u/Caesar_Passing

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6Hu9JRNaVp

u/Caesar_Passing — 14 days ago

▲ 7 r/imsorryjon

Garfield Bites It (wip - P15) novella, my writing

Welp, my phone and/or sd card have shit the bed, so I've been delayed, lol. Lotta dialogue in this part, but hey, Dr. Furrow origin story? Cameo from "the ants"? That's, you know, *something.* Part of what's so hard about this project is keeping the internal lore tight and consistent. From the first installment, I've woven in a couple strong, recurring themes as clues. Now the challenge is connecting the foreshadowing with a satisfying payoff. Dr. Furrow is so close to piecing together the mystery of sentient animal perception... perhaps too close.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/WFuUGN5Cda

Part 9:

Part 10:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/psO6xHHuCo

Part 11:

Part 12:

Part 13:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/jiDMApTjvF

Part 14:

There is a quiet pause, then Orson replies, “thank you, Wart. And you guys, too. Thank you for cooperating with me. I wish you all had been nicer to me in the past, but I forgive you. I’m sorry I had to make you remember these things. I wish you peace…” The triplets face Orson quietly, and wave goodbye. Their expressions are soft, fond, and subtly sorrowful, as they fade away like placated spirits. Orson turns to face Roy, and sighs regretfully, “well, I think you know what I’m going to ask…”

Roy cringes slightly, pleading, “oh, please don’t tell me you wanna watch these stupid things.”

Orson insists, reluctantly, “we don’t have a choice, Roy. It’s like Dr. Furrow said – ‘no stone unturned’. None of us even knew you had a camcorder. I’d have preferred to let you have your privacy, but now this hobby of yours has become directly involved in a series of murders. Maybe your tapes won’t reveal anything helpful, or maybe there’s a clue surrounding them that even you wouldn’t have known about.”

Roy groans, “ughhhh! It’s embarrassing, Orson. What your brothers said was true. The tapes are full of experimental TV show ideas I’ve had over the years. I love doing ‘US Acres’ with you guys, but let’s be honest – it’s YOUR show. I get to be a sarcastic upstart and go against the grain, but I’m still just playing a role! I’m more than ‘Roy Rooster’, the character. I’m Roy Rooster, the TV star! I don’t get the chance to truly express myself in front of our shared audience. And before you suggest some kind of compromise in the format, the fact is that Garfield And Friends isn’t the right time or place for it. So I come up with these ideas for game shows, variety shows, panel shows, and even comedy sketch acts… all starring me. Directed by me. Written, by me. And ultimately, FOR me. You can watch them if you must, but please don’t offer any critiques or compliments. After you’ve seen what you need to, I’d like to pretend none of this ever happened.”

Orson picks up the camcorder, replying, “I promise I’ll be as sensitive as I can about this. I would rather we didn’t have to. It’s nothing personal – just business. Now…” Orson plugs in the camcorder, flips out the small screen, and opens the tape tray. “Since they’re your tapes, I’ll let you decide which to start with.”

Furrow interjects, “wait, Orson, do you mean that there isn’t already a tape inside?”

Orson answers, “huh? Well, no, there isn’t.”

Furrow remarks, suggestively, “and you don’t suppose the victims of some, heinous murder would have ejected the tape they were watching at the time of their deaths, do you?”

Understanding what Dr. Furrow is getting at, Orson replies, “no… no, they wouldn’t have! Then there’s no doubt. Somebody definitely cleaned up in here. Unless… Roy, do you remember taking a tape out, last time you were using this thing?”

Roy shakes his head, answering, “no, I always leave in whichever one I was working on.”

Orson posits, “alright, then you weren’t the last one to tamper with anything up here. And neither were my brothers. The question is – why would a killer bother to remove whatever tape was in there? Could you have happened to capture anything out of the ordinary in one of your videos?”

Roy replies, “I can’t imagine. I’ve only ever recorded up here, in the cupola. I’ve never taped anywhere else, because I wanted to keep this a personal project.”

Dr. Furrow muses, “perhaps, this reveals more about the, psychology of our killer, than the contents of the tapes. The behavior, of removing the tape, would be unnecessary, if there was nothing incriminating on it. So then, are all of your tapes accounted for?”

Roy goes through the collection of tapes, and reports, “they’re all here. None are missing, and they’re all in their proper cases.”

Furrow figures, “then the contents were not likely important to the killer. And one who could so meticulously clean up all trace of such violent, bloody acts, would be unlikely to eject the tape- only for sake of cleaning the camera- but then forget to replace it. I suspect, that our murderer, is one with obsessive tendencies. I think that maybe, they didn’t eject the tape for fear of being caught. Rather, to their mind, they were ‘putting things right’. They were compelled to put away the tape in its, ‘rightful’ place. They weren’t worried that doing so might arouse suspicion, as much as they needed to command order within their circumstances.”

Orson observes, “well, that’s all certainly possible, but would such an obsessive killer leave the camera with no charge left on it? My brothers said they were watching the tapes with the camera plugged into the wall. And their murder could only have happened in the last few days. So they arrived, and the camera must have been down to low battery, or else they wouldn’t have plugged it in. If it was already plugged in, it would have a full charge, and they could simply take it- along with the tapes- to watch later. So they’re watching tapes, then, they get-… They’re.. found. They’d have dropped the camcorder, still plugged into the wall, and with a tape inside. After the killer had struck, they cleaned everything up. In the process, they took a tape out of the camera, and unplugged it – possibly to wipe off any evidence. But if they were so careful about everything else, how likely is it that they’d have forgotten, both to replace the tape, and to plug the charger back in?”

Roy questions, “so what are you suggesting?”

Orson answers, “I’m just wondering what was intentional, and what was accidental. I think Dr. Furrow is right – the killer must be obsessive. A ‘neat freak’, or something like that. If that psychological profile is accurate, that would mean that every detail, left behind at each crime scene, is meaningful. Accidents would indicate either haste, or lack of concern about being found out. Hmm… Let’s get back to the barn. We can check out the tapes there.”

Roy protests, “what? Why? We can just watch them here, if we really have to. Does everybody have to see this?”

Orson explains, “there’s no running away in a spot like this. We don’t know how close the killer may be. I suspect they’re still somewhere here at US Acres. And if they knew my brothers were up here, who’s to say they haven’t already detected us?”

Roy accepts, “fine, whatever. Let’s get back to Arbuckle, then. Make sure he hasn’t stabbed anyone else…”

In the big-barn, John reminisces, “that was the last time we ever went to that theater! Oh… For all the trouble they caused, I couldn’t have loved them any more.” A rumbling sounds out, fairly loud, and John feels at peace. (Wade and the boys feel it, too.) John’s head tilts back, and he nearly falls asleep. He catches himself before falling over backward, exclaiming with a start, “whoa! Whoops, almost dozed off! Orson may be counting on me to protect you guys, in case the ki-… uh, in case the bad guy comes around.” John turns halfway around to look in the direction of the food stock where he’d gotten the vegetables from earlier, but what he sees is alarming. The whole stockpile is ravaged. “What? Wh-wh-what happened? It’s only been a few hours? What’s-?... Wait. I hear… music? Singing! It’s faint, but it sounds… familiar…” John closes his eyes, listening intently.

High-pitched voices squeak out a marching tune… ““we are the ants who gobble up your dinner! We’re always here, to spoil day or night! When we’re around you’re bound to get thinner! You’d have to gobble us to taaaaaake another bite!”” John cautiously walks over to the pile, finding- to his steadily growing shock- that every single fruit and vegetable is covered with ants. He suddenly feels a sense of déjà vu.

“I’ve… seen this before. I’ve HEARD this before!”, John exclaims.

“Wow, talk about a cameo! Orson must have enlisted them”, Wade remarks.

Booker comments, “that’s a pretty desperate move. Now that they know we keep food in here, we’ll never get rid of them!”

Sheldon cynically figures, “well, we’re just about guaranteed to lose the farm anyway… Roy and Orson could write all the Disney parodies in the world, but The Network doesn’t want another Mad TV.”

Wade adds, “eh-they don’t even want the actual Mad TV. Frankly, I’m not sure anyone does”.

John insists, “don’t get so hopeless just yet. Orson is really smart. That much is-… Wait!” John turns on his heels, and looking back at Wade and the boys, he sees them changing before his eyes. From the plain animal forms he’s known all his life, to the semi-anthropomorphized characters he met when he arrived at US Acres. He utters, blinking in near disbelief, “I can see you again…” The animals exchange looks of tempered excitement. John hurries back to the spot where he sat telling stories, drops to his knees, and picks up Wade to hug him. Tearful, he celebrates, “I can hear you again! Wade!” John holds Wade in one arm, then scoops Booker and Sheldon into his lap. Affectionately, he expresses, “I missed you…”

Joyful, Wade replies, “oh, we missed you too! Eh-well, I mean, you were here the whole time, but we’re glad we can talk to you again!” Just then, Orson, Roy, and Furrow return, much to the relief of all.

The boys greet eagerly in unison, as they leap out of John’s lap, ““Orson! Roy!”” John locks eyes with Dr. Furrow, now perceiving his sentient form.

Furrow declares, “ah, so you’re back, Mr. Arbuckle. Very good indeed.”

Surprised, Roy asks, “huh? How can you tell?”

With a slight, knowing smile, Furrow answers, “it’s the look in his eyes.” Another rumble permeates the barn. “I’ve been eager for this, I must confess. I hope that doesn’t sound too strange, but a chance to speak face-to-face with a human patient… for someone in my position, it is a rare opportunity. Perhaps the last I shall ever see, in fact.”

John greets, “Dr. Furrow, right?” Furrow extends a hand- or rather a paw- to shake, and John reciprocates.

“Indeed”, the Doctor replies. “And I couldn’t be more honored to meet you.”

John returns, with no deliberate comic intentions, “not even if I hadn’t speared you through the stomach earlier?”

Almost out-of-character, Furrow stifles a laugh, begging, “oh my!... Oh! Please don’t make me-!... Oof! I hold absolutely nothing against you, but it does hurt to laugh at the moment! Ohh… You see, Mr. Arbuckle, I am- as far as I know- the only psychologist who is a badger. And my only clients in all of my career have been other animals. But I am educated in human academia. Years ago, I began developing a theory as to why humans cannot normally perceive speaking animals.”

Orson interjects, “wait, you mean, you knew that most humans couldn’t perceive us?”

Furrow answers, “oh, yes. In fact, there was a time when I could not perceive other speaking animals. I was lost in the world. Trapped, between two planes… Have you ever met any other badgers, Orson?”

Orson searches his memory, but admits, “actually, no, I don’t think I have. Why?”

Furrow reveals, “I ask, because other badgers do not speak.” Orson and the other animals react with surprise.

John questions, “then, how can you do it?”

Furrow shrugs, “that is the mystery I aim to solve. I’m not sure how all of the, uh, rules work. What I do know, is that I began life as any other badger. I was not sentient to the degree that I am now. I could not speak, nor could I understand speech, but I could reason, that to speak was something more meaningful than growls and hisses. Badgers are solitary creatures. Whether we all have the capacity to become speaking animals, or whether I am somehow special, I don’t know. But in any case, most of my kind are not social enough to feel that anything is missing, without the power of speech. Yet, I was more needy. I don’t believe it was some inherent superiority that allowed me to gain intellect, but rather, a weakness. I needed more from life. One day, I stumbled upon a pack of wolves, mid-conversation. I didn’t know what they were saying, but I knew that they were speaking. It sounded nothing like animal noises at all. What’s more, I could read their expressions. I realized, in that moment, that I had heard speech before. But before, it held no significance to me. When I became desperate for meaning, things began to change in the way that I perceived the world. To make a long story… well, slightly less long, I began to educate myself. First, by listening, and copying the wolves. Then, by actually talking to them. At some point, a wolf I had befriended led me to a disturbing scene by the side of a country road. It was a college student who’d been killed in a hit-and-run accident while cycling. His backpack was full of books, one of which he also had an audio copy of, on tape. He was listening to it on a Walkman when he was struck. I surmised that the tape and the book bearing the same letters on them, must be related. I was able to use these tools to decipher the English alphabet, and learned how to read. From there, I read all of the, uh, late student’s books. I found various ways to access more materials from the human world, and studied to my heart’s content! But eventually, my heart truly was… content.”

John wonders, “but, isn’t that a good thing?”

Furrow explains, “I would have thought so. One day, I could no longer perceive my friend, or any of the other wolves. They were, to me, as dogs are to most humans. I could speak just fine, and behave with sentience, but it was worth nothing. The wolf pack relocated. I don’t know if they had tried to inform me of the move, because I wouldn’t have understood them, anyway. I lost the ability to perceive speaking animals, but the human world could not perceive me. I could speak. I could think. I could write. Yet I could share it with nobody. Lonesomeness nearly consumed me. Then one day, I heard lots of commotion from the nearby farm – this one, as it happens. When I carefully approached to get a look at what was happening, I saw humans, talking with animals. I saw a pig wearing glasses.”

Booker and Sheldon both remark, ““Aloysius!””

Furrow continues, “he was speaking with humans, and they were speaking with him, and I could perceive all of them! I didn’t interfere. I was afraid to make another friend- another connection- only to lose it again. So I kept no company. I would speak with others, but only on a ‘professional’ basis. After all, I had first educated myself on Jungian psychology. I put it to use, and truly helped people. Uh, animal people, that is. But I made no personal friends or connections. As long as I stayed that course, I never lost my perception again. I’ve been living in some tragically unfulfilling balance ever since. But the humans that spoke to the pig… What was special about them, I’ve wondered? How could they perceive him, when others could not? I’ve seen television. I’ve been to the city. Humans don’t perceive speaking animals…”

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6Hu9JRNaVp

u/Caesar_Passing — 27 days ago

▲ 12 r/imsorryjon

Garfield Bites It (wip - P14) story, my writing

Man, this thing is tough. When I started on this project, I genuinely thought I'd be done in like, maybe a week, lol.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/WFuUGN5Cda

Part 9:

Part 10:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/psO6xHHuCo

Part 11:

Part 12:

Part 13:

Orson replies, “I hope you won’t be offended, but this is something we have to see for ourselves.”

Roy questions, “my tapes?”

Orson clarifies, “well, yes, I’d like to be able to see that the tapes are there, at least. But moreover, we need to see the place where the murder supposedly happened. There might be signs of a struggle, or other clues. If these apparitions really are my brothers, telling us things we couldn’t have known about otherwise, then we have a new tool at our disposal. A way to retrace the killer’s steps.”

Back in the big-barn, John begins to yawn while reading to Wade and the boys. Seeing him growing tired, Wade, Booker, and Sheldon all jump up and down, making a commotion. John apologizes, “sorry guys, I’m really wiped out. I’m surprised you aren’t all ready for bed! Look, I’ll read one more – just let me get a drink of water real quick.” John walks over to the back of the barn, where he’d left the bucket from the well.

(While John’s busy, Wade frets, “he has to stay awake! He’s not gonna read fairy tales all night, and we can’t tell him that we’re trying to keep him up. Eh-we can’t tell him anything! What can we do?”

Booker thinks for a moment, then suggests, “we can’t talk to him, but what about writing?”

Wade repeats, “writing?”

Booker clarifies, “he can read Roy’s poems in the book – maybe we can simply write what we want to tell him on paper!”

Sheldon agrees, “I think it’s worth a try! Orson has paper and pencils, and a typewriter in his room.”

“It’s a better idea than I could have come up with”, Wade concedes with a shrug.)

Meanwhile, John finds the bucket knocked over, and all the water spilled. “Oh, no. That was all the water I had! I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pull another bucketful up from the well. I feel better after eating and taking that nap, but I’m nowhere near back to healthy. Hmm… I think it can wait. I’m thirsty, but not teetering on the edge of death anymore.” Standing up and turning around, he continues, “well, I promised those kids one more story. I’d-… Hey, where did Wade go?” John walks back to the spot where he’d left the storybook. Booker and Sheldon are still there, cheeping one after the other at some empty space between them. “did Wade go somewhere else? Uh, jump once for yes, or twice for no.”

(Booker urges, “come on, Wade! You write so slowly!”

Between Booker and Sheldon, writing on a piece of paper on the ground with a childish grip on his pencil, Wade replies defensively, “I don’t usually write by hand!”

Sheldon quips, “you don’t write by anything else, either.”

Wade replies, “eh-then why don’t you do it, Booker? You’re the one who writes ‘Garfield and Friends’ at the end of the theme song, after all.”

Booker accepts, “fine by me!”)

Suddenly, Wade reappears, along with the pencil, and the piece of paper he was writing on. John flinches a bit in surprise. “Oh! There you are! I thought you might have gone-…” As he’s speaking, Booker, the pencil, and the paper all disappear. John shakes his head, exasperated, remarking, “I have no idea what’s happening… Heh, reminds me of living with my boys. ‘I don’t understand the cat, I don’t understand the dog.’ I used to say that a lot. They always seemed to be up to their own shenanigans. And heck, knowing what I know now, they probably were! I wonder if they were disappearing and carrying on like people right in front of me, and I just couldn’t see them…” Booker and the writing instruments reappear and the chick hops about on the paper a few times before jumping off, as if to tell John he’s meant to read it. John picks up the paper, and reads aloud, “‘weer all suppost to stay awak untel oarsun gets back’.” Beneath that, in far neater handwriting, “‘we’ve heard all the stories in that book. We want a new story’.” It takes a moment before John registers the significance of the note. Suddenly, his eyes widen with the revelation, “wait a minute! You guys wrote me this note just now! In English! I-… well-… th-this means we can actually communicate! Hah! Okay, okay, hang on…” John picks up the pencil, and writes something down on the paper. He slides the paper over to the animals, and waits for a reply.

(Wade reads aloud, “‘do you know what happened to Orson? How did he get that injury?’ Oh, boy. That’s kind of a long story…”

Booker remarks, “he does know that we can hear him, right?”

Sheldon suggests, “might as well remind him.”)

Booker and the writing supplies disappear briefly, then reappear. Booker hops off the paper, and John picks it up to read, “‘we can understand you when you speak. You don’t need to return messages on paper.’ Oh, right! Heh, my mistake. ‘To make things faster, we’ll use your idea to jump for yes-or-no questions. Orson went to talk in private with Roy, and Dr. Furrow.’ That’s right – Dr. Furrow! I couldn’t remember his name. Ugh, the fact that I stabbed him makes it all the more embarrassing. Uh, let’s see… ‘His injury was from the weasel. That jerk stole all the chickens, and Orson went to save them.’ Alright, well, I guess that’s a good enough explanation for now. But as long as we’re waiting for him to get back, what do you want me to do about keeping us amused? Does Orson have other storybooks?”

(Wade declares, “Orson has lots of books. Eh-but we have to keep John busy, so he doesn’t fall a-sleep!”

Booker declares, “I’ve got an idea!”)

Booker hops onto the paper, and disappears with it again. After a moment, he reappears, cheeping as he hops around in a small circle. John grabs the paper, and reads, “‘Orson’s other books are long novels, and they’re boring! We want you to come up with a new story.’ Gee, I-I don’t even know where to begin with something like that!” He hands the paper back over, commenting, “by the way, Booker, you have excellent penmanship. But, I’m a cartoonist. I have no practice writing whole stories. I draw three-panel comics, but that’s all. And even those are hardly stories. They’re just funny little moments I’ve had, living with… with Garfield.. and Odie…” John ponders for a moment, then offers, “alright, give me a minute... I’ll tell you guys a true story about life with my boys. If it’s true that I’ve been on a TV show for years, then maybe you’ve already seen all of our little misadventures, but it’s all I have the brainpower for, at the moment. How about… oh! I’ll tell you about the time we went to the movie theater. Now, most people wouldn’t bring a cat and a dog to the cinema, but most cats and dogs aren’t Garfield and Odie…” There is a barely perceptible rumble…

Meanwhile, in the grain elevator, southeast of the big-barn, Orson, Roy, and Furrow examine the scene of the supposed murder, up in the headhouse. Each of them carries a flashlight. Looking around, Furrow sees some small stockpiles of food. He questions, “so, this facility is no longer in use? Yet you store reserves of food up in the cupola?”

Roy explains, “in theory, it should be harder for thieves- like Orson’s brothers- to come all the way up, and get all the way back down before anyone notices. But those three are so persistent, we can hardly-… I mean, they were so persistent…” As if with his own personal agenda, Roy splits off by himself to go to a certain corner.

A bit confused, Orson observes, “I don’t see any blood anywhere. No sign of a fight. (*sigh*) Not that I want the story to be true, but I hate a wild goose chase. Plus, if it’s not true, it means either I imagined it like Roy said, or my brothers were messing with me from beyond the grave…”

Furrow reminds, “don’t forget, Orson, the crime scene where Mr. Arbuckle first found, uh, the victims, had been thoroughly cleaned before anyone else had a chance to see it. The same could be true of this crime scene. But if your brothers’ recounting of the event was accurate, this will have been a far more difficult space to scrub so completely.”

Orson considers, “that’s true… Hey, Roy!” Roy walks over to where Orson is, carrying his flashlight in his beak, and arms full of his private tapes.

Roy carefully unloads the tapes onto the floor, takes the flashlight out of his mouth, and remarks, “I can’t believe I’ve gotta give up my last shred of privacy like this. Can’t a guy have a hobby to himself?”

Orson replies, “sorry, I wish I didn’t have to violate your privacy. But this investigation demands we at least confirm or rule out a few things. The fact that my brothers told us about the tapes, even though I didn’t know a thing about it, means that I did receive new information from the other side. That’s a pretty big deal, but the problem is that we’re talking about my brothers. They are known to lie. And just because they were telling the truth about the tapes, doesn’t mean the rest of the story was honest.”

Roy agrees, “my thoughts, exactly. They couldn’t be trusted in life, so why would we take their word as ghosts? They have nothing to lose from lying to you for a joke.”

Orson replies, “you’re right. But then again, they weren’t laughing… They lied, and cheated, and stole, but they were never good actors. When we spoke with-… I’m just going to say ‘ghosts’, even though I’m not fully convinced of that theory. When we spoke with their ghosts, they were more distraught than I’ve ever seen them. They were scared, and embarrassed.”

Furrow suggests, “perhaps, uh, you could ask them to walk us through the, sequence of events.”

Orson worries, “oh, god… asking them to relive their own murders…”

Roy comments, “that’ll be a tough sell”.

Orson elaborates, “it would be cruel! It may sound morbid, but I think death is their greatest comfort after something like that. Imagine someone tried to murder you, and two of your best friends, but you survived it. You saw your friends brutalized in front of you. You’re still alive, you’re in constant pain, you’re mentally scarred, and worst of all, the killer is still out there. You could still be attacked again… You relive the event in your mind, every day, for the rest of your life. And it makes you feel that life itself can no longer be enjoyed. People really do experience things like that.”

Furrow rejoins the other two, interjecting, “and all too often, such unfortunate sufferers, contemplate suicide almost unceasingly. I’m afraid Orson is right. I would never say this to a patient, but from what I’ve learned- both in literature, and real-world experience- the truth is that some people never get better. Or at least… not better enough, to want to go on living. One wants to be ever hopeful, but sometimes it is a more privileged virtue than we realize. This is perhaps the most challenging aspect of my occupation. It is unprofessional to validate the idea that suicide is ever the right answer. But when you know that a patient is suffering in ways that genuinely cannot be helped, then what we are asking of the most tortured and vulnerable people in the world… is to prolong their agony for everyone else’s sakes. To bear the pain indefinitely, for no realistic promise of relief. Sometimes, I feel like the most dishonest thing I could ever be compelled to say, would be to assure such a badly hurting patient that eventually, the pain will subside, and the will to live will return…” Dr. Furrow looks down at his feet, having seemingly zoned out in his reflection. Orson and Roy stare, completely taken aback by Furrow’s opening up. Realizing he’s changed the mood, Furrow snaps back to attention, continuing, “oh, my – do excuse the rant. Ultimately, Orson, I think it’s worth asking your brothers for a bit more detail. I understand why you feel it may be cruel, but this case is too important to leave any stones unturned.”

Orson takes a deep breath through his nose, then begins, “one day, not long ago, Mort, Gort, and Wart were sneaking around in the grain elevator, meaning to steal some corn and other produce…” The brothers appear like before. Orson continues, “they were going to be fast and sneaky, but they happened to find some tapes, and a camcorder. Naturally, they got distracted by the odd discovery.” The pigs fully materialize, and begin looking around, confused.

Gort puzzles, “hey, ain’t we been here before?”

Wart points out, “duh, we been here lots of times.”

Gort explains, “no, no, I mean… doesn’t it feel like the last time we was here?”

Mort agrees, “heyyyy… I think you’re right. What was we doin’ the last time we-…” Suddenly, all 3 grow wide-eyed, as traumatic memories come flooding back.

Orson pleads, “listen, you guys – I don’t want to have to do this, but-…”

Gort interrupts, “wait! No! PLEASE don’t make us get killed again!”

Mort looks on the verge of a tearful panic attack, begging, “don’t do it, Orson! Please, please don’t do it! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for everything!”

Wart adds, “yeah, yeah, we was really mean to you, but we can’t go through this again! We’ll do anything!”

In unison, the brothers all apologize on their knees, ““please forgive us! We’re sorry, Orson””! Dr. Furrow closes his eyes and turns his head down and to the side, ashamed of his part in asking something so horrible of these victims of savagery.

Orson assures, “no, no, I would never do that! I don’t want you to actually experience the attack all over again. But it might help if you could point us to some key locations. Like, for example, where were you when you were watching Roy’s tapes?” The brothers exchange nervous looks.

Gort steps forth, and leads, “over here…” The group all follow Gort to a particular corner with an electrical outlet, which still has a charger plugged in. The camcorder itself is still sitting on the floor, but not plugged into the charger. Orson notices that Mort and Wart keep looking over their shoulders, in the direction of the lift they took to get up to the headhouse.

Arriving at the corner, Orson puts together, “okay, so you were all huddled around the camcorder, facing the corner, I assume?”

Gort confirms, “yeah… Da little screen on the camera’s really small, so we was all smooshed together in a row to see it.”

Orson figures, “so you definitely could have been snuck up on. Hmm… I really hate to even ask, but do you remember if any… um, if any blood got on the camera? Or the tapes, or the charger?”

Gort’s eyes water as he answers, “I don’t think so... I don’t know! It was fast!…” Gort sits down and cries like a child. Orson shuts his eyes tight, and grimaces at the display. His heart aches. Roy glances away with a somewhat ashamed expression – as if he realizes that he hasn’t been taking these matters seriously enough. The other two brothers try to comfort him. Gort cries, “we was just hungry! She came from da lift!...”

Orson apologizes, “I’m so sorry! I won’t keep you here too much longer, I promise! Can you recall about how long you had been watching tapes, before she got here? Your best guess is fine.”

Mort answers, “it was more than 15 minutes. The tapes was weird, because everything was recorded in really short chunks. Like every time the camera started rolling, it only kept goin’ for a little while.”

Orson asks, “how short were the videos?”

Mort replies, “less than a minute each, but sometimes a bunch of them would string together in a row, so it was like one video.”

Wart adds, “it was so strange, we kep’ putting in another one and another one. And we couldn’t take it wit’ us, ‘cause we ain’t got electric. We hadda leave the camcorder plugged into the wall. We had the sound up all the way, so we didn’t hear the lift.”

Part 15:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6Hu9JRNaVp

u/Caesar_Passing — 1 month ago

▲ 1 r/imsorryjon

Garfield Bites It (wip - P13) story, my writing

Just saw some thing posted minutes before I was about to post this, which shares a lot of uncanny similarities to this ongoing project. That's a little eerie...

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/WFuUGN5Cda

Part 9:

Part 10:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/psO6xHHuCo

Part 11:

Part 12:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/jiDMApTjvF

(Surrounded by a scene of an English forest, Orson reads from the storybook, “Robin Hood could not stand by while Prince John, and the Sheriff of Nottingham taxed his poor friends and neighbors more than they could ever afford. He decided, with his best friend, Little John, to steal from the rich, and give to the poor.”

Booker- playing the part of Robin Hood- interrupts, “wait a minute! Wouldn’t the rich get suspicious when the poor can suddenly afford to pay their taxes, feed a starving family, and interior decorators actually start finding work? Seems like I’m just painting a target on their backs.”

Orson rolls his eyes, groaning, “not this again!... Why must we poke holes in every story? It’s fantasy to begin with!”

Dressed as Friar Tuck, Furrow contradicts, “actually, I think Robin Hood was based on a-… *gah!...* a possibly real historical figure.”

Sheldon argues, “nuh-uh, he was a fox in a Disney movie! I’m pretty sure that never really happened.”

Booker adds, “and Roger Miller was a country singer, not an English rooster.”

Orson presses his wrist into the uninjured side of his face, complaining, “ugh, I’ve already got a headache…”)

Following Roy, John arrives back at the barn, carrying the heavy kit, with Wade sitting on top. He stops in the doorway and remarks, “hey, where did they go?” John can see no trace of the other animals.

(“Oh boy, here we go. Now he can’t see us at all?”, Roy scoffs.)

“Do you guys know where the others might have gone?”, John asks, looking from Roy to Wade and back for a clue.

(Wade observes, “well, he can see us, at least.” Roy puts his thumb and forefinger to his chin, quizzically.)

“Orson? Mr. Badger? I’ve got the kit! Are you still in here?”, John beckons.

(Furrow seems to be contemplating some possibility in his head, while watching John scan the area blindly, looking straight through him, Orson, and the boys. He requests, “ah, Orson- if you would- keep reading for a moment, as if Mr. Arbuckle wasn’t there. And, loudly, please.”

Orson shrugs and obliges, continuing, “HE WOULD NEED THE HELP OF NOT ONLY LITTLE JOHN, BUT ALL OF HIS MERRY MEN AT ONCE! TO ROB THE NOBLES WOULD BE NO SMALL TASK!”)

John takes a few steps inside and sets down the kit, scratching his head. He wanders in further, straight toward the spot where some blood drippings from Orson or Furrow can still be seen on the ground.

(Roy exclaims, “he’s about to plow right through the kids!”

Furrow instructs, “now, Orson!... Stop reading, and drop the book!”

Orson follows, “…THAT HE WAS A FAMOUSLY SKILLED ARCHER!”, and stops reading there. He closes the book, and the scenery all around transforms back into the inside of the barn.)

Suddenly, the seemingly missing animals reappear before John’s eyes, startling him to stop in his tracks. “Whoa! There you are!... Hey, isn’t that the storybook from earlier?” John picks up the book and inspects it, but it seems to be only an ordinary object. Before he's had time to think about it, Roy squabbles back by the veterinary first-aid kit, reminding John, “yes, the first-aid! Sit tight you two, let me crack this thing open and see what we’ve got to work with.” John drags the kit over, and searches the contents. “Some kind of powder… Iodine. Antiseptic ointment. Oh, and spray. Gauze, bandages, cotton swabs…” While looking at a list of contents on the inside of the lid, John notices that the badger is actually reaching into the kit by itself, and watches with fascination. The badger grabs a suturing kit from inside the larger crate, and then, disappears. John blinks and rubs his eyes. The badger reappears beside Orson, drops the suture kit on the ground, then shuffles back to the crate. Badger seems to gesture toward the powder and antiseptic spray that John is holding. John offers the powder and spray bottles, curiously uttering, “uuuuuummmm…” Badger grabs the bottles in its mouth, then disappears again, medical items going with it. Finally, Orson disappears as well, along with the suture kit. John scratches his head, then recalls, “well, I can at least treat your foot, Wade. Let’s see… guidelines for chemical irritation…”

Before too long, Wade’s foot has been treated and bandaged. Suddenly, Orson reappears, with his head and ear stitched up relatively well, and bleeding controlled. A few seconds later, the badger reappears as well, and the instruments from the suturing kit hit the ground with a dull tinkling sound. John marvels, “wow! Did you just… stitch up a giant head wound? You really are a doctor – that’s incredible! Oh, but you still need patching up. Okay, so first, I can give you some lidocaine, to numb the area. Aaaand, this powder is supposed to help stop bleeding…” John reads instructions from inside the kit, and applies the powder. He continues, “and let’s see… alright, I won’t be able to stitch up a wound like this, and I’m guessing if it could be done, you’d have tried already. But I can do some bandaging over the holes, and wrap you up around the middle. Hmm, what’s this?... ‘Ketamine hydrochloride, for general sedation.’ Oh, I know about this stuff – Liz had to use it on Garfield once or twice. Better not get that mixed up with anything else!” John proceeds to carefully treat the badger’s wounds to the best of his ability. Finished, he apologizes, “I’m sorry again. This mess was all my fault. As soon as I figure out how to make contact with the outside, I’ll get you some real help, from a professional.”

(“It’s not your fault, John. I was ignorant of the situation”, Dr. Furrow forgives.)

“I guess you’ll all be wanting to sleep, soon. Especially being so late. And I think tonight, I’ll take your suggestion to stay in the barn.” Orson makes some noise, apparently communicating something. Booker and Sheldon begin cheeping excitedly, and start jumping up and down on the storybook. John supposes, “huh? You… want me to read something?” Booker makes one seemingly confirmatory cheep, and the two jump down off the book so John can pick it up. “O-okay. I, uh, can’t make stories come to life like Orson can, you know!” The chicks make a brief, insistent commotion, and Orson gently grunts, before laying his head down. John figures, “I guess you would be pretty exhausted, wouldn’t you? I wish I knew what happened to you! But, I guess that can wait until you’ve had some rest. Okay, let’s see what’s in here.” John flips through the book, idly remarking, “classics, German folk tales, fables, great Americans, nursery rhymes… Hey, this looks like… handwriting.” John opens to a page that seems to have been vandalized like a school textbook, with words and lines scratched out in pen, and new ones added. The top of the page is titled, originally, “The Cow Jumped Over The Moon”. John reads the edited version of the classic below, “‘SNL’s Fallon wished he had talent. Ellen was always a goon. Conan O’Brien should be fed to a lion, but Space Ghost was cancelled too soon’…? Opinionated, but not bad. ‘Roy Rooster’. Ah, that explains it. Or, I think it does…”

(Meanwhile, Orson quietly asks Dr. Furrow, “so, you seemed to think you were onto some new understanding earlier… Care to share your theory”?

Furrow obliges, “well… it seems fairly obvious, that he literally cannot see us doing anything truly sapient. A rooster, to his mind, cannot hold a shovel in his hands. Couldn’t hold it in his beak, either. So, John simply doesn’t see it happening. But the world he perceives- and himself with it- is affected by our actions.”

Orson posits, “and that’s why I disappear to him when I read… But then, what about everyone else? Why couldn’t he see you while I was reading? Any animal can simply listen to a story being read.”

Furrow supposes, “I think it has something to do with the fantasies that you bring to life. We become enveloped in them. Mr. Arbuckle could see your fantasies while in his other state, is that right?”

Orson confirms, “yes, even when I wasn’t reading, but simply bringing up our real-life history. But I’m not sure this actually helps all that much. We still don’t know what causes the state in which he can perceive us… Or- the even more disturbing thought- whether other human people can perceive us properly. As I told John, we’ve met other humans before, and they could speak with us just fine!”

Furrow asks, “and were, uh, these people lost, like Mr. Arbuckle was upon arrival?”

Orson answers, “no, most of them were from The Network, and they all meant to come here.”

Furrow presses, “so, they weren’t starving or sleep deprived either, then.”

“Well… no, I guess not…”, Orson recalls. “But what does that mean?”

Furrow concedes, “admittedly, I don’t know yet. But if keeping John in a dire state, uh, enables him to perceive us, that would serve as a crucial hint, I think… I don’t believe Mr. Arbuckle is unique. Not in the sense that he doesn’t normally see and hear speaking animals, anyway.”

Orson wonders, “so, you think that’s the default state for most human people?”

Furrow replies, “I do. But we shall see, after another 12 hours or so… I hate to do it, but I think we should keep him from drinking water as well. You must pour out and hide the bucket.”

Orson sighs regretfully, “ohhh… what an awful thing to do. You’re probably right, though. I need him to be able to see my fantasies, so I can figure out how the murders here are connected to Garfield and Odie.” After a moment, Orson gets an idea. “Hey, maybe he doesn’t need to see it… Maybe-...” [Orson suddenly remembers his brothers, as they were in his fantasy recollection. They were teasing him, but they also said something about Lanolin…] He declares, “this may be risky, but the two of us and Roy need to go somewhere private… and talk to my brothers.” Dr. Furrow curiously raises a brow.)

Having left John to read to Booker, Sheldon, and Wade – Orson, Roy, and Dr. Furrow have gathered out around the side of the barn. Orson narrates, “before their untimely demise, my brothers were here, on the farm…” Orson’s brothers begin to appear and become clearer. He continues, “they were here… uh, they were here to bully me.” The apparitions look back and forth to one another, confused. Orson tries, “oh, um, they weren’t here just to bully me – they were here to stealllll…”

Suddenly, one of the brothers finishes the statement, “food! Veggies and apples and corn!”

As the three brothers appear more “real”, another adds, “and what are you gonna do about it, Orsey horsey?”

While the brothers share a cheap laugh, Roy demands, “just where were you pilfering this produce from?”

The third brother answers, matter-of-factly, “from da grain elevator.” Orson, Roy, and Furrow all exchange surprised expressions.

Orson questions, “so, you remember things that I don’t?”

One brother replies, “duh, you wasn’t there!”

Orson puzzles, “but that’s-… You should all just be what I remember you to be.”

Roy shrugs and suggests, “maybe you do remember the incident that they’re thinking of. But you didn’t have all the details at the time.”

Furrow posits, “I think, that they have manifested not only as what you remember them to be, but who you remember them to be. You remember them to be people, with their own thoughts and memories. If they are true-to-life in your recollection, perhaps they are more ‘real’ than you might have thought. Perhaps, one could even liken them… uh, to ghosts.”

Orson runs with the idea, questioning his brothers, “okay, then answer me this – do you remember… who killed you?” The brothers go quiet, and look to one another as if deliberating on whether to share such a thing.

Ultimately, Mort answers, “yeah, we remember. It was that little lamb.”

Roy balks, “Lanolin?! SHE killed you?”

Mort continues, “yeah. Only her fleece wasn’t no ‘white as snow’. She was aaaaall bloody, like she been killin’ already.”

Orson pries, “you three normally get in and out pretty quickly. And with the three of you together, how could Lanolin even pull that off? Did she sneak up on you, somehow?”

Gort answers, “yeah, it was a cheap surprise attack! She came at us with a huge kni-…” The deceased bully shudders, genuinely vulnerable in that moment. The other two appear similarly affected, looking down at their feet. Orson shows pity in his eyes. Gort continues, “she came at us with a huge knife. She killed me, first. When I yelled, it scared Mort and Wart so bad, they couldn’t fight back fast enough. She got me in the back…” Gort turns around, and to Orson’s horror, a giant knife wound appears on his back, and bleeds. As the blood runs down the backs of Gort’s legs, Dr. Furrow covers his mouth in shock. Orson utters and gasps. Gort adds, “then she got Mort in the stomach…” Mort squeezes his eyes shut, as if in a mixture of shame and pain, while a disturbingly large vertical gash appears on his belly. Tears stream from his eyes, while bloody entrails poke out through the gory split. Dr. Furrow looks like he might vomit. Roy slaps his forehead in wide-eyed shock. Gort turns back around, and concludes, “I didn’t live long enough to see what happened to Wart."

Mort takes over, “Wart tried to fight her, but she cut his t’roat…” Wart’s neck opens wide, and blood pours out.

Orson can’t help but to recoil, “oh my god!... I-… Lanolin…”

Roy challenges, “wait a minute. Orson, who’s to say you’re not imagining this? I mean, I know you don’t typically imagine grizzly stuff like this, but a lot of disturbing things have happened recently. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re desperate for answers. We all are, but your imagination is obviously more potent than anyone else’s. I’m not accusing you of anything, it’s just… the only way we could possibly be getting new information from your deceased brothers, is if they really are ghosts. Come on, now. How likely is this? We never even saw the corpses. I saw the hooks out behind the shed…” Orson looks to Roy, who adds, “but all we have to go on beyond that, is the story Arbuckle told.”

Orson stares back for a moment, considering Roy’s doubts, then returns his attention to his brothers, asking, “how did she sneak up on all three of you at once? For that matter, how did she find out that you were in the grain elevator? And how’d she get all the way over from the other side of the property, before you were finished your heist?”

Wart answers, with a spurt of blood from his open throat, “we was distracted. We found a bunch of tapes, and a little camcorder. They was all weird little TV shows da rooster made.” Orson and Furrow look to Roy for answers. Roy appears shocked, like a big secret has just been revealed.

Roy sighs, and admits, “alright… these guys might actually be ghosts… I did record some little tapes. Just a few experimental projects – personal, you know?”

“So, you hid this in the grain elevator?”, Orson asks. “Where did you even get the camcorder?”

Roy explains, “I got it from Aloysius, ages ago! I didn’t think it was something everyone else needed to know about!”

Part 14:

Part 15:

u/Caesar_Passing — 2 months ago

▲ 46 r/TomAndJerry

Announcement to our human users! Please read before posting!

The issue of bots and suspiciously spammy accounts on reddit is ongoing and evolving. We in our positions as mods, are trying really hard not to be overreactive, or overly paranoid, but it's genuinely difficult. Bots and spammers keep adapting and getting harder to detect. One thing we can do to cut down on spammy posting on our sub, is to get on the same page about what kind of material counts as "engaging".

For the time being, we are asking users to refrain from "Thoughts on _____" or "What do you think of ____" posts. This has become a new favorite post format for bots on fandom related subs like this one. It seems "conversational" at a glance, but these posts become repetitive, lazy, and too frequent. This sub is not for farming, whether by bots or real users. If you want to make a post asking for conversation about a specific short, episode, or series, it should accompany an initiating thought or opinion from you, the poster.

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/hvwAX3fRcm

u/Caesar_Passing — 2 months ago

▲ 3 r/imsorryjon

Garfield Bites It (wip - P12) long short story, my writing

This is the part of a story I struggle with most. I know the ending, more or less, and I know what has to happen between here and then, but the pacing is difficult, unless I had a visual medium to tell the story in.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/YseNgHFUER

Part 9:

Part 10:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/TMCKwR0dLz

Part 11:

The rooster puts its head down near the shovel, as if it’s about to peck at some feed lying on the ground. But instead, the shovel simply disappears. John leans in the direction of the rooster, scanning all around for the missing tool, before puzzling again, “okay, now what’s going on? Are you able to make things disappear? This happened last time, too!”

(The animals exchange glances, wondering what he means.)

John continues, “last time I saw you like regular animals, there was a moment when you all disappeared, and then seconds later, you were all right back in place!... Ohh, I am so confused. I just wish I knew how to help the two of you. I don’t have any medical training. Maybe there’s a veterinary book around here, somewhere. Or a first-aid kit for animals, or something. They’ve gotta have stuff like that on a farm, right?” Taking care not to agitate or harm the badger, John slowly rises to his feet.

(“Now, Roy – toss it, gently, closer to him… do not throw aggressively”, Dr. Furrow instructs. Roy does as asked, and the instant the shovel leaves Roy’s hands,) it reappears before John’s eyes in midair. The shovel falls to the ground, traveling in a small arc, as if tossed. John stares in wonder at the shovel at his feet. It looks as though he’s working out a theory in his mind.

After a moment, he experiments, “alright, so if you’re all the animals I met before… everyone make a sound in unison.” The animals all respond with simultaneous noises, giving John some encouragement. “Hah!... O-o-okay, okay then. Orson, can you say something by yourself?”

(Orson replies, “we can understand you, John!”, to which John reacts – not as if he understands, but as evidence that at least he can hear something. Addressing the other animals now, Orson remarks, “ooh, I’m getting dizzy. The pain is really starting to set in, now… Agh, jeeze – and Dr. Furrow is in a lot worse shape than I am.”)

John starts to worry, as both Orson and the badger appear to be suffering worse than before. “Oh, gosh. You two really need some medical attention! I’ve looked in the farmhouse for a working phone, but there wasn’t one. Getting a vet here wouldn’t be fast enough, anyway. Ummm… Roy!”

(Roy reacts with some surprise.)

John inquires, “you wouldn’t happen to know where a livestock first-aid kit might be, would you?”

(Roy remarks, aware that John can’t decipher his reply at the moment, “I actually don’t! Orson? Any ideas?”

Orson answers, “in fact, I do know where one is. We’ve never had to use it, since we took possession of the farm. We’ve always been able to get really good veterinarians out here, courtesy of The Network, but we’ve never dealt with major emergency injuries like these. The kit… is in the old-old shed. Aaahhhww, it’s really stinging, now! Roy, can you lead him to it?”

Roy accepts, “of course. Alright then Arbuckle, follow me.” Roy starts toward the barn door, waving over his shoulder for John to follow.)

John carefully rises to his feet, and seems to understand Roy’s head gestures. At least, head gestures are what John sees. He follows the rooster, still feeling a bit silly about the whole situation. “Alright, lead me to it, boy!” Roy suddenly turns around with what seems to be indignant body language. For a rooster, anyway. John apologizes, “sorry – Roy! I meant Roy. I’m just used to… Well, when I’ve been led around by animals in the past, it was usually Odie. I-I’m still trying to convince myself that I’m not completely insane.”

(Roy sighs exasperatedly, as if he can’t help feeling at least somewhat sorry for the man. Orson calls after him, “hey, wait a second, Roy… I don’t want you to go alone.”

Roy insists, “I think I can handle it. It’s not that far.”

Orson explains, “no, I’m not-… I mean, there are multiple reasons I don’t want you going alone, but I need you to trust me on this, okay? There are dangerous materials in that shed. You need to be very careful, and keep John from bumbling into any hazards… Wade, I want you to go with Roy.”

Wade questions, “wha-?... Eh-you want me to go? I won’t refuse, uh b-but I don’t understand why.”

Orson replies, “Dr. Furrow and I need to stay here and rest. You’re the only other adult on-hand. I don’t know what Bo and Lanolin are doing, but they’re not available right now. Listen, that shed is a nasty place, and when you get there, you’re going to see some nasty things. Both of you are.” Roy lifts his head slightly, beginning to take things more seriously now. “Watch your step, watch John, and don’t get sidetracked. The kit is on the left side of the shed, on a shelf above the window. Let John carry it. Have you both got that?” Roy and Wade make eye contact, and give a subtle nod of confirmation.)

John sees that the duck has waddled over to him, sticking close to him, as if anxious. He leans down and gently pets the duck’s head. “Let’s see, you were Wade, right? Are you coming, too?” Wade quacks, and Roy gobbles impatiently. John seems to understand, “okay, okay, I’m right behind you!”

(Orson watches as John follows Roy, and Wade follows John out of the barn. Booker wonders, “so, does that first-aid kit have stuff that can fix you up?”

Orson answers, “well, it’s got some powder that can stop bleeding, and gauze and bandages for wounds. I doubt John will be up to the task of actually stitching flesh, but there’s also antiseptics and antibiotic spray”.

Furrow interjects, “actually… providing he.. gets back in good time… I may be able to sew you up. My wound is a round one, though… And all the way through. Won’t be a simple job, that.”

Orson replies, “really? Wow, I didn’t know you had that sort of skill! I thought you said you… agh… weren’t a medical doctor?”

Furrow explains, “I’m not. But it’s only sewing… Can’t be too difficult. What’s going to be a challenge… is keeping Mr. Arbuckle awake, and hungry.”

Sheldon suggests, “hey, maybe we can keep him occupied with a few stories! They may be ones we’ve done before, on the show, but Mr. Arbuckle was really amazed when he saw you bring Goldilocks to life.”

Orson agrees, “you know what, Sheldon? That’s a great idea. In fact, why don’t you kids run and grab the storybook from under the big tree? It’s only just outside. We’ll do well to keep ourselves entertained, too.”

““Okay Orson!””, the boys reply in unison.)

South of the barn, John follows Roy out to the old-old shed, with Wade keeping close by his side. The sun has fully set, but the moon is bright. John remarks, “wow, I’ve never seen the moon this bright! It’s like there’s still daylight. I guess that means we’re pretty far from any cities out here. Away from all the light, and the noise… Oh, is that the shed Orson was talking about?” The old-old shed is just up ahead, and Roy gives a flapping of his wings with a few clucks, in confirmation. Wade makes an anxious noise, and shivers as if frightened. The trio arrive at the shed, and to John’s amazement, Roy disappears at the door. The handle turns, as if by itself, and the door opens. Roy then reappears. “I should try not to think too hard about that.” Just then, John feels a very gentle tug on his left hand, pulling back, away from the open shed. He inspects his hand, then swishes it around the space by his side- as if feeling for something invisible- but finds nothing unusual. He shrugs, and follows Roy into the shed.

Inside, only a single window lets in the moonlight. It’s hard to see anything at all. John wanders aimlessly, taking in as much of his surroundings as he can. Suddenly, Wade quacks frantically, startled. John stops in his tracks, and realizes he was about to bump into a pallet stacked with sacks of something or other. Wade is now hopping on one foot, still making sounds of distress. John worries, “what’s wrong? Did you hurt your foot on something?” John picks Wade up and cradles him to inspect his feet. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but he can just make out some inflammation on the right foot. Roy seems to be communicating something, but John can’t understand. “That’s odd… it looks like you stepped on something hot.” Eyes adjusting more to the dark now, John can make out the labels on the sacks. “‘Suparaquat’…”, he reads aloud. Looking where Wade had just been, John can see that there is some grainy, sand-like substance on the floor around the pallet. He then notices the rip in one of the sacks, wherefrom the granular chemical had spilled. “Huh, I thought they outlawed this stuff in the 80’s. I guess you guys don’t call this the ‘old-old’ shed for nothing. Aw, you must have stepped in it, trying to warn me not to bump into the bags! I’m sorry I keep causing you all so much trouble…”

(Wade and Roy exchange glances, Wade looking rather sympathetic to John’s ordeal, while Roy rolls his eyes. Roy urges, “come on, let’s not waste any more time. Point him to the kit, and let’s get out of here.”)

Wade makes some quacking indications, and flicks his head in the direction of the window. Still holding the duck so he doesn’t have to be on his foot, John turns around to face the window, remembering, “right! The kit… Oh, it’s right above the window! Wow, you guys really knew where it was. Oop-!... Sorry if that was offensive. It’s hard to believe a memory over my own eyes. But it must be true. The TV show was real. And I had no idea… Whether it was my eyes, or the whole world at once, I’ve been lied to…” After another reflective pause, John refocuses, “right – Orson! And Dr. Badger! Hang on Wade, I’m gonna put you down for a minute.” He carefully sets Wade down near the door, and proceeds to pull the large container down from the shelf. It resembles a camping or party cooler, but bears a cross symbol, as well as several standard warning labels. Still weak from his semiconscious trek, John finds the heavy kit difficult to pull down safely.

(“Orson said we would see something disturbing in here, but I haven’t noticed anything too freaky”, Roy comments.

Sitting, holding his hurt foot up off the floor, Wade remarks, “well, this is one time, eh-that I don’t mind if Orson’s wrong.” Just then, John finally gets the kit off the shelf, but it’s heavy, and throws him off balance.)

John warns, “Roy, look out!” Falling backwards, John pivots his weight so that instead of falling toward Wade, or straight back into the Suparaquat, he falls in Roy’s direction – south, into the back wall. With a gobble and some wing flapping, Roy gets out of the way, allowing John to tumble into the back wall. John lands on his butt, back against the wall, with the large kit in his lap. Slightly dazed for a second, John watches as a few feathers fall through the moonlight from the window, dancing their way to the floor like dropped leaves from a tree. He squints, as if a certain memory is just a hair’s breadth out of reach.

(Roy growls, “I know that wasn’t his fault, but I’m starting to get really on-edge, now. Come on, Arbuckle! You may not understand what I’m saying, but I think you can suss out that we’re in a hurry!” But then, there is a peculiar creaking sound, that cannot be ignored. John’s weight pushes the liftable section of the back wall up a bit. Enough to see the moonlit ground outside through the crack across the floor. Wade and Roy are both helplessly curious. “Okay, quickly, let’s check this out. Around the back – go on!”)

John watches as Roy hops over his leg and hurries across the shed to where Wade is. Roy walks right past him, and Wade is quick to follow, albeit slow on his feet. John picks himself up, groaning a bit, and follows the birds outside, carrying the heavy kit with him. Leaving the kit on the ground outside, he hurries around to the south side of the shed, where Wade and Roy stand in stunned silence. Laid out behind the shed, are the chains Orson had counted out earlier – each with a meat hook at one end. He utters, both fascinated and unsettled, “wow… this is.. disquieting.”

(“There’s 9 here”, Roy declares. “Orson said there had been 12…”

Wade stammers in fright, “ah-b-b-b-those are f-f-for re-al?”)

John turns around to inspect the back wall, and sure enough, a section of it does lift up. More urgent than curious, he declares, “alright boys, let’s go. Orson and the Dr. need help. This part of the mystery can wait.”

(Heading back, Wade comments, “‘Orson and the Dr…’ Isn’t that a song by King Crimson?”

“You’re thinking of ‘Marty And The Captain’, by King Harvest”, Roy corrects. “And who even knows something that obscure off the top of their head?!”

Wade retorts, “well I only knew it well enough to get it wrong. Eh-but you knew it well enough to get it right.”

“Touché”, Roy concedes...)

Part 13:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6gDiOXK3B3

Part 14:

Part 15:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/hvwAX3fRcm

u/Caesar_Passing — 2 months ago

▲ 13 r/imsorryjon

Garfield Bites It (wip - P11) short story, my writing

I guess I should just say "story" at this point.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/YseNgHFUER

Part 9:

Part 10:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/TMCKwR0dLz

(While Roy goes to fetch a T-shirt to use for bandaging, Orson delivers some bad news to Wade, Booker, and Sheldon. “Beth, Penny… and Alice. They couldn’t come back home, I’m afraid.”

Eyes watering, Booker whimpers, “they… they died? Th-they’re really gone?...” Orson somberly nods, and a sickening memory causes him to cringe.

Orson shakes his head as if trying to shake the very thought right out of it, then confirms, “yes. I’m sorry, guys. I got there too late to save everyone.”

Sheldon asks, “but the weasel can’t come back, right? So he can’t hurt anyone else?”

Orson answers frankly, “he can’t, no. But I don’t think he’s the only one putting us in danger. We have to be very careful. And- I think I should warn you, so you can mentally prepare- I don’t think there’s any way to deliver The Network a 22 minute show by the deadline.”

Booker exclaims, “so we could lose the farm, too?!”)

John hears frantic cheeping and quacking, along with a few more piggy grunts. Then, a sequence of gentle snorts and grunts that seems closer than the other animal sounds. His vision clears, and then his eyes grow wide. By the door, a pig sits, looking injured and bloodied, while the chick, the egg with feet sticking out, and the duck all carry on with noises of distress.

(“Ah, Mr. Arbuckle, you seem to be coming around”, Furrow greets, approaching John casually. “Do forgive my lateness – had a bit of trouble getting lost en route.”)

The pig turns its head, and John can see the split ear and scalp. His eyes drift down to the ground nearer himself, and behold with dread, a half blood-soaked badger, approaching him directly. John scrambles to his feet, back up against the wood beam.

(Furrow continues, “I believe you were told in advance that I was coming, but I should introduce myself. I am Dr. Edward R. Furrow, psychoanalyst. Very pleased to meet you.” Furrow draws closer, and extends a hand to greet with a shake.)

John keeps quiet, and slowly reaches for the pitchfork he had used earlier like a walking cane.

(Watching the introduction carefully, Orson sees John grabbing the pitchfork with an alarmed expression. Realizing what’s happening, Orson shouts, “Dr. Furrow, stay back! It’s happening again, right now! He can’t understand-!...”)

The badger draws too close for comfort, and rises to its hind legs. The pig squeals loudly, triggering John to make his move. He rears back the pitchfork and lets out a panicked battlecry.

(“Oh dear…”, Furrow utters, though too late. The middle spike of the pitchfork pierces him through the side of his abdomen, pinning him to the ground between the other two spikes.)

John screams, with a crazed look about him, holding the badger at bay with the fork. Not having any particular plan to follow up with, he simply holds the critter there against the ground.

(Having selected a shirt to use, the commotion draws Roy’s attention to John. He sees Dr. Furrow impaled, and calls out urgently, “Wade! Quick, help me with Arbuckle!” Wade hesitates, and Orson struggles to stand, so Roy takes it upon himself to hustle across the barn, and grab a rope from the wall behind Wade. While there, he tosses Orson the T-shirt. “Here’s a shirt! Wade, come on! Orson isn’t strong enough right now!” Wade summons all of what little courage he has, and follows Roy back across the barn to help Dr. Furrow.)

“What is happening?!”, John exclaims. The badger squirms a bit, whining somewhat tragically. John presses the fork down a little harder, but feels conflicted. “Why this – on top of everything else?”

(Holding the T-shirt, Orson instructs the kids, “you two stay back!” He limps as fast as he can to intervene. Meanwhile, with John too afraid to let the pressure off, or look away from Dr. Furrow, Wade and Roy manage to slip around John from either side- each holding opposite sides of the rope- and circle around him in opposite directions several times. Orson presses onward, gritting his teeth as he drags his feet across the ground. His left foot had been punctured, and his right shin badly bruised. He calls out, “Dr. Furrow! Please, hang on!”

Through much agony, Dr. Furrow insists, “be gentle! Urrrrrghhhh!... Restrain the patient-… OH! But don’t harm him!” Suddenly, John seems to notice something that catches his curiosity. Orson sees that John is glancing his direction, but not at him. He’s looking at the Garfield And Friends T-shirt, featuring the US Acres cast in a big group portrait. Realizing this, Orson has a quick idea, and holds the shirt out in front of him, so John can see it clearly. Almost immediately, John’s pressure on the pitchfork lets up a bit.)

John is perplexed by what he’s seeing. The injured pig has laid the t-shirt down flat, so the design on the front can be seen clearly. Almost calm, John observes, “‘Garfield And Friends’. That’s Garfield… and Odie… and… Orson!” Remembering something suddenly, John glances down to his side, where he’d put down the coffee mug. On the merchandise, the animal characters appear exactly as they did when John could hear them speak. John’s arms go somewhat lax. When he looks back to the impaled badger, he is amazed to see that the pig is sat next to it, snorting as if pleading. “That cut… It’s a clean slice. That’s not from the badger, is it?”

(Roy hollers, “now!” On that signal, he and Wade pull their sides of the rope in opposite directions away from John, such that it tightens around him, effectively tying him up against the wood beam, seated. John’s arms are caught up in the coil, pulling his grip off the pitchfork. The jerking back of the handle pulls the piercing spike out of Dr. Furrow’s side, leaving him in a pained yowl. Roy grabs a shovel and, raising it high as to strike with it, declares, “I’ll put him out!”

But Furrow insists, “wait! Stop!” With some confusion, Roy refrains from whacking John in the head.

Orson comes to kneel beside the injured badger, fretting, “Dr. Furrow! Ohhhh, even I don’t know what to do!”

Furrow assures, though strained, “I’m alright… I don’t think anything vital has… urgk… been struck. Terribly embarrassed to admit, but I have been… carrying some extra weight, around the sides… Ooph… I think I’ve gotten off lucky.”

Roy balks, “‘lucky’?! You nearly got killed! Orson, I said this morning it was dangerous to have him around here! He’s a nice enough guy- when we can talk to him- but he’s nuts! I think we might even have to consider…” The others wait on bated breath, as Roy’s tone turns reluctant to say it aloud. “…that Arbuckle himself could have done it.”

Orson replies, “are YOU crazy?!”

Roy argues, “well, he’s the only one we’ve actually SEEN trying to kill someone.”

“Apart from the weasel!”, Orson reminds.

Dr. Furrow interjects, “no, Roy… He wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“He speared you through the stomach with a pitchfork!”, Roy contends.

Furrow insists, “no, no, it was clearly self-defense… I could see it in… his eyes. He isn’t perceiving us… He sees us as.. feral, right now. I’m covered in blood- Orson’s been in a brutal fight.. and looks like it- and I was approaching him. If it’s true that he also can’t hear words out of us.. then he’s only hearing growls, and snorts.”

Orson adds, “right. Animals making a commotion. Bloody badger in the barn. Injured pig. To him, the situation must look terrifying.”

Roy argues, “so? That doesn’t make him any less dangerous. Orson… I hate to bring it up, but he’s the only one here, who might have been strong enough to handle your brothers.”

Sheldon interjects, “his brothers? Wait, you mean the three pigs that-?... That-…”

Orson asserts, “yes. But there are multiple reasons why I don’t think it could have been John. And even if he was involved, he still could have had help. The weasel certainly did.”

In a remorseful whimper, John interjects, “Orson…” The animals naturally look his way. “I don’t know why I can’t understand you!”, he apologizes.)

Seeing that the other animals are actually behaving as friends with the badger, and the badger is entirely docile, John continues, “…and whoever you are- Mr. Badger- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you-… Wait a minute. Are you-?... I can’t believe I’m about to ask this. Are you the psychologist Roy called in for me?”

(Dr. Furrow hesitates, then decides to make a bold move. He starts carefully walking closer to John, clutching his wound as he does. Tying the rope tight behind the wood beam, Roy warns, “Dr., don’t! He may be tied up, but his legs are free. If he were to kick you, with the injury you’ve already got-!...”

Furrow interrupts, insisting in a soft but firm voice, “please. Let me work… He wants to trust! I must show him that… he’s right. That he is safe.” The others watch in breathless silence. Furrow walks up between John’s legs, coming within reach of his body. He comes down to kneel there, and John reflexively squirms a bit. Furrow lowers his head, and closes his eyes. He commands, still softly, “cut the ropes.”

Roy protests, “I just tied them! Dr. Furrow, I’m grateful you came, but this is way beyond any job I meant to call you for. There’s no reason to take a risk like this!”

Furrow doesn’t budge. He calmly requests again, “Roy… Please, cut the ropes. Mr. Arbuckle is not insane. He has memories… from two worlds. I need to determine why. For this, I must have the patient’s trust… in both worlds.”

After another tense pause, Orson takes a deep breath and agrees, “Roy, do as he says. I think Dr. Furrow is on to something. John can’t leave until we know what’s happening around here, and we can’t care for him if he’s tied up.”

Roy balks, “care for him?! What about US? You and Dr. Furrow are seriously wounded!”

Orson argues, “yes, and he’s got another set of hands! We might actually need human help right now, and we don’t have time to get Aloysius to send us a Network veterinarian. Now cut the rope, please!”)

John is dumbfounded. The badger is sat before him like a dog. In spite of the transgression. In spite of the painful wound. In spite of John’s helplessness in being bound, the badger doesn’t bite. Suddenly, the ropes go lax. John lifts his arms at his sides, realizing he’s no longer bound. The badger leans in a little closer, but keeps its head down. John asks in a near whisper, “do you.. want me to pet you?... I-I’m going to touch your head now… Give me a sign if you don’t want that…” After heart-pounding hesitation, John carefully touches the un-bloodied side of the badger’s head. He pulls his hand back with a sharp flinch, but the badger remains still. It takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh. Emboldened, John touches the critter’s head again, and gently pets it. The badger pushes into John’s hand a bit. “Like a cat”, he observes. The badger even “purrs” slightly. John chuckles nervously, and pets the badger more familiarly. It lifts its head and looks John right in the eyes. John can see, without a doubt in his mind, “you really are him. Y-y-you have to be! You’re a psychologist who works for free… who lives in a hole in the ground… because you’re a badger!” The badger then slumps into the crook of John’s knee, and lets out another sighing breath, looking hurt and weak. “Oh, no! I stabbed you with a trident! Oh my god, I stabbed a psychologist with a trident! Ohhhh, Liz was right when she said ‘no counselor deserves me for a client – unless they’ve done something horribly wrong’.”

(While John blathers apologetically, Orson marvels, “you did it, Dr. Furrow! He trusts you!”

Furrow replies, rather exhausted and in pain, “yes… but he still can’t perceive us… which means, he still has much to doubt.”

Orson argues, “right, but you being here is the best possible evidence that what he remembers from when he could perceive us, was real. Roy told him that you were coming. A badger. A badger in the barn, who’s docile, after a rooster told you one would be coming… it’s hard to brush off as coincidence.”

Furrow acknowledges, “actually, you’re right. Well done – hadn’t thought of that.”

Roy challenges, “alright, so he trusts us, and he believes that he really did speak with us like people before. So what now? We can’t talk to him, we can’t control him if he isn’t restrained, and we don’t know when or if he’ll ever be able to understand us again! It sounds like being able to see and hear talking animals properly is unusual for him. Not his default. We have no idea how it happened in the first place, or why it stopped.”

Wade suggests, “eh-maybe it has to do with sleep. Seems like every time he takes a nap, eh he wakes up diff-er-ent.”

Roy quips, somewhat impatiently, “then let me knock him out and we’ll see in a couple hours, after he’s safely tied up again.”

Furrow insists, “no, please!... I’ve come this far… We all have. The key point we’re.. still missing, is the mechanism. What allows for t-… for two modes of perception… in the first place?”

Orson contributes, “when he had you pinned, he glanced over my direction. I was coming at him with the promo T-shirt, and that’s what caught his eye! When he realized what he was seeing, he looked at that collectible mug. It seemed to come together in his mind.”

Booker remarks, “sure, but that only proves he remembers talking with us. It doesn’t tell us how to get him back to that state.”

Furrow agrees, “too true. Orson, Roy – you said the patient, uh, arrived here… rather starving, and… sleepless, correct?”

Orson confirms, “that’s right.”

Furrow proposes, “I have an idea, then… Urgh!... Though I really wish I’d any better ones. It won’t be kind… to the poor man.”

Roy raises the shovel again, joking, “go on…”

Furrow dismissively waves a hand at Roy, clarifying, “no, no, no… Nothing like that. I think.. we need to keep him… awake.”

Wade questions, “eh, so don’t let him sleep? A-at all? It’s already bedtime…”

Furrow further explains, “or eat… or drink. I know that what I’m suggesting… sounds extreme. But, I hypothesize that extreme conditions… are what brought on the change.. in perception.”

Orson wonders, concerned for John, “but... is that fair? I mean, to put him through that?”

Roy points out, “stabbed. His therapist. With a trident... Although, if it means tying him up again-…”

Orson interrupts, “pitchfork, and while very serious, we understand why it happened. If we keep John from eating and sleeping, how could he be expected to understand why?” Suddenly, everyone seems to collectively remember that John has been sitting there silently for a while now, and all eyes look to him.)

John pulls his head back slightly, and assures, awkwardly, “oh, uhhh, I’m not eavesdropping or anything! I-I just didn’t want to interrupt.” At that, the animals appear to resume some conversation that had been in progress. They make animal sounds, but they take turns. They look at whichever is “speaking”. They seem to react to things that the others are saying with different emotions and intensities. Suddenly, the sound of a wooden handle hitting the ground causes John to flinch a bit, and look in the direction of the rooster. A shovel lie before it, as if the rooster had been holding it. John relaxes, puzzling, “huh… where’d that come from? I didn’t see it up against the beam. And the closest wall is over there… but it’s like it fell from just a foot off the ground. Hang on… where did these ropes come from? Had I been tied to this post?”

(Furrow remarks, “that’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

Roy points out, “see, this is part of what worries me – he keeps having these memory lapses! Even if we can get through to him to communicate, what if he doesn’t remember? He only needs to forget about Dr. Furrow being friendly for a moment, and things could go all wrong, all over again!”

Furrow posits, “no, I don’t think that’s it, Roy. If you would-… arghh! Sorry, if you would please… pick up the shovel again. And DON’T hit him with it!” Roy shrugs, and obliges.)

Part 12:

Part 13:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6gDiOXK3B3

Part 14:

Part 15:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/hvwAX3fRcm

u/Caesar_Passing — 2 months ago

▲ 10 r/imsorryjon

Garfield Bites It (wip - P10) short story, my writing

More "complete" installment this time. I'd posted a "part 9.5" yesterday, lol, so the first half of this is what was in that post, which I've since deleted.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/YseNgHFUER

Part 9:

The wheels finally grip the earth, and the cart launches straight for Orson. He tries to run around the hill, but the cart is too fast. Since he can’t get away from it, he stops and waits until the cart is just about to clobber him, then dives out of the way. Weasel is quick to get turned around for a second try. Orson is already breathing hard. His evasions have been physically exhausting. He runs back the other way around the hill again- in the direction of the cave entrance- Weasel close behind in pursuit. Orson slips on wet leaves, and lands on his front with arms outstretched. “*There’s no time to dodge now!*”, he frets internally. Suddenly a glimmer of hope shows in his eyes. “*This is going to haunt me forever… I’m so sorry, Alice…*” Orson rolls over and rises to one knee, with his back to a large rock. The cart closes in fast.

Weasel quips, “if you’re tryin’ to play chicken, I’ve already won that game!” Orson throws something with all his might, straight for the weasel’s face. Weasel has no time to react. He doesn’t even know what’s coming, when the severed chicken head Orson had stepped on earlier splats against his face. “Shit, my eyes!” The blood has gone straight into Weasel’s eyes, painfully blinding him. He swerves, like Orson had hoped, but not quite enough to miss entirely. Orson takes another dive, and manages to evade a direct hit, though the front of the cart does bang into his shin. Fortunately, Orson’s leg was in the air when struck, so there’s no serious injury. Weasel crashes the cart into the steep, rocky side of the hill, but he isn’t hurt too badly. He reaches around blindly for his dropped knife, but before he can find it, Orson grabs his other arm, and pulls him from the cart through the passenger side. Weasel grabs a part of the cart’s frame, and keeps himself from being fully removed from it. However, only seconds into this tug-of-war, Weasel howls, “yyyyowwwwww! What the hell is that?!”

“Suparaquat, I would guess…”, Orson replies. “But you would know better than me, wouldn’t you?!” Orson’s grabbing hand is separated from direct contact with his assailant’s arm, by a large leaf. It’s the same one he’d used earlier, to wipe off the powdery poison. He uses his free hand to hold Weasel’s wrist, so he can put force into scrubbing the leaf up and down the weasel’s arm, so the poison gets under the fur better. Weasel hollers, but his eyesight is returning now. He glances back into the cart, and can see his big knife lying on the floor. Orson growls, “you’re not working alone! You’re not smart enough to steal yourself a brand-new golf cart! Or the trailer, or even those cages!” Orson releases Weasel’s arm, in order to mash the leaf into his face. By now, the combination of friction and poison has caused the leaf to start falling apart. As he pushes the leaf into Weasel’s face, his own hand begins to burn, but he’s so full of fury and adrenaline, he powers through the pain. “Who was it? Who helped you?!” Weasel arches backward into the cart with his flexible body, then lurches back up, taking- literally- a stab in the dark. The knife splits Orson’s left ear, the blade gliding across the top of his head. Orson finally flinches in pain, releasing the Weasel altogether. In that moment of vulnerability, Weasel kicks Orson in the face, causing him to fall on his back.

Weasel straddles over Orson, raising the knife as to finish him off, declaring, “th-b-d-tha-that’s all, folks!” Summoning his resilience, Orson delivers a hard kick to Weasel’s groin, stopping him dead in his tracks instantly. He follows with a punch to the stomach, and Weasel stumbles backward. Orson gets up to his feet, back against the rocky wall, though weakened and damaged. Weasel holds his knife out in front of him, knees pulled inward from the groin strike, free hand clutching his stomach.

In this bizarre standoff, Orson demands again, “who, are, you, working with?”

Weasel replies, “sheesh, I ain’t workin’ with nobody! These things were all just part of a deal I couldn’t pass up! I could tell ya who supplied the gifts, but it wouldn’t do you any good anyhow, heh-heh!”

“Don’t you dare try and stall”, Orson scolds. “It won’t do YOU any good, either. It’s already too late to make a getaway.”

Weasel utters in confusion, “eh?” Just then, he notices the engine sound that Orson had heard, only a matter of wildly action-packed seconds ago. To Weasel’s left- roughly west, the direction Orson had come from- headlights can be seen through the edge of the cornfields. Through the sparse brush at the edge of the woods. He and Orson both look and wait with great anxiety, until the farm’s work truck comes bursting through the corn, and into the woods.

Behind its wheel, Roy is driving like a bat out of hell. He skids to a stop when he sees the hill, and the crashed golf cart. Surveying the scene quickly, he exclaims, “a new cart and trailer? Big dog kennels?! Who does he think he is?!” Weasel is practically straight ahead in the lights. Roy growls, and stomps on the gas.

Orson shouts, though too late, “no, Roy, wait!” But it’s already in motion. Weasel is too weak and hurt to run away, so he tries to dive at the last second like Orson did. The truck is far wider, however, and the Weasel’s legs a bit shorter than Orson’s. He falls short, and winds up under the wheels. Roy plows over the Weasel, leaving him crushed in the middle like roadkill, before cutting hard and drifting to a full stop. Roy hops out and runs over to help Orson up.

Once close enough to see the extent of his friend’s injuries, Roy frets aloud, “oh my god – Orson! You’re hurt bad!”

Orson urges, “Roy!... Weasel!... Oof. I need to know who helped him!” Roy looks over to the Weasel, who lie twitching as he dies in agony. He quickly gets Orson to his feet, but Orson insists, “no, he’s dying fast. Just go and ask him! I’ll be too slow.” Roy nods, and hurries over to the nearly dead Weasel.

Standing over him, Roy demands, “you heard him – who are you working with? How did you even get all these things? And what about the Suparaquat?”

Weasel breathes raspily, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He looks up at Roy, and hisses out with his dying breath, “you… selfish… bastards…” At that, Weasel fades away with a death rattle. Roy sighs.

“Well?”, Orson implores.

Roy replies, “I couldn’t get an answer. I’m sorry, Orson – he’s dead. I-I-I didn’t know we needed something from him. I just knew that you were hurt, and he was either going to slip away, or try to finish you off. I didn’t think there was time to spare for a second thought. I-I didn’t mean to mess things up.”

Orson limps over to Roy, forgiving, “it’s okay… I know you weren’t.. aware of the full picture yet. But in any case, you saved my life, Roy. Thank you.”

Roy accepts, “please, don’t mention it. You’ve saved every one of us here, at least once. Now let’s get the hens back, and get you some first aid, ASAP. I can hardly believe that little rat nearly got the better of you! Heck, he got the better of your ear, at least. Makes me furious…” With Orson’s arm over Roy’s shoulders for support, the two limp over to the truck. Roy tells Orson to get in and rest, while he frees the hens and loads them up into the back of the truck.

In the big-barn, John sleeps soundly. Wade sits with Booker and Sheldon, huddled cozily under a blanket in Wade’s “room” – all 3, too anxious to make conversation. The sun is low in the sky, growing dimmer. Booker breaks the silence, wondering, “you think Orson’s okay? It’s been a long time. I hope he gets back before dark.” Wade is lost in his own mind for the moment, staring out the open barn door, practically dissociating.

Sheldon prods, “Wade? Are you okay?” Wade shakes his head and blinks, returning to awareness.

“Eh-what? Oh, oh, um… Y-well-no, not really”, Wade admits. He apologizes, “I’m sorry – I know that isn’t exactly comforting… You both know that I’m scared of a-lot. And I am anx-i-ous, a-LOT. But this feels like a different kind of fear than what I’m used to. I want to be more reassuring, eh-but I don’t know what to say… I just want to see Orson come through that door, safe and sound. Roy is out there, so at least, he’s not alone.”

After another quiet moment, Booker remarks, “I kinda wish that rumbling would come back. I don’t know why it made me feel better, but somehow it did. I haven’t heard it since Mr. Arbuckle fell asleep.”

On a dirt road heading back to the barn, with all but 3 of the chickens rescued and sat in the back of the truck, Orson leans against the passenger side door, exhausted and in pain. The truck hits a bump, and his back rubs against the seat, causing him to yelp with pain. Roy apologizes, “oh, sorry! Bumpy road. I should be driving slower, anyway, with all the girls in the back.”

Orson replies, “don’t worry about it. These chemical burns are really painful now. If I wasn’t on such an adrenaline rush earlier, any one of these injuries would have stopped me in my tracks. Ugh… I know it’s far from our biggest concern right now, but I’m definitely not TV-ready like this. And there’s no way I’ll be ready in 3 days’ time.”

Roy consoles, “we’ll figure something out, Orson. Don’t fret about the show right now. I know that sounds out-of-character for me, but our situation is getting more and more serious. I mean, your head is bleeding. Your ear is split in half! You’ve just fought a death match with a weasel, and I still don’t even know what happened with the shed investigation! I’ll understand if you can’t tell me everything yet, but at least let me ask this… After looking in the shed, do you believe that what Arbuckle saw last night was real?”

Orson considers how best to reply, then answers, “well, yes.”

Roy glances over with a troubled expression, pressing a bit, “…and, would you say, accurate?”

Orson answers plainly, “yes, actually. I believe someone killed my brothers, and had planned to hide the evidence by… moving the bodies in smaller parts.”

Roy recoils, “my god! Are you serious?” Just up ahead in the road, Dr. Furrow stands, scratching his head as if lost.

Suddenly, Orson shouts, pointing straight ahead, “Roy, look where you’re going! STOP!” Having looked away from the road for a moment, Roy turns his attention back forward, and slams on the brakes. The truck skids to a rough stop, causing Orson’s back to hit the seat again, agitating his painful burns. The truck narrowly misses Dr. Furrow, who breathes heavily in shock.

Roy comments, “yikes! That was almost two mustelids in one day!” Roy puts the truck in park and hops out to check up on the poor badger. “Are you okay? I’m sooo sorry – I was distracted from the road. Today has been a long one…”

Regaining his bearings, Dr. Furrow dizzily replies, “uh, yes. Um… I think I need to sit down.”

Roy leads him by the arm, insisting, “here, let us give you a ride. Better in the truck than under it.” Furrow accepts, and climbs up into the front seat between Orson and Roy.

As Roy gets himself buckled in, Orson asks, “Dr. Furrow? What are you doing out here?”

“Oh my, look at you!”, Furrow balks, in reaction to Orson’s rough condition. “Goodness, what a state!”

Roy explains, “I called for him. Earlier today, I sent a message with a pigeon, requesting an appointment on Arbuckle’s behalf.”

Furrow remarks, “yes, and I rather apologize for my lateness. I seem to have lost my way a bit. I could have sworn there were signposts about, pointing the way through the fields.”

Orson comments, “there should be.”

Furrow supposes, “perhaps I missed them this time. I was rather looking forward to this particular appointment. I’ve not worked with humans, before. Might’ve been lost in thought and passed a turn or something.” With Furrow seated and buckled, Roy gets on the move again.

“Well, if you’re not in a rush, we could still use your help”, Roy implores.

Examining Orson beside him, Furrow remarks, “I’m… not sure what you all have been up to, but I hope you’ll recall that I am not, uh, a physician. I am versed only in psychoanalysis.”

Roy explains, “yes, we’re aware of that. Orson’s injuries are unrelated to the job. Mr. Arbuckle is still the patient. I had to be brief in my note, but let me explain a little more about the situation…” Roy and Orson summarize recent events for Dr. Furrow along the way back home. They must make a stop at the coop to drop off the hens. It’s just past sunset by the time they reach the big-barn.

(Roy and Furrow each support Orson from either side- Roy on his right and Furrow on his left- as they enter the barn together. Orson insists, “please, Dr., you don't need to fuss about me. Oh, look, I’m bleeding all over you…”

Furrow replies, “no, no, don’t be proud, now.” Immediately upon entry, the trio is swarmed by the anxious kids – and Wade.

“Orson! What happened?!”, Booker frets.

“Mercy, oh mercy, what happened to you?!”, Wade panics.

Unable to see, Sheldon worries, “do I smell… blood? Did somebody get hurt?”

Roy asserts, “settle down! Give us some room! Orson found the weasel and we got the chickens back. A few didn’t-… Ugh… Look, you kids are smart. Some bad things happened, and it’s going to be a little while before we can all feel safe again. We can talk about the details, later. Right now, Orson’s hurt, and needs first aid.” Looking around the barn, Roy notices, “ah, good. It looks like Arbuckle finally kept something down.” Dr. Furrow follows Roy’s eyes and spots John, asleep, still propped up against the wood beam near the back as he was earlier.

Furrow comments, “ah, that’s him then, is it? My first human patient, and a celebrity at that.”

Orson reminds, “again, he somehow never knew that he was on a TV show. He’s got no experience with fame or anything like that.”

Furrow replies, “and he says he’s never been able to hear animals that can speak, is that right? Not before wandering onto the property, that is.”

Orson sits himself down, confirming, “that’s right.” Around this moment, Orson notices that Wade has been still and quiet the whole time. He hasn’t taken to crying for help, or running and flailing about, like one would have expected.

Roy adds, “the really concerning part is what happened with him last night. He saw us like we would see non-talking animals, and couldn’t understand what we were saying – but by morning, he could hear us again!”

Tuning out the others for the moment, Orson locks eyes with Wade. He coaxes, “Wade? You’re very quiet… Are you alright?” Wade’s eyes well up and spill over.

“How can you even ask about me?”, he chokes out. “Orson… you’re-… I’ve never seen you hurt this badly. I’m terrified for you, but you’re wondering about ME! You shouldn’t even have to think about my… stupid feelings, at a time like this! I’m sorry I couldn’t have-!... Or that I didn’t-!... Oh just PLEASE be okay, Orson!”

As Wade breaks down and sobs, Orson assures, “you’re right, Wade. I got hurt pretty badly. But it’s going to be okay. Roy, could you maybe.. let’s see… Ooh, grab me one of those old promo T-shirts out of your room. Maybe we can tear it up into strips – wrap it around my head to close up this gash and soak up some of the blood.”

Roy agrees, “good idea. You sit tight.”)

John begins to rouse from his nap. Before he can even hold his eyes open, he can hear a loud, distressed quacking. There’s some heavy, grunting breathing coming from somewhere as well. With great effort he rubs his eyes and lifts his head. He notices idly, while his sight comes into focus, “*huh, it looks dark outside. Lights are on in here, though. I saw lights on in the barn last night, too. So there definitely is working electricity. Wonder who turns it off and on each night…*”

Part 11:

Part 12:

Part 13:

https://www.reddit.com/r/imsorryjon/s/6gDiOXK3B3

Part 14:

Part 15: