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The Adventures of Lynne Douglas

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Journey to the Centre of the Earth | Plight of the Mousemat | Tarot of Death

Downward Spiral of Lynne Douglas | Redemption of the Death Squad | Beyond the Sunderdome

Redemption of the Death Squad

Having been fired from the workhouse for lack of enough arms Lynne Douglas found it rather hard to get a job since the act of mutiny committed by the limb in question. She had tried everything in her think-bank to try and tempt it back to its correct position on her shoulder. First she had tried counselling, she’d taken it to one of the top relationship counsellors in the country Dr Hoare but this had seemingly no effect except a few tears on the arm’s behalf. Next she had tried bribing it with shortbread, but at every possible attempt the arm resisted her generous offers claiming it was on a diet. It was some weeks later before she realised that all these attempts had been in vain, as she leapt from her place in the dole queue exclaiming, “It’s a fucking arm, they don’t have the ability to communicate, barter or accept persuasion. My god what have I been doing for the past six months.” This was when realisation finally set in for Lynne. Of course several people had in this time told her to seek medical attention, primarily to get her head seen to because she’d obviously lost the plot, but also to get the arm sewn back on. Unfortunately by the time this stint of realisation had occurred it was already too late and a crude attempt on her behalf at sewing the arm on with a sewing machine when she broke into her former workhouse failed miserably and resulted in the deaths of several workhouse staff.

Having spent the best part of seven months on the dole and incapacity benefit Lynne decided enough was enough and actively sought a new job. Her natural first thought was to become a ‘One-Armed Bandit’ for an amusement arcade. The manager of the local arcade was more than happy to take Lynne on so long as she had a few alterations made before she started a week on Monday. The surgeon was a little confused when she had entered his surgery and said, “I require you to fit a barrel in my chest with three independently rotating sections covered in fruit, bells, a rectangle that says ‘BAR’ on it and a colostomy bag to collect the money in.”
The job had been going quite well for the first few weeks, but then fatigue began to set in and she became tired of constantly eat coins, shitting them out and having her arm pulled down by strangers. In the end she left due to medical reasons because her doctor told her that the stress on her arm from people pulling it down was liable to make that arm fall off as well.

She wasn’t out of work for long though, as she found her true calling when capital punishment was re-introduced to Heywood and she became head executioner. The hours were short, the pay was good and in truth the one armed wonder quite enjoyed taking people’s lives, especially if they cried! It had been easy enough for Lynne to get the job; it was a council position so being an invalid practically handed her the job on a plate, that and the fact that she had previously murdered people, though she only hinted at this in the interview. She found that her favourite method was hanging, as she liked the noise of snapping necks – it reminded her of the crack of the whip from her workhouse days.

But it seemed that this happiness would be shorted lived, for it was the Tuesday morning before Christmas and Lynne was indulging in her council issue breakfast of lobster when the bad news came. She read the headline on the front page of the Heywood Advertiser, and then she read it again just to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake the first time. Sure enough the words remained the same, “Capital Punishment to be abolished!”
Lynne immediately turned to suicide at reading such wretched news; she tried slitting her wrist but found this impractical as she only had one arm!

Two days later she awoke in the doorway of the Natwest bank having been on a drinking binge since the bad news had broke, though in all fairness she would have over indulged on alcohol come rain or shine! She was covered in newspapers that a kindly tramp named Alban Kilgour had laid on her to keep the frost off her head. Having been out of circulation for two days she felt it her duty to catch up on current affairs, so the drunken Douglas had a quick gaze through the paper. There was an article about the abolition of the death penalty on the front page, Lynne read on in horror, “…anyone involved in executions will themselves be executed in accordance with new irony laws starting with the executioner with the highest body count Lynne Douglas of Heywood, formerly of Scotland.”
She sat there in the doorway, a statue of terror, and then she heard the blast of the horn accompanied by the sound of a rabble of dogs. There were at least 20 huntsmen on horseback with hounds pounding down the street towards her.
“There she is. Love won’t tear her apart as Ian Curtis of Joy Division once predicted, it will be the hounds! Tear her apart! Tear her apart” Came the rallying cry from the head huntsman as they bounded on down the high street. Upon seeing this Lynne legged it quick as you dare down the road, no shortbread or mirrors would get her out of this little fix. The chase lasted a full circumnavigation of Heywood before curiosity got the better of Lynne and she stopped to look at a bargain in a shop window. She’d just about said, “That’s cheap!” When the hounds pounced on top of her and started to sink their teeth in for nourishment.
“Arrrggghhh!” Lynne cried out in pain as the hounds prepared to tear chunks out of her very personal being, but then all of a sudden shots rang out, the dogs started falling off her and she was covered in a thick layer of canine blood.

The crafty Scot gathered together her thoughts in a bundle, disbanded them, then recaptured them and set them on fire. Whilst she was doing this mental stacking a mere sixpence of a man walked towards her, gun in hand and kicking the dead dogs aside.
“Hello again Lynne”, said the figure.
“My God”, exclaimed Lynne, “Mr Giblin, but I thought you were dead!”
“Yes Lynne it is I!”
“But I saw you killed and eaten. You died at my hands. I mean you died in my arms”, Lynne quizzed.
“It was nought but illusion Lynne. T’was all done with mirrors”, revealed Mr Giblin.
Lynne pondered the improbable situation but decided not to argue as it could implicate her in his murder if this was simply a cunning rouse by the police to set her up.
Mr Giblin suddenly jerked backwards, tugged by a leash around his neck, and for the second time within the space of a minute Lynne was aghast with shock. There before her stood Niles from Ash Residential Lettings Agency tethering the leash around Giblin’s neck.
“Mr Giblin is once again my prisoner Douglas”, said Niles not even offering a greeting. He then turned to the huntsmen now sobbing over the lifeless hound corpses, “And you gentlemen be gone, before I trap you in a crafty word puzzle from ‘Letting Agents Bumper Puzzle Book 2007 Special Bastard’s Edition’. Your hounds are dead and not only am I an expert on property law but also criminal law and I know that only your animals are authorized to execute, for if you were to kill the fugitive then you too would be liable for the same fate as this poor invalid”, he gestured towards Lynne.
The head huntsman shook his fist in anger at Niles and his knowledge of the criminal justice system and shouted, “I’ll be back or my name isn’t Mr Mahboob!” With that he led his rabble off into the night in search of a 24hr pet shop in which to procure more hounds.

Lynne stumbled to her feet still partially unsteady from her two-day binge. She began to have flashbacks and she realised that Alban Kilgour the tramp who’d covered her in newspaper the night before had also plied her with rohypnol, not to rape her but just to knock her out as she’d been talking too much. She left this thought behind and stared at Niles in disbelief saying, “I can’t believe it, I’m in disbelief! You saved me Niles but why?”
Niles snapped shut his Letting Agent’s Almanac and creepily answered, “Don’t count your ferrets yet Lynne for my intentions were far from honourable. I have saved your life in order to exact my revenge personally for the defeat I suffered when you escaped my puzzle conundrum matrix and left my reputation as a master villain in tatters. I’m now going to take you to Sunderland where we shall prove once and for all who is the most knowledgeable with a battle to the death in the Sunder-dome!”

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