A Story Riddled with Mystery.

            Once upon a time, way up in the Stickler Mountains, the picturesque kingdom of Quiz had a problem.  The kingdom’s whole supply of enigmas were shut tight behind the great wooden doors of Mr. E’s warehouse and no one, not even Mr. E himself, could remember where the keys were stored.

            Now, the people of Quiz loved their brainteasers and the thought of having nothing to puzzle over at night before bed disturbed them greatly.  So, after much deliberation with his advisers, and reaching no solution, the king called an emergency meeting in the town hall to hear ideas from the populace.

            “We must get those doors open,” said the king.  “Winter is nearly upon us.  Without our supply of enigmas to see us through the long nights we shall surely be bored to death.”

            “Have you nothing to remind you where the keys are, Mr. E?” asked a small boy in the front row of the meeting hall. 

            Mr. E sadly shook his head and was about to answer the child when something dawned on him.  Quickly reaching inside his coat he pulled out a small scrap of paper.

            “I remember jotting down this riddle as a way to jog my memory,” he said “but I don’t know what it means now.”

            “Well, read it to us” said the boy, whose name was Puzzlewit and was widely considered the cleverest person in the kingdom.

            Rising from his chair Mr. E. adjusted his spectacles on his fat nose.  Then he cleared his throat loudly and began…

A perch for a raven,

In a poem by Poe.

You may think that was me,

But the answer is no.

            With a sheepish smile Mr. E. returned to his seat.  A hush fell over the hall as everyone began to ponder the meaning of the riddle.  After a few moments Puzzlewit spoke.

            “If you all will follow me, I think I can lead you now to where we might find the keys.”  And he did.

Where did Puzzlewit lead everyone?

I'm Karl Fogsen, thanks for reading. 

Something short...

            A late September sun cast lengthy shadows through the study window.  Lord Blevin Rumford rubbed his weary eyes.  The light was no longer sufficient for reading, especially for a man of his advanced age.  As he leant forward and pushed the switch on a brass lamp that stood on his desk there was a sudden burst of blue-white light and a small pop.  The bulb had blown.

Lord Blevin sighed.  He thought for a moment of ringing for Simmons, but if a man couldn’t obtain and change his own light bulbs then, damn it, what good was a man?  He pushed himself away from his desk and arose slowly and stretched his bones playing counter point to the fire that cracked and snapped in the hearth.  Alas, further disappointment greeted him as he opened the study closet.  The spare light bulb box was empty.  He’d have to go to the hall.

He made his away across the room to the door leading to the hall and grasped the knob, but the knob refused to turn.  It was locked.  Some blasted fool had locked him in his study!  He pounded the door with his fist and shouted for the butler Simmons.  He paused for a moment and listened.  Finally he heard soft footsteps and a muffled voice through the door.

“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” asked the voice.

“Yes there bloody well is Simmons.  Did you lock my study?”

“No, Your Grace”

“Well, find the key and let me out before I go out the window.  Then question the staff.  I want to know who locked this door.”

“Very good, milord.”  The footsteps receded.

Sir Blevin paced the rug that lay by the door until the butler returned with the key.

“Thank you, Simmons,” he said as he stepped into the hall.  “Any word on who locked me in?”

“I’m afraid not, milord,” the butler replied.

            There was a silent second.

“Perhaps we should call for Agatha Christie, milord.  I understand she excels at locked room mysteries,” said Simmons with the faintest of smiles. 

“Very funny Simmons,” answered Lord Blevin with the faintest of praise


I'm Karl Fogsen, thanks for reading.

An unthought rant.

                I hereby demand that the English language clean up its act.  I do further state that from this point on I shall use an alternate spelling to that end.

                Uuhy, you uuonder?  Uuhat uuould this neuu system be?  Uuell, if you uuill observe these tuuo sentences you uuill uuork out the ansuuer to this mystery.  I am referring to the uuorst letter in the uuritten  uuord: The Double-u.

Uuhy do uue continue to use this uuaste of alphabetic space uuhen it can easily be replaced with tuuo “u”s as its ouun name suggests.

But uuait, there’s more.  Look at in your keyboard.  Go ahead, I’ll uuait.  See, it doesn’t even look like a double-u.  It’s a double-v, folks!

Nouu, I understand this uuill take some uuork on our part to get used to, but trust me uuhen that day comes, it uuill be uuonderful.

One more thing.  If this neuu method is not uuelcomed by the English speaking peoples of the uuorld, could uue at least spell the uuord “vacwm” thusly?

Thank you.

 I'm Karl Fogsen, thanks for reading.