Cheap Gothic Soap Opera, Part 84

Sturgy wanted to clear her head. There were just so many strange occurences occuring and goings on going on at the Woodson house. She walked to the cliffs of DEATH, HORRIBLE HORRIBLE DEATH, OH THE AGONY, THE NEVER-ENDING AGONY, and stood precariously on the edge. Suddenly she heard a mannish sobbing coming towards her through the misty ether. She spun around, but there was no one there.
"Whoever you are," Sturgy shouted, trying to convince herself that she wasn't frightened, "I know you're not the ghost of an ancient Woodson family member who threw herself of the cliff in horror and never-ending agony. HA." She let out a hoarse and nervous laugh. Then she heard a rustling in the trees in front of her. Out of the thicket burst a man in disheveled clothes, hair askew, a bottle of 800 proof liquor in his hand.
"Who are you?" Sturgy asked, "Were you making those noises?"
"But ah," replied the man, gazing off into the distance, "What are questions but the floating essences of space traversing our souls on their never-ending odyssey. But you seem as if you are a nice person. Nice people. Hah! How can a man be nice when there is so much to warrant that which one should not be nice about in this world. I am Drinky McCrappypaintings, which is short for Sam, and I'm the town drunk/painter/bum/concerned father. And I was not making those noises you heard through the shroud of the haze of time. They were the lost spirits of those lost to us in spirit from long agoes. But tell me. Who are you, oh person who I have met through time and space, the realms of which are not but that which are time and space."
"Oh. Well. I'm Sturgy Parentless. I'm a governess at the Woodson household."
"The WOODson HoUSeHolD! I see. When you next see Richard Woodson, tell him that Drinky must talk with him. If he doesn't believe you, tell him 'Whither the whimpig, prither the primpig.' But I must go." Drinky disappeared into the shrubbery, and Sturgy was as confused as ever. It began to rain and thunder, and Sturgy walked back to the house.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth, Bob, and Buck Satlin were having dinner at the Spleenging Pigeon. Boy was it hopping. And everyone was dancing. I mean, it almost makes one want to think of saying Golly Gee, but than one does not becaue those are Satan's words, and dancing is the devil's dancing.
"I read your letter," said Elizabeth, gazing at Buck Satlin, leaning so far over the table that one of her elbows was in Buck Satlin's wine glass and the other in his eye, "I thought the part about killing them all was especially romantic."
"Awwwww" said Bob, lamely as usual.
Buck Satlin got up with a start. "Who told you about my note!" he shouted, "That was given to me by Baal himself when I was stationed at Neptune during the Crimean war. I see. You're all out to get me. Well you can't trick Buck Satlin. You'll never make me into fish paste again! I'll spank you! I'll spank you all! Hahahahaah!" He ran out, holding his wig onto his hands.

Back at the Woodson estate, Richard Woodson's suspicions had been aroused, almost as aroused as if those suspicions had been related to him. He was sitting in the living room, sipping brandy, and contemplating the Buck Satlin situation, when Victoria walked in.
"Where have you been?" he asked brusquely, "Davidson could have been...well, I don't really care any more as a matter of fact. But we aren't paying you not to watch my son. Where were you?"
"Well Mr. Woodson, I was taking a walk out on the cliffs of DEATH, HORRIBLE HORRIBLE DEATH, OH THE AGONY, THE NEVER-ENDING AGONY, when I met a strange man. He said his name was Drinky, and he wants to talk to you." Sturgy retelling lost some of the drama and suspense of the original scene.
"Drinky, that old fool. I'm not interested in his drunken artistic ramblings."
"But Mr. Woodson, he told me to tell you about a 'whimpig' or something like that."
"A whimpig! Why didn't you say so earlier. I must see the sheriff immediately."
He ran to the garage. There was a giant whole in the wall which was connected to Davidson's room by a trail of debris. Richard ignored it and walked through the hole. The garage was strewn with trash and tools, mechanical parts, carbeurators, iodine heating switches, and octafuges. "I'll have the maid clean this up when I get back," Richard thought. He got in his car, which was missing its doors and its hood, and turned on the ignition. A flash of lighting revealed a message written on the ceiling above him.
"DAVIDSON WOZ ERE. DAVIDSON DID THIS. DAVIDSON NO LIKE DAD. HATE HATE HATE. DAVIDSON BORED. DAVIDSON GO EAT CAKE NOW."
"Well, this should be a safe trip," Richard thought unsarcastically as he back out of the garage on the two wheels of his car.

(OP: Nate, April 1 2008)