The Cabin in the Woods – A Quest for Money and Power
by Martha Wadley
©2013 by Martha Wadley and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
To Conquer the World created by Martha Wadley, from an idea by Matthew Atanian
by Martha Wadley
©2013 by Martha Wadley and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
To Conquer the World created by Martha Wadley, from an idea by Matthew Atanian
In the general area of the Horace A. Moses Scout Reservation, a.k.a ‘Camp Moses’, in Massachusetts, lies a patch of remarkably thick forest, thicker than most other forest in the area. The kind of forest unwary hikers step into without realizing and soon become utterly lost. The kind of forest you’d want to unwind a good piece of twine behind you, or have a pocket full of white pebbles to make a trail from, just to be on the safe side. Checking the position of the sun or stars is impossible due to the constant gloom from the thick tree cover. Compasses brought into this area spin lazily. Cell phones immediately lose reception, which is not saying much. It is 1998 after all. (GPS service and satellite imaging aren’t worth mentioning, since neither are available to the general public yet, but for the record neither of them would have been much help.)
In the very center of this abnormal patch of trees and foliage, within hiking distance of the campground, a small cabin hides in the gloom.
On first glance, most people would not even notice the cabin. If they happened to on a second or third glance, they would feel a cold shiver run down their spine and feel the urge to quickly tiptoe past. It wasn’t that the cabin was ugly, or that it crouched behind the trees like some vengeful beast that had only just succeeded in taking a cat nap, or that it looked as though it had grown in place like some huge organic toadstool. No, not at all.
People imagine some pretty crazy things.
Particularly when they are out in the woods.
The cabin’s interior was far cozier with a few modern amenities. In one corner, a little kitchenette had been built with just a bit of countertop, a sink area, a refrigerator, an inset wall oven, microwave, cabinets for dishware and dry goods, a toaster, and a breakfast island. The color scheme was pale woods and pastels, as if someone had made an effort to brighten up the place. Over the sink, pink and white-striped half-curtains blocked the sun’s rays through a small window. Not that the curtains were actually necessary. The thick woods outside the cabin made the interior rather gloomy, but the curtains were for effect, so they stayed up. Besides, they prevented bears, cougars, and local wildlife from peeking on the inhabitants.
In any case, on top of the countertop, a squirrel sat next to a large bowl of mixed nuts. It held a walnut between its front paws (the squirrel, not the bowl) and looked like any ordinary North American Grey squirrel, except for the tiny maroon waistcoat it wore. The tiny vest had large pockets, into which had been stuffed an old pocket watch, complete with chain, which gave the squirrel a weird Lewis Carroll effect although the squirrel did not appear to be in any sort of hurry. From the pile of empty shells scattered around the squirrel, it had been there for a long time.
The squirrel was listening carefully to a phone conversation being conducted by a woman currently leaning against the sink. The woman wore a Green Bay Packers sweater and had tied up her blond hair in a pony tail. According to human standards, she was rather scrawny and not particularly remarkable, not worth a second look, which made her perfect for the plan.
She was talking to the local mechanic, something that had become a once a week occurrence. Which reminded her just why she lived in a cabin off in the woods away from other people.
“…so the generator’s really toast this time. To get it running for you, I’d have to re-bore the shafts, replace all the cables, and do a full system upgrade,” the voice on the phone laughed in a resigned way. “Rebuilding it would cost more than a new one.”
“I need that generator,” Martha said.
“Yeah,” the guy sighed. “You and everyone else stock-piling for Y2K. I can order you another, but it won’t be cheap.”
“Of course,” Martha sighed. “No, this time get something that runs, Siegfried. Maybe something army surplus from 1960. None of that modern junk.”
“I’ll see what I can find. You realize you might have to settle for something post-1990?”
“Nothing with a computer chip, please,” Martha replied. “I’ll run squirrel-power first.”
“Very funny,” Siegfried retorted. “You know, you wouldn’t have this problem if you’d let me do regular preventative maintenance after it’s installed.”
“We’ve talked about this. Not going to happen.”
“You can’t possibly have anything that secret in your basement,” he snorted.
“All my basement contains is one concrete pad to bolt down a generator,” Martha assured him. “And perhaps a hydroponics center, a bio-diesel production set up, a machine shop, and possibly even an experimental aircraft, among other things.”
“Yeah, right. All that in your basement. I’ll call when I find something,” Siegfried laughed and hung up.
Martha sighed as she replaced the phone on its hook and stared around the cabin with a look of irritation. “Why does he bother to ask questions if he’s not going to believe the answers?”
A squeak queried from the direction of the cabin’s kitchenette counter where the squirrel stared at her with a questioning expression.
“Hi Lester,” Martha adjusted her glasses and leaned against the sink counter opposite. “That was Siegfried.”
Lester rolled his eyes, opening the walnut in his paws, and began munching.
That was the only sound for several minutes.
At last, Martha shook her head, “Why isn’t this working?”
Lester continued munching.
“I mean,” Martha said, “We have the cabin in the woods, we have plenty of willing helpers world wide, we have an excellent spy network, we have a mission, but every single plan fails.”
Lester chattered a statement.
Martha removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with a sigh of frustration, “We’ve discussed this. It’s too difficult to steal the world’s supply of nuts and hold it hostage. Nuts grow on trees!”
Lester chattered again.
Martha shook her head, “We are not trying to pass you guys off as dog toys just to sneak into peoples’ homes and adjust their televisions. Remember what happened to Lewis?”
Lester nodded vigorously and shuddered. Lewis had never believed anything could hurt him. Martha had made certain that Lewis had had a nice funeral.
Martha took a deep breath, “And while the circus sideshow idea was unique, I don’t want to risk you guys getting kidnapped again because someone thinks fifty-six squirrels performing Swan Lake should be aired on national television. Conquering the world through theater….I don’t know what we were thinking. And you know what happened when we tried to do it through cooking.”
Lester winced. The cookbook had been popular in Alabama and Louisiana, but not for the reasons intended and sales had dropped off once customers had found out the recipes had been written by squirrels, instead of for them.
“The back-up generator is barely powerful enough to keep the signal disruption field running. We’ll be exposed if that goes down, too.”
Lester nodded. No main generator also meant no way to power the machining tools to create the parts for their scaled-down stealth jet. That was going to create a hitch in the grand scheme.
“Every single plan has failed,” Martha waved her arms for emphasis, “And not one of them has even been a dramatic failure, or even an epic failure. Just a poof! and gone. Even…”
A squeak from the doorway that led into the rest of the cabin interrupted Martha’s tirade.
Another squirrel sat in the open doorway, wearing a little accountant’s visor. He held an itty-bitty sheet of paper.
“Francis! You’re done with the monthly budget report,” Martha greeted. “How’d we do?”
Francis held out the paper on tiptoe.
Martha reached down and took the postage-stamp-sized sheet from him, pulling a magnifying glass from the silverware drawer, then carefully scanned its length.
Lester glanced at Francis, who shook his head.
When Martha finally set the paper on the counter for Lester to read, she looked even more morose.
“Even if we had a plan,” she said, “We don’t have the funds to pursue one. We can’t even afford the new generator.”
Lester studied the sheet of paper carefully, curling his fluffy tail around his feet. Even in summer, the cabin could be drafty. They needed that generator.
He chattered to Francis. Humans made such a big deal about money, which Lester didn’t see the point of, but Martha was their leader and she thought it was important, so there must be some way to get it.
Francis nodded and scampered out to tell the spy network to be on the lookout for ways to make money.
Lester hunkered down next to the bowl of nuts and thought about the problem. Martha considerately pulled a pad of paper and a pencil stub from a drawer so he could take notes as he brainstormed.
Francis returned every now and again with stacks of new suggestion slips from their global network. Lester read each carefully, working through the piles, as Martha puttered about the tidy kitchenette making an almond soufflé and grilled vegetables for dinner, occasionally adding to the notes on the pad.
Lester preferred French fries, but he understood they took far more power to cook than a mere soufflé. He ignored the hamster wheel and battery set-up they’d rigged just to power the oven and water heater while the main generator was down for repairs. Martha had not been kidding about using squirrel-power. Lester did agree that the wheel was a good way to build endurance, but spinning a wheel while going nowhere quickly grew boring. Bob was currently taking a spin. Good ol’ reliable Bob, who said he never got bored because he ran to the beat of the music in his head. Lester had never heard the music, but Bob was the one who had dreamt The Prophesy, which had led them to the cabin, to Martha, to the Human-who-became-a-Squirrel, and set them on the road toward their ultimate destiny.
A destiny that was never going to happen unless they found a way to make a little petty cash to purchase a generator...
Lester hunkered down over the pad. They needed to find an idea that would be sustainable, something within their current means, something they could grow if they achieved success. He ruled out legal gambling (and illegal) and fixed lottery tickets. He rejected one suggestion to kidnap a super villain and hold him for ransom. The squirrels would not resort to violence, again, unless forced. This would be a peaceful take over, a subtle take over.
They would make the world come to them.
The sun was just beginning to filter through the early morning ground fog between the trees, when Francis laid down his pen and handed a slip of paper to Lester.
Lester read it over, then read it again carefully. He looked up at Francis and arched an eyebrow.
It’s simple! Francis explained. With a little modification to headquarters, we could accomplish it without a large expenditure. The start up costs will be easily made up, plus, we’ll be making money!
Lester eyed Francis. Francis understood human money and numbers better than most squirrels, which was why Martha had appointed him as the network’s accountant.
Lester straightened his vest and ran a claw through his tail fur to calm himself. Alright, they would give this a try.
Just then, the kitchen door opened and Martha wandered in, wrapping a long knit sweater over her blouse and slacks. Lester nodded appreciably. Martha always had good sense when it came to showing up for meetings. Her fuzzy bunny slippers made scuffling noises as she headed for the coffee pot, eyes half open.
Martha always made one cup of coffee, first thing in the morning, but drank tea the rest of the day. Lester had no idea why she bothered. He’d snuck a taste once and the coffee was so thick and bitter he’d felt like gagging up until mid afternoon. No, he did not understand why Martha bothered with coffee.
Yet, he waited patiently. Humans listened better when fully awake.
Martha rattled through the mug shelf, picked one that read ‘Go Nuts!’, and poured for herself from the carafe.
Then paused.
“Did you guys drink all the hazelnut creamer cups again?”
While Martha preferred to make everything herself, she did occasionally purchase a few items from a grocery store in a nearby town.
Lester glanced at Francis. They may have sipped a couple single-serving cups during the wee hours.
“Ah well, black today then,” Martha stared at her mug for a long moment, then took a gulp and instantly scrunched her face.
“I’m awake now,” she gasped.
Lester decided this was his moment. He raised himself up on his hind legs, tail all bushy to make himself look bigger and give credence to this new idea, and chattered out the whole thing.
Martha’s eyes widened slowly as he continued. Finally, she glanced at Francis, then back to Lester.
“You think we should renovate the cabin and open a Bed and Breakfast?”
Lester and Francis nodded.
“You really think this will work?”
Francis snapped his claws (a real trick without opposable thumbs) and in rushed a troop of squirrels with a roll of blueprints. They hauled the massive roll onto the breakfast island and jumped out of the way as it flipped open.
Francis jumped over on top and began pointing out various features of the cabin in the plan. New walls in the sections of the guestrooms would create areas for ensuite bathrooms, which the works department could plumb. New bedroom sets, guest soaps, fluffy towels, a specialty breakfast menu, almond scented air fresheners and a good cleaning would work wonders. They wouldn’t even have to touch the basement, communications center, or the laboratory!
Lester swallowed. He’d forgotten about the laboratory. Yes, it was best not to touch that place in his opinion.
Martha still looked skeptical.
Francis pulled out a stack of paper that proved to be pro forma balance sheets and income statements showing the potential viability of such a plan.
“Alright!” Martha held up her hands to ward off further onslaughts of information, “But we’re not calling it ‘The Nut House’!”
It was amazing, really, what several thousand squirrels could do when set to work. They descended upon the cabin and in two days had clawed, gnawed, pegged, nailed, fastened, and converted two bedrooms, added two small bathrooms, installed an enclosed patio onto the kitchen to serve as a breakfast room, and a deck. They lived in trees and, naturally, their woodworking skills were excellent. In Lester’s opinion, at least.
The decorators had chosen to redecorate the rooms in shades of rich browns and wood paneling, with wicker furniture, which gave them a cozy, nest-like appeal. A couch and wardrobe went into one room, while the other gained a full-wall cabinet with shelves and doors where guest’s personal articles could be stored.
Both rooms had excellent views of the woods that surrounded the cabin, though not as good as the view from the cabin loft where Lester and a few of the other squirrels had built comfy nests of their own.
While the construction was going on, Stewart, one of the tech-squirrels in the communications department (he preferred to wear a bright green and yellow Hawaiian shirt), was building what he called a ‘website’. Lester had tried to get him to explain what that was, but the only thing that came clear was that it actually had nothing to do with spiders. The ‘website’ would be connected to a new human invention called ‘the internet’. Stewart explained that they would need it if they wanted anyone to actually find them.
While the idea of complete strangers finding their secret headquarters bothered Lester deeply, he realized that for the plan to succeed, they needed to contact potential customers in someway. Yes, they did see the occasional hiker from nearby Camp Moses, but if they wanted paying customers they needed this ‘net’ thing.
Thus, Martha’s cabin became Filbert Guest House, with ensuite rooms, on-site parking, reasonable rates, non-smoking only, hikers welcome, and absolutely no dogs.
The website’s up and running and I’ve linked it to a reputable Bed and Breakfast directory, Stewart informed them, as Martha finished tacking up the ‘welcome’ sign over the front door. All we have to do now is wait.
They waited.
And waited.
“Another plan that hasn’t worked,” Martha sighed one evening a few weeks later as she, Lester, Francis, Stewart, and the thirty-nine other squirrels who actually lived in the attic huddled in the living room enjoying a fresh batch of peanut butter cookies. Despite the fact it was Summer, the night had become chill and damp in the thick forest. Martha had lit a fire in the huge built-in fireplace and they all sat in a half circle for the warmth.
Give it time, Francis stated, sipping from the teacup clutched between his paws.
Lester put down his own cup and nodded. It’s only been two weeks. He was about to say something else, when Hugh, who had drawn the short straw and been working the spy network, hopped in and shouted, Intruders! Two humans have breached the outer perimeter!
Idiots, Lester chattered. Out in the woods on a night light this.
“They’re probably lost,” Martha said, setting her teacup aside. “We should go see if they need help.”
A fine mist had come up, making it difficult to see from Lester’s perch on Martha’s shoulder and making his fur wet.
The two lost hikers were obviously scared and kept looking around them, trying to peer through the thick mist.
“Good evening,” Martha called out.
The female hiker shrieked and grabbed the man with her. The guy didn’t seem to know whether to protect his girlfriend, or run for the hills.
“Pardon me,” Martha said. “It’s cold tonight and late. Would you like to come in and stay the night at my Bed and Breakfast before finding your way back in the morning? I have warm beds, inexpensive! And breakfast is included.”
The two stared at her as if they couldn’t make up their minds.
“We don’t have luggage. Won’t that be a problem? I heard people are supposed to have luggage,” the guy finally asked, looking as if he actually hoped it would be a problem.
“Not a problem,” Martha encouraged. “Look, why don’t you come in and take a look before you make a decision?”
Neither of the two seemed particularly thrilled by this suggestion, but they nodded slowly and followed Martha back through the mist.
Lester could hear the two murmuring to each other.
“I don’t remember seeing an Inn here earlier today,” the girl whispered.
“It is late and we should find somewhere safe to spend the night,” the guy whispered back. “There could be wolves out here.”
“Or werewolves,” the girl nodded.
Lester rolled his eyes.
Inside, the two guests did seem to relax a bit at the sight of the fire in the living room and the bathrooms. For some reason neither of them seemed to like the décor in the rooms themselves. Stupid humans, Lester thought.
Lester didn’t like the looks of the two guests, who immediately closed themselves in their rooms and began running water. He told the other squirrels to stay out of sight.
Eventually the guests quieted down and the lights went off in their rooms. Martha banked the fire and she and the squirrels headed off to their own beds or nests.
In the middle of the night, Lester woke and decided he needed to check on the guests and the rest of the cabin, just to make sure things were alright. He normally did this anyway, but tonight the need was extra urgent, as he felt uncomfortable with two strangers under their roof. With the main generator down, the emergency security doors wouldn’t operate. The only thing that kept the Cabin safe, and the lab protected, was a few dead bolts.
He scrambled out of his nest and hopped across the attic floor over to the access hole Martha had conveniently installed for them, then scurried down the stairs to the main floor. Everything was quiet.
He checked the fire place, all good there. He checked the kitchen and enclosed patio. All was quiet. He crept over to the guest rooms and listened at each door. Nothing. Okay, he felt better now. He scampered back up the steps, through the hole, and was halfway across the attic when a shriek rang out from the first floor.
He doubled back and rushed down the stairway to see the two guests run out of their rooms, fully dressed, and out the front door, screaming something about ‘ghosts’ and ‘haunted’.
Martha had come out of her bedroom, having taken the time to wrap a warm robe over her pajamas, just in time to see them disappear into the mist beyond the open front door.
“Here’d I’d planned a nice big breakfast,” Martha shut the front door, then sighed. “They didn’t even pay.”
In that case, at least we didn’t lose breakfast on them, Lester pointed out.
“We still have to clean everything again,” Martha explained.
Lester shook his head, but began making up a cleaning schedule on his way back to bed. Humans had a fixation for hygiene that was completely beyond comprehension.
A week later, another couple approached the cabin, gasping, giggling, and making odd squeaking sounds. Martha took them in as well and gave them rooms. Both of these guests not only managed to stay the night, but even showed up for breakfast (cereals, yogurt, banana walnut pancakes, coffee, juice, combination choice of eggs, bacon, sausage, or fishcakes) still giggling like little kids and glancing around the breakfast room as if watching for something.
They were still acting weird when they paid Martha and signed the guest book before they left.
Lester understood when he read what they’d written: Heard the Ghosts in the night! This place really is haunted. Best of luck! It was followed by two illegible signatures.
Well, if a couple idiot humans wanted to believe the sounds of squirrels in the attic were ghosts, that was fine with Lester, as long as they paid.
Word of the ‘haunted inn’ spread through the area and found its way onto the internet. Hikers began to show up regularly, asking if this was the haunted guest house.
Lester decided that if haunting was what the humans wanted, the squirrels could certainly oblige. They ran across floors, climbed up the walls, slipped into the rooms after the guests were asleep and moved keys and personal items just enough that someone could see things had been moved, rattled spoons, flapped shutters, blew whistles and uttered the unique choking screams that squirrels do when dying.
Breakfasts became very interesting as the guests talked about the sounds they’d heard in the dark the night before; whether rattles were from chains or scales, screams were creaking floorboards or murdered victims, and which wall the knocking noises had come from. The night Stewart and Hugh had hammered a saw blade a couple times, directly under the guestrooms, had resulted in a spirited discussion of spacecraft and local alien sightings the next morning.
The rest of summer proved busier than any of Francis’ most hopeful financial forecasts. They were making money and had to request customers make prior reservations. Business was good.
A new main generator was purchased, which added its own touch to the cabin’s otherworldly qualities: a subliminal, ethereal hum, more vibration than actual sound, as it droned away on its pad in the basement. The guests were thrilled.
One evening, Lester was in the kitchen tallying up a list of supplies they’d need to order for the next few weeks as Martha helped the younger squirrels with their reading lessons, when Francis hopped up on the breakfast island and began chattering rapidly. He’d been checking their profits and market demand. They were doing well. Quite well. So well, in fact, they could go international. He’d done some research and found a couple fixer‑uppers they could buy.
“Where are they?” Martha wanted to know, putting aside the text book.
Francis pulled out a couple of printed pictures.
One was of a half-demolished castle on a moor. That one is in Scotland, Francis explained. There are lots of haunted castles there. The only difficulty is that castles are rather expensive right now. We’d have to rent-to-own to start with.
And the other? Lester asked.
Francis held the picture back for a moment. This one would be a lot cheaper. The locals are a bit superstitious and stay away from the place.
The second picture was of a Japanese inn, one overgrown and somewhat fallen to ruin.
Francis grinned, What do you think?
In the very center of this abnormal patch of trees and foliage, within hiking distance of the campground, a small cabin hides in the gloom.
On first glance, most people would not even notice the cabin. If they happened to on a second or third glance, they would feel a cold shiver run down their spine and feel the urge to quickly tiptoe past. It wasn’t that the cabin was ugly, or that it crouched behind the trees like some vengeful beast that had only just succeeded in taking a cat nap, or that it looked as though it had grown in place like some huge organic toadstool. No, not at all.
People imagine some pretty crazy things.
Particularly when they are out in the woods.
The cabin’s interior was far cozier with a few modern amenities. In one corner, a little kitchenette had been built with just a bit of countertop, a sink area, a refrigerator, an inset wall oven, microwave, cabinets for dishware and dry goods, a toaster, and a breakfast island. The color scheme was pale woods and pastels, as if someone had made an effort to brighten up the place. Over the sink, pink and white-striped half-curtains blocked the sun’s rays through a small window. Not that the curtains were actually necessary. The thick woods outside the cabin made the interior rather gloomy, but the curtains were for effect, so they stayed up. Besides, they prevented bears, cougars, and local wildlife from peeking on the inhabitants.
In any case, on top of the countertop, a squirrel sat next to a large bowl of mixed nuts. It held a walnut between its front paws (the squirrel, not the bowl) and looked like any ordinary North American Grey squirrel, except for the tiny maroon waistcoat it wore. The tiny vest had large pockets, into which had been stuffed an old pocket watch, complete with chain, which gave the squirrel a weird Lewis Carroll effect although the squirrel did not appear to be in any sort of hurry. From the pile of empty shells scattered around the squirrel, it had been there for a long time.
The squirrel was listening carefully to a phone conversation being conducted by a woman currently leaning against the sink. The woman wore a Green Bay Packers sweater and had tied up her blond hair in a pony tail. According to human standards, she was rather scrawny and not particularly remarkable, not worth a second look, which made her perfect for the plan.
She was talking to the local mechanic, something that had become a once a week occurrence. Which reminded her just why she lived in a cabin off in the woods away from other people.
“…so the generator’s really toast this time. To get it running for you, I’d have to re-bore the shafts, replace all the cables, and do a full system upgrade,” the voice on the phone laughed in a resigned way. “Rebuilding it would cost more than a new one.”
“I need that generator,” Martha said.
“Yeah,” the guy sighed. “You and everyone else stock-piling for Y2K. I can order you another, but it won’t be cheap.”
“Of course,” Martha sighed. “No, this time get something that runs, Siegfried. Maybe something army surplus from 1960. None of that modern junk.”
“I’ll see what I can find. You realize you might have to settle for something post-1990?”
“Nothing with a computer chip, please,” Martha replied. “I’ll run squirrel-power first.”
“Very funny,” Siegfried retorted. “You know, you wouldn’t have this problem if you’d let me do regular preventative maintenance after it’s installed.”
“We’ve talked about this. Not going to happen.”
“You can’t possibly have anything that secret in your basement,” he snorted.
“All my basement contains is one concrete pad to bolt down a generator,” Martha assured him. “And perhaps a hydroponics center, a bio-diesel production set up, a machine shop, and possibly even an experimental aircraft, among other things.”
“Yeah, right. All that in your basement. I’ll call when I find something,” Siegfried laughed and hung up.
Martha sighed as she replaced the phone on its hook and stared around the cabin with a look of irritation. “Why does he bother to ask questions if he’s not going to believe the answers?”
A squeak queried from the direction of the cabin’s kitchenette counter where the squirrel stared at her with a questioning expression.
“Hi Lester,” Martha adjusted her glasses and leaned against the sink counter opposite. “That was Siegfried.”
Lester rolled his eyes, opening the walnut in his paws, and began munching.
That was the only sound for several minutes.
At last, Martha shook her head, “Why isn’t this working?”
Lester continued munching.
“I mean,” Martha said, “We have the cabin in the woods, we have plenty of willing helpers world wide, we have an excellent spy network, we have a mission, but every single plan fails.”
Lester chattered a statement.
Martha removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with a sigh of frustration, “We’ve discussed this. It’s too difficult to steal the world’s supply of nuts and hold it hostage. Nuts grow on trees!”
Lester chattered again.
Martha shook her head, “We are not trying to pass you guys off as dog toys just to sneak into peoples’ homes and adjust their televisions. Remember what happened to Lewis?”
Lester nodded vigorously and shuddered. Lewis had never believed anything could hurt him. Martha had made certain that Lewis had had a nice funeral.
Martha took a deep breath, “And while the circus sideshow idea was unique, I don’t want to risk you guys getting kidnapped again because someone thinks fifty-six squirrels performing Swan Lake should be aired on national television. Conquering the world through theater….I don’t know what we were thinking. And you know what happened when we tried to do it through cooking.”
Lester winced. The cookbook had been popular in Alabama and Louisiana, but not for the reasons intended and sales had dropped off once customers had found out the recipes had been written by squirrels, instead of for them.
“The back-up generator is barely powerful enough to keep the signal disruption field running. We’ll be exposed if that goes down, too.”
Lester nodded. No main generator also meant no way to power the machining tools to create the parts for their scaled-down stealth jet. That was going to create a hitch in the grand scheme.
“Every single plan has failed,” Martha waved her arms for emphasis, “And not one of them has even been a dramatic failure, or even an epic failure. Just a poof! and gone. Even…”
A squeak from the doorway that led into the rest of the cabin interrupted Martha’s tirade.
Another squirrel sat in the open doorway, wearing a little accountant’s visor. He held an itty-bitty sheet of paper.
“Francis! You’re done with the monthly budget report,” Martha greeted. “How’d we do?”
Francis held out the paper on tiptoe.
Martha reached down and took the postage-stamp-sized sheet from him, pulling a magnifying glass from the silverware drawer, then carefully scanned its length.
Lester glanced at Francis, who shook his head.
When Martha finally set the paper on the counter for Lester to read, she looked even more morose.
“Even if we had a plan,” she said, “We don’t have the funds to pursue one. We can’t even afford the new generator.”
Lester studied the sheet of paper carefully, curling his fluffy tail around his feet. Even in summer, the cabin could be drafty. They needed that generator.
He chattered to Francis. Humans made such a big deal about money, which Lester didn’t see the point of, but Martha was their leader and she thought it was important, so there must be some way to get it.
Francis nodded and scampered out to tell the spy network to be on the lookout for ways to make money.
Lester hunkered down next to the bowl of nuts and thought about the problem. Martha considerately pulled a pad of paper and a pencil stub from a drawer so he could take notes as he brainstormed.
Francis returned every now and again with stacks of new suggestion slips from their global network. Lester read each carefully, working through the piles, as Martha puttered about the tidy kitchenette making an almond soufflé and grilled vegetables for dinner, occasionally adding to the notes on the pad.
Lester preferred French fries, but he understood they took far more power to cook than a mere soufflé. He ignored the hamster wheel and battery set-up they’d rigged just to power the oven and water heater while the main generator was down for repairs. Martha had not been kidding about using squirrel-power. Lester did agree that the wheel was a good way to build endurance, but spinning a wheel while going nowhere quickly grew boring. Bob was currently taking a spin. Good ol’ reliable Bob, who said he never got bored because he ran to the beat of the music in his head. Lester had never heard the music, but Bob was the one who had dreamt The Prophesy, which had led them to the cabin, to Martha, to the Human-who-became-a-Squirrel, and set them on the road toward their ultimate destiny.
A destiny that was never going to happen unless they found a way to make a little petty cash to purchase a generator...
Lester hunkered down over the pad. They needed to find an idea that would be sustainable, something within their current means, something they could grow if they achieved success. He ruled out legal gambling (and illegal) and fixed lottery tickets. He rejected one suggestion to kidnap a super villain and hold him for ransom. The squirrels would not resort to violence, again, unless forced. This would be a peaceful take over, a subtle take over.
They would make the world come to them.
The sun was just beginning to filter through the early morning ground fog between the trees, when Francis laid down his pen and handed a slip of paper to Lester.
Lester read it over, then read it again carefully. He looked up at Francis and arched an eyebrow.
It’s simple! Francis explained. With a little modification to headquarters, we could accomplish it without a large expenditure. The start up costs will be easily made up, plus, we’ll be making money!
Lester eyed Francis. Francis understood human money and numbers better than most squirrels, which was why Martha had appointed him as the network’s accountant.
Lester straightened his vest and ran a claw through his tail fur to calm himself. Alright, they would give this a try.
Just then, the kitchen door opened and Martha wandered in, wrapping a long knit sweater over her blouse and slacks. Lester nodded appreciably. Martha always had good sense when it came to showing up for meetings. Her fuzzy bunny slippers made scuffling noises as she headed for the coffee pot, eyes half open.
Martha always made one cup of coffee, first thing in the morning, but drank tea the rest of the day. Lester had no idea why she bothered. He’d snuck a taste once and the coffee was so thick and bitter he’d felt like gagging up until mid afternoon. No, he did not understand why Martha bothered with coffee.
Yet, he waited patiently. Humans listened better when fully awake.
Martha rattled through the mug shelf, picked one that read ‘Go Nuts!’, and poured for herself from the carafe.
Then paused.
“Did you guys drink all the hazelnut creamer cups again?”
While Martha preferred to make everything herself, she did occasionally purchase a few items from a grocery store in a nearby town.
Lester glanced at Francis. They may have sipped a couple single-serving cups during the wee hours.
“Ah well, black today then,” Martha stared at her mug for a long moment, then took a gulp and instantly scrunched her face.
“I’m awake now,” she gasped.
Lester decided this was his moment. He raised himself up on his hind legs, tail all bushy to make himself look bigger and give credence to this new idea, and chattered out the whole thing.
Martha’s eyes widened slowly as he continued. Finally, she glanced at Francis, then back to Lester.
“You think we should renovate the cabin and open a Bed and Breakfast?”
Lester and Francis nodded.
“You really think this will work?”
Francis snapped his claws (a real trick without opposable thumbs) and in rushed a troop of squirrels with a roll of blueprints. They hauled the massive roll onto the breakfast island and jumped out of the way as it flipped open.
Francis jumped over on top and began pointing out various features of the cabin in the plan. New walls in the sections of the guestrooms would create areas for ensuite bathrooms, which the works department could plumb. New bedroom sets, guest soaps, fluffy towels, a specialty breakfast menu, almond scented air fresheners and a good cleaning would work wonders. They wouldn’t even have to touch the basement, communications center, or the laboratory!
Lester swallowed. He’d forgotten about the laboratory. Yes, it was best not to touch that place in his opinion.
Martha still looked skeptical.
Francis pulled out a stack of paper that proved to be pro forma balance sheets and income statements showing the potential viability of such a plan.
“Alright!” Martha held up her hands to ward off further onslaughts of information, “But we’re not calling it ‘The Nut House’!”
It was amazing, really, what several thousand squirrels could do when set to work. They descended upon the cabin and in two days had clawed, gnawed, pegged, nailed, fastened, and converted two bedrooms, added two small bathrooms, installed an enclosed patio onto the kitchen to serve as a breakfast room, and a deck. They lived in trees and, naturally, their woodworking skills were excellent. In Lester’s opinion, at least.
The decorators had chosen to redecorate the rooms in shades of rich browns and wood paneling, with wicker furniture, which gave them a cozy, nest-like appeal. A couch and wardrobe went into one room, while the other gained a full-wall cabinet with shelves and doors where guest’s personal articles could be stored.
Both rooms had excellent views of the woods that surrounded the cabin, though not as good as the view from the cabin loft where Lester and a few of the other squirrels had built comfy nests of their own.
While the construction was going on, Stewart, one of the tech-squirrels in the communications department (he preferred to wear a bright green and yellow Hawaiian shirt), was building what he called a ‘website’. Lester had tried to get him to explain what that was, but the only thing that came clear was that it actually had nothing to do with spiders. The ‘website’ would be connected to a new human invention called ‘the internet’. Stewart explained that they would need it if they wanted anyone to actually find them.
While the idea of complete strangers finding their secret headquarters bothered Lester deeply, he realized that for the plan to succeed, they needed to contact potential customers in someway. Yes, they did see the occasional hiker from nearby Camp Moses, but if they wanted paying customers they needed this ‘net’ thing.
Thus, Martha’s cabin became Filbert Guest House, with ensuite rooms, on-site parking, reasonable rates, non-smoking only, hikers welcome, and absolutely no dogs.
The website’s up and running and I’ve linked it to a reputable Bed and Breakfast directory, Stewart informed them, as Martha finished tacking up the ‘welcome’ sign over the front door. All we have to do now is wait.
They waited.
And waited.
“Another plan that hasn’t worked,” Martha sighed one evening a few weeks later as she, Lester, Francis, Stewart, and the thirty-nine other squirrels who actually lived in the attic huddled in the living room enjoying a fresh batch of peanut butter cookies. Despite the fact it was Summer, the night had become chill and damp in the thick forest. Martha had lit a fire in the huge built-in fireplace and they all sat in a half circle for the warmth.
Give it time, Francis stated, sipping from the teacup clutched between his paws.
Lester put down his own cup and nodded. It’s only been two weeks. He was about to say something else, when Hugh, who had drawn the short straw and been working the spy network, hopped in and shouted, Intruders! Two humans have breached the outer perimeter!
Idiots, Lester chattered. Out in the woods on a night light this.
“They’re probably lost,” Martha said, setting her teacup aside. “We should go see if they need help.”
A fine mist had come up, making it difficult to see from Lester’s perch on Martha’s shoulder and making his fur wet.
The two lost hikers were obviously scared and kept looking around them, trying to peer through the thick mist.
“Good evening,” Martha called out.
The female hiker shrieked and grabbed the man with her. The guy didn’t seem to know whether to protect his girlfriend, or run for the hills.
“Pardon me,” Martha said. “It’s cold tonight and late. Would you like to come in and stay the night at my Bed and Breakfast before finding your way back in the morning? I have warm beds, inexpensive! And breakfast is included.”
The two stared at her as if they couldn’t make up their minds.
“We don’t have luggage. Won’t that be a problem? I heard people are supposed to have luggage,” the guy finally asked, looking as if he actually hoped it would be a problem.
“Not a problem,” Martha encouraged. “Look, why don’t you come in and take a look before you make a decision?”
Neither of the two seemed particularly thrilled by this suggestion, but they nodded slowly and followed Martha back through the mist.
Lester could hear the two murmuring to each other.
“I don’t remember seeing an Inn here earlier today,” the girl whispered.
“It is late and we should find somewhere safe to spend the night,” the guy whispered back. “There could be wolves out here.”
“Or werewolves,” the girl nodded.
Lester rolled his eyes.
Inside, the two guests did seem to relax a bit at the sight of the fire in the living room and the bathrooms. For some reason neither of them seemed to like the décor in the rooms themselves. Stupid humans, Lester thought.
Lester didn’t like the looks of the two guests, who immediately closed themselves in their rooms and began running water. He told the other squirrels to stay out of sight.
Eventually the guests quieted down and the lights went off in their rooms. Martha banked the fire and she and the squirrels headed off to their own beds or nests.
In the middle of the night, Lester woke and decided he needed to check on the guests and the rest of the cabin, just to make sure things were alright. He normally did this anyway, but tonight the need was extra urgent, as he felt uncomfortable with two strangers under their roof. With the main generator down, the emergency security doors wouldn’t operate. The only thing that kept the Cabin safe, and the lab protected, was a few dead bolts.
He scrambled out of his nest and hopped across the attic floor over to the access hole Martha had conveniently installed for them, then scurried down the stairs to the main floor. Everything was quiet.
He checked the fire place, all good there. He checked the kitchen and enclosed patio. All was quiet. He crept over to the guest rooms and listened at each door. Nothing. Okay, he felt better now. He scampered back up the steps, through the hole, and was halfway across the attic when a shriek rang out from the first floor.
He doubled back and rushed down the stairway to see the two guests run out of their rooms, fully dressed, and out the front door, screaming something about ‘ghosts’ and ‘haunted’.
Martha had come out of her bedroom, having taken the time to wrap a warm robe over her pajamas, just in time to see them disappear into the mist beyond the open front door.
“Here’d I’d planned a nice big breakfast,” Martha shut the front door, then sighed. “They didn’t even pay.”
In that case, at least we didn’t lose breakfast on them, Lester pointed out.
“We still have to clean everything again,” Martha explained.
Lester shook his head, but began making up a cleaning schedule on his way back to bed. Humans had a fixation for hygiene that was completely beyond comprehension.
A week later, another couple approached the cabin, gasping, giggling, and making odd squeaking sounds. Martha took them in as well and gave them rooms. Both of these guests not only managed to stay the night, but even showed up for breakfast (cereals, yogurt, banana walnut pancakes, coffee, juice, combination choice of eggs, bacon, sausage, or fishcakes) still giggling like little kids and glancing around the breakfast room as if watching for something.
They were still acting weird when they paid Martha and signed the guest book before they left.
Lester understood when he read what they’d written: Heard the Ghosts in the night! This place really is haunted. Best of luck! It was followed by two illegible signatures.
Well, if a couple idiot humans wanted to believe the sounds of squirrels in the attic were ghosts, that was fine with Lester, as long as they paid.
Word of the ‘haunted inn’ spread through the area and found its way onto the internet. Hikers began to show up regularly, asking if this was the haunted guest house.
Lester decided that if haunting was what the humans wanted, the squirrels could certainly oblige. They ran across floors, climbed up the walls, slipped into the rooms after the guests were asleep and moved keys and personal items just enough that someone could see things had been moved, rattled spoons, flapped shutters, blew whistles and uttered the unique choking screams that squirrels do when dying.
Breakfasts became very interesting as the guests talked about the sounds they’d heard in the dark the night before; whether rattles were from chains or scales, screams were creaking floorboards or murdered victims, and which wall the knocking noises had come from. The night Stewart and Hugh had hammered a saw blade a couple times, directly under the guestrooms, had resulted in a spirited discussion of spacecraft and local alien sightings the next morning.
The rest of summer proved busier than any of Francis’ most hopeful financial forecasts. They were making money and had to request customers make prior reservations. Business was good.
A new main generator was purchased, which added its own touch to the cabin’s otherworldly qualities: a subliminal, ethereal hum, more vibration than actual sound, as it droned away on its pad in the basement. The guests were thrilled.
One evening, Lester was in the kitchen tallying up a list of supplies they’d need to order for the next few weeks as Martha helped the younger squirrels with their reading lessons, when Francis hopped up on the breakfast island and began chattering rapidly. He’d been checking their profits and market demand. They were doing well. Quite well. So well, in fact, they could go international. He’d done some research and found a couple fixer‑uppers they could buy.
“Where are they?” Martha wanted to know, putting aside the text book.
Francis pulled out a couple of printed pictures.
One was of a half-demolished castle on a moor. That one is in Scotland, Francis explained. There are lots of haunted castles there. The only difficulty is that castles are rather expensive right now. We’d have to rent-to-own to start with.
And the other? Lester asked.
Francis held the picture back for a moment. This one would be a lot cheaper. The locals are a bit superstitious and stay away from the place.
The second picture was of a Japanese inn, one overgrown and somewhat fallen to ruin.
Francis grinned, What do you think?
Notes and Disclaimers from Martha
Once upon a time, Matt wrote part 16, in which a character named Martha was introduced. This Martha lived in a cabin somewhere within walking distance of Camp Moses. A map of the camp area was posted on the Boy Scouts ½ website, which showed a site named Martha’s Cabin. A few years later, in real life, Matt e-mailed me to inform me that the real life camp had received requests from people who wished to rent ‘Martha’s Cabin’.
Then, a month ago, Matt wrote to me again, asking if I might have an idea for a side story involving the squirrels. As it turned out, I did.
Martha’s Cabin does not actually exist, nor do I run a bed and breakfast. While I do occasionally talk to squirrels, not one has ever spoken back to me.
The basic plot is loosely based around the haunted guest house/bathhouse/inn/temple stereotyped in many manga and anime series. The tie-in to alien sightings was meant to riff on the X-Files references in other parts of Boy Scouts ½. I would think most people would understand the Lewis Carroll reference, comparing Lester’s outfit to the White Rabbit’s in ‘Alice in Wonderland’.
Then, a month ago, Matt wrote to me again, asking if I might have an idea for a side story involving the squirrels. As it turned out, I did.
Martha’s Cabin does not actually exist, nor do I run a bed and breakfast. While I do occasionally talk to squirrels, not one has ever spoken back to me.
The basic plot is loosely based around the haunted guest house/bathhouse/inn/temple stereotyped in many manga and anime series. The tie-in to alien sightings was meant to riff on the X-Files references in other parts of Boy Scouts ½. I would think most people would understand the Lewis Carroll reference, comparing Lester’s outfit to the White Rabbit’s in ‘Alice in Wonderland’.
Matt's Notes and Disclaimers
First, as usual, the disclaimers. Well, not much to disclaim, actually. Martha did a pretty decent job of that, herself. The one thing I will add is that I should think it pretty obvious that the mention of the "Human-who-became-a-Squirrel" is a subtle (or not so subtle) reference to the character of Mike Quadrozzi and his Jusenkyo curse. Such things are, of course, inspired by Takahashi Rumiko's Ranma ½ .
That out of the way, onto the notes!
So, what brought us here? Well, as Martha mentioned, it all sort of began with Boy Scouts ½, part 16. That was, of course, a long time ago, and so my memory of back then may not be entirely correct... But this is what I believe to have happened.
Either shortly before or while I was writing it, Mike Quadrozzi (the real one, not the character) made mention to me of a woman he had met online. A woman of the name of Martha Wadley. A woman, it seems, who had a keen interest in matters related to squirrels.
Can't say as I blame her. I find the things to be rather cute myself. (Alas, my Rachel disagrees... I suppose, however, if she and I agreed on everything, that would make for a boing relationship. I just ask the squirrels... when the revolution comes, please treat her kindly? Surely I may ask this much, in exchange for having provided a medium through which you can express your message of squirrely domination?) Um... Where was I?
Ah yes. A rather charming woman who seemed to have a predilection for squirrels.
Somehow, this flipped a switch in my head, and I knew this woman had to have a place within the fiction of Boy Scouts ½.
And so she did. She appeared in part 16. And she also made for the most awesome deus ex machina ever in part 21. (Although perhaps "deus ex machina" isn't quite right, since it was at least foreshadowed by Mike's disappearing act in part 20.)
Thus, when I made a feature for the website that was a guide to Camp Moses, I ended up including her cabin. That guide is the one thing from the old website I still really need to restore one of these days. Since it isn't a story and is just a bonus feature, I was comfy declaring the restoration complete without it. But it would be nice to have back one of these days.
People did indeed call the camp and ask about renting this cabin. Not many, but a few. I would like to think they were just dumb people trying to make a bad joke... I was rather clear, I thought, that this guide to Moses was for a fictitious version. (And if they did somehow believe this guide was real, I'd want to know what they thought of the multiple references to Canadian terrorists!)
But now, I suppose, those hopefully joking people have bought their influence to bear back upon the fiction that inspired their poor humor. For now, it seems, Martha's cabin really is available as accommodations.
So, where exactly did this story come from?
Well, fast forward to the far flung future of 2013! Er... that's today. Or rather, a month or two ago. So actually, the near flung past.
Boy Scouts ½ was back! Boy Scouts ½ in Japan, specifically, was doing nicely. In fact, it had its first side story! Much like with the original Boy Scouts ½, the first one was an Anime Deathmatch by yours truly. I should get someone else to write another side story!
But who?
These days, Jason is my most prolific other contributor to Boy Scouts ½. But he is busy with things related to Perspectives.
The only one of the guys I'm still in semi-regular touch with is Hughes, but I've already asked him to write Boy Scouts ½ in Japan, part 6.
I'd love to get Mike Quadrozzi back. In fact, I seem to have tracked down an e-mail address for him! But, while what responses I have gotten from him seem to be positive, getting those responses in the first place seems to be somewhat... er... difficult.
So who...?
I look at the list of "Year One" side stories. The second one is Mike's My Preoccupation with Squirrels. Damn you, Mike. Why aren't you easier to maintain any sort of back and fourth contact with? Assuming you even still write, and that you have the time for it, I'd love to have you back on the team! And it would be a somewhat cool thing to mirror the original side stories by having the second one here be another squirrel related tale.
Hold on, hadn't I recently also re-contacted another person with squirrel related interests?
Indeed! One Ms. Martha Wadley!
I had never had extensive contact with her in the past, but when I came across a squirrel related e-mail address, that was also definitely one belonging to a female, in the depths of my e-mail address book, I had to confirm my suspicions. And indeed, it was still (after all these years) a valid e-mail address, and it was Ms. Wadley's. So she and I had proceeded to exchange a few messages back and fourth.
So here I was, wanting a squirrel related story, and it was extremely likely Mike was unavailable. Yet perhaps there was another possibility.
I wondered... Does Martha write?
As you undoubtedly have already discovered, unless you're some strange person who reads the notes first, yes! Yes she can.
And a nice story it is, too. Delivers almost perfectly on what I wanted.
Wait, you say, almost? What is this? Where did Martha fail to deliver?
Well... No where. This story is everything I could have hoped. But... While she didn't fail to deliver... It may come to pass that she will over deliver!
You see, I was just looking for a side story. A one-off. But in what discussions we had concerning this story, Martha hinted at further ideas. Oh, so may further ideas... So while, for now, this story is being presented on the website as the side story it was intended to be, I have also made sure that it is formatted appropriately (as savvy online readers of this story may notice by the file name at the end of the URL) should it indeed get enough sequels to turn it into yet another full fledged spin-off! This may not come to pass... it really depends on Martha, and if she indeed writes the further tales she has hinted at. But if she's willing, I'm ready!
A few further notes specific to this story.
The original draft of this story hinted (or rather, downright established) a familial connection between Martha and one other Boy Scouts ½ character: Kenneth Pendrell. I was vaguely tickled at the idea, and ever so slightly tempted to let it pass, but alas that would contradict my own plans for Kenny, and so it could not be. But as I read through the final draft, and read about squirrely plans for world domination, and secret labs and fabrication facilities and other wonders of the squirrel world... Well, even if they aren't related, I feel that Kenny and Martha shall have to meet someday. I wonder how that will go? On one hand, Martha is sure no Snarfinkle, and her world domination plans are ones of a decidedly less evil bent. But on the other hand, Kenny's still not big on allowing world domination. Ah, well. Maybe someday we shall find out.
Interesting the implication that the squirrels will be opening an inn in Japan... I do wonder how that will work out!
Anyway, I suppose I shall wrap up there. Thank you, Martha, for this wonderful addition to Boy Scouts ½! And I welcome any further contributions from you in the future!
That out of the way, onto the notes!
So, what brought us here? Well, as Martha mentioned, it all sort of began with Boy Scouts ½, part 16. That was, of course, a long time ago, and so my memory of back then may not be entirely correct... But this is what I believe to have happened.
Either shortly before or while I was writing it, Mike Quadrozzi (the real one, not the character) made mention to me of a woman he had met online. A woman of the name of Martha Wadley. A woman, it seems, who had a keen interest in matters related to squirrels.
Can't say as I blame her. I find the things to be rather cute myself. (Alas, my Rachel disagrees... I suppose, however, if she and I agreed on everything, that would make for a boing relationship. I just ask the squirrels... when the revolution comes, please treat her kindly? Surely I may ask this much, in exchange for having provided a medium through which you can express your message of squirrely domination?) Um... Where was I?
Ah yes. A rather charming woman who seemed to have a predilection for squirrels.
Somehow, this flipped a switch in my head, and I knew this woman had to have a place within the fiction of Boy Scouts ½.
And so she did. She appeared in part 16. And she also made for the most awesome deus ex machina ever in part 21. (Although perhaps "deus ex machina" isn't quite right, since it was at least foreshadowed by Mike's disappearing act in part 20.)
Thus, when I made a feature for the website that was a guide to Camp Moses, I ended up including her cabin. That guide is the one thing from the old website I still really need to restore one of these days. Since it isn't a story and is just a bonus feature, I was comfy declaring the restoration complete without it. But it would be nice to have back one of these days.
People did indeed call the camp and ask about renting this cabin. Not many, but a few. I would like to think they were just dumb people trying to make a bad joke... I was rather clear, I thought, that this guide to Moses was for a fictitious version. (And if they did somehow believe this guide was real, I'd want to know what they thought of the multiple references to Canadian terrorists!)
But now, I suppose, those hopefully joking people have bought their influence to bear back upon the fiction that inspired their poor humor. For now, it seems, Martha's cabin really is available as accommodations.
So, where exactly did this story come from?
Well, fast forward to the far flung future of 2013! Er... that's today. Or rather, a month or two ago. So actually, the near flung past.
Boy Scouts ½ was back! Boy Scouts ½ in Japan, specifically, was doing nicely. In fact, it had its first side story! Much like with the original Boy Scouts ½, the first one was an Anime Deathmatch by yours truly. I should get someone else to write another side story!
But who?
These days, Jason is my most prolific other contributor to Boy Scouts ½. But he is busy with things related to Perspectives.
The only one of the guys I'm still in semi-regular touch with is Hughes, but I've already asked him to write Boy Scouts ½ in Japan, part 6.
I'd love to get Mike Quadrozzi back. In fact, I seem to have tracked down an e-mail address for him! But, while what responses I have gotten from him seem to be positive, getting those responses in the first place seems to be somewhat... er... difficult.
So who...?
I look at the list of "Year One" side stories. The second one is Mike's My Preoccupation with Squirrels. Damn you, Mike. Why aren't you easier to maintain any sort of back and fourth contact with? Assuming you even still write, and that you have the time for it, I'd love to have you back on the team! And it would be a somewhat cool thing to mirror the original side stories by having the second one here be another squirrel related tale.
Hold on, hadn't I recently also re-contacted another person with squirrel related interests?
Indeed! One Ms. Martha Wadley!
I had never had extensive contact with her in the past, but when I came across a squirrel related e-mail address, that was also definitely one belonging to a female, in the depths of my e-mail address book, I had to confirm my suspicions. And indeed, it was still (after all these years) a valid e-mail address, and it was Ms. Wadley's. So she and I had proceeded to exchange a few messages back and fourth.
So here I was, wanting a squirrel related story, and it was extremely likely Mike was unavailable. Yet perhaps there was another possibility.
I wondered... Does Martha write?
As you undoubtedly have already discovered, unless you're some strange person who reads the notes first, yes! Yes she can.
And a nice story it is, too. Delivers almost perfectly on what I wanted.
Wait, you say, almost? What is this? Where did Martha fail to deliver?
Well... No where. This story is everything I could have hoped. But... While she didn't fail to deliver... It may come to pass that she will over deliver!
You see, I was just looking for a side story. A one-off. But in what discussions we had concerning this story, Martha hinted at further ideas. Oh, so may further ideas... So while, for now, this story is being presented on the website as the side story it was intended to be, I have also made sure that it is formatted appropriately (as savvy online readers of this story may notice by the file name at the end of the URL) should it indeed get enough sequels to turn it into yet another full fledged spin-off! This may not come to pass... it really depends on Martha, and if she indeed writes the further tales she has hinted at. But if she's willing, I'm ready!
A few further notes specific to this story.
The original draft of this story hinted (or rather, downright established) a familial connection between Martha and one other Boy Scouts ½ character: Kenneth Pendrell. I was vaguely tickled at the idea, and ever so slightly tempted to let it pass, but alas that would contradict my own plans for Kenny, and so it could not be. But as I read through the final draft, and read about squirrely plans for world domination, and secret labs and fabrication facilities and other wonders of the squirrel world... Well, even if they aren't related, I feel that Kenny and Martha shall have to meet someday. I wonder how that will go? On one hand, Martha is sure no Snarfinkle, and her world domination plans are ones of a decidedly less evil bent. But on the other hand, Kenny's still not big on allowing world domination. Ah, well. Maybe someday we shall find out.
Interesting the implication that the squirrels will be opening an inn in Japan... I do wonder how that will work out!
Anyway, I suppose I shall wrap up there. Thank you, Martha, for this wonderful addition to Boy Scouts ½! And I welcome any further contributions from you in the future!
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