Howdy!

Frenchie here. This is just a little (hopefully) comedic short story I wrote. Yes, the title is intentionally cheesy. It was inspired by an episode of FullMetal Alchemist, can't remember which one. DX I love the Colonel and Sergeant Marquess, but my favorite character is Lieutenant Danvers. Even though she is a minor character who only has like, three lines, but I love her personality. One of my regrets is that I didn't get a chance to develop her character more. :'( Her dog is named after my Jack Russel, Benji, who passed away last weekend.

R.I.P. Benji. May his name live on in infamy.

The Mystery of Stockhouse 13

The military headquarters of Eastern Command was a no-nonsense, ‘do as you’re told’ kind of place. Stern, stony faced generals with cold stares marched haughtily about, trying their absolute best to look important. Rookies and lower-ranking officers were often chewed out for trivial faults, almost daily. There was nothing about the ‘take no bullcrap’ aura to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening. For what out-of-the-ordinary things could possibly happen at Eastern Commend? Nothing, that’s right. At least, that what Colonel Darrel Jones thought.

“Colonel!”

The door to Colonel Jones’ office almost swung off its hinges, a resounding ‘crash’ ringing in the ears of everyone who happened to be within a ten foot radius. In the doorway, doubled over and gasping for breath, was a disheveled Sergeant Kevin Marquess. Sergeant Marquess was small for a soldier, and even smaller for an officer. He had tousled, dull brown hair, and gazed at the world through square-shaped spectacles. He looked more like a kid in a science fair than a military officer. His somewhat high-pitched voice earned him the occasional unkind remark, but he was a telecommunications expert, and none could rival his extensive knowledge in communication technology. “C-colonel…” Sergeant Marquess rasped again, clutching a stitch in his chest. “Colonel, the- the stockhouse…”

Colonel Jones looked up from his desk. He looked as much the part of officer as Marquess. The Colonel was an attractive man; often regarded as the heartthrob of the military. What with his chiseled good looks, wavy blonde locks and lovely sea-blue eyes, he looked more like a surfer than a military man.

He and his subordinates looked up at the muddled man in the door way. It was 9:30 pm, and they were all getting ready to head home for the night. Lieutenant Maria Danvers, a black-haired officer with a no-nonsense persona looked up from her briefcase and the two Captains in the corner, Captain Stone and Captain Broderick turned around in surprise.

Colonel Jones narrowed his eyes. “I thought you went home early today, Sergeant?”

“I-I did!” Sergeant Marquess stammered. “B-but, but...”

“What happened?”

Sergeant Marquess’ lip quivered, before he cried, “It’s the stockhouse! The Phantom Thirteenth Stockhouse! I saw it; it rose right out of the ground! It’s haunted, just like all the rumors say! It’s true, I tell you!”

The room was silent; the only noise penetrating the room was the ticking of the clock perched on the wall.

“What are you talking about, Sergeant?” Lieutenant Danvers broke the silence. “As far as I know, there are only twelve stockhouses on military base,” She frowned slightly.

Sergeant Marquess opened his mouth to respond, but Captain Broderick cut him off.

“Oh, yes! Do you now know the legend of Stockhouse Thirteen, Lieutenant?” He exchanged glances with Captain Stone, who grinned cheekily. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away-”

Captain Stone whapped Broderick over the head and exclaimed, “That’s not how it goes! Let me tell it, stupid! I know the whole story…” Captain Stone sat on Colonel Jones’ desk, making himself seem more prominent. He cleared his throat.

“Many years ago, before any of us were born, Eastern Command decided to have stockhouses built on base, for storage. Although there was enough space for thirteen stockhouses, they decided only to build twelve, since thirteen is an unlucky number. They decided that the empty lot where stockhouse thirteen would have gone would be used for executing prisoners sentenced to the death penalty. So, for the next several years, hundreds of prisoners were executed on that spot, so much so that they say that the soil ran with blood,”

Captain Stone paused, eyes flickering from Sergeant Marquess’ terrified expression to Lieutenant Danvers’ unimpressed one. He continued.

“So, the military stopped performing executions there, but the terror was far from over. They say that at night, at the empty lot, the phantom stockhouse rises from the blood-soaked soil, the cries of the deceased filling the air as the climb up to the surface to take revenge on the soldiers that killed them.”

An eerie silence settled on the room as Captain Stone dramatically finished his tale.

Colonel Jones scoffed. “I don’t buy it,” He derided, casually running his fingers through his hair.

Sergeant Marquess and Captain Stone looked at the Colonel uneasily. “B-but Colonel, sir-” Marquess stammered. “I-I know what I saw…”

Colonel Jones fixed his subordinates with an icy stare. “I can’t believe it. Grown officers afraid of a children’s tale? That story was just invented to scare the rookies! There’s no thirteenth stockhouse, and there’s certainly no such thing as ghosts!”

“Prove it!” Marquess exclaimed, seeming a bit timid to contradict his superior. “How do you know? You weren’t even there!”

“What you saw, Sergeant,” Colonel Jones snapped, “Was nothing more than figments of your own overactive imagination!”

The Colonel’s words echoed off the walls, emphasizing his point. The subordinates stood, somewhat afraid of their superior’s wrath. Even Danvers seemed to shudder slightly.

“Well…” Said Broderick slyly, breaking the awkward silence. “If you’re so sure, Colonel…” He smirked, “Why don’t you go out there and find out for yourself? I would sure feel better about it if you checked it out yourself…”

The Colonel blanched. “Wha-?”

“Yes!” Stine interjected. “We should all go and check it out, just to be safe! Colonel will lead the expedition, for naught a braver warrior ever graced these lands-”

“Shut up,” The Colonel snarled, scowling heavily. “What is this, a slumber party? You’re more superstitious than an old woman! If you think I’ll going to go on some ghost hunting expedition with you hooligans-”

Marquess bolted across the room with superhuman speed and fell to his knees at the Colonel’s feet. He out on his best puppy-dog eyes and whined, “Please, Colonel!” He seized fistfuls of the Colonel’s uniform. “I won’t be able to walk home for the rest of my natural life! I’ll have to sleep under my desk, and as long as I live I’ll have reoccurring nightmares about the decaying corpses slowly crawling up through the bloody soil…slash…slash!”

The Colonel’s eye twitched. “Get off me,” he snapped, kicking Marquess to the floor and straightening his uniform. The glanced at Lieutenant Danvers, who had not shown any interest in the ‘phantom stockhouse’ shenanigans.

“What do you think, Lieutenant?” The Colonel said in a desperate attempt to save his reputation.

Danvers furrowed her brow slightly. “As fascinating as your ghost hunting journey sounds,” She said in a monotone, emotionless voice, “I have to go home and feed Benji,” She held up a photograph of her Jack Russell Terrier; her pet.

Captain Stone threw his arm around Broderick, Marquess, and the Colonel. “Well!” He exclaimed in an extraordinarily casual manner, “It’s just us four, eh? This is bound to be exciting!” He thumped the Colonel on the back, knocking the wind out of him.

“I’m ready when you are, Colonel!”

Colonel Jones was a practical man. As far as he was concerned, if something couldn’t be scientifically explained, it just wasn’t true. It was as simple as that. He didn’t believe in anything as abstract or unscientific as fortune telling or ghosts. And he absolutely, most certainly didn’t believe in a Phantom Thirteenth Stockhouse. “My subordinates must be drugged up,” He thought. “Yes, this is quite unusual behavior for them, drugs is the only explanation…”

And thus, trying convince himself that his subordinates were drug addicts, he continued his search for the Phantom Thirteenth Stockhouse.

The Colonel led the group, carrying a flashlight. His subordinates followed a few feet behind, speculating amongst themselves the possible outcomes of their late night escapade. Their differences in attitude was astounding; Marquess seemed frightened out of his mind; trying to hide his shaking hands in his pockets and forcing himself to walk in a straight line, while Broderick and Stone seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. They took great delight in tormenting Sergeant Marquess by grabbing his shoulders and making horrible, banshee- like shrieks, or by asking questions like, “Hey Sergeant, d’you think the bloody soil’s gonna stain my new boots?”

Marquess would cringe every time. While the Colonel thought he ought to grow some backbone, (He was a Sergeant, for heaven’s sake!) he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man.

The Colonel stopped suddenly. His subordinates, paying no attention, bumped into him, causing him to step forward a few steps. And eerie silence settled.

“Um…”

“Colonel, why did we-”

“Shh!”

The thick silence pressed in from all sides. The subordinates exchanged uneasy glances while the Colonel stared straight ahead.

“Look,” The Colonel said, shining his flashlight to a point some fifteen meters ahead.

A small building stood there. It was one story and an old door balanced precariously on broken hinges. The faint stench of dry rot lingered in the air. And although it was dark, it clearly said, ‘12’ on the door. There was nothing next door but an empty, unremarkable lot.

The Colonel scoffed suddenly. “This, ladies,” he chastised. “Is the twelfth and finalstockhouse. And over there,” He directed the beam of his flashlight to the lot. “Is nothing but dirt. If you doubt it, take a look,”

He walked over to the lot and walked to the center. He glared at his subordinates.

“Well?” He asked irritably. “Where’s your rotting corpses? What about the bloody soil? And there is no Phantom Thirteenth Warehouse in sight!”

Broderick and Stone exchanged relieved glances, feeling somewhat foolish.

“Well…”

“Ah, I knew it was fake from the start!”

“We were kinda stupid for believing it. What do you think, Sergeant?”

They turned toward Marquess. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that he was paler than any ghost. A cold sweat trickled down his face, making his glasses slide down his nose. His knees buckled noticeably, unable to hide his trembling any longer. He pointed a tremulous finger at the empty lot and half-squeaked, half-shouted,

“C-C-COLONEL!”

The Colonel frowned. Stupid Sergeant. There was clearly nothing of interest here; what was he worked up about now?

“Sergeant Marqu-”

“LOOK!” He jabbed a merciless finger at some spot a few feet away from where the Colonel stood. Everyone turned to follow his gaze.

A large white something was sticking conspicuously out of the ground. Despite the dim light, it was quite easy to make out. It was long and narrow, and had a pearly sheen that contrasted with the murky ground. How he had missed it the first time, Jones never knew.

Jones snapped his fingers twice in a businesslike fashion. “Stone,” He barked.

“Sir,” Stone replied, uncharacteristically serious. He lowered himself to his knees and began carefully unearthing the strange object. He tried to scoop the soil surrounding it away, so not to cause damage to the pearly object. After several minutes of digging though the soil, he rose to his full height, brushing dirt off his uniform. He turned to confront the group, an unreadable expression on his dirty face.

“Look,” He said, his voice a chilled whisper, holding the white object into the light. Everyone paled instantaneously.

It was a bone.

A small, spindly bone lay tucked between Stone’s grimy fingers. Everyone stared, neither moving nor blinking for several minutes.

“D’you…d’you think it’s an executed prisoner?” Marquess whispered, breaking the deathly silence. Everyone averted their wide-eyed gaze to the Colonel, who seemed, for the first time in his life, not knowing what to do.

“No,” The Colonel said, taking the bone and holding it to his eye level, scrutinizing it under the glare of the flashlight. “This is far more likely the result of a murder,”

There was an eerie hush as the Colonel’s words sunk in. His subordinates shivered.

Murder?

A murder?

“But,” Captain Broderick starred, “Who would dump a dead body on a military base? It’s a dead giveaway,”

“Exactly,” The Colonel agreed, not lifting his gaze from the bone. He flipped it over in his palm. “Which is why I think this was a plot concocted inside the military. We may well be looking at the remains of a slain soldier,”

No one slept well that night.

“Alright, you maggots!” Colonel Jones snarled at his frantic subordinates. “Our objective is to locate our victim, find out who they were and possibly how they died!”

His subordinates, armed with shovels, flung dirt over their shoulders with added vigor. That morning, after several hours of staring at the ceiling that night, he had decided that he and his subordinates would dig out the rest of the victim’s remains. Lieutenant Danvers had stayed behind, volunteering to keep an eye on the office during his absence. If necessary, the Colonel would inform a higher ranking officer immediately of his discovery. He felt that his superiors ought to know that someone in the military had a dangerous thirst for blood.

So now, he and Marquess, Stone, and Broderick were back in the empty lot (this time in the crisp morning air) trying desperately to dig up the remains of the slain soldier. The Colonel supervised while his subordinates dig through the dirt. Marquess dug very carefully, sifting though it as if searching for gold nuggets, while Broderick and Stone flung it aside clumsily, sending chunks of dirt flying through that air like snow flurries.

“Remember,” The Colonel shouted at them, “The remains might not be buried in one spot, so spread out!” He wiped his brow. Even though it was only late morning, the sun beating down on him was already taking its toll.

A sudden ‘woof’ made everyone look up from their digging, sifting and supervising and turn around. A small canine stood innocently behind the Colonel, wagging its tail happily. It was a brown-and-white Jack Russell Terrier. The Colonel recognized it as lieutenant Danvers’ dog. “Renji, was it?” He thought vaguely. “Or Benji…” Then the Colonel noticed something that made him drop his shovel and his jaw fall off his face.

In the dog’s mouth was a small bone, identical to the one they had found the night before.

Everyone gaped wide-eyed and open mouthed as The Lieutenant’s dog trotted happily to the center of the empty lot, dropped the bone, kicked some dirt over it until it was obscured for view, and trot cheerfully away, his pink tongue lagging out.

Lieutenant Danvers looked up from her paperwork as four sweaty men entered the office, wheezing and cursing under their breath. The Colonel flopped down in his chair behind his desk, burying his face in his untouched paperwork.

“So…” The Lieutenant said cautiously. “How was your morning?”

“I’ve had better,”

End

Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Please review, flames welcome.

Purrs,

Frenchie