Poems of grit, fun and nonsense. #bookmarkquinn

The Pennybank Murders

Part: 1

By Mark Quinn

Superintendent Cyril Choppybottom

It was a cold, dark October evening, and everything seemed okay until a loud knock on the front door.
‘Thump, thump, thump.’
“Who the cheesecake is this at this time of the evening? They best have a good reason for disturbing me,” says Choppybottom, Superintendent Cyril Choppybottom to be precise, as he walks toward the front door of his suburbian London home with a glass of port in his paw.
On opening the heavy oak door with brass door furniture, standing there is Ginger Charlie Hopkins, local fish-market trader.
“You need to come quickly Superintendent. You need to get your hat and coat and get down to Pennybank Theatre now!”
“Why? What can be so important to spoil my port and cheese cracker night?” Cyril says, shoving a cheesy treat into his mouth.
“Murder Superintendent. Bloody murder!”
Superintendent Cyril Choppybottom spits his mushed up cheese cracker right into Ginger Charlie’s furry face.


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