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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

Beyond the Sunderdome

High above the ground on the rickety Heywood Workhouse roof someone was lying in wait in a modern day ambush. The shadowy figure set up the sniper riffle and sat in position waiting for Lynne Douglas to round the corner and then he would snuff out her candle once and for all. Patience was all that was required and the crafty sniper had just bought three bags of it on buy two get one free offer from boots on the Heywood high street.

Far away from this potential carnage, on the road to Sunderland Lynne was eating shortbread and contemplating her situation. When she’d taken up the compulsory offer of a duel to the death in the Sunder-dome Lynne had expected transport to be provided, however Niles the Letting Agent and puzzler extraordinaire had jumped on the presumed dead Mr Giblin’s back and ridden off into the sunset, depositing a trail of number and letter exhaust fumes, that formed tricky sudoku, word searches and crosswords to capture innocent pedestrians unlucky enough to become tangled in his complicated fumes. Lynne had been left to fend for her own transport and had luckily managed to secure passage in a horse drawn coach.

The Journey had been a somewhat arduous one, starting badly with a sticky middle and an unforsaking end. Having left Heywood the coach had stopped at Birch Service Station as the coach driver wanted to stock up pasties, sausage rolls, and air fresheners because he knew that the journey would be a long and smelly one. He had also tried to steal an engine off a truck to fit to one of his horses to make the journey a swift one, but this only resulted in the death of the horse and a pummelling from the truck driver who had watched the whole incident unfold from the restaurant window.
Whilst at the services Lynne had wandered off to hunt down some shortbread as she knew that the road to Sunderland was long and would not offer many opportunities for purchase of such an item. In her wanderings Lynne came across Father Cocks, an old priest, and not just old but also the most psychic priest in the country. Upon shaking hands with Lynne, who always went out of her way to impress members of the clergy, he had made quite clear his startling prediction stating, “Before this adventure is out Lynne you will be dead!” Needless to say Lynne was none too pleased at the news but decided that if that was her fate then so be it. With one horse remaining the coach set off for Sunderland. Unfortunately it was only when they reached Birmingham that the driver realised they had been going the wrong way and so turned back and headed north.

One month later they reached the border of Sunderland. There sat upon a fence was a jaunty looking man with long black hair, beanie hat and a crow on his left shoulder. Seeing this curious gent Lynne shouted the driver to pull over and stuck her head out of the window.
“Tell me my good man”, she asked having been on the road for so long and uncertain of current events, “Who’s in charge of Sunderland?”
“Master Blaster!” Came his contorted and instinctive answer.
Lynne cocked her head in surprise and then the crow crowed, “No it’s Roy Keane.”
“Oh yes”, said the jaunty fellow acknowledging his winged friend, “Roy Keane, that’s right it’s Roy who’s at the helm of Sunderland.”
He then looked at Lynne once, then again and then motioned towards the shortbread loving Scot, “Be you the woman from the far far away who has the power of but one arm and a craving for the bread that is short?”
Shocked at his knowledge Lynne could only answer in the affirmative, “Yes, that loosely fits my description.”
“I must let you know then that I am the most psychic man in Sunderland, hence why I sit on a fence with a talking crow looking all sinister and the like. I feel it my duty to tell you that my gift of hindsight has told me that you will surely die in gruesome circumstances before this adventure is over.”
“Yes, thanks for that you cunt! I’ve already been informed of this formality, it’s nice of you to remind me of this just before I enter the Sunder-dome in a battle to the death. Bastard!” She spat out with disgust and suddenly judo chopped the man’s head off. “That’ll be the last prediction he ever makes.”
“Yes it will”, said the crow, “and I suppose you can tell me who will feed me now you’ve killed him you daft bint. Just piss off out of here before I peck you to bits!”
Lynne didn’t need to be told twice; after all she’d had a run-in with a talking crow once before and it hadn’t been a pretty affair.

As the carriage approached the Sunder-dome Lynne contemplated on the fact that having travelled by horse and cart and taking so long had in fact had it’s advantages, for it had allowed her to catch up on six months worth of issues of the Readers Digest. She had read an article about the Sunder-dome itself and truth be told it had made her even more nervous than before about duelling in it. She’d learned that having become mayor of Sunderland Roy Keane had one day stolen the Millennium Dome from the banks of the Thames and had it transported to Sunderland where he proposed to turn it into a giant circus, but having set the dome up in Sunderland he realised the potential it had to draw crowds in instead with duels to the death and monster truck events. Thus the Sunder-dome had been born. Lynne threw open the carriage door pushed some midgets aside and strode straight into the heart of the Sunder-dome shouting, “Niles, Niles show yourself it is I Lynne Douglas.”

Lights flashed on all around her and she saw that she was in the centre of a giant arena, with jeering crowds all around, not a single seat was empty. A short man wearing a black shirt ran to the centre of the dome where a giant ice cream cone shaped microphone stood as a testament to the memory of circuses that had initially brought the dome to rest in this place. Lynne wasn’t sure who this man was, he certainly wasn’t Niles from Ash Residential Letting Agency but she’d give him a chance as he was wearing a black shirt because black was her favourite colour, the colour of her heart!
“In the red corner we have all the way from Heywood Lancashire, the one armed bandit herself”, a drum rolled before the MC roared, “Lynnamous Dougalous!”
The stadium exploded with chants, cheers and the expectation of violence.
The man in black turned to the opposite side of the dome, “And in the blue corner from Rusholme, Manchester, the deadly letting agent, the man with all the puzzles and a dungeon full of captives…Niles”, he then added in hushed tones, “Whose surname we don’t know!” Lights brighter than the sun then revealed her opponent at the other side of the arena.
Lynne knew this was it, the final battle between not so good and evil and all she could think about was where the red and blue corner were, for this was a dome and as such had no corners, but this was a mere distraction and she pounced into the centre of the dome. Niles darted forwards scooping up a wooden club with nails protruding from it and all the while the crowd chanted, “Two enter – one leaves.”
They circled one another before Niles struck the first blow with his club catching Lynne on the arm; it set her fruit machine mechanism into life. The crowd watched in awe as the barrels on her chest stopped one by one, the first was a cherry, the second was a cherry; the crowd gasped as the last barrel began to slow. The last one stopped and not a person in the great dome breathed a micro-breath, as the last symbol to be revealed was also a cherry. Lynne’s face contorted and she spewed forth a barrage of jackpot coins at Nile’s face rendering him pummelled to bits and stumbling to gain steady footing. He tried one last trick, “Lynne”, he cried, “Lynne, what is twice the origin of a circumference and yet not as big as a bilateral whose sides are none descript except in the formulaic verses of a property with the same dimensions as one which retails at £20’000 going off inflation in the year 1983?”
Quite a puzzler it was, for half the people in the crowd found their heads had literally exploded just trying to contain the number crunching variables that had been generated in the arena.
“Ha ha ha Niles you never learn”, chuckled Lynne, “Having myself not only read a complimentary copy of the ‘Letting Agents’ Christmas Puzzle Bumper Edition Special Genius Edition 1984’ as given away with Readers’ Digest and Family Circle, but I also contributed to the said publication myself and wrote that very question.”
The blood drained from Niles’ face just as quickly as his wry smile had dissipated.
Lynne continued, “I can confirm that the question in question is in fact a trick question and the answer is, that only a rhomboid or parallelogram would sustain such variables and in so doing would conversely retract $400 at the 1984 rate of exchange!”
Not letting the Letting Agent gather his thoughts Lynne quickly piped, “I too have a question for you Niles. How many questions make an inquisition?”
Just as Niles was coming to terms with his blatant and complete failure in the eyes of the half stadium that was still alive and contemplating the answer to Lynne’s poser, Lynne swooped down, grabbed a sword and lopped off Niles’ head and laughed in delight as it playfully rolled across the floor spreading gore in its wake. The crowd then erupted as the MC once more took to the stage and announced, “The winner by beheading and general bewilderment is…Lynamous Dougaloussssss!”

Parties echoed out across the world as sodukus, word searches and crosswords that had held people for generations exploded with people flying out left, right and centre with the curse of the letting agent being broken. No longer did people live in fear having to do such puzzles on a daily basis in the newspaper as a form of protection should they become entangled in one by the dastardly Niles, now they could live in a puzzle free world and once again enjoy the bus trip to work without having to challenge their minds. One of the people freed from a puzzle was Mr Giblin who flew out of a Word Pyramid and across the Sunder-dome where he landed in front of the hero of the hour, Lynne Douglas. Lynne peered down at the sixpence of a man, jumped on his back and as they galloped off into the sunset Lynne said, “You know Mr Giblin I think this could be the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”

Two days later Father Cocks, the very priest who had predicted Lynne’s death before the end of her adventure joined Lynne and Mr Giblin in holy matrimony at Birch Service Station. The execution warrant of death by hunting hounds had been lifted by Heywood Council as it had been recognised just how many people had been freed from the clutches of Niles by Lynne’s courageous actions. Lynne considered the prediction of her death and how she had avoided it as she rounded the corner to the workhouse and into the sniper’s sights. He’d been waiting almost two months for this opportunity, nobody escaped the wrath of the readers digest and lived to tell the tale and Lynne had really upset some execs when she’d failed to hand in her 5000 word report on her trip to Venus at the expense of the Digest. The sniper aimed her in his sights and pulled the trigger. “Bah”, he exclaimed being miffed to see that his shot had missed and realised that he’d used up the rest of his ammo shooting squirrels in the months he’d been waiting on the roof for Lynne to arrive. He looked on at the shortbread obsessed woman and considered how lucky she had been. Just as these thoughts passed through his head he saw Lynne trip on a paving stone and fall helplessly into the path of an eighteen wheeled truck driven by a nun. Lynne was flipped through the air and came to rest in a bloody mess on the car park of the workhouse next to a steamroller.
“Or maybe not so lucky”, chirped the sniper who was sure that he could claim the bounty for the kill still. He climbed off the roof to collect Lynne’s body and as he approached he noticed something very strange, for moments before Lynne had possessed only one arm and a fruit machine mechanism on her chest but he saw the body of Lynne Douglas lying there before him with no fruit machine and two arms! Perhaps there was something more to Lynne’s adventure, maybe the fatal truck accident hadn’t been the end of Lynne Douglas after all…

The End?


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