In yet another unfortunate Desire-fueled accident, an impromptu funeral party was flattened by the streetcar. At about 10:30 Friday night, Armand was driving his handsome hearse, transporting—along with several pallbearers-cum-joyriders—a corpse, thought to be that of Miss R. Beedit. (Details on her pending undeadness pending.)
Le cadavre
Miss Karima Hoisan stood on the coachman’s step of the hearse alongside Miss Maggie Hawksby. When the carriage paused by the cemetery, says Miss Hoisan, “I was talking with Doc Avalon, who was in the street offering one of her experimental therapies for our dubious corpse, when suddenly I felt a very powerful sensation in the vicinity of my backside, as though a powerful force was in fact jolting me from behind!”
In short, it’s a miracle that every party at that intersection were not sent to his or her respective end. In short order, the whole mess was consumed by a big fireball, with the terrified horse hauling the whole thing.
Hearse on fire
Since the streetcar isn’t powered by anything particularly flammable, it’s speculated that the doctor may have propagated some kind of experimental electrical current with the idea of corpse “reanimation,” when in fact the entire coach was blown up. (They say Armand makes great floats, and now it’s official: Armand can also maintain great exploding floats.)
Miraculously, all—including the infernal streetcar—were accounted for afterward. The citizens sat in Armand’s parlor, enjoying some stiff beverages whilst puffing Miss Hawksby’s oracle pipes. The circumspect group mused on the afterlife, which pretty much made Armand yawn.
Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.