STOP A MURDER - WHERE (Mystery Puzzle Book 2) Page 3
i’d insist you give all the proceeds to charity, but i don’t give a shit about any sort of charitable organizations. here’s the truth; i hope you make a huge amount of money off this. make all you can, and spend it on fun things, and maybe that will take your mind off the nightmares.
you’re not sleeping well, are you joe?
nicky used to have sleeping problems, too. he tried all sorts of folk remedies to get some shut eye. white noise. herbal tea. warm milk. hot baths.
but nothing worked. until i came along.
it’s well-known that repeated blows to the head can induce unconsciousness. ask any boxer. so whenever he had trouble i’d take daddy’s rubber mallet, and i would hit him, hard as i could.
there was bruising.
sometimes there would be bleeding.
but it did the trick.
maybe i can help you get to sleep too, joe…
now let’s get to the puzzle.
puzzle #20
once you figure out what’s odd about the state of this email, take a look at the 47th. after you do, take the original 1823 count of the elf’s rangifer tarandus, multiply by the appropriate atomic number, and there is your answer. oh, and make sure to be shifty when you type the answer. portable devices these days—kindles and tablets and smart phones—lack the same features as a good old computer keyboard.
i know, i know; this one seems pretty complicated. but it really isn’t, if you break it down into parts.
do you need some hints? how about a poem!
spoiler alert!
this email is missing something,
the underlined words are a clue,
get the answer to the 47th,
then cut that city in two,
the first word points to tarandus,
so penned by moore whom i trust
the second word points to a symbol,
on a table that is prone to rust.
what do you think, joe? do i have what it takes to be a writer? does my prose impress you?
now go forth and google the terms you don’t know (probably a lot, for you aren’t very well-read, are you?) wikipedia might help, too. and it’s okay to get a little ansi.
your periodic friend,
Umknown Sender
From: Joe Konrath
To: Unknown Sender
US—
This one really had me stumped, until I realized I was inputting the answer on my cell phone. Once I used a keyboard, it worked.
Shifty, indeed.
Did you ever work for a games magazine? You’re good at this.
I’m not trying to stroke your ego here. Just calling it like I see it.
best,
Joe
From: Unknown Sender
To: JA Konrath
Subject: Where I’ll Do It–21
Josef—
For the moment, I’ll try and forget you’re just brown-nosing to try to prevent me from killing someone, and I’ll graciously take the compliment.
No, I never have worked for a games magazine. But once upon a time, I was one of those office drones. Had the cubicle. Had the inspirational teamwork and potential and success posters hanging up on my three walls. Fake pictures of a fake family on my desk so people thought I was normal.
I’m bringing this up because I did the office newsletter. It was mostly bullshit. Who got promoted. Who had a birthday that month. Whose kid was graduating. Average nauseating everyday nonsense that made me want to claw my eyes out with a salad fork.
I did a good job. As you can tell, my writing skills are above average. Eager employees who thought they were happy would come to my desk with news of a wedding or bar mitzvah or soccer team win and glow like what they said wasn’t the most mundane, pathetic, boring thing to ever happen, but I’d write it up and make it sound exciting.
My favorite part of the newsletter, which is why I’m bringing this up, was the crossword puzzle. Once a month I’d create one, using employees’ names and buzzwords like synergy and hyperlocal and sustainability.
For three years, I put on my skin mask and pretended to be a human being, smiling when people smiled at me, doing the shit work I was told to do, dreaming every night of burning the whole place to the ground with everyone in it.
I got let go when the asshats in management illegally viewed my browsing history. This was before I knew about Tor and the darkweb and VPNs and surfing incognito, so they saw some things that offended their dainty little snowflake sensibilities, and rather than fight it in court I took a severance and never worked in an office again, good riddance.
But I miss the puzzles. That’s the primary reason I’m using puzzles now.
There were many ways I could have baited you. Manipulation through extortion is pretty straight-forward.
For example, I could have kidnapped your son, Talon. Then you’d do whatever I wanted you to do. Right?
But that’s extreme. There are even easier ways to make people do what you want them to.
I could have snuck into your house, taken pictures of you in the bathroom, and threatened to post them online if you didn’t reply to me.
I could have started an Internet hate campaign about you, flooding social media with lies about you, leading shaming mobs to troll and harass you. No need to take a real picture of you shitting when I can Photoshop you marching in a Nazi parade.
I could have been even subtler. Catfishing you until I found the things that got you all revved up, becoming your best online friend, trading texts into the wee hours of the night.
Instead, I lured you in with brain teasers. I made you a possible solution. Thanks to me, you’ve gone from midlist scribbler to white knight, galloping in to save some stranger from death using only the power of your mind and your fierce determination.
You’re welcome.
So let’s get on with it, shall we?
PUZZLE #21
A room without windows,
Ceiling, or floors,
Commonly found
On the ground, outdoors.
You like this one? I was really channeling my inner Tolkien.
Do you see all I’m doing for you, Joe? Rather than getting you to play along by ruining your life, I’m being a nice guy and playing games with you.
But remember; I’m not that nice. At the end of our game, someone is going to die.
Unless you stop me, of course.
You won’t stop me. But it’s fun watching you try.
Need a hint?
SPOILER ALERT!
This room does have walls. Well, a type of walls…
And no, it isn’t a cubicle I’m talking about.
You know, recounting that long buried memory, I really do have an urge to go back to that place and set it on fire.
But you put me in a box, Joe. Burning down an office building would no doubt make national news. I wouldn’t want to give you any clues at all to where I used to work.
You should congratulate yourself. Because of our correspondence, you may have just saved the lives of several hundred people.
Now let’s see if you can save one more…
Doubtfully,
Unknewn Sender
From: Joe Konrath
To: Unknown Sender
US—
I really liked that puzzle. It was clever, and you really do have a gift for verse.
I’d say more, but you’ve pretty much taken away my ability to be honest. If I’m critical, you threaten me. If I’m complimentary, you say I’m brown-nosing.
Tough to be real with someone who neuters you like that.
Joe
From: Unknown Sender
To: JA Konrath
Subject: you lose
Neutered?
You have no fucking idea what it’s like to be neutered, you asshole.
We’re done. You didn’t stop any murders.
You lose.
When I do the deed I’m going to be yelling your name.
From: Joe Konrath
> To: Unknown Sender
US—
I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot there, whatever it was.
Hope you’re not doing anything stupid.
Best,
Joe
From: Joe Konrath
To: Unknown Sender
US—
It’s been five days. You haven’t responded.
Against my better judgment, I’ve been following the news. Haven’t seen any office fires. Or baby abductions. Or any sort of deaths related to puzzles.
Are you still angry? I still don’t even know what I did. I’m telling you that you’re making it hard for me to communicate with you, and then you go dark and make it impossible.
Are we really done?
Are you finished with the game?
Best,
Joe
From: Unknown Sender
To: JA Konrath
Subject: Where I’ll Do It–22
Joe—
We’re not finished.
We’re the opposite of finished.
I just needed to get a few things done.
So sweet of you to check in, emailing me twice to ask after my well-being.
See? We do have a friendship. Of sorts.
Forget about the neutered comment. It’s meaningless.
Rereading my email, I can see you might be getting the wrong idea that I’m overly sensitive to castration.
Daddy and I actually used to talk about this.
He told me he wished he’d been castrated when he was younger. Then he would have never had me.
He also threatened to cut my balls off, so my genes couldn’t be passed on. Even made me fetch the tin snips once.
But trust me, that didn’t make me squeamish about the topic. Daddy also threatened to kill me, dozens of times, and I have no problems discussing murder.
Tell me, honestly, would you be more into our game if it was called Stop A Castration?
Maybe you would.
Picture this. Your doorbell rings. It’s the mailman. You think you’re getting that down comforter you ordered on Amazon, but instead he gives you a small box. You don’t recognize the return address, and why would you? It’s fake. You give the box a shake, and hear a dull thump inside.
You dig your finger into the corner of the box, and touch something warm and moist, and that’s when the smell hits you. Rotten meat.
You’re anxious to get your finger back, and the wet cardboard rips and you drop the box, repulsed, and watch in horror as something unrecognizable yet grotesquely familiar slops out of the open end.
Sounds like one of your dumb books, doesn’t it?
Of course, you know what it was, right?
Junk mail.
Ha!
Talk about getting a package!
I’m telling you, Joe, if you need some help with your never-ending slew of bad puns and gross-out horror, I’m your guy.
But let’s get back to business.
You mentioned you liked my last rhyme? I appreciate that. Poetry takes a long time to write. You have so few words to make the point, so it takes a long time to choose them.
How about another poem puzzle? This one will be easier to solve than the last. I promise.
PUZZLE #22
It weighs almost nothing,
For there isn’t much in it,
But most cannot hold it,
For more than a minute.
I know, it’s an oldie. But a goodie. And the poem part is mine, if not the puzzle itself.
Call it upcycling. Making old things new and fresh.
Wait… you don’t remember this one?
Need a clue?
SPOILER ALERT!
Save it. Don’t waste it.
I have a question for you, Joe.
I know our relationship is based on threats and coercion. I don’t pretend otherwise. You’re just as manipulative. If you met me at some book signing somewhere, you’d pretend to be nice to me for as long as it took to get your signature on your overpriced dead tree, and then you’d forget my name three seconds after you misspelled it on the title page.
But that’s not the question. My question is; I know you’re enjoying the puzzles, but are you also enjoying the discourse?
Since losing the office job, I don’t get to talk to people very much. There’s Daddy, but his responses are limited.
I approached you not actually believing that anything would come of it. One of many who no doubt reach out to you for one thing or another, simply because they’ve read something you’ve written.
But now we’re two dozen emails into this budding relationship, and I’m curious if you’re getting anything out if it.
Do you get a little excited when your inbox chirps at you?
Do you read my words again and again, trying to absorb the deeper meaning?
Do you like me?
Wondering,
Unknown&Sender
From: Joe Konrath
To: Unknown Sender
Dear US—
Good poem, good puzzle.
Do I like you? What do you want me to say?
If I say no, you threaten to burn down a building.
If I say yes, you’ll accuse me of Stockholm Syndrome.
We both know why you keep emailing me. You’re lonely, and have mental problems (by your own admission), and you’ve forced me to be your audience.
No, I don’t wait expectantly for your next email. And when I do see one has arrived, I get sick inside.
I don’t like the puzzles. Once upon a time, I was crazy about brain teasers. But you’ve taken something I enjoyed and perverted it so it’s impossible to ever enjoy again. Like biting into a taco and getting a mouthful of maggots.
Do I like hearing your long, rambling, pointless stories about your past? How do I even know that anything you tell me is the truth? You give me no proof, no evidence, and you yourself admit to “embellishing” your tales.
As far as I know, you’re just some lonely old man, who had a boring, average life, and never killed anything larger than a fly, who finally discovered this Internet thing and decided to bug a semi-famous writer in between bingeing on splosh porn.
Here’s how I want this to end. I don’t want to stop a murder. I want you to choke to death on a tuna sandwich and never bother me, or the rest of the world, ever again.
Since you asked.
Joe
From: Unknown Sender
To: JA Konrath
Subject: Where I’ll Do It–23
Joe—
What was that last reply? Tough love?
If you were aiming to hurt me, you didn’t.
You don’t know what it’s like to be hurt.
Your little diatribe reeked of trying too hard.
Splosh porn? Really? Am I supposed to be outraged by that?
Please.
Actually, your rant reminded me a lot of how Nicky and I used to bust each other’s balls.
Among men, abuse = affection. So I take your insults in the spirit of which they were intended. You do like me.
But let’s sideline the bromance and move on to the puzzle.
PUZZLE #23
What five-letter word does every graduate of MIT, Yale and Harvard pronounce wrong?
There is a seven-letter word in the English language that has the following properties: the first two letters relate to a male, the first three to a female, the first four to a male, and the entire word to a female. What is this enigmatic word?
This six-letter disease begins and ends in a vowel, and has four consonants in between.
In the US you can drink this the day you turn 21, because then you’re barley legal.
What is the only number that, when written out, its letters are in alphabetical order.
Now take the first letter for 1, the last letter for 2, the first letter for 3, the last letter for 4, and the last letter for 5, and tell me what that spells, and how you probably feel right now.
Too hard? Too co
mplicated? Too many steps?
Do you think I’m punishing you for being a dick in your last email?
Maybe I am. But in the name of fair play, I’ll provide some hints.
SPOILER ALERT!
The answer is in the question.
Wonder Woman is my favorite.
Feeling a little wheezy?
That’s not a typo. It’s a pun.
The number is under a hundred.
That should be enough.
If not, well… I never really did have much faith in you. If you fizzle out, you’ll just be fulfilling expectations.
I’ll be sure to tell my victim that you’re the reason for their painful death.
But before that happens, there’s something else I need to get off my chest.
We’re coming toward the end of WHERE questions, Joe. And I promised to tell you what happened to Nicky.
So here it goes…
Nicky and I were the best of friends, all through high school. He was there for me, whenever Daddy got mean. Which was all the time. We played games together and talked about everything and Nicky even protected me from bullies.
There was this kid our senior year named Scott. Football player type, brain about as large as the steroid zits on his back, the kind of guy who actually thought it was funny to stuff people in lockers.
Scott got really mad at me one day, because I wouldn’t let him cheat off me in algebra class, and he told me that he was going to beat the shit out of me after school. I told Nicky about it, and he attacked Scott in the cafeteria. Gouged out one of his eyes with a plastic fork.
Nicky went to jail for me. Two years hard time. He was sentenced to five, but got iced on the inside just before he was up for parole.
He died. For me.
Who do you have that would die for you, Joe?
Do you have friends like that?
I don’t think so. I think you’re a pathetic, friendless, lonely man who gets his rocks off being a medium sized fish in the ultra-small self-publishing pond, and if you didn’t have your stupid blog or your Twitter feed you’d fall apart.