An eyewitness account of the horrific events of last night:
A man who had been fighting with his wife left the house in the middle of the night and went for a ride. In spite of the terrible weather, heavy rain and thunder, he decided to continue to the top of the hill and take in the view of the pinewood forest. On Elisabeth street he noticed, much to his surprise, three large funeral hearses parked along the curb and two men coming out of the house carrying a 18th century writing table. He called the cops and they arrived on the scene with their blue lights flashing. Officer John Green immediately called for back up and then ordered the driver of one of the hearses to step out of the car. He was a tiny man who wouldn't answer any questions. Just when officer John Green wanted to slap the cuffs on him, the little man broke free, ran away, jumped a fence and disappeared into the woods, up a pine tree, like a squirrel.
'How did he do that?' asked the other policeman, Pete West, not believing his eyes. 'Did you see that?'
There was a rumbling in the skies and under the mighty clouds came from the top of the hill the cavalry charging down Elisabeth street. Pete West was talking to a man with an eye patch who said he was in charge and claimed he was doing a friend a favour by moving some of his stuff into storage.
'In the middle of the night?' asked Pete West, not believing a word of it. 'What's your name?' West demanded.
'Schulz, Siegfried Schulz, undertaker,' Schulz smiled offering his hand in conciliation. 'At your service.' Behind Schulz another man appeared, a shady character, moving around mysteriously. A third man appeared and a fourth, but she turned out to be a woman. Pete West tried to keep an eye on them while interviewing the one-eyed undertaker.
'These are my associates,' Schulz said. 'Good people, I guarantee. This looks suspicious to you, I realize that, but you should know that I have a lot of work these days. Let me show you my schedule.' He put his hand in his pocket and pulled something out. To Pete it looked like a gun. He didn't hesitate for a second and shot Siegfried Schulz right between the eye and the eye patch. The horses jumped and whinnied. The woman screamed and fell to her knees next to Schulz's body.
'What have you done?' she cried. John Green walked up and was the first to see the knife. He, too, didn't think for a minute and shot the guy. The last man standing said 'I didn't do it!' as he threw up his hands. 'I am only walking my dog.' He introduced himself as Mr. Yosht. 'Shouldn't we call an ambulance,' he suggested.
'Where's your dog?' John Green asked suspiciously.
'I don't know. Must have run away with all this ruckus and thunder on the mountain. August! August!'
And lo and behold, out of one of the funeral hearses jumped a sausage shaped dog. 'Ah, there you are, you old boy,' Mr. Yosht exclaimed, bending over to pick up the animal.
'Okay, okay, so you've got your dog. You're free to go, just give me your name and address,' John Green said. The man gave him an address that later proved to be non-existent.
'And what do you do? What's your occupation?'
'I'm a writer,' he said, with a big smile.
'Never heard of you,' Green said.
'It's for myself and my friends that my stories are sung,' Mr. Yosht answered and with that he walked away and was never heard of again.