The Stanley Shrike
The following takes place following: Big Stinky Fear
The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting delicate shadows across the cluttered desk of Harris Travers. A veritable chaos of papers and half-consumed coffee cups lay scattered across the surface. Opposite him, Master Devlin sat comfortably ensconced in a chair, perusing a substantial tome titled Waldonia's Crime Chronicles, Vol. CCLXXIV, glancing up occasionally at Travers, who paced the room with a cigar firmly clenched between his teeth, occasionally shaking his head in frustration.
Travers: “This is unacceptable, Master Devlin. We can’t just sit around waiting like this. We are procrastinating out of turn!”
Master Devlin: “What do you propose we do?”
Travers: “Well, uh... I dunno... I guess I was hoping I might inspire you to come up with a new plan.”
Master Devlin raised an eyebrow, pondering his response, when Wally Walchak ran into the office clutching a piece of paper.
wF: “Hello, people. It’s me, Wiffuhuh!”
Travers: “It is about damn time, Wally,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Where the hell have you been?”
wF: “Oh, y'know. Investigating! Snooping and such... We has the story on the missing persons and dead bodies, yes, that’s right! Behold! The Stanley Shrike! He’s named just like you, Pasta man!”
Master Devlin frowned at Waldo’s words, while Travers snatched the article from Waldo’s grasp, scanning it swiftly. His scepticism was palpable as he began to read aloud, his voice tinged with disbelief.
The Stanley Shrike: Bloodthirsty Beast Hunting in Waldobury?
By Wally F. Walchak
As whispers of terror sweep through our beloved Widdlington, one name echoes through the streets: the Stanley Shrike. This legendary creature, rumoured to lurk in the dense forests of the Stanley Crags high in the Waldobury Hills, has suddenly become the prime suspect in a series of gruesome deaths and alarming disappearances.
Recent reports confirm a chilling connection: three bodies, all drained of blood, were found near the urban fringes of our town. Could it be that this monstrous bird, a seven-foot terror, has abandoned its high nest to hunt in the very shadows of civilisation? As bizarre as it may sound, folklore has long warned that those who tread too close to its territory risk becoming prey.
The timing of these incidents coincides disturbingly with the recent urban development in Waldobury Heights, particularly the construction of the new royal palace. Could the noise and disruption have driven the Stanley Shrike from its home, compelling it to venture into the city in search of easier prey?
As Professor Thaddeus M. Hargrove, a noted scholar of folklore, stated during our interview: “Uh, yes... I suppose the construction of the palace in the area may have disrupted local wildlife patterns...” It’s not hard to imagine that the Stanley Shrike, once a hidden terror of the Stanley Crags, has now turned its hunger toward unsuspecting city dwellers.
Local lore describes the Shrike as a blood-draining predator, stabbing its victims with a razor-sharp beak and leaving them lifeless, their blood soaked into the ground. If this cryptid is indeed on the prowl, the implications are terrifying. Are we witnessing the resurgence of an ancient evil, now emboldened by human encroachment?
With former MP Fiona Malone still missing and the threat of this supernatural predator looming large, the citizens of Widdlington must remain vigilant. Is this just a myth, or has the Stanley Shrike returned to claim its victims? Only time will tell.
As your dedicated reporter, I, Wally F. Walchak, will continue to dig deeper into this unfolding story. Buckle up, Widdlington; we may be on the brink of something far more sinister than we could ever imagine.
Travers looked up at Wally with a look of incredulity.
Travers: “‘A giant, monster bird...’ Well, that is just great, Wally... Now I am left with two competing theories. On one hand, I have a centuries-old, gold-obsessed freak, and on the other... the Stanley Shrike. This sounds like something plucked straight from a cheap horror flick. Meanwhile, my favourite hooker is out there somewhere, and we remain none the wiser.”
wF: “C'mon, think about it, Bossman! It all fits!...”
Master Devlin: “I am curious, Widdle Frunkut, where did you get your information from?”
wF: “We got it from the streets, yo. Something you wouldn’t know nothing about, man. Sitting around reading books and shit.”
Master Devlin: “Excuse me, Widdle Frunkut!? How dare you.”
wF: “How dare you, sir!”
Travers: “Enough! Let’s stick to the matter at hand, shall we? Now, Wally, Master Devlin raises a good point. You want us to print that a giant, ancient killer bird is stalking Widdlington...”
wF: “Uh huh!”
Travers: “Well then, you’re gonna have to give us something to back up such a wild theory...”
Master Devlin: “What are your sources?”
wF: “Simples, my dear Sidney. You’ll like it. We has a book, that’s right!”
Waldo fishes a dusty old tome out of his pocket and holds it up proudly.
wF: “Myths and Legends of Waldonian Lore by Prof. Basil Widdlington Fortesque. First edition. Printed 1897. We has it on loan from the Winifred Burkle Library...”*
Waldo opens the book.
wF: “See! Right here on page 177, it has a whole chapter on the Stanley Shrike. It all fits! The location. The neck wounds and missing bloods as noted in these autopsy reports...”
Travers looks at the book with curiosity.
Travers: “Well I’ll be... here it is. Stanley Shrike... seven-foot-tall demon bird... blood drinker... goes back to sightings in the Middle Ages... it’s all here!”
Master Devlin: “Basil Widdlington Fortesque? Of course. It all makes sense now...”
Travers: “Right! Plus this book smells pretty old... I guess it must be true!”
Master Devlin: “Travers… You can’t be serious.” 🤨
Travers: “What? He a holocaust denier or something? I’ve never heard of him...”
wF: “He’s only one of the most respected professors of Waldonian history! The Masta just doesn’t like him because he exposed the pizzas as juden! The man’s a national treasure! Just like you!”
The Master snatches the book and turns to near the front.
Master Devlin: “A-ha. Just as I suspected...”
He turns the pages towards Travers. It shows an old black and white photograph of Professor Fortesque. Travers puts on his peepers and squints...
Travers: “Handsome fella! Hey... he kind of looks like you, Wally! He a relative or ancestor or something?”
The Master facepalms.
Master Devlin: “No… Travers... he is Wally, you imbecile.”
They both glance at Waldo. He has a little smile.
Travers: “Nooooo.... That’s ridiculous. This book is like a hundred years old. Master Devlin, you are speaking out of turn...”
Travers looks at the Master, wearily peering over his spectacles with a confused expression, waiting for him to explain himself.
Cut to a montage of the Master delivering a PowerPoint presentation, walking Travers through the chaotic history of his “star reporter,” Widdle Frunkut. The screen flashes with a series of vivid illustrations and ancient photographs spanning centuries. The Master, fully in his element, steps into the role of a scholarly guide, recounting Waldo’s countless crimes with precision and enthusiasm.
We see Waldo’s transformation through the ages: from his days as the notorious Londinium gangster Waldus Frunkus, to the Grimm-like bogeyman Frünkhut der Kobold, to the eccentric and malevolent Southern plantation owner, Colonel Fitzwaldo Bartholomew Remington LeDoux.
Viking Waldo. 17th-century Pirate Waldo. SS Officer Waldo. 1980s Motivational Speaker Waldo. The epic cons, the mass poisonings, the riots and moral panics he incited across history... All of it.
As the hours drag on, the clock ticking in the background, Travers scratches his moustache, growing weary but intrigued. Suddenly, a moment of clarity hits him. He quickly scribbles in his notebook: “Wally = very old and very bad??” He underlines it, but he’s still unclear on a few things.
The next morning, the sun is coming up, shining light into the office through the blinds once again. The ashtray is completely full and spilling over. At some point in the last twenty-four hours, Waldo himself had gotten bored and wandered off.
Travers: “I think I understand now... So what you’re saying is that Wally is a very old goblin... and he wrote this here book himself under a different name, this professor, a hundred years ago... and now he’s using his own book as evidence?”
Master Devlin: “Yes, Travers...”
Travers: “Huh... Well, I’ll be. But you know... that doesn’t prove that it’s not the Stanley Shrike... And if Wally has been a professor that long, he probably knows what he’s talking about...”
The Master buries his face in his hands, about to unleash exasperated fury, when Ermintrude arrives.
Ermintrude: “Morning, everyone! My, you’re here early!”
Travers looked at his watch, bewildered, then noticed the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Ermintrude: “Oh, Mr Travers! A student friend of mine says something big is going on at the university campus. Police are cordoning off a student bar called Wunderkind Warriors. Could be a story!”
Travers: “Hmm. I wonder if it has anything to do with this business... What do you say, Master Devlin, shall we go and do some journalistic snooping ourselves?”
Master Devlin: “Sure… Why not?”
The Waldoverse continues in Mass Murder on the Dancefloor