parody of sherlock holmes I made

Sammy Hoodlum, Volume 3

Written By Marnina Richards

Lark Publishing Company

1- Murder 2—Betrayal 3—Friendship 4—Comedy 5—Mystery

*All rights reserved

Shortly after my marriage I had called upon my friend, Hoodlum, late one chilly and

melancholy November evening, and I was surprised by the vigor he greeted me with, on

which was executed by snatching my hat from my head and throwing it onto the rack.

Upon the table I saw quite a bit of tobacco, and his pipe was in use. To those who knew

him as I, would know that those powers of deduction which he used to amaze people

were not being put to waste upon the drab loneliness of the existence.

“I presume, my dear Hoodlum, that you are working on a case?” I asked.

“Indeed, Whatsup, and a pretty little problem it is too. Have a look at this!” said he, airily

and handed me a child’s drawing, quite grotesque in appearance.

“Surely this is just a child’s drawing! A bit strange, I must admit, but I also must ask how

on earth this has anything to do with the criminal world in London.”

“Ah, you should remember the other cases we have solved, upon which you have been

so kind to take up your pen to write an account of, where seemingly grotesque lead up

to something far more dangerous and I need all the help I can find, if you’ll be of

assistance.” He waved a long thin finger towards a note that rested on the table.

“Read it my dear Whatsup, and tell me you are not quite confused without telling a

falsehood.” I took the paper from the wooden table which held it. It read:

Dear Mr. Hoodlum,

I would much appreciate if you would accept a trying problem which presented itself to

me by force earlier this afternoon, November 14 th , when I had gone to the office as I am

an accountant and I work quite a bit. A picture had been laid upon my desk, and I

assumed it was just a jest of appalling taste, and when I brought up the issue to my

servants, they denied passionately having anything to do with it. I brought the picture

home, and upon bringing it home, my little terrier died. I felt as though I had been

poisoned, as I coughed uncontrollably all night. I am most confused. I beseech you to

assist me.

Sincerely,

Mr. Nigel Ratskin

“What a strange incident!” I ejaculated, quite in a state of confusion at this seemingly

fantastic string of events.

“Indeed Whatsup, most strange!” said Hoodlum, a twinkle of a smile in his eyes,

“But there is something quite unique about the letter, is there not?” he continued, eyeing

me as though he expected something to suddenly become clear to me.

“I am afraid that I do not see anything quite extraordinary about it, save the story it

holds, and the name of the sender.” I responded. Hoodlum chuckled, “Ah, my dear

Whatsup, you do yourself an injustice. You have summed up the major points nicely, all

you need now is to apply my methods, and realize the fact that this story is not true.”

“How on earth did you know that?” I asked, ineffably startled.

“I apologize Whatsup, but I have the advantage of knowing every part of your writing,

and when I see a circle instead of an A, and your Bradley, Oxford street cigarette stubs,

that you no doubt unintentionally left in the envelope, I know that my friend Whatsup

wrote it.”

I began to cry, so bitterly disappointed was I at my failed attempt at murder.

“My dear Whatsup, please accept by sincerest apologies! I did not intentionally hurt your

feelings!” he pleaded, and at that moment I decided that I would kill him anyway. I pulled

out my stick and struck him savagely on the head. He fell down, writhing in agony.

“Please Whatsup, noooo!” he shrieked. I laughed and shouted “You always had a

disparaging sentiment to tell me, always hurting me bitterly. I say Hoodlum, my patience

has been driven to its end!” I smacked him again upon the head, and he was gone. I

laughed as I buried the body in my backyard, where my wife had dug a hole while I was

gone. Now I am in prison for the murder of Sammy Hoodlum, and my wife is an

accessory. It seems I unfortunately left my hat upon the rack, and my stick upon the

floor, and it was unretrievably traced to me where I was tried and found guilty. Those are

the facts which I am forced to give to the public, from accusations from the brother of

Sammy Hoodlum.

The End

He was crying, tears flowing from his red slits and snot running from his stuffed nose.

How did he happen to be in such a situation? He was fired, in twenty-four stupid words

he was reduced to utter helplessness and lost his income, which was already small.

Now he was crying in his hotel room. He forced himself from his bed where he was

stretched out, took one step to the right of it, and was at his window. A mostly empty

grey parking lot was stretched out in front of him. Most people in his hotel didn’t have

cars. Most of them had their jobs. He sighed. He turned to the left and took another five

steps. He opened a door. He was now in his bathroom. He looked into the mirror. He

saw himself. A medium width face, slicked back straight black hair that came down to

his chin, and a big stupid nose. It probably looked big because it was stuffed with snot, it

was usually normal sized. He frowned. Creases formed across his forehead. He

grabbed a paper towel and blew his nose. He then folded the paper towel again and

wiped his brown eyes. Thank goodness, he thought. I look good again. He smirked at

the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. Wow I look so good, he thought. I don’t

even need a job, I’m so cool people should just give me money; all I need to do is ask!

So that is what he decided to do. He put his cool shoes on and opened his hotel room

door. He closed and locked it, and then he went into the elevator. He was so tall his

head bonked the top. That is what he thought anyway. The soles of his shoes were

about six inches tall. His actual height was six foot one. He listened to the elevator

music for fourteen floors. Then the doors opened and he walked out of the elevator. The

receptionist snickered at his shoes but he didn’t notice. “What up?” He said in his cool

voice. The receptionist didn’t find it cool, but she liked to humor his foolishness. “Good

afternoon Mr. Kingston” she said good naturedly. She was thinking of what she would

tell her friends next, and was absent-mindedly looking at his hair, but he thought she

was admiring it. “Like this sick cut?” he asked. He broke into her daydream of her

laughing at him with her friends. “What! No! I hate blood!” Ray Kingston (that was his full

name) got confused. So he left. He walked on the sidewalk hoping to see rich people.

He didn’t see any, but he kept walking anyway. He finally saw a red-haired woman on

the other side of the street with a fur and expensive looking clothes. Here’s wealth if I

ever saw it! He thought. He ran across the road without looking both ways, and SPLAT.

Oh my. He was flattened by a bus. Nobody in the bus noticed though because the bus

was so large and the windows were high. Ray was six foot seven with his shoes but he

didn’t notice that the receptionist stole them, right off his feet. All the children on the bus

bumped up and down from the lump that Ray had been reduced to, but they all thought

that it was just a speedbump, which they had all learned about in school. Ray Kingston

was a victim of circumstance. He died at the age of twenty-three, and nobody noticed

he was gone until four days later.

Too bad, because, truth be told, he wasn’t very ugly after all.

THE END OF SAD LITTLE MANN BOOK 1

SAD MANN BOOK 2

Bob Reaver was sitting in his advanced calculus classroom. He adjusted his thick-

lensed glasses and smiled a bucktooth smile. This is the life, he thought happily. Kate

Smith looked at him in distaste and whispered something to the pink haired girl sitting

beside her. This is what she said: “Look at that idiot. You’d think that this is his home,

the dork.

“If you wanna better grade you should bribe him into doing your work for you, he’s so

stupid he’d probably do it for a few dollars.”

The pink haired girl (Whose name was Amy) replied “I thought he was smart or

something.”

“Yeah, well only for math. For everything else he’s an idiot. And if bribing him doesn’t

work just threaten him with your dog. I thought you said he is a pit bull or something.

And-“

The monstrous calculus teacher became aware of their whispering and broke in. “Quiet!

I have already pointed out that whispering is not allowed during class! What am I

supposed to do with you disobedient students? Do I have to send you to the office for

you to behave?”

Bob grinned. He didn’t know what they were saying but he was not stupid. He knew the

glances in his direction were not friendly or admiring (Unlike our last victim) and he

didn’t like Amy and Kate talking bad about him. They were quite grotesque in his

opinion. He looked at his notebook. It was filled with notes. The teacher continued to

talk. So he wrote notes on his hand. He was unaware of the fact that four of his

classmates were staring at him and chuckling (“tee-hee look at that idiot”). He was quite

an innocent fellow wasn’t he? The bell rang, drowning out the ugly teacher’s voice. He

didn’t jump from his seat like the others. He took his time. He closed his books and put

them in his backpack. He scooped his pencils into his desk drawer. He brushed off his

green, white, and blue flannel shirt and arose from his seat, and ooopss his shoelaces

weren’t tied and CRASH. He got up and brushed off his flannel shirt again. The teacher

shook her head disappointedly. Lunchtime. He went into one of the scariest places, the

hallway. As he walked a mysterious leg appeared and tripped him. His backpack burst

open and his stuff fell out. Ugh now he had to pick his stuff up. How annoying, he could

never get anywhere without some stupid idiot tripping him! He went into the cafeteria

and almost slammed into Amy’s annoying face. Her blue eyes squinted at him in

disgust. She wrinkled her nose and began to talk, “Do my homework for me and I’ll give

you one juicy dollar bill. Don’t do it and I’ll hire a hitman to get you.”

“Why don’t you inquire to the hitman to do your homework instead? What in the actual

heck am I going to do with money of low quantity?”

“Do you want me to sic my dog on you? Max. The dog who attacked you last Monday.”

“N-no, NO! Yes I’ll do it! Thanks!”

And that is how Bob saved himself. He was ugly, much uglier than Ray,(and the dog

bites from Monday made him look even stupider)but not as ugly as a lump that has

been run over.

End of Sadd Little Mann 2

Sadd Little Mann 3

Mark was busy running on his treadmill when his phone alarm went off. Time for dinner.

He got off and checked his run stats that the treadmill stored. He had been running for

thirty minutes straight at an average of twenty-one mph. He walked out of the gym in his

house and entered the kitchen. He looked into his refrigerator and pulled out his dinner:

A large vegan salad. He also pulled out some carrot antibiotic juice. What a delicious

dinner. His phone began to ring: the ringtone was a man shouting at people telling them

to work harder. He pulled his phone out of his black sweatpants. He looked at the

number of the caller. It was Jessica. Oh no. He wanted to decline but he knew he

couldn’t. He accepted it, and raised the phone weakly to his ear. And the flood came

gushing out “HOW ARE YOU MARRKKK! HOW HAVE YOU BEEN?” Her crackly lispy

voice came through louder than a blue whales’ call. He unintentionally dropped the

phone. He heard her voice coming from the floor, muffled, but still very, very loud. Like

she was screaming. He picked up the phone. “WHAT WAS THAT BUMP!? MARK ARE

YOU HURT? MARK ! MARK ! COME BACK PLEASE!” he hung up. He assumed he’d

get fired now. Jessica was his boss’s daughter. Only if he was lucky would she keep her

screaming mouth shut. Maybe she would think he got cut out by bad service and the

like. After all, she loves me. He thought disgustedly. He began to munch on his salad.

He worked at a gym that gave fitness classes to middle-aged fat men. It was a terrible

job to have to save pieces of blubber from thirty pound weights on their third rep all the

time, the slobbering dogs. Sometimes he almost let them get strangled by the light stick

which he could lift easily with one hand, but he knew that they couldn’t help the fact that

they were lazy gross blobs, which is what he thought about first when he thought about

his job. Yuck. And Jessica, The daughter of the King Blob. Fat, but stronger than he

looked. He hoped King Blob wouldn’t try to squish him for hanging up on Princess Blob,

who is nearly as fat as her father. Mark got so disgusted that he ran all the way to his

‘little’ friend Mary. She gave him a hug and then he felt better. Mary was his pet bear,

and she put him out of his misery. I wonder how.

I hope not in the way I’m thinking. I was fond of Mark.

End of Sadd little Mann 3

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