Back in my House

Well dear readers, my story of the Cube is almost at an end. I hope I proved an adequate narrator and I did not bore or confuse the more restless or feeble-minded among you. When I awoke in a ditch around the back of Dundee Airport, I found myself bruised and raw in odd areas, though none of my important bones appeared broken. Dazed and cold, I made my way haphazardly home, stopping first at Tesco Riverside to buy some milk and a newspaper and some fortified wine.

I discovered that my name, Horton Carew, was mentioned in the Dundee Courier under the heading "Local Man Causes Rumpus in Wildlife Park", along with a story painting this other Horton Carew as some delusional lunatic who had accosted a bespectacled schoolboy and snuck into Camperdown Park to carve off the paw of a spider monkey. The boy, who apparently escaped safely, reported that the man had repeatedly assaulted him with a Rubik's Cube throughout the whole sordid affair. The police were keen to catch up with this man who shares my name as they believed him to be out of his wits. Dear God, I hope no one read that article and assumed it referred to me! I hope the authorities promptly catch this man who shares my name and subdue him. I would hate for any of my old school friends to read that and mistakenly think it was I who had done those things. For then I would never be invited to any school reunions.

When I returned home, I committed that newspaper to the flames and had a cup of tea. I noticed there were a great many ants all over the floor - goodness knows where they came from - so I poured some boiling water from the kettle onto them and they quickly expired.

I had a vague notion that I should throw the 5 by 5 by 5 Cube into a volcano, but I settled for placing it in the attic behind Mr Pop, an old board game I have long treasured. I hope Bossert's Cube will never fall into the hands of easily corruptible puzzlers.