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.