Hey Diddle Diddle - CH1
The Township of Tweedle-Dee was known, as I’m sure you’re aware, for its festivity and fairytale charm.
Nestled between Nursery-Rhyme River and Mount Munchkin, the picturesque streets of Tweedle-Dee brought folk from all over the kingdom. From Candy Land to Storybook City, critters would come with their cameras to capture what was often referred to as the most idyllic town around. Any day of the year, one would find the high street of Tweedle-Dee positively packed with sight-seeing so and so’s, all of whom were undoubtedly searching for one of the many stars that resided in the town.
There was Humpty-Dumpty, the accident-prone egg. Jack Sprat and his rather rotund wife, Janice. Joe, the gingerbread man, Little Bo-Peep, Reginald, the black sheep, two of The Three Blind Mice, and of course Little Miss Muffet - to name a few.
The list went on.
Or at least it had done...until a week ago.
And then, in an act of malice, the list began to shorten.
Everything changed.
The flow of tourists stopped abruptly as though someone had turned off a tap.
The high street suddenly stood in eerie silence, and all that travelled from Candy Land to the City were whispers. Whispers passed on in excitable fear.
“Did you hear what happened in Tweedle-Dee Town?”
“Something terrible, I heard.”
“Mary was murdered.”
“Mary who?”
“Mary...you know! Mary Mary!”
“Quite contrary?”
“That’s her.”
“And she was murdered?”
“Murdered in cold blood. Her body was found behind Mother Hubbard’s house, all chopped up.”
“Goodness gracious me!”
And so the rumours spread, fat like jam on bread, and oh, how the people gorged on them.
But not in Tweedle-Dee. There, the mouths were shut as tight as the doors. Trust was no longer a given. Tweedle-Dee was no longer so twee.
Mary was the first.
The second came a week later, in the blue haze of a summer’s night.
Detective Jack Horner was the first on the scene: down the snicket next to the bakery on Drury Lane.
It took a lot for him not to vomit at the sight.
It was another icon, though he was hard to identify at first. There was so much blood. Half the face was gone.
But Jack knew the victim.
He’d booked him a couple of weeks earlier on sexual harassment charges.
Well, thought Jack, lighting a cigarette, at least those girls won’t have to testify against their attacker.
George Porgie was dead.
Murdered.
And by the looks of things, Tweedle-Dee Town was dealing with its very first serial killer.
Jack blew grey-white smoke into the night air and watched it climb up and beyond the moon. It reminded him of a cow he once knew, a simpler time.
Jack was about to call it in when something caught his eye. A piece of paper was hanging out of the broken mouth of George Porgie. Jack bent down and, using the handkerchief from his pocket, removed the crumpled parchment. He unravelled it and as he read the words, his world began to spin.
The paper read as follows:
Hey Diddle Diddle,
The Cat and the fiddle,
The girl was the first to be slain,
Then it was George,
He won’ be the last,
My next victim is common in name...
Jack called it in.
“This is Detective Jack Horner. Looks like another homicide. Seems fresh. Probably the same sicko as before...Yeah, the alley next to the Baker’s on Drury Lane. Send a forensics unit. Okay.”
This sick-fuck wants to play games. Jack took a final drag of his cigarette before flicking the tab to the floor. Well, this isn’t Toy Town. This is my town. And I ain’t lost on home soil yet.
That Little Fiddle, How he Piddles
Hey Diddle Diddle
Here Diddle Diddle
See that little Fiddle
Play ever so softly
Please do not Piddle
The little Fiddle
Seems angry Diddle Diddle
Hurry little Diddle Diddle
Run little Diddle Diddle
Flee Diddle Diddle
He’s coming Diddle Diddle
He's running Diddle Diddle
Running to us Diddle Diddle
His Fiddle Diddle Diddle
He's swinging Diddle Diddle
He hit me, Diddle Diddle
I bleed Diddle Diddle
Little Jack Horner
Little Jack Horner
sat in a corner
eating a Christmas pie,
when in the alley appeared
a woman and a man with a beard.
Neither saw Jack wave hi.
Or maybe they did
(The rich ignored street kids,
long as they ne'er drew nigh.)
The woman could barely stand.
The cider in her hand
was nearly drunken dry.
She cried "Sir, no!
Please, leave me go!"
Jack kept a close eye.
With hands like a spider
the man reached inside her
skirt and felt her thigh.
The woman jerked and fell
with a high-pitched yell.
Cracked her head on the ice.
Jack started to get up
though he was just a pup,
and the man was a full-head high.
The man noticed not
because Jack was so squat,
or maybe cuz Jack was so sly.
Instead, the man looked down
at the woman on the ground
saying, “It’s better when you lie.”
He crawled over her dress
and tried to make it less
by undoing her waist-belt tie.
So Jack grabbed the blade
he used to eat what the baker made
and plunged it into the man’s eye.
When the woman came to
she groaned, "Who are you?"
Jack said, "I didn’t want you to die."
Then she noticed the man, dead,
and shook her head
crying, "God above, oh my!
Please, boy, tell no one
Or we shall be undone,
Swear it on the Lord high!"
"I swear it," said Jack.
Then, he went right back
To eating his Christmas pie.
"Where had that blade gone?"
he wondered anon.
"Hope I find it by and by."
The woman knelt down,
touched his crown,
and said, “Boy, are you alright?”
The confused little Jack.
He searched his mind front to back
for an answer he could supply.
He never found one,
which made him feel dumb,
and for no good reason why,
he gripped his pie tin,
stuck his thumb in,
plucked out a plum, and said, "Wanna try?"
The woman frowned at the proffering,
so Jack examined what he was offering:
the bloody plum reminded him of an eye.
He remembered, began to understand
what he’d done to a bearded man
and said, “I’m not a good boy, am I?”
The woman gave his hand a pat,
said, “Don’t you worry about that.
You're an angel in my eyes.”
Jack said, "That’s not good enough, is it?
If I want Santa to visit?
Oh well, next year, I’ll try."