The Tower Mouse Project
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A Great Mouse Detective Fanfic

by Ethel G.

Inspired by The Blair Witch Project and adapted from the sketch
"9th Street Bridge" by Bill Cosby

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It was a cold and foggy night late on Baker Street, late one October, as Basil the Great Mouse Detective and
his associate, Dr. David Q. Dawson, were relaxing in their flat and enjoying some quiet time for once.

Basil was peacefully working at his lab, while Dawson seemed quite engrossed in a book. So engrossed, in fact,
that he made such hushed exclamations as "Oh, my!" "Heavens!" and "My word!"

Needless to say, it got on Basil’s nerves after a while, and he began casting irritated glances at Dawson---who
was too caught up in his reading to get the hint. Finally, after the umpteenth "My word!" Basil put down a beaker
with an exasperated sigh. "Do you mind, Dawson?" he snapped at the doctor, who looked up in surprise.

"But what’s the matter, Basil?" Dawson asked, quite innocently.

"I’ll tell you what’s the matter," Basil replied crossly. "I’m trying to do some work here, drat it! How can a
mouse work with somebody saying 'My word!' and all every other minute? Can’t you read quietly to yourself?"

Dawson chuckled meekly. "I’m sorry, old boy," he said. "It’s just that this book is so startling and unbelievable!"
He held up the book for Basil, who went over and looked at it, frowning in disgust.

" ‘Ghost Stories From The Tower of London’ ???" he quoted. " ‘Unbelievable’ is quite the word, my dear
Doctor. That is what’s got you so stirred up?"

"Why, yes...you know, Basil, the Tower of London is said to be haunted!"

"Rubbish! Absolute rubbish, Dawson!" answered the detective, shaking his head wearily at what he supposed
to be Dawson’s naiveté. "Don’t tell me you actually believe that?"

"But people have actually reported seeing ghosts at the Tower, Basil!" Dawson insisted. "There are a great
deal of stories about ghost sightings...

"For instance, people claim to have heard children crying at the White Tower, where the poor Little Princes
were murdered...and that there’s the gigantic shadow of an axe over Tower Green, where there were so many beheadings...and what of the ghost of Anne Boleyn, one of Henry VIII’s wives, who walks around with her
head in her arm?"

"Get on with you, dear boy!" Basil scoffed, laughing. "Those supposed ‘witnesses’ were either lying, drunk
or imagining things. There are no such things as ghosts, Dawson."

"Oh, I don’t know, Basil...those stories certainly seem convincing!"

"That’s exactly what they are, Dawson: mere stories. And it’s all piffle, believe me."

"Hmmpff!!!" the doctor grunted stubbornly as he retrieved his book and settled back down with it,
obviously not caring a fig for the detective’s observation.

Basil stood glaring indignantly, forgetting all about his laboratory work. Ever the perfectionist, he intended
above all things to be right.

"Very well, then!" he declared sternly, cocking an arrogant eyebrow. "I’ll prove it to you!"

Dawson looked up from his book, wary at the adventurous gleam in his friend’s eye. "How?" he asked
suspiciously.

"You---and I, my dear Doctor," said Basil slowly, and with a conspiratorial grin, "shall visit the Tower of
London---tonight !!"

"Tonight ??" the doctor echoed in surprise.

"Of course, tonight. Why not?"

But Dawson wasn’t at all willing to leave their cozy fire to go out into the cold and foggy October night---
least of all to explore a place that might be haunted.

"Besides, Basil," he pleaded, "It’s All Hallows Eve!"

"Then what better night," Basil said, chuckling, "for a ghost hunt?"

Once Basil had a bee in his bonnet about something, there was simply no stopping him. As Dawson watched
the detective slip on his Inverness cape and deerstalker, he sighed heavily and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"Shall I take a crucifix and some holy water, too?" he said sarcastically. "Or grab that wreath of garlic from
Mrs. Judson’s kitchen?"

"That’s only for vampyres, Dawson," Basil said mildly. "And I don’t believe in them, either."

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Dawson’s teeth were chattering with more than the cold as he and Basil roamed the dark and ominous
grounds of Tower Green.

"You see?" the detective insisted smugly. "Have you heard any ghostly children crying yet, Dawson? Or seen
any spectral females carrying their heads about with them?"

"N-no," replied Dawson, trembling. "Not yet, anyway..."

"Well, you shan’t either, so you can stop being so frightened, dear boy. That’s precisely why I’ve brought you
here---to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of!"

But there can be something quite spooky about a foggy London evening...especially on All Hallows Eve. And it
wasn’t long before even Basil, who prided himself on his bravery, began to get uneasy. At some point, he and
Dawson became separated, which didn’t help matters at all as the night grew darker and more misty. What
was worse, every little sound, every rustling and footstep, even every breath, hinted at some ghoulish visitor
of the witching hour.

Once, while rounding the corner of the White Tower, Basil thought he heard whimpering, and stopped dead
(no pun intended) in his tracks. "Just a dog," he told himself --trying not to think about the Little Princes-- "or
Dawson wanting to go home!"

He started whistling "The Old Kent Road" to keep his courage up, and that gave Dawson a scare.

"What was that ???" wailed Dawson. "Who’s that whistling?"

"The ghost of Anne Boleyn!" answered Basil, just for pure devilment, grinning as the poor doctor leapt up
onto a brick jutting out of the tower. It was a wonder he didn’t shinny up the whole tower itself.

"I say, that’s not funny, Basil!" Dawson snapped at his chuckling friend.

"My dear Doctor," Basil laughed, "you are letting your imagination run away with you!"

But Basil soon wound up eating his words when Dawson bumped into him in the murky darkness.

"What the bloody devil !!" Basil shouted angrily, nearly jumping out of his skin.

"I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts," Dawson muttered suspiciously. That made the detective even angrier.

"I don’t!" he barked at Dawson. ‘I just don’t like being sneaked up upon!"

While the two mice were still arguing, neither of them saw a costumed, drunken mouse staggering through the
fog...Jake Willoughby, who’d had a bit too much rum punch at a party up the road, and was still wearing his
Sir Walter Raleigh costume while trying to find his way home.

He crossed Tower Green just in time to meet Basil and Dawson, who were walking quickly away from the
Bloody Tower.

"But Basil---" Dawson tried to reason, but Basil wouldn’t listen.

"For the last time, Dawson: there are no such things as ghosts!!!"

At that moment, the two detectives bumped into something, and hearing heavy breathing, looked up quite
startled---to find themselves facing a mouse in 16th Century clothing, shrouded by mist, and the moon shining
eerily down upon him.

He grinned at Basil and Dawson and threw his paws out at them, shouting:

"BOO!!!"

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The next morning, poor Jake lay in his bed, hungover and quite bruised from head to toe, as Dr. Mouseton
checked on him.

"Whatever happened?" Dr. Mouseton asked in astonishment.

"I ain’t too sure," moaned Jake. "I was comin’ ‘ome from a ‘allows Eve party, an’ these two chaps knocked
me down, danced a jig on me for a while, an’ then ran straight down me back, Doc."

"Well, didn’t they say anything?"

"Yes...they said, ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!’ "

"Did you see them at all?"

"Just a tall, skinny mouse ridin’ a-top a short, fat one...an’ 'e was beatin’ ‘im with a stick an’ screamin’:
'Faster, faster, you fool, YOU FOOL !!!' "

Happy Halloween!

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The End

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