g i B b e R n e T
The nonsense place



The Fickle Four and the Case of the Evil Fly
by Webgibberer

It all began as the Fickle Four sat idly in their newly furnished office. The telephone rang.
"Pick it up!" everyone told Fickle1.
"All right, all right," Fickle1 replied. "I'll pick it up right now."
Ten minutes later the phone was still ringing.Fickles 2, 3 and 4 looked at each other meaninglessly.
"Where's Fickle1?" Fickle2 asked.
A fake sound answered their question for them. They recognised it as fake because it sounded like Fickle1 crying and they knew that Fickle1 did not cry. None of the Fickles ever cried. If a Fickle cried, the others kicked him out of the window and watched as he turned into pickle.
"Are you crying, Fickle1?" Fickle2 asked. He knew the answer, but he longed to put his best friend, Fickle1, in trouble. So did the others because they all loved Fickle1, too.
The tears turned into laughter and Fickle1 appeared in the doorway in front of them. "Of course I'm not crying," Fickle1 said. "I was really laughing. Fooled you, didn't I?"
"Why didn't you pick up the phone?" Fickle3 asked.
"Because I said I would and I'm a good Fickle," Fickle1 replied. The others nodded their heads in approval and wished Fickle1 had been a bad Fickle instead. The phone continued to ring.
"You know something?" said Fickle1. "We should throw the phone out of the window. It is not at all Fickle. It keeps ringing when it is supposed to and never rings when it is not supposed to. It does not belong here." The others nodded their heads in approval once more.
"I'll throw it out," said Fickle2. He picked up the phone and placed it on the boss's chair, which had stood empty because the others could not decide whom to name Boss.
"I thought you'd throw it out," said Fickle3, "and you've gone and made it the Boss. Now we'll have to doubly disobey it."
Fickle2 grinned. "I'm a good Fickle, too, remember?" he said.
Fickle3 approached the new Boss. "I adore you, Boss," he said, "and I'll always be loyal to you."
The other Fickles pretended to exchange looks. They all hoped Fickle3 was serious.
But Fickle3 had other plans. "To begin with," he told the Boss, "I'll worship you. And to continue with," he continued, "I'll never let any harm come to you." Feeling sure that the Boss now felt at ease in its new position, Fickle3 proceeded to pick up the Boss and fling it out of the window. Fickles 1, 2 and 4 nodded their heads in approval and secretly felt more disgruntled than ever, especially when Fickle3 took his seat and beamed round at them all.
Everyone looked at Fickle4 now.
"Okay, okay," he said. "You are looking at me. I get the point."
"Then do something," the others all said together.
"No," said Fickle4. The others knew exactly what this meant.
Fickle4 thought hard. Finally he had a dim idea.
"I love your hair, Fickle1," Fickle4 said. Then he turned to Fickle2. "Isn't Fickle1's hair awful?" he asked. "I absolutely hate it."
The others had to grant it to Fickle4, though they thought he had played a cheap trick and did not deserve to belong to their club. "You ought to be the Boss," they told him.
"Oh. I'd hate to," Fickle4 replied before comfortably seating himself in the recently emptied Boss's chair. "I mean to be an excellent Boss," he said.
"And we all mean to obey you like perfect underlings," the rest replied with fake smiles.
Just then, Mrs. Jam Tart walked into the office.
"Hello, Fickles," she said. "I heard you had opened a detective office."
"Yes," they all replied together. "We have, indeed."
"Good," said Mrs. Jam Tart. "Then I will be your first client. I need some detectives. Someone has been burgling in my house."
"Burgling in your house?" asked Fickle3. "That makes perfect sense." He nodded wisely and fakely.
"It does, doesn't it?" said Mrs. Jam Tart. "I know the culprit. He is a fly. He has been helping himself to my jam. Any day now he'll go after my tarts, too. I can't catch him. That's why I need your help."
"But we can't do that," said Fickle4. "We are detectives, not policemen. We have to track down thieves, not catch them."
"Oh. Okay then, I'll go. But here's my address just in case you change your minds." Mrs. Jam Tart handed them a card and left, crestfallen.
Fickles 1, 2 and 3 stared at Fickle4 in fake joy. "Why did you say that?" they asked.
Fickle4 did some quick thinking of the fickle kind. "I did it on purpose," he said. "I wanted to help Mrs. Jam Tart."
The others understood him perfectly well. They forgave him but pretended not to.

Mrs. Jam Tart was pleasantly surprised to find the Fickles outside her door. "I'm pleasantly surprised," she said.
Fickle4 did some more quick thinking. "We changed our minds," he said. "We have come to help you."
The others nodded, feeling relieved. They pretended to feel exasperated at Fickle4's madness.
"The fly is in there," said Mrs. Jam Tart. "Be careful."
She opened the door to her kitchen and shut it again as soon as the Fickles had walked in.
"Are we locked inside?" asked Fickle4.
Fickles 1, 2 and 3 tried the door to see if it would open. It did not. "No," they all said, "we're not locked in at all."
"Hello, fly," said Fickle4 to the fly. "We're detectives. We're here to catch you."
The fly did some quick thinking. "Here's a deal," it said. "I'll let you share the jam tarts with me if you won't catch me."
"What jam tarts?" asked Fickle1, looking around the kitchen.
The fly sighed. "This is the jam," it said, "and these are the tarts. Together, they would make jam tarts, only I'll eat them before they do. Do you accept the deal?"
The Fickles looked at each other. "Of course not," they said. Then they gobbled up all the jam tarts, let the fly jump out of the window, and jumped out right behind it.
"That was a bad day's work," they began, I mean ended, pretending not to lick their lips.

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