New Toulouse

New Toulouse residents may be stunned to learn that there is a serial sleeper in town. A woman has been showing up looking for a place to sleep. When offered a place to rest, the visitor falls into a deep slumber, waking occasionally to request pancakes.

“Lock up your linens,” one man on the street warned, “and keep some fresh kumquats around.”

Apparently the serial sleeper, known as Bold Ariadne, is allergic to kumquats.

Please forward any kumquat pancake recipes to pub owner Miss Salome Starsmith for mass production.

In the meantime, if anyone has any information regarding Bold Ariadne, please notify the police immediately.

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Gigi Lapin has never tried a kumquat but feels certain that pancakes are the only solution.

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New Toulouse’s very own Eugenie Theriot has discovered something strange about the bayou radio station. While testing her crystal set, Miss Theriot found that the station had changed its broadcast.

“I don’t ever listen to our station anymore,” Miss Theriot said. “It’s just the same old sequence of numbers, repeating endlessly. Always exactly the same, except when it is not. You see, it’s changed.”

The station broadcasts a series of numbers, which Miss Theriot wrote down last year, “after the first fifty-seven times I heard it,” she said. “Because how many times do you really want to hear ‘Forty, fifty, fifty, four … zero, eleven, ninety-one, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, zero, eleven, forty, thirty, five … one, sixty-one, twenty, fifty, eleven, ninety, five … zero, eighty, fifty-one, twenty-one, six’? That’s all it ever played, repeated endlessly.”

Hearing the broadcast over the crystal set she built, she had written down the numbers. “I thought the man reciting those numbers might be counting something, or that it had something to do with the weather report, or the strange lights in the bayou, but they never changed. And he always sounded so worried.”

Miss Theriot showed me her notes. She had printed the sequence of numbers in a fine, clear hand. Then she connected the battery terminals to her little radio, and the rich sound of a woman’s voice filled the air: “Zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five.” It was a woman’s voice, very calm, very deliberate.

“See, that’s the long pause, the end of the sequence. Now it will restart!” said Miss Theriot.

Over the radio, the woman’s voice continued: “Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five. Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five. Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five.”

Miss Theriot played it a few times and then turned it off. “Nobody knows what this is all about, or why New Toulouse even has a radio station. And that thing has really high power, too. Why? Who is going to listen to it for more than a couple minutes? Who built that thing? Have you ever even seen anyone in the station?”

She handed me a copy of her notes and pointed to her suitcase. “I’m taking the next boat out,” she said, “I’ll see you next year. If you’re still here.”

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Gigi Lapin lives in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.

Meeting with Miss Galatea Monday at the Haunted Jellyfish for a séance and photo shoot, I confessed to being a little worried. “Aww, no need. I will protect you from anything scary,” said she, smiling. “The spirits are our friends.” As she got me settled in the studio, she said I was pretty, so I figured we were off to a pretty good start.

That’s when the ghost appeared.

I was pretty sure I’d never met a bunnyfish, but her face was familiar somehow. Miss Gala said the bunnyfish ghost was humming a tune. It was all pretty weird, but I wasn’t scared.

“This bunny says that she may know where your lost keys are,” said Miss Gala. “Did you lose keys recently?” I told her I’d lost an entire building—the Tattler building, which had been replaced by a hospital without anyone telling me. Miss Gala told me that the bunnyfish ghost, who is apparently my spirit guardian, said that the Tattler would be found where I least expected it. (Which turned out to be true—the newspaper has moved into the old Montgolfier Building, where the doctor’s clinic used to be, just a few steps down Rossignol from the Jellyfish.)

“Maybe it’s at the bottom of the river,” I joked.

Miss Gala said, “No, but she says some things certainly are.”

As a child, she was chasing a frog but fell down a well and hit her head, and ever since then, spirits have been talking to her. “The spirit world has become a place of comfort for so many. But they’re bored. So, one just has to have some patience and a good connection, and they seem more than willing to come and play!”

I had some questions for my spirit guardian, and what I heard about my ailing crawfish Jimbo shocked me. According to Miss Gala, everyone has a spirit guardian. If you haven’t yet met yours, consider paying her a visit.

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Gigi Lapin resides in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo, who is absolutely not to be given any bourbon.

Tattler editer Nikita Wayman has dissapeared with out a trace. The usually ever-prezent Miss Wayman was last seen by this reporter, who rezides next door to her in the bayou, on Sunday afternoon when she stopped by with a gift of a delishous alligater pear from the market. Parish police were called but have offerred no comment on their investigation. Persons with any information as to her where abouts are urged to contact the Tattler, esspecially since the alligater pear has long sence been consumed.

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Gigi Lapin resides in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.

We may not be getting a white Christmas, but Taloosters are getting into the holiday spirit. Here are some photographs taken around town, along with information on gifts you can pick up.

There’s mistletoe at Laveau Square—grab your sweetheart and take a photo!

* Click here for more photos and gift information! *

A blinding light filled the skies above New Toulouse and Bayou last night.

Our astronomer friend, Miss Eugenie Theriot, home from college to visit her parents, said, “Meteorite, it had to be a meteorite. No way was it a space kraken.”

When asked how she could be so sure, she said, “Quite simple, really. First, several people witnessed seeing it going from south to north right over town. Frannie Alva said it passed to the east of her. Mirri Rosca said it passed to the west of her. Both of them said it was moving really fast and going straight north and ‘it probably landed just over there.’

“Second, no pieces. Everyone knows that large meteorites have such enormous kinetic energy that they convert into heat on impact. They vaporize on impact and never leave pieces. Since no one has found any pieces, this is just exactly like a meteorite strike.

“Third, it’s obvious—krakens don’t exist.”

Miss Theriot went on to explain that a meteorite is a perfectly natural phenomenon caused by the entry of a small rock from space into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Yes, really, it’s a rock from space, and not a giant orange invertebrate that lays small green eggs that get into everything and everyone. And if someone finds it, it’s worth a heap of money.”

When reminded that a damn Yankee once tried to besmirch old Thomas Jefferson’s reputation by claiming that old TJ said, “I would sooner believe that a Yankee professor would lie rather that rocks would fall from the sky,” Miss Theriot commented, “Piffle. Those guys were really old. And this is the twentieth century.”

Miss Gigi Damour, who was looking after Mayor Godenot’s chickens while he was away, noticed that all of the chickens were gone today. She also reported that Henri’s third horse, the flashy palomino, was completely missing. Miss Nikita Weymann, aware that Godenot was away on business, thinks he may have taken the palomino with him.

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Gigi Lapin resides in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.

The New Toulouse Firehouse opened Saturday morning with an impromptu ribbon-cutting ceremony involving no ribbon and no ceremony. Presiding were Mayor Henri Godenot and Fire Chief Jimmeh Obolensky.

Casually flicking a cigar butt into the watch desk’s wastepaper basket, Chief Obolensky stated, “Our top priority at the firehouse is the safety and health of every resident. To avoid fires, we ask that all stills and alcoholic beverages be removed from homes and delivered directly to the firehouse. Alcoholic beverages are the main cause of fires, and we have a very secure and safe way of disposing of them. We thank you for your cooperation.”

Several citizens said that they felt safer now that the city has made the switch from a horse-drawn engine to a motorized one. Miss Kristine Jinx-Kristan asked, “Does this mean I can start playing with matches again?” to which Mayor Godenot replied, “Yes, but you can’t run with scissors until we get a clinic.”

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Gigi Lapin is a resident of New Toulouse Bayou and a connoisseur of fine carrots.

On Tuesday evening the New Toulouse Department of Health barred Urchin Food Franchyzez [sic] from operating in the city. A recent letter to the editor of this newspaper alerted city officials to a possible health hazard, and the New Toulouse Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals lodged a strongly worded complaint against the French Market food vendor. The city imposed a fine upon Urchin Food Franchyzez, whereupon the sole known operator disappeared from town, with the fine still unpaid.

The mayor’s office issued the following statement: “Based on resident complaints we dispatched an almost human squad to remove the nasty food stall. All food served in the market will be subjected to a cleanliness and taste test, and unsuitable food vendors will be thrown in the canal.”

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Gigi Lapin is a resident of New Toulouse Bayou and an aficionado of the finest carrots.

Sunday night a large number of zombies rose out of the swamp and attacked the train station before being put down by the constabulary and some heroic armed citizens.

Present and battling the undead horde were Mayor Godenot and Captain Pestana. A woman in a deep blue evening gown also bravely fought the zombies but declined to give her name. An unknown well-dressed man careened into groups of zombies with an automobile before sinking it in the swamp and using a firearm instead. “The police car was just sitting there!” he said.

No accurate count of the shambling dead could be made, but “there was zombie goop all over,” according to an eyewitness. Although some people were injured, luckily no deaths or zombifications occurred.

“The zombies don’t respect law and order,” Captain Pestana told this reporter. Residents are advised to take precautions in case another outbreak occurs. The New Toulouse Citizens Defense League is dispensing free shotguns at the train station.

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Gigi Lapin is a resident of New Toulouse Bayou and an aficionado of the finest carrots.