Murder At The Estate Sale

A demonic phone tale

    It was a rainy, gloomy day, and Clara Delaney hurried up to the house where an estate sale had been advertised. She only wanted to get home where it was dry, but she'd seen the street sign pointing to this estate sale, and if there was one word in the English language Clara couldn't resist, well, besides 'spank', it was 'sale'. Didn't matter she needed nothing, it was a sale! The house she was hurrying towards was an unpretentious rambler, so Clara wasn't too hopeful of finding anything of value. She hated to be snobbish, but it was how she felt. As she entered the house, she was soaking wet, and felt bad she was tracking water in, but then she looked around at the furnishings, and shrugged, her worries forgotten, as it was all junk.

     She was just going to leave, as there was nothing here she was remotely interested in buying. WHAT a load of crap! As she was leaving, she passed the lady serving as the cashier, 

     "Find anything you'd like to purchase?"

     "Not today."

     "Oh, sorry to hear that, and you browsed both rooms?"

     "Both?"

     "Yes, there's two rooms full of stuff."

     "Oh, no, I guess I missed the other room."

     "Oh, just go to the back and look for the sign pointing the way."

     Truth be told, she'd been so disgusted at the quality; she half expected to find an old cable spool as a dining room table!

    "Thank you," she mumbled, and went towards the back wall. It was probably more s**t, but she hated to leave without seeing ALL the s**t!

     She arrived at the back wall, and sure enough, there was a sign with an arrow pointing to 'More Sale Stuff'. She followed along the wall, and found an almost-hidden room. Unlike the main room, this one was deserted, she was the only person in here. She looked around doubtfully, as this stuff seemed to match the crap in the main room. She started browsing, anyway, and perused tables full of absolute crap. She was just about to turn to leave, when she spied an old rotary phone on the table, with a $2.99' note on it. It just so happened that she was in the market for a new phone for one of the spare bedrooms, and at $2.99, she was interested. She picked up the receiver, absentmindedly, and thought, 'For $2.99, what the Hell!" Suddenly, the phone chord wrapped itself around her neck, tight, so tight than all efforts to breath in were utterly impossible. If she was shocked to be attacked by a phone chord, she was much too busy doing The Elusive Neon Donkey Dance around the room, in an ultimately-fruitless attempt to get oxygen into her gasping lungs; "Arg!" was the only sound she could make. She was knocking things off the tables as she flailed wildly, hopelessly, back and forth. Her last vision before losing consciousness, was at the vacant room, and then she collapsed to the carpet, where she lay without moving, eventually.

     Detective Harry Plimpton could find no clues, none, as to who may have perpetrated the murder most foul-; no one reported seeing anyone besides the victim enter the room, and obviously, the victim never would leave the room again!

Harley Waverson laughed into the receiver--actually, he WAS the receiver!