A peek at the REAL Thumbster

Not Bruce

The intercom abruptly announced. "The men from the FBI are here."

"Fine Ashton. Show them in." Warden Anderson told his office clerk.

Rising from his chair, the warden exchanged firm handshakes with each of the men.

"I am Agent Fowlers, and this is Special Agent Jenkins." The taller of the two men said.

"What can I do for the FBI?" Warden Anderson inquired, offering the men a seat as he sat back down behind his desk.

"We're investigating a series of suspicious deaths and disappearances in the local area. We think someone at this prison is involved."

"From my prison?"

"Yes. We have reason to believe someone...or more precisely...something...in this prison may be responsible for the deaths of at least twenty-seven people in Holton County over the last seven years." Agent Fowlers said as his compainion, Special Agent Jenkins, keenly observed Warden Anderson's face for any reaction.

"Something?"

"Yes. I said something because we're not exactly sure what kind of creature we're dealing with." Agent Fowlers replied. "Let me start from the beginning. Back in 1838, in Fejotanya Hungary, local police questioned a peddlar about a series of suspicious deaths and disapperances in the region. During questioning there was a struggle. The peddlar escaped but not before being shot several times. It was assumed he had died because the suspicious deaths and disappearances stopped shortly afterwards. They noticed something very odd after the struggle with the peddlar however. There was plenty of the peddlar's blood spattered around...blood spatter that was still completely wet several days later. Blood dries when in contact with air but not this blood. A local doctor collected the blood and sent it to a university in Budapest, where it stayed in a specimen bottle until 1905, when a visiting professor from England compared the blood with a similar sample found in Cornwall at the site of another suspicious death. The blood types matched and both samples remained in a completely liquid state."

"That's all very interesting, but what has that got to do with my prison?" Asked the concerned warden.

"Those blood samples precisely match similar blood samples collected in Tullamore Ireland, in 1923, Boston Massachusetts, in 1934, Scranton Pennsylvannia in 1955, Cincinnati Ohio in 1981 and now here. Further analysis of the blood has shown that it's not entirely human. The red blood cells have certain animal-like characteristics not found in human blood. Normal red blood cells stay viable in our bodies for about four months, while the cells from the 1838 sample are still viable today."

"So what are you saying? That someone in this prison is an immortal vampire or a werewolf? That's absurd!"

"We're not exactly sure what we're dealing with Warden. We're confident however that this is the same individual that was involved in all those other suspicious deaths and disappearances. That means he doesn't age, or if he does, he ages much slower than a normal human does. Recent information suggests this individual is currently within this prison. We're not sure if it's one of the prisoners, one of the staff, a frequent visitor, or if he just lives here, hiding somewhere in the prison, but we're sure he's able to come and go from here and he's using this prison as his base. We feel whatever we're dealing with is intelligent and very dangerous."

"I can't believe all this poppycock. This has to be a joke right?" The warden said standing to his feet.

'I assure you, we're not joking." Agent Fowlers handed the warden a letter. "This is authourization from the governor assuring your complete assistance. We're going to do blood work on everyone in this prison. We believe whatever it is we're looking for has probably been here for the last seven years and will most likely not appear to have aged in that time. Therefore we also plan to check everyone's photo IDs. This individual will probably look exactly the same now as he did seven years ago.

"This is ridiculous." The warden exclaimed. "Vampires and werewolves...in my prison!"

The warden didn't like how Special Agent Jenkins continued to stare. Warden Anderson wondered what exactly these FBI agents knew. He debated whether he should suddenly pounce on them now or if he should pretend to play along and quietly slip away later when the opportunity arose. Whatever he decided, he knew he'd have to be moving on. He'd need to find new hunting grounds before the day was out.

**************************

What the Hell was that? I had intended to write one of my usual stupid entries, (this one about Bruce...you know...Bruce...from Australia. Yeah...that Bruce), when I suddenly got the urge to write that weird prison story. If you're a loyal Thumb journal reader then you probably already know I'm not in the habit of writing weird prison stories. (I usually write stupid stories...usually about Bruce...not that Bruce though...another Bruce...Bruce...also from Australia...the Bruce who lives near the other Bruce. Yeah that's the Bruce I mean)

I bet you figured it was the warden right from the start huh? Afterall there were really only three characters...and Bruce of course. (He overslept so he didn't get to take part in this story but he would have had a really big part if he had showed up)...and I told you it wasn't Bruce in the title of this journal entry so that left the two FBI guys and the warden. The story didn't mention it, but Agent Fowlers once rescued a kitten from out of a burning building, so you can bet it couldn't have been him, and Special Agent Jenkins was a Special Agent and not just a plain old regular Agent, so you knew it couldn't be him. That left the Warden.

Well I'm all written out now. I should have spent this time doing other stuff. Important stuff. Instead I wrote this. You must be very disappointed in me I'll bet. I know I am. Sorry.

Going now.

Tell Bruce I said hi.

Not that Bruce. I didn't mean him.

Tell the other Bruce I said hi.








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