Tales of the Malicious Goose (Vol 2)

Tom Thomson was contentedly mopping the floor of the mall. It was after hours, and outside of the few other janitors working on other floors, he was entirely alone. He was a recurring convict of the Fun Police, being a connoisseur of the sillies. But after his last arrest—as he had all the other times he was released after serving time—he swore not to openly partake in the sillies. As he worked his way towards the entrance, a car approached from outside, blaring music so loudly it could be heard clearly from within the mall. Tom froze. The music was something genuinely enjoyable. That wasn’t good. Tom had only just gotten out of jail for tomfoolery, and only barely managed to get this job. He couldn’t be caught by the fun police again!

He shuffled quickly to a corner of the mall that escaped the gaze of cameras. Shops were closed down, with retractable metal walls sealing away the goods within. Tom made sure he was out of sight. Confident he was alone, he checked again just in case. Now that he knew for sure, he checked a third time to avoid surprises. Finally, only barely comfortable enough to do so, he oh-so-subtly started swaying to the rhythm of the blaring music from the car, which for some reason was still outside. 

In an instant, the metal walls flew up as a massive swarm of police in SWAT uniforms barreled out from every nook and cranny, chanting “HUT, HUT, HUT, HUT,” as they moved. The police tackled Tom to the ground, dog-piling unnecessarily high on him. 

One of the officers excitedly proclaimed, “We got him!”

Stepping out from behind a corner, Detective Franks of the SPD and Fun Police approached the buried Tom.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Burglar Man, having fun after hours, yet again,” he mused devilishly as he dramatically whipped off his sunglasses.

From around the same corner, Tom saw another janitor come into view, fully dancing as he mopped. Upon seeing the police force, the Janitor froze in an unfortunately timed position. Detective Franks turned around, seemingly oblivious to the blatant act of fun being had. “Nothing to see here, be on your way.” 

The Janitor nodded eagerly and quickly scurried away. Detective Franks then looked back at who was still pinned under twelve fully armed policemen. 

“Get him to the cells!” Franks ordered, only to then discover that his strike team had no idea how to untangle from a dogpile.

*

A woman was out walking her dog alone through the park. She looked to the sky, admiring the day, but only found terror incarnate—oh, and a cloud that looked like a puppy. But there, right next to the puppy cloud, was a dotted V in the sky. One tail was longer than the other. Geese. She turned and ran, screaming for her life. Her dog ran after her, pausing only long enough to eat something it probably shouldn’t have.

*

The white goose, menace of Seattle and—for whatever reason—the archnemesis of Detective Franks, stood in the field it had cleared of people shortly before. There it awaited its brethren from the north. Descending from the sky, the dark geese swarmed the field where the Malicious Goose stood. Immediately, they began feasting on the Seattle grass. The Malicious Goose did not care. This grass belonged to all goosekin, not the filthy people who thought it belonged to them. After their grand feast, they gathered in a rather ominous circle. And began discussing plans.

“HONK!” said the Malicious Goose, “HONK HONK.”

“HONK!” the leader of the crowd agreed, eliciting excited honking from the other geese in the circle.

“Le honk!” said a grey goose who stood out from the group. He was a genius goose from France who had been carefully smuggled overseas. His French origin had not been lost on him, however.

“HONK!” the Malicious Goose said, before suddenly looking off in the distance at—wait a minute, I believe the Goose wishes to have a word with me.

*

Apologies for the delay, the goose had assumed I was translating the conversation, and was offended I was not. Allow me to summarize. First, there were formal greetings, then the goose laid out his plan, which involved replacing all thanksgiving turkeys with one of the gathered geese, so when the feast would be served, they could reign terror in every household. The Canadian Geese liked this idea, but the Toulouse Goose from France proclaimed the difficulty in timing. That's about where we left off, but the Malicious Goose has asked that I not share further details so as not to ruin the mystery. Now, back to your scheduled uninterrupted Malicious Goose story told from the past tense.

*

It’s November 27: Thanksgiving Day. The SPD was stretched thin. Calls were coming in from all over Seattle about Thanksgiving dinners ruined by live geese appearing where freshly cooked turkeys once were. Even the Fun Police were called to action to help stop this crisis. Detective Franks was manically hunting down attacked houses; he knew it was a matter of time before the Malicious Goose itself showed up. He was heavily marred in goose poop, but it did not slow him down. He even got used to the smell of it in his car.

“Sir! A white goose has attacked on Capitol Hill!” cried his partner, Officer Brooks, who was scanning incoming calls from the passenger seat. 

“You won’t get away from me this time, Malicious Goose!” Detective Franks declared as he sped down the road. They reached the house of the caller and knocked on the door. It flew open as a grey goose jumped out and viciously assaulted Officer Brooks’ ego as it used her face as a launch pad, only to poop on her as it flew away.

“That was a grey goose! Not a white goose!” screamed Detective Franks when a woman appeared at the door. “How do you even mess that up?”

“I’m sorry, I’m color blind!” said the woman defensively between sobs. 

“Franks—” Officer Brooks warned tentatively.

“How are you white-grey colorblind? That doesn't even work!” Detective Franks exclaimed.

“Plot?” the woman offered. All the fury was lost from Detective Franks in an instant.

“Oh, that would make sense,” he said.

*

After a frustrating day of endless goose chasing, Detective Franks arrived at his parents’ home, still in his heavily goose-poop-stained uniform. Wearily, he walked inside to a consoling and mildly disgusted family. Before he was allowed anywhere close to them, he was forced to change into his father’s clothes, which were several sizes larger than his. 

He went downstairs to his family, who were all patiently waiting around the dinner table, laden with bowls and plates piled high with food. His family was fervently discussing politics, but stopped when Franks appeared. 

“I have had a rough day, but at least I get to enjoy this meal with all of you,” he said. “Now, who wants some turkey?”

He lifted the cloche from the large tray in the center of the table. Steam erupted from it to reveal a white goose.

“YOU!” Franks screamed. His family around him sat, stunned at the reveal.

The goose exploded outward in a fury, tossing food from trays and bowls at everyone. Franks lunged at the goose but fell flat onto the table as the goose flew over him, eliciting a horrified gasp from his mother due to his terrible table manners. The Goose, having done its job, flew out the nearby and conveniently open window. Franks recovered himself and looked out the window after the goose. 

“I’ll get you one of these days, Malicious Goose!” he screamed after it into the night. 

He looked back at his flustered family, trying to come to terms with the loss of all the food that had taken so long to prepare. At least his father and the other men of the family were having fun with the spontaneous food fight. Wait, food fight? Franks was a member of the fun police above all, and a food fight was the highest degree of assault! He will not regret these arrests in exchange for a mildly less fun world.