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Hello, fellow Gumshoes!

Have you ever wondered what the Morgue Assistant really does with all those cadavers? Maybe you've wondered why Preston spends all his time in the bar?

We'd like to know what really goes on during the day-to-day life of some of our most well-known townies - and this is where YOU, my fellow gumshoes, come in.

We want you to write a story about a day in the life of a Townie. You may pick ONE of the following:

Pawn Broker
Beat Cop
Bartender
Reporter
Morgue Assistant
Tobacconeer

This contest is open to everyone, whether subscribed or unsubscribed.

THE RULES

Stories must be written in either first or third person.

Stories must not be longer than 1 forum post.

One Story per detective, and you may NOT use alt detectives to submit more.

Spelling and Grammar ARE important. Remember, Spell Check is your friend!

No Plagiarism, we expect your story to be completely your own work.

Please, remember the game is set in the 1950's, so no cell phones, personal computers/laptops, etc.

Also remember this is a detective game, so some form of mystery in the story will net you extra points.

The Judges: Anikka, Develin, Fletchi, and Ms. Helen. In the event of a tie our beloved Squirrel will have the deciding vote.

THE PRIZES:
1st Prize: 3 month sub + special item
2nd prize: 2 month sub + special item
3rd prize: 1 month sub + special item

Plus, anyone who posts a worthy entry (ie, NOT: i iz entering cuz i wanna win) will get a special little something too.

DEADLINE:
31st October 2010 (23:59 or 11:59 PM Server time)

Please post below if you have any questions. Please post your entry into this thread.

Good luck, all!

First, let me introduce myself. I am Robert Dark, morgue assistant. How appropriate is my name, as I am completely in the dark. Let's say I am not the outgoing kind. Are you surprised? I think not. I'm a loner, don't trust too many people. In fact, I don't trust anyone, even not myself. Yes, that's why I've chosen this profession... or maybe it has chosen me. The morgue is the only place where I can be totally in control. I don't have to talk to my clients, and surely they won't talk back at me... My job is ambigue; I might be living in the dark, but examining the dead brings their last moments in broad daylight, that is: when I work steady and precisely... My head needs to be clear, otherwise I can't focus.. so please, just leave me here and don't bother with me no more. And don't ask me how my day is, because they are all the same...

So I'm tidying the store one afternoon, when my Grandson Horace rushes in. Seems he's doing a school project, and he wants to know what sort of people use a Pawn Broker.

So I told him.

Told him about the scum of the earth who creep in late at night.
Told him about the hardship cases, behind on their rent.

I even told him about the weirdos.

Like the guy who came in one morning, haggled for a while, bought a coat, and then just before leaving, offered to sell it back to me. For more than he'd originally paid!

Or the time six different people came in, one after another, trying to sell me secret documents. One look at the markings on the papers and I just threw them out of the store. Don't want to get mixed up in that sort of thing!

But there was one weirdo I kept quiet about. Business type, carrying a big leather holdall. He waits until the store is quiet then comes to the counter and opens a bag full of weapons. Right in front of me! All manner of gruesome tools, and all covered in blood!

Couldn't tell my Grandson about that now, could I?

Would have given the poor little guy nightmares.

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It was a gloomy winter evening in Hammett Square. A fresh layer of snow blanketed the streets. In the dark bowels of Spade Central Hospital, something sinister was unfolding.
Robert Dark had arrived twenty minutes early for his night shift as a morgue assistant. An empty room adjacent to the morgue served as his office. It was poorly lit and had a faint odor of decay lingering in the air, due to its neighbors, but which he had grown accustomed to. He removed his coat and scarf, tossed them carelessly on his desk, and quickly crossed the room to a large, dilapidated filing cabinet. It was recovered from a crime scene many years back, and, at Robert's insistence that it not be removed, it still bore a crimson spray of blood across its bottom two drawers.

Nobody except Robert ever went in that office anyway.

Quietly, as if he would be discovered otherwise, he slipped a key into the lock at the top of the cabinet. The top drawer opened noiselessly, and he pulled out a file. He didn't have time to lose. They would be here any minute, he was sure of that.

Armed with the file, he left the office and entered the morgue. He paused beside a drawer along the far wall. This particular drawer was Aruna Kinsella's temporary home for the next few days. She was an old woman who had died peacefully in her sleep, with the slightest hint of a smile on her face. Robert placed a shaky hand on the drawer handle, and pulled it slowly out.

He was greeted instead by the face of Lambert Flaherty, which was grotesquely twisted in horror, eyes wide open as if he had died a thousand terrible deaths. Robert dropped the file to the floor in shock. This was exactly what he had expected, although he held out hope to the last that it would not be so.

Another day had gone by, and Aruna's body was the 4th that week to have mysteriously vanished and been replaced by a wretched-looking cadaver.

Without stopping to pick up the spilled file, Robert hurried back to his office and locked the door behind him. He scurried under his desk and waited for the worst. It was too late. Th

e door swung open.

I was pouring a drink for my customer when I dropped my bottle.I bent over to pick it up when I picked it up the customer was on the ground dead.I called the police to find out who did it.The case was on the police got three suspects : Maggie,Mike,and Mindy.Mindy said,"I was at the bar." I remembered she was siting across the table from me so she's innocent.Mike said,"I was at the barber." The barber said he was there so my only suspect left is Maggie.Maggie said she was talking to shady.I knew shady wasn't here because she was sick.I reported Maggie and she went to Jail.

I don't got no wifey or ankle biters, but I get up at 7am every mornin'—so's I can get to the gym. You don't keep your weight at 250 when you're 5 feet tall without regular exercise, you dig? After my 9 minute workout—up from 7 just this week!—I go to Maggie's diner—best muscle food in town: fried eggs, bacon, sausage, corned beef hash, ham—ya know. By the time I've finished, it's near time for lunch. I gotta work hard to get to Mel's diner by noon—that's when the best steaks, burgers, chops and ribs're ready. It takes a long time to get through all that, but gotta build up my muscles. I don't got an easy life, you can see that already. The bar opens at 5, which gives me just enough time to switch my threads (BBQ sauce, ya know), and get to work. Lucky for me, we got a grill there, otherwise I'd starve to death between brewskis. (Don't tell the boss—he don't know I eat on the job.) And to top it all off, every time I turn around some germ's comin' in and askin' me about some nerd or other—where they live, were they here that day, whatever. I'm like, hey, nosebleed, you writin' a book or somethin'? It's like they're just crusin' for a brusin'. Sometimes I'll clue 'em—sometimes I 'm like, get bent! Well, that's it--ain't much, but it's a life. Now I'm goin' to pile up some z's and start all over again in the am.

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