S-BNG-007
St. Valentine's Ledger
Patron: John Doe
Date: Aug 3rd, 1923 – White County
Location: Enfield, Illinois
Proprietor: Glass-Eyes
Sorry, sweetheart, I'm actually out and about. I'm afraid locking the doors won't do too good now, will it?
I took the early train down to Centralia and over to Carmi. Already in ██████████'s neck of the woods. I can feel the prints in the soil, fresh, long, clawed, and wrong all around. █████████████. He's been here alright. Recently too. And if he's here trouble is sure to follow, and trouble don't care much for locked doors, do it? Now don't worry about Agatha none either, she's here with me. Wouldn't do much good if I didn't have my eyes with me. While we wait for the furball, let me see if I can put together what you think you already did.
The ██████'s Song
She sings in a shaft where the sun don’t shine
Oh sweet ██████, won’t you be mine?
Feathers like ████ and soft as a sigh—
A whisper of ████████ where coal dust lies.
Oh little ██████, ██████ darling, don’t sing so low,
Your tune is too bright for the dark down below.
Your melody’s sweet, like a rising heat—
Burning my soul, burning my soul.
█████ and ███████, sweet █████████ wine,
Mellow as a ████████, sharp as the brine.
█████ and halos, the ████ on a ████—
A glow in the gloom, just from hearing you sing.
She sang in a shaft where the sun didn’t shine,
Oh sweet ██████, you sang so fine.
Feathers like ████ and soft as a sigh—
A whisper of ████████ where the coal dust lies.
A song about a dying ██████. A glimmer of ████ in a suffocating ████████.
You son of a bitch.
I suppose it's my fault, isn't it? Can't not wink if that's all you ever do.
…Son of a bitch.
Alright. So, that's what we're dealing with then, is it? Well, we already went all this way, might as well check in with ██████████. I'm not letting you sort this case out on your own, either. It happened in my establishment and I want to know why.
Unsmudge the Ledger
"Mrs. Cheveley's preferred periodical."
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