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This is NOT a contest. Part Two: The Mr Dupin Files

Okay, guys and gals, this is a story about what I see as Mr. Dupin's alter ego. I know you've all read Poe's The Murders in the Rue Morgue, so follow my lead. Have fun but try to keep it classy like our good friend Dupin. i.e. no Slender Man references. Here goes: 

My Greek Vacation

When I was twenty three I decided to go backpacking across Greece. I loved the culture, the great minds like Aristotle and Plato, the incredible story tellers like Homer and Sophocles. I wanted to wander out into the countryside and taste the different olives and goat cheeses. I wanted to sail out into the Mediterranean Sea and hop across the islands. The wild nightlife of Mykonos the cerulean beauty of Santorini with its impossibly white architecture set against the endless blue of the sky and sea. But, things didn’t turn out that well for me. For I ended up in jail after my first night there.

How did it happen? I still wonder, trying to piece the puzzle together. While still in the airport in Athens I met these wild German brothers. Hans and Fritz. What a pair. Hans was tall and skinny, an intellectual with horn-rimmed glasses; Fritz was short and heavyset, obsessed with American hip-hop and dressed in a sweat suit with gold chains. They wanted to hit the discos. I was game. Well, somehow we ended up getting a huge bag of terrible cocaine. We were downing ouzo and doing huge lines of this godawful stuff and somewhere along the line there were a bunch of hookers. Someone slipped me a handful of valiums and the next thing I knew we were in a taxi and headed out to this sleazy hotel. I basically blacked out. I remember the room spinning, the cheap curtains and beat-up end table with lines of coke spread out on a mirror. My last thought was this cheap whore is going to steal your passport and all your travelers checks and you’re too fucked up to do anything about it. Then sleep. Deep sleep. The sleep of a handful of valiums.

But, oddly enough I dreamed. I dreamed of an ape. A big foot orangutan looking thing laughing at me. Laughing and laughing and laughing. Pointing at me. And I laughed back. It was somehow funny, yet so very, very frightening at the same time.

I awoke to the maid knocking on the door. “Kyrie? Kyrie?” she shouted. When I opened my eyes I found myself covered in blood. The hooker lay sprawled across the bed torn to pieces. It was as if an animal had attacked her. She was literally ripped in half with her viscera spread out gleaming on the white sheets, red, red, blood just covering everything. And her head was turned towards me, her mouth gaping open, her eyes wide and lifeless.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and leapt up, howling. I ran to the door, pushed it open, knocking the maid down, who now began to scream as well, and ran down the hall, naked and covered in blood, howling my head off. The police finally found me and tackled me, ten blocks away, just running and screaming. Weeping, hysterical.

Then jail. Both my parents had died in a car accident when I was twenty. So I really had no one to go to, just an Aunt who was on vacation in the Bahamas. But then a funny thing happened. I was visited by a very suave and well-dressed young lawyer in a top hat. I had read about him in the paper. He had just published a novel about an infant murdered by his brother that had garnered much critical acclaim. He was also engaged to Greece’s most infamous and beautiful super model. She was a raven haired beauty known for her jealous rages and wild temper. Rumors abounded that she had stabbed her ex-fiance to death after he cheated on her, but no charges had ever been filed

He stepped forward up to me, smiled a devilish grin, took off his top hat and said, “I think I can help you with your case. My name is Mr. Dupin.”

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