Once Upon a Midnight Eerie: Book #2 (Misadventures of Edgar/Allan) by Gordon McAlpine
Authors: Gordon McAlpine
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negotiating of my own with the museum, boys,” he said.
Edgar and Allan looked up at him.
“What’d you get us, more beignets?” Allan teased him.
“Hey, that’s a great idea,” Uncle Jack said hungrily. “I wish I’d thought of it. Oh, well, I guess you two will have to settle for these.”
He handed each boy a heavy gold doubloon.
Their own pirate treasure!
“The museum people were happy for you kids to keep something,” Uncle Jack explained.
“Em and Milly, too?”
Uncle Jack nodded.
The twins smiled and put the coins in their pockets. Their pirate-obsessed friend, David Litke, would love this.
Uncle Jack laughed. “Don’t drop those in any vending machines. They’re worth more than our house.”
“Speaking of our house—” Edgar began.
“Let’s go home, Uncle Jack,” Allan continued.
“Baltimore it is, boys.”
WHAT THE POE TWINS DID NOT KNOW . . .
A LETTER SENT THAT DAY:
IDENTITY SPECIALISTS, INC.
MOSCOW • SHANGHAI • ABU DHABI • BUENOS AIRES • CAPE TOWN • LAS VEGAS
Dear Professor Perry,
We hope you are pleased with our services so far.
Doctors report that your facial reconstruction surgery was a success and that you are on your way to a complete and unrecognizable recovery. Our document department is currently completing your new identity papers, including passport. All will be in order by the time you are ready to move on.
Here’s to fresh starts!
Best Wishes,
Founder and CEO
P.S. I hope you do not mind that I used your previous name in the salutation above. I take satisfaction in being the last to do so. I trust you will destroy this letter immediately after reading.
P.P.S. As requested, we have booked you an open airline ticket to Baltimore, Maryland, USA.
Mr. Poe in the Great Beyond
Mr. Poe didn’t know what to expect of his first afternoon in the Animal Languages Division. Would it be as dull as watching alfalfa grow in a farmyard populated only by sleeping cows, dozing ducks, and sloppy pigs? Or would it be as stressful as being set to work with pen and paper on the sandy floor of the Roman Colosseum while roaring lions, growling bears, and maddened bulls circled maliciously? He didn’t know which would be worse.
On the elevator ride down, he steeled himself for either.
When the elevator doors opened on the 121,347,935th floor, he was greeted by a surprise. The office looked almost indistinguishable from the working space he’d occupied for the past 180 or so years. There was the same foot-worn, institutional carpeting and fluorescent-lit cubicles. Not so bad, he thought. But as he started into the office, his box of desk supplies in his hands, he realized that seated in each cubicle was an animal murmuring to itself. Cows mooed, pigs oinked, and horses whinnied—all very quietly, thoughtfully.
“Most of them are suffering from writer’s block,” said someone behind him.
He turned.
It was Homer, the blind poet.
“But every once in a while, one of them will stumble across something quite worthwhile,” he continued, motioning for Mr. Poe to draw nearer. “Did you know that one of the cows here named a famous lost continent?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“The continent was consumed in prehistory by the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Moo?” Mr. Poe asked.
“Well, it’s spelled ‘M-u,’ but this is where the name comes from,” Homer answered.
“So what am I supposed to do here?”
Homer placed his hand on Mr. Poe’s shoulder. “Just as these animals are exploring the possibilities of human language, admittedly with only rare success, you will explore the possibilities of animal language.”
“Without any success . . .” Mr. Poe muttered.
“Now, let’s be positive,” Homer answered. He pointed in the general direction of an empty cubicle. “That’s yours.” He turned and walked away.
Discouraged, Mr. Poe set his box of supplies on the empty desk and took his seat. He expected the afternoon to consist of nothing but
Edgar and Allan looked up at him.
“What’d you get us, more beignets?” Allan teased him.
“Hey, that’s a great idea,” Uncle Jack said hungrily. “I wish I’d thought of it. Oh, well, I guess you two will have to settle for these.”
He handed each boy a heavy gold doubloon.
Their own pirate treasure!
“The museum people were happy for you kids to keep something,” Uncle Jack explained.
“Em and Milly, too?”
Uncle Jack nodded.
The twins smiled and put the coins in their pockets. Their pirate-obsessed friend, David Litke, would love this.
Uncle Jack laughed. “Don’t drop those in any vending machines. They’re worth more than our house.”
“Speaking of our house—” Edgar began.
“Let’s go home, Uncle Jack,” Allan continued.
“Baltimore it is, boys.”
WHAT THE POE TWINS DID NOT KNOW . . .
A LETTER SENT THAT DAY:
IDENTITY SPECIALISTS, INC.
MOSCOW • SHANGHAI • ABU DHABI • BUENOS AIRES • CAPE TOWN • LAS VEGAS
Dear Professor Perry,
We hope you are pleased with our services so far.
Doctors report that your facial reconstruction surgery was a success and that you are on your way to a complete and unrecognizable recovery. Our document department is currently completing your new identity papers, including passport. All will be in order by the time you are ready to move on.
Here’s to fresh starts!
Best Wishes,
Founder and CEO
P.S. I hope you do not mind that I used your previous name in the salutation above. I take satisfaction in being the last to do so. I trust you will destroy this letter immediately after reading.
P.P.S. As requested, we have booked you an open airline ticket to Baltimore, Maryland, USA.
Mr. Poe in the Great Beyond
Mr. Poe didn’t know what to expect of his first afternoon in the Animal Languages Division. Would it be as dull as watching alfalfa grow in a farmyard populated only by sleeping cows, dozing ducks, and sloppy pigs? Or would it be as stressful as being set to work with pen and paper on the sandy floor of the Roman Colosseum while roaring lions, growling bears, and maddened bulls circled maliciously? He didn’t know which would be worse.
On the elevator ride down, he steeled himself for either.
When the elevator doors opened on the 121,347,935th floor, he was greeted by a surprise. The office looked almost indistinguishable from the working space he’d occupied for the past 180 or so years. There was the same foot-worn, institutional carpeting and fluorescent-lit cubicles. Not so bad, he thought. But as he started into the office, his box of desk supplies in his hands, he realized that seated in each cubicle was an animal murmuring to itself. Cows mooed, pigs oinked, and horses whinnied—all very quietly, thoughtfully.
“Most of them are suffering from writer’s block,” said someone behind him.
He turned.
It was Homer, the blind poet.
“But every once in a while, one of them will stumble across something quite worthwhile,” he continued, motioning for Mr. Poe to draw nearer. “Did you know that one of the cows here named a famous lost continent?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“The continent was consumed in prehistory by the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Moo?” Mr. Poe asked.
“Well, it’s spelled ‘M-u,’ but this is where the name comes from,” Homer answered.
“So what am I supposed to do here?”
Homer placed his hand on Mr. Poe’s shoulder. “Just as these animals are exploring the possibilities of human language, admittedly with only rare success, you will explore the possibilities of animal language.”
“Without any success . . .” Mr. Poe muttered.
“Now, let’s be positive,” Homer answered. He pointed in the general direction of an empty cubicle. “That’s yours.” He turned and walked away.
Discouraged, Mr. Poe set his box of supplies on the empty desk and took his seat. He expected the afternoon to consist of nothing but
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