Samih rubbed her hands together, and then shifted her wrists a bit to check the time on her strawberry watch (a gift that her godmother had given her for her twentieth birthday). Soon the sound of clicking-clacking was heard coming from the east. The train came to a screeching halt, and some folks disembarked from it. A few of them looked so drained, as if some dybbuk had sucked all the life force out of them.

"All aboard to Chive!" The conductor bellowed. Samih rushed toward the back of the line leading to the train to Chive. The smell of chamomile tea filled the space, and air Samih had been told to sit.

Most folks in the train were either: getting ready to catch several hours in dreamland, or grabbing one of their portable frosty detachable tablets to continue watching one of their favorite shows. The train took a few hours to get to its final destination, and Samih decided to also take a catnap.

Samih tried to fall asleep, but as much as she tried she was not able to drift off into the land of what some believed to be a gateway to foretelling the future, or tapping into visions passed on from Morpheus. So, it was time to do some more people watching: from seeing whether the people on board packed light (like Samih), or decided to move with luggage that made them look like they were carrying a dead body, or bodies aboard the train.

The conductor, who looked like he was in his late thirties, or early forties, stepped right up to Samih. "Ticket, please, Miss..." Samih gave a slight nod, and handed the ticket to the conductor. He scanned the bar code, and gave a slight nod, too.

Someone quickly ran past the conductor. The conductor shouted, "Oy!" This made most of the folks in the train, even the ones who had been asleep, jump up in their seats. The runner continued to take off, leaving the rest of the folks looking on with puzzled expressions. Wondering, and looking around to see where the running man was headed to.

There was no place to run, or hide. He could not get off the train; it was still moving. They had just left one of the stops along the way to Chive, Rolon.

Samih rose to her feet, and as soon as she was about to take off to check out what was going on, a hand landed on her left shoulder. This startled her. "I suggest you take a seat, young lady."

She wanted to continue walking, and check out what was going down between the conductor, and the runner. Maybe he was a secret agent who had caught sight of the wanted person on their agency's hit list.

The stranger snapped his fingers, and the train was covered in what seemed to be dark stormy clouds. Samih gulped, and stared at the stranger. "What in the Chive is going on?"

She watched the stranger form a slight o, and wind rushed out of his mouth. Her very own mouth gaped at the sight of this metamagick form. "Now," the voice rose like a rushing wave, "please, I would prefer it if you took a seat."

Samih rubbed her eyes, and pinched herself. "What're you doing?" The stranger asked. "I am trying to check...making sure that I am not stuck in Morpheus' realm."

The stranger sighed. "Being stuck in Morpheus' realm should be the least of your worries."

"Why?" Samih asked. "Who is on this train that has much greater power than The King of Dreams?"

The stranger took out a notebook, and sketched out a drawing.

"Samih..."

"How do you know my name?"

He chuckled, and said, "Even the great Sherlock Holmes would have easily figured that out." He replied, and pointed to her ticket which she still had in her hand that had her name written on it in bold and capital letters: SAMIH.

Samih placed the ticket inside her gold leather jacket. Then she realized who the stranger was. "I did not realize the great Inspector Mpaso would be gracing us all here with their presence." The Inspector smiled, "Samih...it seems you will not take a seat. Alright then. Would you like to find out what has happened to the young man that I have been tracking?"

The dark stormy clouds that had surrounded the train gradually drifted away. "It would be such a great honor." Samih said with a slight bow.

Mpaso moved to the side, and the two were off to see where the conductor, and running man were currently along the space, or cabins of the train. Samih tried to contain her excitement. Here she thought the train ride was going to be a humdrum, and long mode of transportation.

The Inspector had managed to place a tracking spell on the runner. He followed the silver trail of dust which only his eyes could see. "Follow me."

Samih shrugged her shoulders, and thought to herself. "Okay. Let's go!"

They hurried along, moving from one cabin to another- with the Inspector in the lead. He ducked behind one of the seats once he and Samih had walked into another cabin. "Get down!" the Inspector cried out.

The Inspector mumbled something under his breath. Samih ducked behind the seat that was right beside the Inspector's. The train began to jerk backwards, and forwards.

There was a bright flash like lightning that struck into the main cabin. The Inspector looked around, and jumped to his feet. Samih followed him, "What were you expecting Inspector?"

"Not this." The body of the runner was missing. What remained was a charred body of the conductor with his hair still burning. Samih felt as if all the contents of her belly were about to make their way back into her trachea. The Inspector snapped his fingers, and softly mumbled "Obliviscar, Samih."

18.07.23

#MPOSA (c)

Small drops of water started falling on the windshield. Abrams was annoyed.

“Great, just great. Beaton, what are you staring at?”

“You missed the…. I think we need to go back. This isn’t our street.”

A distracted Abrams turned the steering wheel and the car quickly changed direction.

“I can’t tell, even with directions,” said Abrams. “All these damned houses look the same.”

“Yeah. The cheaper by the hundred type,” added Beaton. A large truck parked in the driveway of one of the houses caught his attention. “The team’s already here.”

“I hope the rain won’t slow us down too much,” replied Abrams. “I need to get Tina and the kids from the airport. Six o’clock. Two weeks of peace and quiet coming to an end. You have your badge with you? Just in case of nosy neighbors.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Happy to finally see you joining our ranks as a full inspector. You’re of good stock. You deserve it.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“No problem. Anyway, this one’s small. No family, so no potential issues. There’s value in it, from what I can tell. Antiques and such. We keep what we like. Clean up, and then clean up. The guys are getting a cut, of course.”

Abrams parked the car in the street. Three workers were sitting on the porch.

“How long have you been here?” shouted Abrams.

“About 15 minutes,” replied one of the workers.

“Bags?”

“Got’em.”

“Great. Gentlemen, let’s begin.”

Abrams pulled out a chain full of keys from his bag.

“Number 45…. Ok.”

The foulness of the odor coming out of the house caught them by surprise. Beaton got nauseous.

“This is too much!” exclaimed one of the workers.

“Wear your masks for this one, guys,” said Abrams.

Parts of the plaster had fallen from the damp walls all over the dirty floor. In the small hallway they found an assortment of sharp agricultural instruments, all covered in what seemed like blood. In the living room, animal carcasses at various stages of decay were spread in a circle.

“Murderer?” asked Beaton.

“No.” replied Abrams. “Killed just animals. Lots of them, apparently. The smell of dead meat eventually alarmed the neighbors.”

“I’ve seen worse, I think,” said Beaton. “Remember the Perkins case? Boxes upon boxes….”

“...And granny rotting away under them. Yup. Lovely trip, that one. Guys, start by removing the… cadavers and making some room for me and Beaton to go around and assess the situation.”

Abrams looked over the furniture and the rolled up carpets as the workers moved in.

“These are pretty nice,” said Abrams. “Still in good shape. Beaton, let them do their thing here and we’ll check the bedrooms.”

Beaton agreed. The first bedroom was a mess. The mattress was torn apart and the doors of the wardrobe ripped from their hinges. A plate with rotting food and a glass with dirty red water stood on the cabinet next to the bed. The floor was completely covered with newspapers.

“Check the other one,” said Abrams.

This room was dusty but in a much better shape overall. Pictures were spread on the small bed. Beaton was anxious. He went closer with all sorts of horrible thoughts in mind. The photos turned out to be simple images of a family: father, mother and son. Beaton muttered under his breath, slightly amused: “What were you expecting, inspector?”

"Not this!" shouted Abrams in the hallway. “Focus on the dead bodies, Nick.”

“Calm down,” came the reply of one of the workers. “I’m not running away with anything.”

“We have a procedure,” Abrams replied. “Please, respect it.”

Beaton stared at photos, captivated by the details of an idyllic life, now completely gone. He put his gloves on and picked one. The father was holding the child in his arms and the woman leaned over both. It was a beautiful summer day at the beach. The pictures had been placed on items of clothing, both female and male – child size -, scarves, pieces of jewelry, school items and small toys.

“He was a real loony, wasn’t he?” said Abrams as he entered the room. “I mean, look at this. And left to his own devices. So many things wrong with this country. Anything interesting?”

“Some pieces of jewelry,” replied Beaton. “Didn’t have a chance to take a closer look.”

“Well, all goes in the bags. We’ll sort it later,” said Abrams. “If you want anything in particular, don’t wait. I’m having an agent over tomorrow evening. Everything of value will be gone after that. The money should be in our pockets by the end of the week.”

“No, I don’t think I want to keep anything,” said Beaton. “It all looks like...too much.”

By the time they finished, it was late in the afternoon and the sun was shining again. The workers loaded up the truck under Beaton’s supervision. Abrams did a final check of the rooms in the house and then came out.

“Is that everything?” Beaton asked.

“Yes, we’re good to go,” replied Abrams. “About an hour to get to the warehouse. We’re good on time. Money in a couple of days.”

“How much are they taking for this?” asked Beaton while they were driving away.

“Well,” said Abrams. “I have a system. A hierarchy set in place. It’s about the value of the merch, the value you bring and the perspective for future collaborations and growth. For example, you are now set at 15. Those guys back there are manual labor, so 10. Each, of course.”

“But is it enough?”

“Hey, don’t get greedy!”

“No, no,” replied a flustered Beaton. “What I mean is, is it enough to keep them quiet?”

“Of course. They look forward to their next pay day. Don’t worry, I will teach you how to handle all of this. I’m thinking of expanding and need a right hand to delegate things to.”

Beaton smiled.

The man walked in, wearing a hard hat and a yellow safety vest, the word “safety“ printed on the back. He clutched a clipboard and a black pen, his face sullen. He looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but here.

”Hello. I’m Dan, the Safety Inspector. I’m here to inspect your dungeon.” He clicked his pen and looked around. “Well, are you going to take me there? The sooner I finish the better it will be for both of us, believe me.”

I led him down a set of narrow stairs, him mumbling about a lack of handrails. Honestly, ever since my minions had unionized things had become so much more tedious. Time was I didn’t have to worry about things like a safe dungeon. I opened the iron door and he walked into the room.

”Lack of fire egress and emergency exit signage. Tut, tut.” He walked up to the thumbscrews and grimaced. “Clearly unsanitary instruments of torture…ohh, is that a puddle? Slip hazard.” His pen was clicked and he scribbled something onto the clipboard. Nothing positive, I was sure.

He turned towards the wooden bucket in the corner and wrinkled his nose. “No lavatory. Evidence of mice and rats. Working instruments are covered in rust. Are those bones?” He pointed at a skeleton in the corner.

Dan had started to retreat towards my oh-so unsafe stairs. He clearly was unhappy with the state of my dungeon. I strode over to the now nervous inspector, my cape billowing behind me. One of my beautifully manicured hands rested on his shoulder, the plastic of his tacky vest crinkling.

”Yes. This is a dungeon, after all.” I drawled at Dan, the safety inspector.

”Dear me. Was the death one of your minions or a prisoner? Um, oh, never mind. Was it reported according to OSHA guidelines?”

”OSHA?” I questioned Dan, my hand tightening on his shoulder.

”Yes, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. I’m sorry, Mr?”

”Morte.” Dan was sweating now. He tried to pull away from me but I held onto him firmly.

”I-i’m sorry Mr. M-morte, but, ahh, based on the violations in this room alone,I- I have to give you a failing grade.” My nails pierce his vest and touch his clammy skin. She trembles. “Y-you have t-two weeks to, uhh, fix the issues that have been identified or you will be shut down. Here is a list, list- hey what are you doing?”

I shoved Dan into the depths of the dungeon, locking the dungeon door, locking Dan inside. “Dealing with the problem.”

”What, no. Let me out! You have to let me out!”

I laughed and peered through the tiny window in the door. “What were you expecting, inspector? That I would just comply with your regulations and make my dungeon safe? That I would follow your codes? I’m a villain!”

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but please, not this! Anything but this!”

“See you next year Dan!”

I walked away, his screams fading into the distance. The agency wouldn’t notice his absence and it would be at least another year until they sent another safety inspector. By that time there would be two skeletons in my dungeon. Perhaps at some point the agency would figure out that the inspectors that they sent weren’t returning, and they would stop sending them to me. Until then I would just keep accumulating more skeletons for my dungeon. It’s a good thing that a dungeon can never have too many skeletons.

"Well, what were you expecting inspector?" Asked the forensic team member. "Not this" replied the inspector, "good luck" says the inspector as he walks away from the forensic team and the splattered remains of what used to be a person.l, now smeared and mushed all over the thick lush carpet of the hotel room. The inspector went to the front area of the room to speak with other inspectors on site while Terry kept at her meticulous work or marking and taking photos of all the evidence. "Good luck, psshh, as if." Terry mumbled to herself. Thinking she doesn't need luck to do this job, science will tell them all they need to know in the end. Mr. Inspector just needs to get it right for once and stop saying things like good luck. It's the science that wins it in the end, always the science.