* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV

The Vengeance of the Pen

Molly's phone rang at 3:23 A.M. It was Pinkie, of course, awestruck by the enormity of it all. "Molly, mmmm... Molly! You've gotta help me get rid of this thing!"
Molly asked, "What thing is that, Pinkie?" knowing full well her own wickedness.
"That, that... PEN!" sputtered the Pinkster.
"Oh, you mean the silver/blue Vacumatic Major with a fine flex nib and slight brassing on top of the clip and capband? That pen?"
"Yeah, yeah, Molly, I know I should have told you right away that I had it I'm really really sorry I'll never..."
"SHUT UP!" Pinkie groveling here, Molly firmly in control. "What'd you think, Pink? That I was lying to you about the silver/blue Vacumatic Major with a fine flex nib and slight brassing on top of the clip and capband? That pen is haunted, Pinkie. You've got to get away from it right now before it GETS you."
"But Molly, where am I going to go?!? I mean, it's in my home!"
Molly took mercy on him. "Awright, Pinkie, hold tight and I'll be there within the hour. Just make sure you don't go to sleep around that pen, and whatever you do, DON'T PICK IT UP!" Pinkie blubbered a bit around the apartment, Amodex'd himself off as well as possible and put on his monogrammed silk pajamas and his Royal Blue velvet robe with the Big Red Duofold rampant embroidered on the back. While he awaited Molly's arrival, eying the sinister Vacumatic, he couldn't help but wonder, "how come Molly knows so much?"

HOW COME MOLLY KNOWS SO MUCH

The intrepid Molly Penn had been tracking the history of that particular Vac for a long long time because of an eerie historical anomaly - her beloved Grandfather had owned just such a pen which disappeared, mysteriously, the very night of his demise. How Molly cherished the memories she had of playing with her Granpappa's pens! He used to delight in his solemn-faced little granddaughter whose entire face lit up when he allowed her to doodle and muss to her heart's desire. Molly's stern yet loving governess used to sigh with exasperation every time Molly came home from a visit to her beloved Granpappa, stained and spattered with a multiplicity of inks. Molly remembered a pen like that, a pen just like that silver/blue Vacumatic Major with a fine flex nib and slight brassing on top of the clip and capband and the Big Molly wondered, couldn't help but wonder if it might be - if it could be - the very same pen that the Little Molly used to draw daffodils and butterflies lo those many years ago. Of course, that was back before the darkness set in. Back before - the tragedy.

By the time that Molly arrived at Pinkie's pad, he had more or less pulled himself together. However, Molly's eagle eye took in the ink-stained carpet, the tremor in Pinkie's hands and the odor of good scotch under cheap mouthwash. A faint reek of Amodex lurked. Presiding vulture-like over it all was a silver/blue Vacumatic Major with a fine flex nib and slight brassing on top of the clip and capband. "All right," Molly's voice was firm yet gentle, a fist of iron in a velvet glove. "What's going on around here? Part of Pinkie wanted to break down and tell her the truth, part of him wanted to gloss everything over and make it all O.K. again. After all, Machismo was at stake here.

Coming Next: What Pinkie Told Molly