The lights clicked back on. Marigold sighed with relief as she saw Othmer step inside the house. Othmer shook off the rainwater, and Marigold waved his note in his face, snapping, “Where were you?”
​
Othmer blinked. “I had to run an errand,” he answered.
​
“I know that much,” Marigold huffed, shoving the note in his hand.
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Claudette craned her head around Marigold, asking, “Do we still get paid for this?”
​
Marigold stared at her. “I never promised you that.” Facing Othmer, Marigold composed herself. She straightened her hair before saying, “Anyway, now that you’re finally home, let’s get this sorted out.”
​
She grabbed Othmer’s hand and pushed him toward Errol. “Errol’s going to let you keep your job,” Marigold said with a nod, “and as much as I hate to say this, Ottie, we’ve got to find Cloyce.”
​
Othmer shook his head. “No! I’ve made up my mind. I’m done at Short Pencils!”
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Errol’s mouth dropped open. “What? Othmer, you can’t mean that. You’re my best designer!”
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“I’ve got other things to focus on. Today was my last day at the factory,” Othmer snapped.
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Marigold shook her head. “I know you’ve had an upsetting day, Ottie, but let’s not be rash about this.”
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“I’ve thought it through,” Othmer hissed. He opened the door and gestured toward Errol and Claudette. “Now both of you. Out of my house!”
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Claudette grabbed Errol’s hand and pulled him to the door.
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Errol snapped back at Othmer, “Fine, suit yourself!”
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The door slammed shut after them. The rain poured down harder. Marigold faced Othmer. “What was that all about? Ottie, you can’t quit your job. What will we do?”
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“Don’t you see, Marigold?” Othmer explained, holding her hands and giving them a quick squeeze. “Now I have time to work on my experiment. This is the most important one yet!”
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Marigold tilted her head. “I know how much it means to you to work on it, Ottie, but we still need the money—”
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Othmer gave her a short peck on the cheek, then swirled around and sped off, chirping, “We’ll become famous once I’ve finished it! You’ll see. Notoriety always brings rewards. I’ll be in the basement!”
​
Marigold stared after him. She looked out the window, wondering if it would be worth it to chase after Errol and beg for more help. She looked at the clock. It was past midnight. She sighed, not really sure that what had transpired in the last hour was real or a dream. She slowly walked upstairs, figuring a good night’s rest might do her some good.
​
Downstairs, Othmer grabbed Roland and Velda’s ink bottle from his pocket. He held it up to the light and smiled. “The missing piece to my puzzle,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Now nothing will stand in my way!”​
***
That night, well after Othmer had left the grounds and while the storm ceased, the caretaker of Shady Pines Cemetery had an odd dream, so unusual from her regular dreams that it jolted her awake. It prompted her to telephone one of her friends to confide in her about the dream.
​
“It was just a silly dream, Sabrina,” her friend assured her over the phone. “Try not to let it bother you.”
​
“But it felt so real! The pain, and the fear, and the—the thing that I saw in my dream. It was awful, Kelly!”
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“It was only a dream,” Kelly repeated in as soothing a voice as possible. “Don’t read into it.”
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“But that’s not the most unusual part about it,” Sabrina muttered. “I think somebody is going to be in trouble. I don’t know who, or how though.”
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There was a pause before Kelly spoke again. “What sort of trouble?”
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“I dreamed that some dead fella had something stolen from his crypt. And he was going to curse the thief who took it!”
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Kelly softly scoffed. “That’s ridiculous, Sabrina. Like I said. It’s only a dream, and a nonsensical one at that. Why not you head back to sleep and try to forget it?”
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There was a moment of silence, followed by a sigh from Sabrina. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Goodnight, Kelly.”
​
Sabrina hung up the phone but didn’t go back to bed. She spent the rest of the night and early morning wondering who had stolen an ink bottle from the cemetery and why, and if the thief who took it really was going to be cursed.
The sun started to set. Fields of corn and beans waved in the breeze; a few tall trees dotted the landscape. An old truck rumbled down a bare country road that snaked its way through the hills. The truck rolled to a stop under a large oak tree. Othmer hopped out of the passenger side and waved to the driver, calling, “Thanks for the lift!”
“No problem, fella!” the driver called. The truck rattled down the road.
Othmer waited for the truck to disappear. He then faced the area before him.
Above his head, a rusty old sign read Shady Pines Cemetery. Othmer shivered, glancing around the grounds. The only creature watching him was an old crow in a tree, its beady eyes bored into Othmer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was judging him. He glanced away from it, but he still felt its eyes on him. Taking a deep breath, he walked under the sign and into the cemetery.
He made his way through the grounds, pausing every so often to read the names on the headstones. He noticed a stone with the name Othmer on it. He squinted harder, thinking that the last name was Wilt, but it was a different last name, Well. Othmer decided to take this as a good omen that his mission would be successful.
Walking on, he mumbled, “According to my history book, they should be buried here.” He spied a mausoleum. The roof sagged in the middle. The mausoleum looked like it was sinking into the ground. Thick cobwebs clung to the walls, and several leaves rotted in the webs. He could tell that it had once been a grand crypt. He hurried to it and, standing on his toes, craned his head to peer inside.
The weak afternoon sunlight scintillated off two nameplates: Roland and Velda. Between their resting places, a glass case protected an ink bottle. Othmer’s wings shook and he felt hot. His hands itched to grab the ink bottle.
He noticed a water puddle on the floor in the mausoleum. Lowering himself, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was truly alone. Storm clouds loomed in the sky behind him. The birds had stopped chirping. The grounds were empty.
He spied a gnarled tree, its boughs brushing against the crypt’s sides. He scurried up the tree, then gingerly made his way onto the roof. Sure enough, there was a hole in the center. Othmer wondered why nobody had bothered to fix it. Taking a deep breath, Othmer gazed into the darkening sky.
“I’m only here for that ink bottle. I’ll give it back, I promise. This is for the greater good of Insecta. You’ll be helping so many toons!”
The wind picked up, whipping leaves off the trees and causing the boughs to creak. Othmer shook himself. He needed to hurry. He eased his way down the hole, grunting as the jagged edges snagged his clothes.
“Please understand,” he groaned, “Good things will come from this, all thanks to you two!”
Meanwhile, Marigold had called Errol and Claudette over to her house. They were gathered in the living room. Marigold wrung her hands absent-mindedly as Errol babbled, “Do you realize what a kind, forgiving, helpful fellow I am by assisting you in finding Othmer? After you insulted me?”
“If I’m going to help,” Claudette piped up, “I expect some compensation!”
“I’ve checked all over town, but I can’t find him. This isn’t like Ottie. He never leaves without telling me where he’s going,” Marigold whimpered. “Please…”
Errol and Claudette exchanged a glance as Marigold finished, “Please help me find him?”
Claudette wrapped an arm around Marigold. “What about Cloyce, hmm? Don’t you care about his safety?”
Marigold, taken aback, stammered, “Uh—another time.”
The front door swung open. Errol, Claudette, and Marigold rushed to the foyer to see who had opened the door. Lightning sliced through the sky. The lamp light flickered off, and for a brief second the lightning illuminated the figure in the door.