Vote
Eureka Comic Policemen
It was a peaceful time back in England and the residents of this part of London had no reason to doubt the efficacy of their police force. Despite widespread poverty and persistent unemployment, crime was most recently limited to small burglaries and an occasional robbery. The news of missing persons, the discovery of emaciated, bloodless corpses, and the bombing of a local cemetery had not yet reached the public’s notice as the Commissioner had succeeded in keeping this news from the papers. Nonetheless he decided to double the size of the patrols until that dog or bat or whatever it was could be put to a stop. That evening, Police Constables Baker, Wilson, Jennings and Harcourt took a short cut through a nobleman’s property to return to the drowsy boulevards of their beat. They had spent the bulk of the day chasing the local urchins and then later marveling at the extraordinary contraptions in Hyde Park. If they had known that within twenty-four hours they would each be found with their sweet, plump flesh loosened and then torn from their skeletons they would have moved now with much more vigilance and speed. But as it were, they had heard nothing of yesterday’s goings on. For you see, these four were an affable lot and of an uncommon stupidity compared to their brethren on the force. These men would rather play with the children and gorge themselves on sweets rather than exercise the principles of law enforcement. And they had no particular reason to be any different given the rarity of crime and public disturbance in their district. After a while they paused to rest and PC Baker took out his pen and began to doodle caricatures of the others while Wilson imitated barnyard fowl by strutting about flailing his loose arms. To add to the merriment Jennings took out his truncheon and like a Drum Major of the Royal Fusiliers marched back and forth playing The British Grenadiers on Her Majesty’s Police Whistle (heh). In all of this commotion, it was only Harcourt who had noticed the agile dark figures descend into that remote corner of Lord Mantlebray’s private garden. He rose, turned his lantern on them and suddenly frozen with fright uttered, “the teeth, the teeth” before he too fell under the flashing talons and incisors of this new plague of London, the Nosferatu.
Posted: 29 Sep 2002
5 comments
More by Flashman14
