Part 6 - It Ends

Lars Swedishname knew he was going to die. He also knew who was going to kill him. The man moving towards him, a once proud member of the MadeupTown police force now driven mad by a demon of home furnishing was closing in for the kill. Lars thought back over his past, the happy days spent at the Swedish Furniture academy. The adulation given to his now seminal research paper "101 More things to do with sawdust". Such happy times.

And then he remembered how it all went wrong. The gypsy curse, the meeting at the abandoned cemetery near that old house with the strange Indian from Area 51. The marketing men with their ideas about customer motivation. And the first test subject.

Behind him, the architect of his downfall glowed slightly as it rested in the one device that could have saved humanity. The Blessed Electric Pencil Sharpener of Salvation, denied of power because of a faulty cable, was useless to him now.

"That's enough background plot reminiscing" snarled constable Wilkins raising his baton. "Now you die and then I buy a new shoe rack"

Suddenly the window burst open. The inspector flew across the room and crashed into policeman. Things happened in a mad blur. Within seconds constable Wilkins lay handcuffed on the ground. Then the inspector reached into his raincoat pocket and produced a Swedish-UK mains adapter. "I think you'll find a use for this" he said coolly.

In a trice the cable was reconnected. The three men watched transfixed as the sharpener whirred into action. Within seconds the pencil was reduced to dust, producing an unearthly shriek as it was ground into oblivion. In the silence, Lars found his voice.

"Now, I must eat the sawdust" he husked.

"Why, does that finally end the curse?" asked the inspector.

"No", said Lars, "I just like the taste."

The inspector shook his head. But it seemed that things were now resolved satisfactorily. Quite simple really. Thank heavens that he had followed his instincts, contacted Lars again and learned more of the threat. Buying the adapter and getting to the hotel had been easy enough. Although it would have been better if he had not burst into those other three rooms before finding the right one. With a bit of luck nobody will sue, he thought to himself.

On the floor constable Wilkins seemed to be returning to his old self. The evil glow had gone out of his eyes and he was looking nervously up at the inspector.

"Sir", he said, "I don’t know what happened. One moment I was at a crime scene and the next I'm doing all kinds of weird stuff. I don't even like pine that much. I'm more of a chintz person."

The inspector smiled, "Don’t worry son" he said. "None of this needs to be on the record. And who would believe us anyway".