Hello halfwits!! On Wednesday evening I received a visit from an overwrought Dr Anthony Gland who was accompanied by two policemen. Before I had time to invite them in, the policemen stormed through the hall to my bedroom where the weeping Pole was bound and gagged, awaiting a skinning. As they did so, Dr Anthony Gland talked slowly and gently to me and reassured me that everything was okay now. He explained in measured tones, as though talking to a child or a simpleton, that he had read of my recent actions on my blog and was deeply concerned about my welfare and the welfare of the unnamed Pole.
"Tell him you made it up," my dead mother hissed. Evidently she communicated telepathically for Gland heard none of it.
"My dear man," I said, "Forgive me for the confusion caused, but I simply made all that business up. It is mere fiction. Dark subject matter of course, and certainly not to everyone's tastes, but fictional nonetheless. You did not seriously believe that I had abducted a Pole and meant to skin him? Why, it's palpably absurd!"
At this point, the policemen reappeared and urged Gland to accompany them to the room where the bruised and bloody Pole lay quivering on the floor. Well, I was certain then that the game was up and my indiscretion would be uncovered - there was no denying I had a bound Pole in my room. I followed them and was alarmed to see that in place of the weeping Pole, there was a collection of pillows tightly restrained by a length of stout rope.
"Tell him you made it up," my dead mother hissed. Evidently she communicated telepathically for Gland heard none of it.
"My dear man," I said, "Forgive me for the confusion caused, but I simply made all that business up. It is mere fiction. Dark subject matter of course, and certainly not to everyone's tastes, but fictional nonetheless. You did not seriously believe that I had abducted a Pole and meant to skin him? Why, it's palpably absurd!"
At this point, the policemen reappeared and urged Gland to accompany them to the room where the bruised and bloody Pole lay quivering on the floor. Well, I was certain then that the game was up and my indiscretion would be uncovered - there was no denying I had a bound Pole in my room. I followed them and was alarmed to see that in place of the weeping Pole, there was a collection of pillows tightly restrained by a length of stout rope.
"I have bewitched them Horton," my mother whispered, "They believe that the man is a mere pillow effigy crudely decked out to look like a Pole. Go with it Horton and all will be well."
"Is this the Polish man you wrote about on your weblog Horton?" asked Gland, indicating the pillows.
"Of course!" I said, "You see? The whole thing was a mere fabrication! This collection of pillows is no more a Pole than you are a jar of tartare sauce. Now that this is settled, would you care for some Um Bongo?"
The policemen, peeved at having their time wasted, gave the house a cursory once over then left. Gland spent some time talking quietly to me about any worries I might have and any strange ideas I might be having. He told me to phone him if ever I felt angry or glum, to which I agreed.
As soon as he left, the sound of weeping could once again be heard. Checking my bedroom, the pillow effigy had returned to its true state as a trussed up Pole. He knew he had been naughty, that Pole, and sensed that his punishment would be swift and sharp.
The Pole in his form as a pillow effigy
