If you can dream it…

If you can dream it…

When Angus woke up that morning, he was covered with sweat. This had been the case every morning with the exception of Sundays and Mondays for the past 3 weeks. He always woke up with a start. He must be dreaming during the night, he thought, but he couldn’t remember what any of his dreams had been about. Each morning when he woke up, it was pretty cool in his room. So, why was he all sweaty? 

Angus was a teacher at a local elementary school. He’d been there for over 30 years. This year, in particular, he had a very good 5th-grade class. They were easy to teach and were enthusiastic about everything he did. They especially liked his daily storytelling sessions. Each session would start with his students giving him a three-word prompt. He then had to make up a story using all three words. He was very good at creating and telling stories. 

Angus decided to seek help from his family doctor. The doctor had no clue, having never seen this night sweat symptom before. She recommended Angus go to the special Sleep Clinic at Stony Brook Hospital, which Angus did. 

Angus explained to the specialist his problem, his teaching position, and what he did in class. As a result of a consultation with one of their sleep specialists, he became part of a new Sleep/Dream experimental group. He was sedated and had newly designed dream nanobots surgically implanted into his brain stem. 

These nanobots could both receive external stimuli and information, as well as take any dream images the participant created and convert them into a digital format that could be transmitted back to the researchers. These transmissions could be played as movies on an HDTV in their lab. 

Since this was during Spring break from school, no school days were to be missed. 

For the first 3 days of this experiment, nothing was created out of the ordinary. Dreams consisted of only mundane everyday life things like driving in a car, teaching mathematics to his class, a day at the beach, a shopping trip, etc.

On the 4th day, the researchers decided to input information into the nanobots and see if there would be any reaction. 

That first day, they inputed the words She, Commands, and Fireflies. 

That night as the movie of his dream played, they saw an incredible story develop; and Angus was directly involved in it. There were attacks on a woodsman who had cut down a tree and freed an evil tree sprite who was imprisoned there. Angus, in full magical gear,  fought with all the evil fireflies released by the sprite’s commands and worked with the woodsman to trick the sprite back to its tree to be imprisoned again.

When Angus woke up. He remembered nothing, though he was covered in sweat.

The next night the researchers inputed the words Easter Bunny, Poison, and Truth.

Again that night, Angus was involved with an evil Easter Bunny whose anti-truth potion poisoned all of the chocolate Easter eggs that are found. Any child or adult that ate one of those eggs got deathly sick whenever they told the truth. Angus again was running all around the world seeking to find all these eggs, vanquish this evil Bunny, and attempted to reverse the effects of these eggs. It turns out that a lot of politicians enjoy eating chocolate Easter eggs. 

When Angus woke up, as before, he was covered in sweat and remembered nothing. 

On the last day, the researchers inputed the words, Campfire, Smell, and Doctor. 

Angus’s dream that night concerned the very doctors doing research on his dreams. They were sitting by a campfire, discussing their next experiment involving the sense of smell and the idea of being able to read emotions and impart emotions to others. They confessed their plan to implant these nanobots onto CEOs of Social Media platforms and certain News outlets. Angus was the lone opponent to these experiments, and seeing the dangers of emotional blackmail, he ran from place to place to rally others against the scientists, eventually preventing them from succeeding and getting them imprisoned for life. 

This is when the doctors decided to stop their experiment. They removed the nanobots from Angus’s brain. Angus was only shown the first 2 videos. The doctors explained to Angus that the third video had some glitches in it and never got recorded. He was told that he had a rare disease known as Fantafairyslumbervision and that there was no known cure for it yet. They explained to him that though there was no cure for the night sweats, they were preventably. All he had to do was stop writing and creating stories in his class. 

Though Angus was disappointed, that’s exactly what he did. He continued to read a lot of fairy and folktales to his class but never asked for 3-word input again. His night sweats never returned. 

On a side note, the doctors and researchers involved in the dream nanobots experiment left Stony Brook Hospital right after working with Angus. Rumor has it that they are doing some other nanobot experiments somewhere outside of the United States. Their exact whereabouts are unknown. 

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You did what?

You did what?

Summertime was a time for staying out late with friends and just having a good time. The sun went down after 8:00 pm, and then as the darkness overcame the light, the fun would begin. Usually.

It had been a hot day in July, and the weather was clear. As the sun drifted over the horizon, I got a call from my friend Ronald, who suggested I come over to his house to play together in his backyard. 

I didn’t hesitate and said yes. 

Did you ever get that look from someone that clearly sends a message that they don’t approve of what you are about to do?

When my mother heard that I was going to Ronald’s house, she gave me that look. You know, the one that warns you to be careful about your actions. Trust was an issue with my mom when Ronald was involved.

I chose not to react to her stare and went over to Ronald’s anyway. 

When I got there, it was close to dark, and we decided to go out and catch some fireflies in jars. 

Just off his back porch, you could see lots of fireflies. As we stepped off of the porch, we opened our jars and began to catch fireflies. We’d open the lid of our jars slightly, and when we got close to a firefly, we would drive it into the jar with the lid and then close it and let the firefly acclimate itself to the jar before we attempted to add to the collection. 

This didn’t last long before Ronald noticed a wasps’ nest just hanging off one of the eaves of his back porch. 

We decided it would be fun to try and catch a wasp in the same jar. Actually, Ronald decided that it would be a good idea. “It’s night. They’re probably all asleep or too sleepy to react. What could possibly go wrong?”

Did you ever have that little voice inside your head tell you that something you were about to do was the stupidest thing you ever heard of, and yet you did it anyway? Big mistake!

Ronald’s idea was that I take a broomstick and jostle the wasp’s nest so that one would come out slowly to explore. He would then capture the wasp in his jar, and we would have a wasp in the same jar as the fireflies. “It would be so cool to watch what happens,” he said.

Did you ever wonder why the person who said they would do something with you was standing about 12 feet away from you? 

Ronald positioned himself off of the porch while I was underneath the eave with a broomstick. 

All happened exactly as planned…NOT! 

When I jostled the nest, it wasn’t one wasp that came out, but at least 3. And trust me, they were not sleepy. They must have been bored with being in the nest and looking for some hot night action, which I conveniently provided for them. It turns out that active wasps enjoy target practice when they are bored and given the opportunity. In this case, I happened to be the target. 

I managed to get away with only one sting. It could have been a lot worse. Ronald’s mom put some ice on the sting site and sent me home. I don’t think we actually told his mom what exactly had happened.

However, when I got home, my mother was waiting at the door of our apartment.  

Did you ever get a look from your mom that said she knew exactly what you had done wrong after she told you not to do it?

It didn’t help that I was holding an icebag to my arm. “It was an accident,” I said. 

Her reply was, “Isn’t it always with Ronald? When will you ever learn?”

Based on my record, I’m guessing it will be a very long time. 

 

 

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A Lesson Learned

A Lesson Learned

I was a confident person when I was young. I planned that when I grew up, I was going to be a sailor. More than just a sailor, I would be captain of a fleet of ships. That all got derailed, or in this case sunk, when I took as mentor and teacher the dreaded pirate Yellowbeard. 

He found me one day on the wharf staring out at sea, and in my usual daze, I was dreaming of great adventures as a sea captain. He must have realized right away that I was a prime candidate for his crew. I had no idea when he approached me that he was a pirate. 

He asked me if I was interested in becoming a member of his crew. I initially declined as I knew that my parents would never let me be a sailor at my age. I was only 12 years old at the time. 

His response was a bit gruff as he said, “If it’s what you dream of, then leave your parents. I’ll take good care of you. You look like a fine sea-worthy mate to have. I can show you the world, but you have to take that leap right now. It’s what I did when I was half your age.” 

Yellowbeard was very persuasive, and I took the leap. 

He took me aboard his longboat and cast off immediately where he met up with his ship, “The Jolly Dodger”.  I was then made aware of the fact that this was a pirate ship. 

It was too late to leave and change my mind. We left the safety of the cove and went out on the high seas. You need to know that I had never been out to sea on anything other than a small rowboat. 

The Jolly Dodger headed off into the wilds of the ocean. We had nothing but bad weather. I was sick most of the time. As for being a sailor, I spent most of my time swabbing the decks and cleaning up the messes I made as a result of my stomach’s reaction to the food I ate and the churning sea. As for my mentor, all he did was drink and belch out orders to everyone. 

I don’t think he was much of a sailor, and I learned very little from him in the two weeks I spent on the ship. It lasted only two weeks because our brilliant captain managed to scuttle the ship on a reef just before he was captured by the King’s navy and was able to escape back home. 

I got in a bit of trouble with my parents and was forbidden to go to the wharf again, which was fine with me, as Old Yellowbeard totally shipwrecked my confidence in myself, and I decided that I never wanted to be a sailor. I decided to be a teacher instead. I certainly learned a lot as a pirate on The Jolly Dodger about how not to teach. 

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It’s All in the Name

It’s All in the Name

The seat was his. It had his name on it. Therefore the seat was his. Every day, Sean went to school on the IRT subway. He got on the subway at the first stop, 242nd street. He always went to the third car from the end and sat in the first seat next to the middle door of the subway car. It was his seat. 

 

“I can’t believe it’s this guy again. Every day he has to come in first thing on our run and place his stinkin’ backside on me. It’s bad enough that he sits on me every day, but once, he took out a permanent marker and wrote his stupid name on me. The guy should be arrested for defaming public property.”

 

Of course, there were the weekends. On those days, Sean did not have to go to school. It should have been a respite from the burden of being a reserved seat. However, Sean always managed to have a reason for going to the city every day. So he made it a point to be there each day. And through some mystical luck of the train scheduling system, it was always the same train that Sean got on. 

 

“There’s no break for me. That idiot passenger always manages to find me. What is it that he knows that I don’t?”

 

It turns out that Sean’s father was a master scheduler for the NYC Subway system. The train depot, which was right off of the 242nd street station, was where he worked. He knew exactly what trains would be where, and when they would be there. He loved telling his son every night when Sean’s train was going to be in the station next. 

 

That all came to a halt the day that Sean’s father retired and the subways needed an upgrade. The subway that Sean always used was retired and replaced with a newly designed car. It had air conditioning and seats that were more durable. In fact, the car that Sean always went into had a conductor stationed inside the car. He was there to make sure no one damaged or graffitied any of the seats or walls. 

 

Sean was devastated. He refused to ride the subway ever again. 

 

The subway car with Sean’s name on it was left to be repurposed. It was to be used as a period piece in a park as a rest station for weary park goers and when the weather got bad. 

 

That would be the end of the Sean story. That is unless you happen to be taking the Number 20 bus number 81022  from 238th street, into upper Manhattan, at a certain time. When you get there, get on to it, and if your name is Sean, there is a seat with your name written in permanent marker on the right side of the bus, opposite the exit door towards the back of the bus. It’s all yours. 

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There was a time…

We were given a selection of pictures to choose from as a writing prompt.

I chose 4 of them:

There was a Time…

Margaret stared at her reflection in the window. Her father was gone again. She was used to his leaving for extended periods. But he always came back. You see, he was a time historian. That meant that he would travel back in time to record historical events. He even took part in some of them. As Margaret stared at herself, she wondered where he was this time. 

Each time her father returned, he would bring her something from that time period. She received a laurel wreath from the Roman Empire. She once got a bracelet from Queen Victoria. There was the time, more recently, when she was given an aviator helmet from World War II. She never knew what to expect because her father never told her where he was going. 

So she would sit each night by the window, staring at her reflection, wondering.

—–

Carl was a time historian. He stood in his workshop staring out the window, wondering what his daughter Margaret was doing at that moment. He loved her so much. In his workshop, he had all the tools and resources to make any authentic period clothing or tools needed for his journey into the past. His assignment would be sent by a special messenger, and he usually had a week to prepare for his transformation and journey. He never knew what to expect when given these assignments or what dangers they entailed. Therefore, he didn’t share any of this information with his family. He didn’t want them to worry.

This time the assignment was different from the others he’d been on. The time period was the 9th century. He was to research and report on a battle that took place in Wessex, England, in 851 a.d. Carl was assigned to go into the battle as a Viking.  It would be the only defeat Vikings ever had in England at that time. 

So he stared out the window of his workshop, wondering about his daughter and his fate on this assignment.

—–

You prepared for the time portal by ensuring you had all the equipment needed to record what happened and to fit in with the people there. The portal took care of your looks and appearance to others in that era. The recorder was activated as soon as the portal was turned on. It was set so that in the event anything happened to you, it would send a signal for an immediate return. 

Carl sat at the entrance to the portal cross-legged and crossed his arms. He closed his eyes as he was drawn into the transfer field. All the personnel in the room with him could see was a bright purple light filling the portal and another blue light encompassing Carl. His physical features began to fade. All they saw was a blue shadow of someone sitting there, and as the blue light faded, so did Carl. 

—–

When Carl emerged, he was much younger-looking than his actual age. He had a rugged physique, his beard was gone, he had long dark hair, a heavy fur coat, and both a sword and a shield in his hands. His eyes beheld a battle that was going on right in front of him. 

Carl was skilled in most activities needed for a historical recording. In most cases, he was a bystander, an observer, of whatever event was happening at the time. For this assignment, he was unprepared for what was about to happen. He was a participant in an actual battle, and he knew he was on the losing side. 

The English were on him before he could signal a time portal recall action. He fought valiantly and, in fact, even slew some of those opposing him. Having never killed anyone before, this was very upsetting to him. The enemies’ numbers and skill far outmatched his. He did not know who struck him first, but he heard the cry from the embittered soldier, “Here’s for what you bloody Vikings did to my wife. For Margaret!” Carl felt the sword go into his chest. And then everything went black. 

—–

Margaret stared at her reflection in the window. She wondered where her father was and when he would return.

 

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Has anyone seen my pet?

Has anyone seen my pet?

It was early in the evening but pretty dark. The street that I lived on had no lights. We were planning on having dinner at a friend’s house. Across the street from our house was a wooded area that bordered some local farms. The woods provided a barrier between the houses on our side of the street and the fields of the farms that sold all sorts of fruits and vegetables in the summer. This, however, was not summer; it was winter. I got home late. Christina, my wife, was still working. As I drove into my driveway and got out of my car, I noticed movement in the street. It was dark; I couldn’t identify what it was. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the image of what was moving became clearer. It was a gigantic pig. When I say gigantic, I mean that the pig appeared to me to be 2/3’s my height and as wide as half my car. I wasn’t scared but had no intention of having any interaction with said animal.

I quickly went inside, called Christina up, and told her that she should go directly to our friend’s house and not come home.

When asked why I replied that there was a giant pig loose in the streets by our house. Whether or not she believed me, she took my advice. 

I called the police to report a giant pig loose in Wading River. Once I convinced the person on the other end of the phone that I was not a prankster, she took down my information. Her recommendation was that I stay in my house, which I would have done, except we had a dinner engagement. 

I stepped outside slowly and did not see the offending gargantuan anywhere, so I got into my car and slowly drove to my friend’s house. 

When we returned from dinner, I called my neighbor to see if he had seen the pig or heard about it.  He responded that it was a pet pig of someone in the neighborhood that got loose and either it wandered back home or was found and returned to its owner. 

Search as I might, we never saw that pig again. 

Back then, there were no cell phones or ways to take digital pictures, so I have no real proof that this ever happened. You’ll just have to believe me. Would I lie to you?

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The Monster Who Grew Small

The Monster Who Grew Small

He walked with small steps; He just carried his load

As he followed the path that led down the road. 

His goal was quite simple, it demanded no thought

For he had to return that great weapon he bought.

They said he was foolish when he spent all he had

But he wanted that sword, its return made him mad.

The quest he had planned did have danger implied.

But he knew he was right. After all, he had pride. 

The monster was huge and a threat to them all.

He decided perhaps he should give it a call. 

He needed that sword to correct what was wrong. 

The town wouldn’t have it. They said he’s not strong.

Well, he had to obey, for he guessed they were right.

He was only a kid and too weak for a fight. 

So he wandered along with the wind blowing cold.

With thoughts of this monster, so big, bad, and bold.

When he looked far ahead and the monster he saw.

It was big and looked mean, his mind filled with awe. 

But did he turn back and show he was scared?

No, he kept moving on, with his shoulders quite squared. 

And a strange thing then happened for the closer he got. 

That monster grew smaller, not a bit, but a lot. 

When he reached that poor monster at the base of a tree.

Why it wasn’t quite scary, it was small as a flea. 

The boy questioned this demon, “Just what is your game?”

“To instill great concern. For ‘Worry’s’ my name.

When you first see me coming and don’t get too near

Your anxiety heightens and translates to fear.”

“Your power has ended. Since I know what you are.

In fact, if my plan works, I will soon be a star. 

For the story I’ll tell will correct what is wrong.

As I sing it out loud in the form of a song.

I will go far and wide as the world hears me sing.

They will learn that less worry’s a wonderful thing.

And I’ll just keep on singing till I’ve told them all

And you, Monster Worry, will just remain small.” 

And that’s how it ended. He needed no sword.

He defeated the monster with naught but a word.

So learn from this story, hear these words ere I’m through.

* “Worry’s like paying a debt that may never come due.”*

*Quote attributed to Will Rogers.

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The Answer Is…

The story prompt for this piece was “And They Lived…”

The Answer Is…

Once upon a time, there was a very old man. He was known as the ‘Man of a thousand answers.’ The reason being that no matter what question you asked him, he had an answer for you. And he loved answering questions. 

Now people of the village relied on him, for his answers to their questions were always proved to be true. 

“How do I cure my wife’s illness?”

“What can I do to stop my child from crying so much?”

“What is the secret to happiness?’

“When will I find true love?”

“Where did I leave the keys to my house?”

And he knew the answer. 

There came a time when, old as he was, he found the true love of his life. She was as old as he was. She became known as the ‘Woman of a thousand questions’, which seemed appropriate since she married the old man. 

She was never satisfied with the status quo. If a decision was made in the village, she had a question that would make the village put more thought into their resolve. 

When someone came to her with a question, she would respond with a question that would guide that person to understand themselves better. 

When asked, “How do I get my employer to value my achievements? Her response was, “What do you value in your achievements, and why is your employer’s opinion vital to you?  

When asked, “Is there a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?” Her response was, “Is there joy in finding out or only in the reward?”

People had so many things to ask and never knew which one to ask their questions to. Both provided solutions to problems.

Of course, there came a time when the old man had a question that he needed to ask. He asked his wife, “Are you happy?” 

Her response was, “Are you happy?”

His answer was, “Of course.”

Her response was, “Did you need to ask?”

Despite the obvious answer, he chose not to answer for the first time. He just gazed deeply into her eyes and smiled. 

And they lived…well, you know how it goes. 

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A Beach in the Sky

A Beach in the Sky

Summer is usually hot. Living in the Bronx in the 1950s, we had no air conditioners during that time. Basically, our house had a lot of window fans to try and keep us cool. Needless to say, they didn’t work that well on hot days in the summer. 

Sometimes, we would go to tar beach to try and cool down a bit. For those of you that did not grow up in the city, tar beach was the flat roof of our apartment building. Our apartment was 11 stories high and overlooked parts of the Bronx and New York, where I grew up. You could see for miles. Though an 11-story apartment building doesn’t sound very high by New York City standards, it was higher than most things around us.

If sidewalks were hot when you walked on them in summer, tar beach was hotter. After all, the surface that we were walking on was black tar.

Needless to say, we went up there to cool down due to the fact that the air was somewhat cooler up there.

We would bring our lounge chairs up and place them in an open space where we could sit down or lie down, let whatever cool breeze might waft over us, and try to whisk away some of the heat. Besides, the view was great.  It was even better when there was a concert across the street at Gaelic Park. 

Sometimes, however, luck was not with us. You see, to get onto tar beach, you had to climb a set of stairs from the 11th floor and open a heavy door. Once on the roof, you had to make sure that you put something down to block the door from closing completely. If it closed completely, which it did automatically, the door locked itself from the inside, meaning you were stuck on the roof. 

Should that happen, which it occasionally did, you had to scream for help, wait for someone else to come onto the roof, or you could attempt to climb down the fire escapes that connected the roof to a floor where someone might let you in. Remember, there were no cell phones in those days. 

We never had to climb down the fire escapes, even though it was an option. Usually, someone else came, either to use the roof themselves or someone realized we were not back and came up looking for us. 

Tar beach became a place for family and friends to enjoy the heat of summer, bringing things to drink and share while we tried to enjoy the life of growing up in the city. 

Summer wasn’t the only time we went there, but summer seemed to be the best time of the year to go since we didn’t have a car and had no close beaches to go to, it was the best view of where we lived in the neighborhood, and the outdoor stadium concerts at Gaelic Park were free.

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Think Before You Act

Think Before You Act

Arthur loved learning new things, whether it was something brand new that no one had ever thought to do or something that everybody but him knew about, and he finally discovered it. That was Arthur.

He was the nicest and friendliest person you could know. Honest, to a fault, self-disciplined, self-reliant, and a great listener. He had his opinions but was open-minded. He was helpful and generous, and everyone trusted him. 

If he had one problem, it was his curiosity. Though it brought him lots of knowledge and new adventures. It also brought him several mishaps. This was one of those days. 

Arthur went to his job at the university, where he worked in the library department. One of his responsibilities was to research sources for materials that the library had acquired. On this day, there was an ancient book of local history, dating back over 300 years, sitting on his desk. The book certainly looked old. Its tattered cover held loosely in place, with weathered pages and handwritten notes adorning the margins of each chapter, stood out as Arthur picked it up to examine it.  A few phone calls would have verified if this was an authentic book or not. It might even have identified who had left it on his desk. 

Instead, when he opened the book and looked briefly at the contents, his eyes focused on a chapter heading that said, “The Lost Treasure of Lord Warren.” The chapter heading was marked with a star. Arthur’s curiosity got the best of him. Reading the chapter, he found it included a map illustrating exactly where this supposed treasure was buried. It failed to mention what exactly the treasure was. Arthur, being a good problem solver, chose to let his curiosity out-vote logical thinking and ran out to find the treasure.

Anyone else would have questioned where the book came from. They might also question the language used in the text. Some of those words did not exist 300 years ago. They might have researched who Lord Warren was, in which case they would have discovered it was a fictional name. But Arthur did none of these, he was too curious. 

Having made a copy of the map, Arthur quickly deduced that the location of the treasure was located somewhere within the confines of the city zoo. Being an animal lover, he had been to the zoo many times and convinced himself of where the exact location would have been 300 years ago. In actuality, it was a lucky guess. He went directly to the walk-through aviary. 

He was able to sneak a fold-up shovel into the zoo in his backpack. The security guards recognized him from the library and hadn’t bothered to check his pack. Beautiful pictures of the different types of birds in nature that had been sketched by the local Birdwatcher’s society hung outside of the Aviary. An avid art lover, Arthur stopped to admire them. 

Arthur entered slowly into the enclosure, and when he got to the point where he thought the spot was, and no one was looking, he ducked behind the nearest tree. 

He looked carefully at the ground and started to dig into the earth. He tried to make sure he was being quiet so as not to be observed. It never dawned upon him that something that was buried 300 years ago would not be close to the surface of the ground. He was patient and persistent and kept digging. He was about a foot and a half down when he hit something solid. Carefully he dug a little deeper and discovered a rather large bone. 

“What the….,” he called out. 

That was a big mistake, for he certainly was heard. 

Security guards came rushing and found him standing next to a hole in the ground, with a shovel in one hand and a large bone (that was certainly not from a bird) in the other hand. 

Security held him in custody until the police came to take him away. He was taken to jail; the charge was trespassing and destruction of public property. As he was being charged and processed, the police forensic unit analyzed the bone he had uncovered. 

Arthur thought he would be released soon, as both charges were misdemeanors. That was until it was discovered that the bone that he uncovered was, in fact, a human bone. 

Further digging at the zoo and DNA evidence matched the bones to a missing person report. Since it was unclear whether Arthur was digging up or burying evidence, an added charge of abetting a murder was added to his supposed crimes. He was in big trouble. 

Three things happened that saved the day. 1) Forensic evidence was found linking one of the zoo’s security guards to the murder. 2) A disgruntled co-worker of Arthur’s, who wanted to get back at Arthur for telling his boss about a misdeed the co-worker had done (remember I said he was honest to a fault) came forward with the fake book that started Arthur on this journey and claimed responsibility for creating the book and putting it on Arthur’s desk. He just wanted Arthur to go on a wild goose chase and get in trouble for not verifying a source.  It was pure coincidence that the map pointed to a spot where the murderer had buried his victim. 3) The security guard in question, when confronted by detectives, confessed to the crime.

The final result was that Arthur was fined for trespassing and destruction of public property. He did get reassigned to a different part of the library. The co-worker was fined for abetting a crime and subsequently fired by the university for giving the university a bad reputation. And the security guard was arrested and convicted of multiple counts of murder and obstruction of justice. He is still awaiting sentencing. 

Arthur continues to be curious and learns new things, one of which is being honest to a fault is not always the best policy to follow. 

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