a chance, but he didn’t want to get thrown in the
State Hoosegow. Whoops. He gets fired. This is the time when John Bluddaugh had to clean
out his desk. He looked with wist upon a framed photograph of him and
his wife and darling daughter. That was before…the accident. One
night, Jackelynn, Craig, and Kimberly, each filling the respective role
of wife, trusty loyal dog, and daughter, had disappeared into thin air.
John Bluddaugh shouted there names until his voice was horse. But nada.
Zip. Zilch. He could still here they’re giggles. “Let’s get ice
cweam, daddy.” NO! It was to painfull. He had to forget. He took a
slug of booze to forget. This indicated a potential drinking problem. An indeterminate amount of time later and John
Bluddaugh has opened his own private eye store. “Ding ding” went the
door, like a broken music box symbolizing John Bluddaugh’s broken
dreams. Door opened and it was a Case. In the form of a kid with a
lollipop. “Bluddaugh,” Bluddaugh introduced himself.
“That’s Bodacious! Laid-back! Unruffled! Dashing! Damnable! Awesome!
Useful! Great! Handsome! What is the problem.” “I lost my mommy” the kid wimpered, like a dog
in desperate need of an oilcan. John Bluddaugh’s heart—or what was left of
it—sank and rose like an underwater heart. He could relate (because of
his fambly) “I’ll take the case he said John Bluddaugh suited up. He got his guns and did
some snooping. “Eureka” he says. “I have found the culprit. It is
my old boss, Sargent Steve.” He found the evidence that proved it: a
silk hanky. John Bluddaugh strolled into the police department.
His heart was full of bile and his brain full of hate. He was running on
pure adrenaline, but he was also running away from his problems inside.
Suddenly, he busted into the Sarge’s office. The Sargent was dining on
a ten course meal. “Oh, hello, Bluddaugh. Don’t you just love
mutton? You really must have some. I have prepared a fine mint chutney,
and I would be tremendously pleased it if you ate it” says Sargent
Steve with an English accent. “Cut the crap” said Bluddaugh. “I know what
you did. I found the silk hanky. Give it up before I give you
a concussion.” Steve rejoindered, “Well. This complicates
things. I guess we’ll just have to go on to the main course.” He
removed the dome thing off of a silver tray. Bluddaugh took one look and
barfed all over. It was the heads of the kid’s mom! But also the heads
of Bluddaugh’s Wife and only-begotten daughter and Craig the dog.”
Man’s best friend, thought Bluddaugh. Bluddaugh had grown up with
Craig. They would catch fish and sit on the kitchen floor reading Sunday
Dennis the Menace cartoons together and laugh pizzicato-like twitters at
the antics of Dennis and his dog, Ruff, who was like Craig in a lot of
ways that amused Bluddaugh. He felt at one with Craig. And now Craig was
in two. And all the king’s horses (Bluddaugh’s motorcycle) and all
the king’s men (Bluddaugh) couldn’t put him together again. Also
John B. was sad about his wife and daughter too. “Then you…you’ve been the notorious Orion all
this time!” bewildered Bluddaugh. This can’t be happening he thought
as he descended into darkness. When Bluddaugh awoke, Sargent Steve/Orion had
escaped out the window, leaving only his calling card: the severed heads
of his victims. How could this happen right under my nose? Bluddaugh
also relized he had a 6-inch gash running from forehead to cheek.
“something to remember me by,” Orion had smeared in blood on
Bluddaugh’s face. That scar would remain forever. Something to
remember you by indeed. The sirens grew louder. It had been a trap.
Bluddaugh was trapped. He had to get out. He climbed up through the
ventilation shaft and into the moonlight. He staggered away and put on a
bandolier and stuff. He stumbled for days. Days turned to months. Months
to years. Bluddaugh had long hair and a stubble and some tats to tell
the tales by now. Finally, Bluddaugh got where he was going: precisely
nowhere. He looked out upon the badlands and knew he’d be
wandering for a while. How long? Who knew. For Bluddaugh had became…B L O O D
D O G . |