Sleeping dogs peggy
The arm was insistent more than friendly, and shut as the door shut behind him, Scott realized his mistake. In that minute he was warmly welcomed in with an arm around his shoulder. It took a minute, too long for him put the face with its proper context. The door flew open at his knock and standing in the brightly lit hall was someone he recognized. The front light had intermittent commitment to its duties. He’d put the address in his phone and left the paper invite on his desk at work.įriday at ten found him standing on the stoop of an old brownstone that didn’t seem like it was gearing up for a dinner party at all. If he disappeared they’d know where to look. Since he’d shown his coworkers the invitation he figured he at least had a certain level of protection. He would remonstrate himself for this later. If it was a high production value prank the office was keeping it way under their hats. He showed it around the office and to his boss who just told him to get back to work. He’d disarmed her (thank you marine corps), tossed her knife in a dumpster, and she’d run off crying.īut this whole formal invite thing was so new, such a different tactic than anything he’d ever seen. He did have one clearly disturbed young woman try to kidnap him at knife point in the name of avenging the witch community he had defamed in a recent issue. Who had dinner at ten p.m.? And why on earth did it have to be dinner? Most folks looking to talk to him about his pieces were supernatural enthusiasts looking for corroboration of their own beliefs and experiences or they were just a bit looney. Scott was intrigued despite the vaguely threatening language. We cordially invite you to a special themed dinner in your honor this Friday evening at ten o’clock. Instead he found the silver lettering continued as follows: Mister Walker, we very much enjoyed your piece on the werewolves stalking the Chicago nightlife scene printed in September’s issue. He opened the envelope with good humor and expected to see some absurd scavenger hunt style instructions or perhaps someone on the birthday party committee had just gone overboard. So when scott Walker of Mind-blown Magazine found the lovely marron envelope in his company inbox, with silver calligraphy addressing it directly to him, he thought he was being pranked. When you work for the kinds of magazines that look into the bizarre and unexplained letters from anonymous sources claiming something fantansitcal are a daily occurrence.