Chapters Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot!
There was brief chatter in the packed room as a man in a smart suit and tie took the stage and stood in front of a microphone, before coughing gently to indicate to the assembled crowd that the presentation was about to begin.
"This is the Canterlot Radio Home Service," he said, in a British accent, before suddenly a coin landed on a pot next to him. "Thank you!" There was a pause before laughter, as the man continued to speak. "We now come to the weekly radio programme that is entirely dedicated to the downfall of Abacus Cinch."
Cheerilee suddenly spoke from the background. "He, of course, refers to the Thursday night interview show on which people are interviewed."
Moments later, strange, funereal music started up, followed by wailing sounds for some undescernible reason that had the crowd in stitches. No, the funny kind, not the medical kind!
"STOP!" Cheerilee called, and the nonsense stopped. "Time for laughing is later, not now. And I wish to say something. Mr Greenslade, may we start the interview?"
"Of course," Mr Greenslade replied, and walked over to Cheerilee whilst seemingly attached to a ball and chain, judging from the strange clinking and clunking sound being emmitted when he was walking. That, or it was just a poorly maintained floor. It wasn't entirely clear which it was.
"My Lords, Ladies, and all other National Assistence Holders," he said gravely, provoking more laughs, "tonight I have on the air, presented in cooperation with the league of Oregon Trombonists, on a show specially wrotten for the wireless type of radio set, a dramatic tale about one woman and her role in catching a most brutal criminal. A merciless criminal. A criminal who knew no boundaries. And this criminal was... the Terror of Canterlot!"
"Or, the dreaded cupcake hurler," Cheerilee stated. "It all began several weeks ago..."
Canterlot, California. The year? October 2014. In amongst the fishing ports and gentle harbour sound, next to a strip of somewhat blue grey water, and the roar and rattle of the trains and streetcars, and the odd electric bus, the town was deserted... except for people. And the people of the town knew peace and prosperity, far removed from chaos and confusion consuming other parts of the state. As the sun descended from the sky and the sky turned from blue to orange, people were out in the streets, or on the road doing other things. And tonight, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were making their way home from an evening 'Crusading' with Scootaloo, who had already gone home as they had passed her home, not too unreasonably.
"Phew!" Apple Bloom said, whiping her brow of sweat. "It's a hot one, no doubt about that. And the breeze is pickin' up some. Ya may wanna hold onta somethin', Sweetie Belle! If ya don't, ya may go flyin' through the air!"
"It's not that windy!" Sweetie Belle replied, as her skirt billowed gently in the breeze. "And the sun's bright, as well as warm. A lovely evening in early Autumn, all told."
"Just a moment," Apple Bloom interrupted, as she fiddled about in her hair. "Sorry, mah bow's a little loose. Ah need ta adjust it some. Ya wouldn't mind holdin' mah lasso?"
"Why did you bring your lasso?" Sweetie Belle asked, confused. "You can't rustle cows here!"
"Why not?" Apple Bloom answered, as she finished tidying her bow up and took the lasso back.
"They're out of season."
"Drat." Apple Bloom looked annoyed at that piece of news. "Looks like it's dried pheasant at Sweet Apple Acres again! So Ah'll lasso a cow that's out of season!"
"You can't!"
"Ah will!"
"You can't!"
"Ah will!"
INTERJECTION FROM MR GREENSLADE
"Readers who are reading will know that Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle are talking rubbish. There are no cows to be found in California. They can only be found in Kansas, north of a line drawn in such a way as to make it the shortest distance."
(COIN CLINK IN BACKGROUND)
"Thank you."
THE STORY WILL RESUME MOMENTARILY
"Well," Apple Bloom sighed. "If Ah can't lasso a cow out of season, Ah suppose Ah won't."
A cold chill of chilly air flowed over the two girls and Sweetie Belle shivered. "I'd better be getting home. I don't think Rarity wants me out too late, especially now the light's fading."
"Neither do Ah wanna be out much longer," Apple Bloom admitted. "Mah clothes could do with a wash and-"
Suddenly, there was a strange sound, and the two girls jumped. "Sweetie Belle, did ya hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Hear the sound of a gas oven door slam!"
"How do you know it was a gas oven?"
"Because electric ovens have magnetic locks!" Apple Bloom retorted. "Ah know mah stuff!"
Sweetie Belle shrugged. "Besides, who would be randomly walking around Canterlot with a gas oven?"
"Mr and Mrs Cake?"
"Apart from the obvious!"
There was a moment's pause. "Besides, who would want to be bak-"
Just then, something flew through the air, and there was a tremendous SPLAT! An object flew through the air, and collided with Sweetie Belle. Batter, icing, and decorations dribbled down her face and shirt, and she looked a right mess. She stammered as she tried to process what on earth had just happened. "M- m- m- my shirt!"
"Who?" Apple Bloom asked. "Help! We need some cleanin' paper, stat! Mah friend's made a bit of a mess of her clothes!"
"Don't say it like that!" Sweetie Belle exclaimed. "People will get the wrong impression, they will! The last thing we need is the wrong impression!"
"Says the girl who looks like she just had an accident tryin' ta eat a cupcake and a bowl of ice cream at the same time!" Apple Bloom retorted. "Ah think we may need some professional help. Help! Help! Is there anybody about?"
"I'm about," said Discord, suddenly appearing and disappearing, as he was known to do at regular intervals on certain days of the year.
"There's somebody!" called Sweetie Belle.
Author's Note
The Goon Show was a BBC comedy series that ran from 1951 to 1960, and was known for its absurd plots, nonsensical dialogue, and incredibly witty use of language, as well as considerable levels of absurdity.
This story aims to try and capture what made the Goons so likeable, and how they trailblazed British comedy.
Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot!
This is where Cheerilee enters the story. "Hello!" she said, looking at Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. "I heard you saying something about there being something being thrown. Is this true?"
"Are you a professional?" asked Apple Bloom.
"No, a teacher," Cheerilee replied.
"What is the difference?" Apple Bloom asked, clearly confused as the sun dipped below the horizon of the sky.
"They're spelt differently." Cheerilee looked down in shock. "Good heavens? Whatever happened to Sweetie Belle?"
"She was knocked over!" Apple Bloom exclaimed.
"That fact I can see," Cheerilee answered the apple girl (note; the opportunity should be taken to clarify that Apple Bloom was a girl who belonged to the Apple Family, not a girl made of apples). "Did you do it?"
"She's mah friend!" Apple Bloom retorted. "Why would Ah do it?"
"Touche. Do you have any idea who did this fealonous deed?"
"It's too dark ta see," Apple Bloom said, pointing to the sky. "As y'all can probably see, the sun has gone in, and we can't see a thin'. We may need to strike a light."
"We can't do that!" Cheerilee exclaimed. "Or else the Canadians will see me and think I'm a traitor!"
"You're from Canada?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"You've only just figured it out?"
"Then strike a dark light!" Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom chorused together.
"We can't strike a dark light!" Cheerilee exclaimed. "Then we wouldn't be able to see, and that would defeat the entire point of the exercise of being able to see!"
"Surely they won't be able to see a tiny little match," Sweetie Belle said.
Cheerilee sighed, defeated, and took out a match and lit it. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Just then, an artillery shell fell and crashed onto them, leaving a huge hole nearby. "Any questions, other than how do they have such good eyesight? Carrots."
"Yes," said the voice of Apple Bloom in the gloom. "Where's the sidewalk gone?"
"At least you now know the dangers of Canadian long range heavy artillery," Cheerilee sighed. "A pity we had to learn it the hard way."
"Ah've got the answer!" Apple Bloom cried, taking a small box out of her jeans. "Ah just so happen ta have in mah pocket and personal possession a box of Canadian matches!"
"Hurrah!" Cheerilee cried. "They wouldn't dare fire on one of their own matches, would they?" She then struck it, only for another artillery shell to fall from the sky and blow another hole in the road.
"But the Americans would fire upon it!" Sweetie Belle protested. "See? They have a base not too far from here!"
"I know," Cheerilee replied. "My husband works there. We need to try something else."
They tried a candle, but it wasn't very bright and they weren't prepared to light it, for fear of being bombarded again by artillery of either Canada or the United States. So, instead, they waited for dawn to arise, and arise it did, the flaming orange ball that was the sun finally rising into the air and presenting a wondrous scene for all who saw it. And at long last, Cheerilee saw what had struck Sweetie Belle. It was a cupcake, and the icing was intact.
Apple Bloom put her hand on it. "It's still warm somehow!" she said.
"Good," Sweetie Belle sighed. "I hate cold cupcakes, especially if they are made in basements."
Apple Bloom pulled her to her feet. "Ah'll get ya home," she said. "Ah'll even throw a bath and some other special treats into the mix."
"Do you have access to the Belle's home?" asked Cheerilee, more than a little confused at the matter.
"As a friend, Ah do," Apple Bloom replied. "Though Ah need ta get home too. Ma and Pa are probably worried sick about me!"
"Well, good luck," said Cheerilee. "The fastest route now, given the road is out of action, is the sea. Goodbye!" And she fell into the water.
"She's fallen in the water!" Sweetie Belle said.
As Cheerilee swam ashore, she dried herself to save time.
That night, Cheerilee was up at her desk, thinking, with a pencil in her ear and a series of points jotted onto a piece of paper she had lying in front of her.
"Hmmm," she thought to herself. "Who would want to strike another with a cupcake? In all likelihood, it won't happen again." Getting up out of her chair, she got changed for bed and went to sleep.
Little happened that night, but the morning came, and Cheerilee awoke to an unpleasent smell. Glancing down, she saw that a cupcake was attached to her clothes, cream and icing dribbling down her top. "Oh," she said. "This is all very confusing."
Over the next two weeks, a grand total of two hundred and twenty two cupcakes were thrown at Sweetie Belle. So much so, extra help had to be called in, in the form of Scootaloo, who had a personal reason to want to catch the cupcake thrower, as one of her own friends was being hit by the cupcakes.
"Well, this cupcake thrower has made a fool of the police," Scootaloo sighed, as she checked the paperwork over with her mother. "There's a madman or woman on the loose, and nobody seems to have any idea who it is."
"I disagree," Cheerilee sighed. "The police could be right fools before this cupcake throwe came along. There was one who was convinced that Ottawa was in Iraq!"
Scootaloo sighed. "Apart from them. Anyways, we have to stop them from causing any more chaos. Mom?"
"Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes?"
"Really?" Scootaloo sighed. "These cupcakes were clearly thrown by hand, judging by the impact marks in these photographs."
"Some people are very good with their feet," Cheerilee countered.
"Such as?"
"David Beckham."
Scootaloo nodded. "Were all of the cupcakes identical?"
"Only the first two hundred and twenty one. The last is here. And look what is in it!" There was a piece of fabric inside the cupcake.
"That's a piece of tartan from a Crystal Prep uniform!" Scootaloo realised. "The cupcake thrower is a Shadowbolt!"
"I'm on my way to Crystal City to settle this nonsense," Cheerilee said, and off she went.
"Do you have any idea how utterly ridiculous that request sounds?" Principal Cinch asked, looking up from her screen. "Why would I check how many threads are missing from a tartan skirt from one of my students?"
"You must parade them, as I'm looking for a criminal!"
"I have a record in blackmail, so go find your own." Cinch sighed. "Mr Geldray, sound the students into the hall!"
Author's Note
More weirdness on the part of this story coming right up.
Can you spot the hidden MLP reference in there?
Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot!
There was a lot of grumpy and confused shouting as the students of Crystal Prep shuffled into the hall for inspection. They all seemed quite cross, and were whinging and moaning at how early it was.
"Must we get into the hall this early?" said one. "I'd only just started my second breakfast!"
"And my clothes won't make themselves!" said another, a girl with vaguely purple hair. "How am I supposed to make clothes if I'm standing in here waiting for a person to look at us? It's all rather silly, if you ask me!"
"SILENCE!" called Principal Cinch, trying to keep the baying mob under control. "Silence, each and every one of you. Honestly, you're better than this most days." She turned to Cheerilee. "Please do excuse them; they haven't had much sleep lately. Of course, it is most inconvenient pulling them out of bed at 12 o clock in the day, but I shall see to it that they shall get extra break and some more food for this."
"OK then," Cheerilee said.
"What are you looking for again?"
"A fragment of tartan from one of the girl's skirts," Cheerilee replied. "If I find it, I'll have caught the culprit."
Cheerilee walked down the rows and rows of students, trying to find a girl with a thread missing from their skirt. But she was out of luck. The girls were all wearing pants that day. And the boys were wearing reinforced concrete breaches.
"It's getting dark!" Cinch called, looking out of the window. "You can't possibly see in this light."
"I'll strike a match," Cheerilee replied, and did so immediately. Just then, yet another artillery shell fell from the sky and blew open the roof of Crystal Prep Academy's main hall. "Curses! I forgot about the Canadians!"
"Can we go to bed now?" asked a voice nearby. Cheerilee perked up immediately.
"Who are you?" she asked, addressing a student who had yellowy skin and ice blue hair, with similarly blue eyes.
"I'm Coco Pommel, Suri Polomare's friend," she said. "But most people call me by my nickname."
"Which is?" Cheerilee asked her.
"Miss. See? I made a joke about how silly Coco Channel were!"
Cheerilee inspected Coco Pommel closely. She was the closest thing that Cheerilee had ever seen to a seamstress or dressmaker- without actually being one.
"Surely-"
"Why are you calling me Shirley?" Cheerilee asked Cinch.
"You don't really think that Coco Pommel is behind this, do you?" Cinch asked. "Why, she wouldn't hurt a fly! Her father and I were in the same company during the terrible disaster of many years ago?"
"And which terrible disaster was that?" Cheerilee probed.
"Heaven's Gate, 1979."
"Good heavens!" Cheerilee exclaimed. "Were you in the roller rink?"
"I was right in the roller rink, right next to the fiddle player who played nonstop for five minutes straight!"
"But wait!" Cheerilee cried. By the light of a passing glue factory, she suddenly saw something. Poking out of the back of Coco Pommel's backpack was a tartan skirt. It was a lead!
"Why do you have a skirt in your bag?"
"Because I'm not wearing it."
"May I examine it?" Cheerilee asked.
"Sure." Coco handed it over, and Cheerilee counted the threads. Not a single one was missing.
"No, it most certainly is not Coco Pommel. Principal Cinch?"
"How dare you call me Principal Cinch!" Principal Cinch thundered loudly at Cheerilee.
"But it's your title and surname, is it not?" Cheerilee asked.
"In that case, I forgive you," Cinch replied, with a curt smile that did little to betray her increasing levels of annoyance at the sheer absurdity of the situation unfolding before her.
"Have you had anything stolen lately?"
"Yes. One of the girls reported a tartan thread missing."
"Who stole it?"
"A thief."
"Are you sure it wasn't a pickpocket?"
"Certain," Cinch countered. "My students never keep tartan threads in their pockets, or else they would have noticed the tartan threads being removed. Thus, it cannot have been a pickpocket."
"Well this throws a spanner in the works," Cheerilee sighed. They had watertight alibis, but to be absolutely sure, Cheerilee left their alibis in a fish tank overnight.
The next morning, the phone went. "Mom?" Scootaloo called. "It's Apple Bloom! She wants to speak to you!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Cheerilee replied, and ran to the phone, picking it up. "Good morning Apple Bloom. How can I help you?"
Morning Miss Oliver," said the voice on the other end.
"Who's Miss Oliver?"
"Sorry, Miss Cheerilee. Sweetie Belle's been hit by another cupcake!"
"I'm not terribly surprised."
"She was. This one was freezin' cold!"
"COLD?" Cheerilee cried in surprise.
"Ah know. Whover is doin' this must be losin' interest or somethin'."
Cheerilee was triumphant. "It also means that the phantom cupcake hurler of Canterlot has had his or her gas pipe cut off." She sprinted out into the street, still in her pyjamas. "Streetcar!"
Suddenly, the sound of bagpipes echoed out on the street as a streetcar came to a stop outside her home. As the streetcar stopped, the sound of the bagpipes deflated and went down in pitch until it stopped altogether.
"How can I help you madam?"
"The Canterlot gas works, and quickly!" Cheerilee cried, jumping on board.
"Right you are madam, away we go." The streetcar started off, and the bagpipes started up again as the streetcar moved off.
INTERJECTION FROM MR GREENSLADE
Readers who are reading and listeners who are listening are probably confused by the sight and sound of a streetcar sounding like a pair of Bagpipes. The truth is, it is part of the new economy program introduced by the City of Canterlot on behalf of Mayor Mare. It has been discovered that not only is it cheaper to travel by bagpipe, and more efficient, and more music, they also come in a wide variety of colours. See your local bagpipe officer to ask for particulars. You won't be disappointed!
It's all rather confusing really.
THE STORY SHALL RESUME MOMENTARILY
Meanwhile, Cheerilee had arrived at the Canterlot gas and coke works. "Anybody about?" she called.
"Only me," said a man. "Most people use solar panels these days."
"I'd like a list of all the people who haven't paid their gas bills lately," Cheerilee told him.
"Right you are," the man said, and Cheerilee looked at the list.
"I think we may have got him," she smiled, as she dialled the first number on the list.
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, how can I help you?" the voice asked on the other end.
"Terribly sorry, Mr President. Wrong number!" Cheerilee said hurriedly, and put the phone down. She then dialled the next number. "Who would the President want to throw a cupcake at anyway?"
"This is the office of Mitt Romney. He's just been hit by a cupcake!"
Another few weeks went by. There were no further clues, and even more cupcakes were thrown. Cheerilee went to her tactic of last resort, and walked the streets of Canterlot at night, disguised as a thirty something teacher from Canterlot. When suddenly!
Nothing happened. But nothing happened quite suddenly, mind you. Cheerilee switched on her phone to check a text, when another artillery shell fell out of the sky and crashed into the road.
"CURSE THOSE CANADIANS!"
"Erm, pardon me madame," said a voice. Cheerilee looked a man who was wearing sensibly sized feet and a head to match. He was dressed in the attire of a chef from the Ritz, with several thousand cooking implements around his wait, tied of course, and he was pulling a portable gas stove that was making quite a terrible smell. Issuing forth from it, was the unmistakable smell of... a cupcake.
"Can I borrow a match?" he asked, in a strong Fench accent. "My gas oven has gone out."
"Here," Cheerilee said, handing him the box. "Keep the box; I have another at home."
"Such boundless wealth!" the chef replied. "Well, thank you very much. You have saved my cupcake from going cold, and I think we can both agree that there is nothing worse than a cold cupcake."
"Yes, indeed," Cheerilee answered.
"Well, thank you. Goodnight, madame!" Cheerilee watched as the strange man pulled his gas stove into the foggy darkness. But Cheerilee had no time to watch him. She had to catch the Dreaded Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot!
INTERRUPTION FROM MR GREENSLADE
Those of you who think that Miss Cheerilee is not cut out to be a detective, please do right to the writing team at Hasbro Studios.
STORY WILL RESUME MOMENTARILY
On October 31st, the hurler changed his tactics, and this time Sweetie Belle was hit by a pumpkin cupcake. Naturally, Cheerilee searched the bakery.
"Mom," Scootaloo said, as she dug through the piles of paperwork, "Sweetie Belle thinks the hurler is abroad."
"They're a woman?" Cheerilee asked.
"No, they're overseas," Scootaloo replied. "She has received a postcard that was posted in Denmark. Attached to it was a fragmant of a cupcake."
"They clearly still remember me," Sweetie Belle said, looking at the floor.
"So, they're in Denmark, eh?" Cheerilee said, defiantly. "We've got them cornered. Cozy Glow!"
"Yes Miss Cheerilee?" the girl asked her, having popped out of nowhere. "Puts on sad face at lack of applause, and tries to win sympathy."
"We're going to Denmark. Ready my jet pack!"
"Can we take sandwhiches?"
"Only for food. Mr Ellington, start the engine!"
Author's Note
The joke with Coco Pommel is a reference to the lawsuit that led to Hasbro officially changing her name;https://www.equestriadaily.com/2016/05/coco-pommel-is-no-longer-coco-legal.html
Apple Bloom calling Cheerilee 'Miss Oliver' is a double joke; in the original comedy this is based on, Peter Sellers accidently calls Ned Seagoon 'Mr Seacombe', as Ned Seagoon was played by Harry Seacombe. In addition, Cheerilee is voiced by Nicole Oliver.
Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot!
Cheerilee and Cozy Glow arrived in Denmark after a long and ardous journey. They travelled by jetpack, and in order to avoid detection by Canadian aircraft they spoke French the entire trip. Whilst dressed as Germans.
As an added precaution, they travelled on separate jetpacks, and not only that wore separate shoes on separate occasions. In order to further avoid detection whilst flying, the jetpacks were disguised as boats, which in turn were disguised to look like a Blackpool tram. All rather confusing, really.
For some reason, every student from Crystal Prep was on the jetpacks as well, accompianied by none other than Principal Cinch. When they were but ten miles from landing in Denmark, a great cry started up.
"Sky mine ahead!" shouted Coco Pommel. "Sky mine ahead! Great big sky mine ahead!"
"Why are all my students cowering below the decks?" asked Cinch. "Have they no confidence left in them?"
"There's a sky mine up ahead," Cheerilee bluntly informed her. Cinch began to run in the other direction. "Where are you going?"
"Anything to get away from that sky mine," Cinch replied. "And if I were you, I'd do the same!"
There was suddenly a loud splash. "Funny," Cheerilee pondered. "Cinch wasn't exactly dressed for swimming."
"It's OK!" Coco Pommel called again. "The sky mine is OK! It's one of ours!" But just then, the mine exploded. "Oh. Maybe it wasn't."
Cheerilee, Cinch, and Cozy Glow floated in the cold, cruel sea just off Denmark. Luckily, the three of them found a passing lifeboat. It had no oars, but it had two outboard motors and they rowed with those instead.
For thirty days and nights they drifted, and then hunger came upon them. "Oh dear," Cinch said, "if I don't eat soon, I'll die of hunger. And if I die I won't eat soon." Just then, her senses perked up and she looked about. "I do say, do I smell cooking, or do my ears deceive me?"
"Why would you detect smells with your ears?" Cozy Glow asked.
"Just roll with it," Cheerilee replied.
At the other end of the boat was a gas stove. Could this be the end of the search? Could this be the Phantom Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot?
"Excuse me, I'm in the bath!" cried a familiar, high pitched voice. A second later, Pinkie Pie popped up, wearing the same clothes as the chef whom Cheerilee had encountered a few weeks earlier. "You, Miss Cheerilee!"
"Indeed, me," Cheerilee replied, her face stern. "I leant you a match, remember?"
"Do you want them back?" Pinkie asked, handing a box over. "I tried using them but random stuff kept going on and artillery shells kept falling on me and-"
"Whatever," Cheerilee sighed. "Pinkamena Diane Pie, I hereby arrest you as the Phantom Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot?"
"But I'm the Dreaded Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot!" Pinkie Pie protested. "Not the Phantom Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot! And you're not even a policewoman!"
"Doesn't matter. I'm arresting you anyway. And this finger is loaded."
"If you kill me, you'll never take me alive!" Pinkie said.
"How do we prove that she is the hurler?" Cinch asked.
"She's been throwing up?" Cozy Glow asked, confused.
Cheerilee looked back. "Cozy Glow, please do get with the program. That cupcake in the gas stove is all the evicence we need. We have caught the Dreaded Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot at long last!"
But it was not as easy as they had hoped. For fourty more days and nights, thereby adding up to nearly six weeks adrift in a boat, they drifted in an open topped boat with nothing to protect them from the wind, the water, and the biting cold, not to mention the purpetual violin music.
"Miss Cheerilee," Cinch said, who was increasingly delerious. "Let us eat the cupcake in the gas stove."
"No, we can't," Cheerilee replied, herself looking increasingly crazed. "It's the only evidence we've got, and we need to keep it, or else nobody will know the truth." She paused. "Though I will admit this hunger does give one an appetite."
"Let's eat it!"
"No! Were you not listening earlier?"
"Very well," Cinch replied. "I shall stop playing my violin." Just then, the violin music stopped.
INTERJECTION FROM MR GREENSLADE
"That is of course, where our story ends. Except for, of course, the ending. Please do send me suggestions as what you want to happen. Should Cheerilee eat the cupcake and live? Or should she, in the course of justice, die? Please post your responses in the comments below. But of course, we must now have the true ending, for those of you who want one."
STORY WILL RESUME MOMENTARILY
Cheerilee was about to reply, but suddenly felt drowsy, and fell forward.
Moments later, she found herself looking up at a ceiling, painted white, with windows on her left and right. Sheep were outside, and there were lovely walls made of Yorkshire stone dotted about. As she sat up, she suddenly realised where she was. She was in Yorkshire on a trip to ride a steam working to Carlisle and back, alongside her daughter.
"Now THAT was the wackiest dream I've ever had," she said, and got out of bed to go and check on her child, who was a few doors down from her. She walked along the corridor and opened the door. There was Scootaloo, lying on the floor for some reason. "Are you OK?"
"Mom, I had the wierdest dream," Scootaloo replied, looking her directly in the eye. "That teaches me to eat cheese before going to bed again."
"Well, it seems I have to learn the same lesson," Cheerilee sighed. "As I had a seriously weird one as well. But you can tell me all about it over breakfast. After all, we have a train to catch, which leaves from Settle in about three hours."
And so, away went mother and daughter for breakfast, as they had a busy day ahead of them, with not a cupcake in sight."
Author's Note
Thank you for reading what is possibly the most surreal story I have ever written. A work of complete nonsense, I hope you enjoyed.
Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot!
James MacAvoy-Mr Greenslade, French voice
