The Odd Case of Ms. Squid
A Short Story
The Odd Case of Ms. Squid: A Short Story offers a fun, thought-provoking reflection on the value of artists as members of the human race.
As We Live
Each of us dreams of things divine,
A heavenly home to call all mine.
But as we whirl through life,
Over and again, we run into strife.
I have no purpose.
A thought will hiss.
Yet a few raise their voices, in song and in play,
They radiate joy, come what may.
Artists, we call them, who see with second sight,
Studying mysteries, with all their might.
They value the half-empty glass,
Hold sacred the spiritual Mass.
Marvel at a leaf as it falls from a tree,
Consider a snail in wonder and see.
But,
Rational minds won’t be left behind.
Insisting on reason and logic refined.
Refusing all Grace,
They hurry the race.
Yet,
Where the journey ends, few know for certain.
Life is more than the stage or its curtain.
Old worlds pass away.
Possibilities rise every day.
Still,
The soul remains much the same.
A home awaits—one we must claim.
What we dream—heaven or hell.
Forever to dwell.
As we live,
So we give…
Chapter One
As a seasoned Newearth Human Services Officer, Bala was used to strange circumstances and confusing facts, but the case of Ms. Squid was more than strange or confusing; it was downright odd.
Perching on the edge of a large wood-framed chair with crimson padding, Bala balanced his enlarged datapad on his knees and studied the house he now occupied. Wearing a comfortable sweatsuit he had donned for his early-morning run, he hadn’t expected to be called in on his day off, but since his partner, Clare Erlandson, was visiting her son on the planet Tibun, he was first in line to respond to a murder investigation.
A heavy-set man with gray hair, a jowly face, and piercing black eyes stared over his shoulder. “I don’t see the point of studying the layout of the house. Why aren’t you inspecting the woman sprawled across the carpet in the next room?”
Hunching his shoulders to keep hot breath off his neck, Bala tapped off the datapad and then rose to his feet. He stared at the man who probably had fifteen years on him but absolutely no authority to tell him what to do. “You came at your usual time to deliver groceries and other goods?”
An emphatic nod. “Yeah. Like I was trying to tell you when you came in. She’s always ready and waiting for me. But when she didn’t answer my ring, I checked the door. Since it was unlocked, I came through and called around and found her.”
“And you didn’t touch the body?”
“Why would I do that? It was clear she was dead.”
“She could’ve fainted.”
“Likely, isn’t it? Without a brain!”
“So, you did a scan?”
“Of course, don’t need to touch a person to do a scan! You get as old as me, and you have a scanner on your datapad right next to the emergency number. I check myself over every morning.”
Bala hadn’t merely been checking the layout of the house, but the surveillance footage for the last thirteen hours. It clearly showed Ms. Squid, dressed in a beige pantsuit, making herself dinner, eating in peaceful solitude, cleaning up, then gathering colorful embroidery yarn and a large hoop, arranging herself comfortably on the couch in the living room, stitching away in silence, and then, two hours later, and for no discernible reason, suddenly tumbling from her chair onto the floor. Then his poor, bewildered fellow strolled in ten hours later and found her body. Bala eyed the eighty-something gentleman. “Conrad, correct?”
“Yeah, Connor Conrad. I live across the way, three houses down. I always do my errands on Thursday evening, and she and I have an arrangement: I buy her stuff from a list she gives me, and she makes the prettiest gifts for me to give my family and friends. The woman had a knack for knowing what other people would like, and her skill is—er, was—amazing.”
“So, she was an artist? Was that her profession?”
“Hm, I guess you could say she lived her art.”
Bala tried hard not to roll his eyes. He sucked in a lungful of air and nearly choked. The house was stuffy, and the body in the next room was getting old. “I called the coroner, and she’ll be here soon. Her team will want as few people around as possible while they do their investigation, so you can head home now.”
“You don’t need to question me anymore?”
“Oh, you’ll have to come down to the central office in Vandi and fill in a report, but for now, I’ve got enough information to begin.”
Mr. Conrad shrugged. “I think you’re missing the point.”
Bala tilted his head and let question marks form in his eyes.
An exasperated shrug, and Mr. Conrad started for the door. “Well, what in blazes happened to her brain? That’s what I want to know!” Huffing, the well-meaning neighbor with the now-defunct deal marched across the room, threw open the door, and stomped into the morning light.
Bala sighed as he started back to the living room where he knew exactly what he would see: a dead body with no brain and, as the head was perfectly intact with no sign of bodily damage, no reasonable explanation presented itself. The worst part was that this wasn’t his first such conundrum. This was the third mysterious case of a body with a missing brain in three months!
Bala slipped his datapad under his arm, faced the library where the body lay, and imagined the look on Clare’s face when she got home tomorrow and was presented with the odd case of Ms. Squid
The Next Chapter of The Odd Case of Ms. Squid
September 4th, 2026
A. K. Frailey Amazon Author Page
Main Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/gothic-fantasy-dark-medium-3173129/