Some Mysteries are Better Unexplained****
2005-12-11, 4:18 p.m.

Alright, I'm going to post the unedited/uncensored version of my mystery story. For the future, I recommend myself to not get such a ridiculous story (like creating a whole world (island)) and then write when in such a dramatic mood. This, below, is what happened in my writing yesterday. NOTICE: For regular readers, my previous entry was written minutes before adding this.

The waves crash on the beach. The seagulls squeak in conversation while flying by. The few people up this early are already laughing in the ocean water. The wind through the palm trees is welcomed by the heat of the sun. All of these sounds combined are the quiet and peaceful world of the island. It is dawn, and the only thing disturbing any of this silence is the screech of tires of what could have been just another passing car. The family of three people on the beach stopped their splashing in the ocean, making it seem like the entire island stands still. The loud music booming out of the car quits, and the world of the island is that much quieter. Too quiet, even for a morning, the island is.

What made the driver stop so suddenly was what she only thought she saw. It was what she couldn�t look at, or her denial would fade away. She looked the opposite way and thought about the first thing she saw when she woke up only half an hour ago. When you live on an island, you always have a great view out your window. The driver opened her eyes to look at the main attraction on the island. She looked at the advertisement outside the building, which would blink in pink neon at night. �Topless Ice Cream Parlor,� is said, and below that it had a picture of two ice cream cones next to each other with cherries on top of each. The driver had planned to go to there later that night, but decided her denial would get her in trouble if she didn�t look the other way. She knew she had to call for help.

With such a small population, not counting the seagulls, there was normally nothing to worry about. So the only authority on the island was two detectives. They would claim to be private eyes even though everyone knew who they were. �May I go now?� the driver asked.

The 53-year-old detective named Andrew Jones gave her a look of suspicion. �Where were you on the night of August 1st, in the year 2005?�

�You mean yesterday?� questioned the driver.

�Where is �yesterday?� �Yesterday� isn�t any place I�ve heard of. Answer my question, Ms. Smarty-Jeans,� the detective snapped.

�Well, Detective Jones, I�m the only transportation on this island. If anyone needs a place to go, I make sure to get them there.� She paused. �People constantly need a ride, detective, and that�s what I was doing last night. My job.�

At that, Andrew Jones� one and only partner stood up from what made the driver screech her tires. He stoop up from a corpse. Detective Doe walked over in a dramatic manner after inspecting the scene. He gave the taxi driver a long look that seemed to last forever. �What�s your name?� the detective asked.

�Samantha Smarty-Jeans, and you should both know.� It was true, they should have known her name. Everyone knew everybody on the island, but the detectives asked their questions only on-the-record. They each had small pads of paper and were most likely writing the same thing.

�Ahh, you were married to Jonathan Jeans last month, weren�t you? I was at your wedding,� stated Doe.

�What does that have to do with anything, detective?�

�It could have everything to do with it. Where was Jonathan last night?� Detective Jones said before his partner could.

�He was working late. He�s a newspaperman.�

�Interesting,� said Doe with a smile, �a reporter.�

�A reporter on an island must run out of things to write pretty quickly. Perhaps last night he was decapitating himself a story?� asked Jones.

�No, not Jonathan. He wouldn�t. You know him as well as I do! Can I please go now?�

�Is the heat getting to you, Ms. Smarty-Jeans?� the detectives interrogated.

�No, but I have a business to get to,� the taxi driver pleaded for them to let her go.

�How important is this business? This is an island, people can walk.�

�I�ll remember that the next time you need a ride.�

�Fine, Ms. Smart-Jeans, only one more question. Did you kill...� and he pointed to the corpse that seemed to be collecting the entire population of flies on the island, �...that?�

�No, I didn�t kill that. And neither did my Jonathan.�

Sam Smarty-Jeans got in her vehicle and drove next to the beach and picked up the family of three people to take them to the only motel on the island.

The last thing the victim saw was the underside of the top of a palm tree. Handcuffed to one of his wrists was a suitcase which contained a large sum of money. Perhaps a payment that was overdue? Handcuffed to the victim�s other wrist was his own ear (in place of an earring), and in the hand of that same wrist the victim held his own head. The victim was lying on his back with his arms stretched out. His legs were elevated as if in a sitting position. It is believed that the victim was carried out of the �Topless Cherries� ice cream parlor.

Where the victim�s head should have been was blood-stained sand. Detectives John Doe and Andrew Jones stood over the bizarre crime scene. They exchanged looks after seeing another car screech on the road. It was the reporter, Dwayne McMorning, and his cameraman Jonathan Jeans. Jonathan and Dwayne are also writers of Entertainment Daily, the island�s only news source. They have access to what happens in the United States, which is a country that everyone refers to as �the real world.� Here on the island of pure paradise, everyone�s motto is �No worries mate.�

Dwayne McMorning and Jonathan Jeans raced towards the detectives. �Detectives, would you like to have a statement as to what has happened here?�

Their claims of �No comment� didn�t help. If the so-called �press� was already here, it was certain that everyone on the island knew what had happened. The body had been a corpse for only a whole night, because somebody would have seen it if it was light out, like the only taxi driver on the island had at dawn. The detectives walked past the newspapermen who only had a camera for the purposes of recording their statements to later write them down.

�PLEASE! Detective, something! Who is the victim?�

�Alright,� said John Doe, �First of all, we must say, the victim was decapitated...sloppily -�

�Yeah,� Andrew Jones interrupted, �the decapitation was done very poorly.�

Detective Doe paused, thinking about what Jones had just said. Then he continued, �The victim�s wallet had no money in it, but it did have identification. His name was Butch Harrison. Also, a business card was in the wallet. The business card was for a �Topless Cherries� located in Florida.�

�We have concluded, since he was dressed in the required �Topless Cherries� black suit that he may be the owner,� Detective Jones stated.

�We�re sure he�s the owner,� John Doe agreed, �he also had the signature sunglasses on his head...his decapitated head.�

�We also found a note of some kind.�

�Yes. But due to the abysmal handwriting, we couldn�t make out what it said,� John Doe started and then paused for dramatic effect as the camera zoomed in on him, �In my 55 years as a Private Eye-slash-detective, I have never seen handwriting that bad.�

Dominic Dominicson is the owner of the �Topless Cherries� on the island. He turned around in his leather chair behind his desk as the detectives entered his office. He was wearing his black suit and tie, and despite being inside and in a dark office, Dominic still wore the signature sunglasses. His suit was much cleaner than the one the detectives had seen on Butch Harrison�s corpse, which was just outside the building. It was only across the street on the beach. Standing next to and touching the chair was the island�s only stripper, Cindy Pierce. Cindy was also the youngest person to live on the island. She was 20-years-old. Sitting across the desk from her was the island�s oldest person, John Doe, and the island�s second oldest person, Andrew Jones.

�Where were you on the night of August 1st, in the year 2005?�

�Uhh...� Mr. Dominicson thought out loud, �You mean last night?�

�Mr. Dominicson...� John Doe began, intensely, �Yes.�

Dominic was still befuddled, thinking out loud, trying to remember the previous night, �Uhh...here.�

�Really?� John Doe asked in a derisive tone, �You didn�t happen to be severing someone�s head off with a chainsaw, did you?�

Mr. Dominicson still had to think about it. �No.�

The detectives exchanged looks.

Cindy asked in a young school-girl�s voice, �Where�d you get an idea like that?�

Det. John Doe ignored her. �Then where, may I ask, Mr. Dominicson, did you get that?!� and the detective pointed to the corner of the room.

Ms. Pierce�s hair turned with her head to look at an open closet. She jumped slightly, with a short squeak of a scream.

�My chainsaw?� asked Dominic.

�NO! You�re chainsaw with blood on it!�

�Oh, that one,� realized Dominic. �Well, uh, frequently, in the ice cream parlor, flocks of seagulls are let it. They disturb Cindy, here, you see. They squawk at her profusely. She gets frightened, and when she�s frightened, she doesn�t dance. And when she doesn�t dance, people realize how bad the ice cream is.�

�So, Mr. Dominicson, does the chainsaw calm her down?� the detectives interrogated.

�No, I use the chainsaw to take care of the seagulls.�

�I can�t imagine how running around like a madman with a chainsaw, hacking away at innocent birds keeps the business up� stated Det. Jones.

�Guns aren�t allowed on the island. What else could Mr. Dominicson do to keep the birds away?� asked Cindy.

And at that moment, there was yelling heard through the office door. It was coming from outside. The detectives ran out to see a parent yelling at his kids to get away from the dead body. The detectives unleashed their weapons out of their holsters, and threatened the kids until they ran to their parents. They had started digging where the note was pinned in the sand with a pen. It wasn�t just a note. It was a message and a grave. Out of the hole where the kids were digging poked the foot of a �

�Seagull!� exclaimed detective Jones.

�Good Lord!�

And at that moment, the detectives froze. Only the waves crashing on the beach could be heard. The detectives looked up slowly to see hundreds of seagulls perched on the palm trees and park benches and trash receptacles around them.

�The note that we couldn�t read,� whispered Doe.

�The pathetic hack job of Harrison�s neck!� Jones quietly exclaimed.

�The grave of their dead companion,� Doe says, �It all makes sense. They�re out to get the owners of the �Topless Cherries� ice cream parlors.�

�Who?�

�Don�t you see, it�s the seagulls.�

�No, that doesn�t make sense. Seagulls, John. Seagulls?!�

One seagull flapped its wings, and Doe decided to make a run for it. The seagulls flew up as the old men ran as fast as they could towards the �Topless Cherries.� When they got inside, they yelled �Take cover!�

Cindy looked outside, but didn�t see anything. Doe then stopped breathing when he saw a plane ticket on the desk. It was to the �Topless Cherries� located in California (he had looked up the address).

Doe looked at Dominic. �Did the seagulls give this to you, Dom?�

Detective Jones stopped him from answering, �No, John, it�s not seagulls!! It�s him! Seagulls can�t work a chainsaw.�

�It�s not how they did it...but why,� Doe tried to teach his lesson. "You killed, murdered the seagulls, Dominic. It's in their nature, like ours, to seek vengence."

At that moment, Cindy said, �You, Master Sleuth, are a moron. It was Dominic.�

�CINDY!� Dominic was shocked! The cops hadn't asked the beautiful Cindy Pierce about what had happened the previous night. She knew she had to open her mouth sooner or later.

�I don�t want to work here anymore,� Cindy admitted. She then pulled out a one-way ticket to the United State of Florida. She must have been planning to leave since she bought the ticket a month ago. She would leave the island all its glory behind for a new life.

Doe was confused. �Why Dominic," and the detective almost broke out into a cry, "why?"

After about 30 seconds of complete and on the verge of an awkward silence, Dom spoke up � �Topless Cherries� is my business, and only the other owners are getting customers!�

�What was the suitcase of money for?� asked one of the detectives.

�Uhh,� Dom thought, �I forgot to ask for the combination.�

�So you tried to frame the seagulls,� John Doe concluded. �You bastard...�

And at that, Dominic was handcuffed and taken out of his little business. The seagulls watched the detectives walk off to jail. Andrew Jones looked over the peaceful island and watched the seagulls finish their breakfast...not exactly a happy meal, but a corpse named Butch Harrison.

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