A Riddle Rendered in Ink
Welcome to the seventh issue of Sketchy Scoops! You’re number one source for the most spurious content on the internet.
Gossip, Hearsay, and Scuttlebutt
What We’re Trying to Pass as Reporting. Not Guaranteed to be Factually Accurate— or even true.
A Public Confession of Hidden Crimes
recently posted a confession disguised as a Substack Note. Her words imply a lot more than they actually say. There can be little doubt but that her veiled statements conceal a dark mystery. She writes:Put off meeting with childhood friends for a year! Exactly how long does it take a body to decompose? Maybe she was waiting for the statute of limitations to expire for some crime? Doesn’t it seem strange that she had to wait for such a specific amount of time? Why, Katie? Why?
Then, she abruptly decided to make it happen and a good time was had by all, but I’m compelled to ask if attendance was taken? Were any of these childhood friends missing? Perhaps the more salient question is whether any of her childhood bullies or enemies missing? There are secrets here waiting to be uncovered by anyone willing to brave the wilds of the untamed regions in which she lives and foolhardy enough to risk her wrath.
Scoop Reports: A Riddle Rendered in Ink
My latest case led me to Brevard, North Carolina. It’s a small town outside of Ashville and this was my first time here. Visiting a new town always excites me because it represents an opportunity for new experiences, new discoveries, and most importantly new food.
Luck was riding shotgun as I rolled into town. It was just as the lunchtime rush was kicking into high gear. That offered me the best opportunity for meaningful research. I did what I always do in times like these: I drove through town and paid attention to which restaurants were busy. The method was as tried and true as a weathered trench coat: if you see a place with a line snaking out the door, you’ve found somewhere special. Just the type of culinary escapage I’d been craving.
I found a spot exactly like that on the outskirts of Brevard. It was called Corky’s Dawg House and they’d already packed the parking lot by noon. This accomplishment was even more impressive because they weren’t located in the middle of downtown. It meant that this was a place that people were out of their way to visit so they could experience a great meal.
The other thing that stood out to me was that since this was off a bit off the beaten path the people who were eating here were probably locals. Locals always know the best places. Most impressive of all though was that their menu seemed to have been carefully designed to ensure that it would cater to my refined palate. By that I mean they served hot dogs, hamburgers, and similar faire.
Having scoped out the area, I contacted Tonya Adler and asked her if she could meet me at the restaurant at 11 AM the next day. That was when they opened, and I figured it’d give us a few quiet moments to discuss whatever her issues were.
She’d contacted me about a phenomenon that she couldn’t entirely explain. Normally, I skip the leads that are this vague, but when she mentioned that she was worried that her son was being haunted I knew it was something I had to investigate. I’m a sucker for kids and I will not risk one of them being made to endure something horrific.
That settled, I parked the van and went into Corky’s so I could conduct a more thorough survey of their menu items.
The next day, a young lady and her toddler child walked into the dining area right after Corky’s had opened. I was the only other patron at the time. I stood up and motioned them to my table. I’d taken the liberty of ordering for all of us. She positioned her son in a highchair at the edge of the table and sat across from me.
“Here it is.” The young woman—who had introduced herself as Tonya moments before—slapped the drawing onto the table with a determination that was both impressive and unexpected. The toddler, Charlie, cooed as he reached for the paper. Like any young mother, though, her reflexes were lightning quick, and she gently pushed the small hand to the side.
“Your son is adorable,” the waitress said as she carefully placed our orders on the table, but out of the reach of the aforementioned adorable baby.
I picked up the paper and sat it on the empty seat beside me. “Tonya, have you ever eaten their macaroni and cheese? It’s the best in Brevard. Seriously. You have to try this.” I motioned toward the plate of steaming, cheese-covered pasta that I’d ordered just for them. “Eat it while it’s hot. It’s really quite unbelievable.”
I waited for her to pick up a forkful of the food. She took a bite, and her expression told me everything I needed to know about Tonya. She enjoyed good food. Anyone who is capable of enjoying mac and cheese that much was my kind of person.
A family of five walked past us on their way up to the counter to place their order. I reached down to pick up my own order. It was a repeat of what I’d ordered yesterday, and I was looking forward to enjoying it all over again.
Yesterday, the Italian sausage had been a discovery. Today, it was anticipation. The pairing of the sausage with the peppers and onions wrapped in a hoagie roll was amazing, but the generous application of deli mustard really brought everything together for me. I picked up the sandwich and said, “It’s a good thing we got here early because this place fills up quick.”
I had started to raise the sandwich to my mouth when the look in Tonya’s eyes told me that she wasn’t ready to eat. I looked down at the crumpled paper next to me and then at my sandwich. Hmph. Maybe she wasn’t my kind of people after all.
Reluctantly, I pushed my sandwich to the side and placed the illustration in the center of the table. The drawing had been carefully laid out on coordinate paper. Each divided cell had been filled with alternating colors that formed a repeating pattern of pink and black or yellow and blue. Some inner sections had been colored with orange or purple.
The most striking part of the drawing though were the dinosaurs. Seven brontosaurs filled the center of the page while a different species circled the outer edge. The alternating colors filled the image with a sense of motion as if they would leap from the page. When viewed together, they seemed to be involved in a complicated dance.
While I considered the paper, several other groups of people entered the restaurant and filled the tables surrounding us. I noted that it was barely 11:30 and every seat had been claimed. A line had started to form leading up to the cash register as more and more people came in to place their orders.
“I want you to destroy this.” Tonya said. “I have to get rid of it.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
She picked up the paper and held it so Charlie would focus on it. Almost immediately he began to cry. At first, it was the type of forced cry that some children use to get attention, but soon it turned real. In a matter of seconds, real tears were streaming down the child’s face.
Our fellow patrons were becoming uncomfortable. A few shot disapproving looks our way. One of the servers came over to make sure we were okay. I smiled and told them that the baby needed a nap.
“So, the drawing makes him cry? Why not throw it away or give it to someone else?”
The suggestion alarmed her. “No. I can’t do that. I won’t inflict this on someone else. It’s too horrible.” Her son had become increasingly agitated, and it had become obvious that we needed to leave the restaurant.
I took a bite of the Italian sausage I’d ordered because I wanted to at least experience it while it was still warm and then packed up the remainder of our meals into the small boxes that I’d grabbed from a nearby counter.
We made our way outside and sat at a picnic table that had been setup at the edge of their parking lot. “Based off of what I saw in there, it doesn’t seem like Charlie likes the drawing very much at all.”
“You didn’t give it enough time.” She passed Charlie to me. I expected the tears and wailing to increase, but he calmed as I held him. I guess the kid liked me. Who knew?
Then, she held up the drawing so that both Charlie and I could see it. “Just watch the paper.”
In a moment, Charlie had begun to fake cry again and then it was replaced by real tears. I tried to soothe him as best I could and began to bounce him up and down. It had no effect. The kid was disconsolate.
“Keep watching the paper,” Tonya said.
As I did, the colors seemed to blur together. It was an interesting effect, and I couldn’t help but admire the artistic prowess of the illustrator who had created this work. It showed a deep understanding of color theory and a willingness to break those rules in a subversive way when it suited them. It really was quite stunning.
Then, something unexpected happened.
It looked like one of the sauropods moved. It was impossible, but it seemed like it raised its head off the paper.
Tonya must have noticed my surprise because she seized on that moment. “You saw it, didn’t you? You saw it move!”
Charlie cried even harder and one of the dinosaurs on the outside edge took a step forward. The ones behind it did the same. Their dance had begun in earnest.
“They’re moving. They’re all moving!” As I watched, the dinosaurs pushed themselves up and out of the paper until the small two-dimensional drawings were free of the page. They galloped in circles, jumped in the air, and cavorted all around young Charlie.
As they did so, his sobs changed to laughter. It wasn’t long until peals of pure unadulterated joy filled the small sitting area of the parking lot. And as Charlie laughed, the dinosaurs began what could only be described as a migration. They still played about, and every movement was one of joy, but they began to make their way back to the page. Charlie continued to express his joy and wonder, and the dinosaurs resumed their original positions and then sank back into the paper and the drawing was made whole once more.
“And that’s why I need you to destroy it.”
“But, why would you want to get rid of something that brings so much delight to your son?”
“It’s because he likes it so much.”
“I’m sor…” I began, but then, Charlie began to cry once more. That’s when I understood. “So, when he cries the dinosaurs come to life until he starts laughing and then they go back on the page.”
“Over and over… and over again. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for three weeks.” She placed the paper on the picnic table’s surface and pushed it toward me. “I just can’t handle it anymore. I mean I really love to hear him laugh like that, but it’s too much. The never-ending cycles are too much. I’ve tried to destroy it myself, but I can never go through with it. You’ve got to help me, Scoop. I don’t know what to do!”
I picked up the paper. The piece had been signed by the artist. Not a full name. Only the initials
Not capitalized. No address. Not a lot to go on there, but I didn’t need that information to help Tonya. “Thank you for bringing this this to me. This is the type of thing that I never would have believed if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I don’t think destroying this is the answer though. It’s a beautiful piece of work and there are people out there who will enjoy this. More importantly, they are mature enough to understand the implications of enjoying this. I’ll be happy to find a new home for this splendid piece of art. In fact, I know someone who does that very thing.”Charlie had begun to cry in earnest now. “You had better put that somewhere where he can’t see it,” Tonya said.
“Good idea.” I opened the door to my van and placed it on the seat and then returned to them. Charlie was still crying. I pulled out the macaroni and cheese and was sad to see that it had cooled, but then realized that it offered a great way to distract Charlie from having lost his dinosaur friends. I gave the food to his mother who began to feed him small pieces. After the first bite, Charlie was as hooked as I had been. His mother may not share the same enthusiasm for food as I do, but Charlie and I were of a like mind. The kid greedily insisted that she keep giving him more.
“How do you think this is possible? I mean how could a drawing come to life like that? Have you ever seen anything like that before?”
“It’s impossible to say without knowing more about the artist. I can’t presume to speak for him and—let’s be honest here—we’re dealing with something that isn’t natural. Who knows how things like this come to be, but if I had to guess, I would say that it only happens when the artist has really poured himself into the work.
“Think about people like da Vinci or Michelangelo. They’ve been dead for hundreds of years and yet we still have little remnants that give us clues as of to how they saw the world. Or go back even further. Look at the sculptures we have from anonymous Greek artists. Many times, we know next to nothing about these creators, but they’ve preserved a bit of themselves in the marble that has been passed down to us. So, if you pushed me for an answer, that’s what I would say has happened here.
“Whoever this d.w. is they’ve put a bit of their soul inside this work. And the soul of this artist has imbued his work with the same kind and gentle worldview that defines his entire being. A kindness so profound that it cannot endure the existential pain felt by toddlers and so it seeks to entertain and delight them in its effort to alleviate their suffering.
“I understand the problems that this drawing has caused for you and Charlie, but I believe my friend will find someone for whom this will only bring joy and delight. Something as magical as this shouldn’t be destroyed. It must be cherished.”
Tonya had been feeding the macaroni to Charlie the entire time I’d been speaking, and the food was having its effect on him. He’d begun to doze off. I helped her to her car and opened the door for her while she got the sleeping child buckled up in his car seat. She thanked me for my help, and I made my way back to my van.
Once inside, I looked at my sandwich. Thanks to its perch on the dashboard and the afternoon sun, it was still mildly warm. I picked it up to take a bite, but realized I should make a call first. She picked up on the first ring. “Hello, Bessie? I’ve got something for you.”
d.w. writes One Could Argue
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A Note from the Editor
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This was absolutely sick!!! I didn’t know it was going to be d.w., so it was like seeing a friend turn up in a movie: a total delight and it gave the whole thing a surreal vibe. And he does seem pretty nice!
This was such a sweet story - thanks for bringing it to us, Scoop!