New Toulouse

Mr. Octave Hollier (not the rice farmer, but spelled the same) contacted this reporter about some strange goings-on in the bayou.

“We were warming our chilled selves at the radio station when all of a sudden the tower lights started to flash blue,” Mr. Hollier said.

“Me and Robicheaux were frogging late last night, and when we got finished, we detoured by the old radio station. Sometimes we just ride that ferry all through the bayou, then we get off at the small dock and take the Missedabracket ferry back to town, but on cold nights it’s nice to go by the old radio station. I love that old radio station, I can feel it warming my liver when I’m still fifty feet away. And it’s safe, too—none of the snakes around there are alive.”

Mr. Hollier continued, “So we were there by the old radio station—no, I don’t know why we have a radio station. We don’t have an operator, or music, or nothing. That thing hasn’t broadcast in years, but I like how that whole area around the transmitter is nice and warm.

“Anyhow, it started to glow blue. I’ve been walking by that thing for years, and it’s never glowed blue before. The lights on top have always been red, except last night, when they were turning blue. So me and Robicheaux, we looked all around, and we didn’t see anything until Robicheaux pointed out the lights in the sky. And the humming got louder, and then that tower, she just disappeared.

“And then it came right back. And then it disappeared again. And came back. It started to speed up, and it was flickering faster and faster, and the lights in the sky were flashing at the same speed, and then they just sped away. We looked all around, but we never saw nobody, us.”

Mr. Hollier did not appear to be drinking. After he left the Tattler offices, he walked straight home.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.

Trolley Trollop here and on assignment in the Gloryville district, New Toulouse, after a confidential source whispered a tip in her ear when Trolley was busy dancing, catching her some beads, and having more fun than a preacher at a tent revival during Saturday’s Krewe Bayou parade.

Well, weekend’s over and Trolley’s back in New Toulouse, hot on the trail of what may be the Story of the Decade. Trolley even got herself a room in Gloryville down on Basin Street, right across from the cemetery, so she can work the story up good and stick her nose into everybody’s business. Rent costing her all her lunch and pocket money, but that’s all right. People’s got a right to know the Truth, and Trolley’s aiming to sniff it out faster than a hog digs up one of them truffles her Sister Cousin who lives in France is always raving about.

But Trolley’s getting off track. You folks know all about France, seeing how this is LousyAnna (that’s how we sound it out where I comes from in South Alabama). Trolley’s source—and don’t you even try to get her to cough up his name, ’cause Trolley go to jail before she reveal a source. Miss Peggy Hull wouldn’t do it, and neither will Trolley—told her that there are tunnels under this place. Tunnels! Imagine that, in a part of the world where the water table is up to your neck after a rain and you got to bury the dead six feet over the ground so they don’t float up and scare the horses.

Anyway, long time ago it seems there was trouble with those tunnels. That’s the mystery Trolley’s investigating, ’cause nobody’s talking and they just glaze over when Trolley even mentions the word. Mighty suspicious behavior on the part of some folks, ain’t it?

But don’t take my word for it; here’s what Deep Tonsils told Trolley. You read it over, and then you pass on anything you know to Trolley. She’ll be mighty obliged and might even send you some hot biscuits and tupelo honey to say thank you kindly. Trolley gots to solve this mystery, make Mama proud! So you listen up and read the word-for-word, unexpurgated, and gospel-Truth transcript of what Deep Tonsils told Trolley.

Deep Tonsils: Well, there were a lot of people working on those tunnels, and there was a cave-in one night, Trolley … you know what that is, don’t you?

TrolleyTrollop: Like when the earth moved at Sister Cousin’s place?

DT: Well, yes … but there was a guy trapped down there in the rubble.

TT: Oh! Did they get him out? Or did he pass and now he’s a haint? Oh my god—the gators didn’t get him, did they?

DT: Nobody knows, Trolley. He is a memory, to some at least, but every thirty years, a woman goes missing … a young woman. Some might say it is him, choosing a bride, till she becomes too old, and then he chooses another one. But of course, what do I know?

Now, ain’t that jest about the most exciting thing you read in a month of Mondays? You got any information at all, you send it along to Trolley, and she’ll jump on it! Slip it under the door of my place here at #3 Basin Street, or send me one of them notecards. We got a story to break!

Respectfully, as befitting a member of the 4th Estate,
Trolley Trollop

TrolleyTrollop is her Sister Cousin’s (SisterButta) poor relation from south Alabama making her way in SL as a journalist. She ain’t got no portfolio, but she’s got a picture of Miss Peggy Hull on her wall, so you know she’s serious!

Following hard on the disappearance of our beloved Editor, Miss Nikita Weymann, the Tattler has learned that Gigi Lapin is now missing. Readers of this paper will remember that Miss Gigi raised concerns about Miss Niki’s whereabouts four days ago. Despite the missing posters that add a sombre note to our Mardi Gras-bright city, no one has so far come forward with any information. Mayor Godenot has offered a reward of 1L, to be paid out of his own pocket.

Souces inside NTPD say that a woman is being questioned in connection with the double disappearance. Police remain tight-lipped on her identity but a local source says it is Mrs Ethel Varnish of the Tarantula Arms. The source, who runs the adjacent bar, but has asked us not to name her, said, “The Tarantula Arms is a strange place: people come and just as suddenly leave, never to be heard of again. I’ve heard screams in the night that would curdle absinthe!” She went on to add that Miz Ethel did make the most delicious meat pies.

Amid wild speculation and whisperings of blackmail, extortion, murder, and corruption at the highest level, the search goes on.

Where is Miss Weymann? Where is Miss Gigi? Did they know something that made them a danger to a ruthless criminal? And where can I get one of Miz Ethel’s delicious meat pies?

Frances Lava is a relative newcomer to New Toulouse. She knows nothing about anyone or anything.

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.

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