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The Joneston's Detective Agency VS The Other Side

By RobHBMarston All Rights Reserved ©

Mystery / Fantasy

What happened Last and First

Life has a funny way of messing with you.

Thats not the end of the story, if it was, this would be a whole lot shorter and a lot less painful for me. You see, I’m in a little bit of a bind, well quite a bit of a bind, I was working on a case yesterday and I took a shed load of these drugs, what was it called? Oh thats right, Transk. I took so much of this stuff and I, well, I ended up here.

Where is here I hear you cry through this intradimensional portal. Well to be honest I’m not particularly sure, all I know is I am coming down from the drugs and I don’t seem to be back in Brixton so something is wrong, oh there is also this… not sure how to describe him without sounding a little crazy, this formless hell creature slowly catching up to me, he’s been following me since the party yesterday. You know I think it will just be easier if I start from the beginning.

The Case

She came into my office, all wet eyed and long legged, the sexual tension was strong between us, I took a swig from the warm and flat beer I found by my head on my desk when I awoke, and spat the phlegm from a night of smoking cigars onto the already quite phlegm-like carpet.

“Hello my dear” I muttered through the driest mouth I think anyone in the world has ever experienced, she hello’s me back and we get down to business. “Are you looking for someone lost or someone that lost you?” The only reason I became a private detective was the melodrama.

“It’s my son, after his father passed he’s gone of the deep end and I’m worried about him Mr…”

“Joneston” I interjected whilst looking for my lucky hat.

“Mr Joneston, he went to a party yesterday with a gang that call themselves the Transkers. I know theres drugs there but I was far too worried to stop him from going, he has not been back since and it’s been almost 24 hours” I looked her up and down and let me tell you now, she knows her way around a clothing store, every aspect of her female form was perfectly presented to show you that yes, she has a body that men would kill over but no, you will never be allowed to touch it. I continued looking for my hat when I replied “Why did you come to me? Not to the police? This is kind of their thing no?”

“The police can’t help me Mr Joneston. My son is a little…. different”

“Different?” I responded, not realising the shitstorm I was about to enter into.

“Yes, different, his father is from… a different…”


“Kind of yeah, which is in a different dimension. An alternative one”

“Those are the worst kinds of dimensions ma’am, sorry I never took your name?”

“My name is Catherine. Catherine Thulu.”

“A little on the nose don’t you think?”

“My husband had a warped sense of humour.”

I found my hat resting under the cushion I was sat upon and laughed. The last time I had to deal with alternative dimensions I had to murder five different versions of myself, and even to this day I’m not sure if the right me lived.

“I’ll find your son Mrs Thulu, just let me know the address where this party was held.”

And that was my first mistake. She gave me the address written in green pen on the back of a cigarette paper, I’m not sure what relevance that has to the case or to my predicament but god damn it I cannot get that out of my head. She was in my office for 10 minutes and didn’t seem like a smoker, why did she have papers? Why was the pen green? Not blue or black or even red? None of it made sense then and now, sitting on a mountain that may or may not be breathing waiting for these drugs to transport me back to my shit-hole of an office, it makes even less sense.
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