“…Thatatement endth,” Daffy said, sighing as he lowered the page to his lap. “I have no idea why Bugtth thent me thith one, to be honetht. It took plathe on the other thide of the world, to people who don’t theem to have any connection to what’th going on. If we were thtill in Toon Town, that would be thomething elthe, but…” He sighed again. “The longer I’m in London, the lethth important the United Thtateth theemth. I’ve thuthpected for a while there might be a power or…what ith it everyone keepth calling them? A Fear? There might be a Fear connected with caveth and enclothed thpatheth, being buried alive or trapped or whatever. Tho it’th good to have thomething that goeth a long way towardth confirming that theory, I guethth, but…what’th it got to do with what’th going on now? Ith it the namelethth old man? The old woman? Or whoever wath crying in the car? Ith he trying to warn me not to ignore my own metaphorical pit—and if that’th the cathe, what ith my pit? You know, in thome wayth, it’th worthe now that I’m back at the Inthtitute. I know I can athk him why he’th thending me thethe, but he thtill won’t…tell me.”
He rubbed at his face. “I did my rethearch. Mithter Ellith ith thtill alive and well and living in Tacoma, and refutheth to dithcuthth thethe matterth any further. I don’t blame him, honethtly. It’th probably not a bottomlethth pit, becauthe that would be more in line with Rocky’th…lot than with thomething elthe, but it’th thtil not fun. The town of Bucoda ith…well, it’th—it’th gone. Newthpaperth reported it ath an earthquake, and the tremorth were felt ath far away ath Cathtle Rock, but in thpite of every newthpaper or article dethcribing the town of Bucoda ath having been dethtroyed, there are no pictureth or recordth of the dethtruction itthelf. There wathn’t any damage outthide the town limitth, the roadth are fine. It’th like thomething out of a cartoon, honethtly. Thith doethn’t happen in real life.” He stared vacantly in front of him as a vague suspicion began to form. “Maybe that’th it? Maybe that’th the key? Bugth hath been talking about thith…Unknowing thing, and Tharah Baldwin thaid thomething about it too, but nobody theemth to know what it actually ith. If it’th making the world more like a—”
There was a sudden pop, and all the lights in the living room went out. Daffy blinked angrily into the darkness. “Ohh, fine. All right, then.”
He got up to flick the light switch a few times. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t change anything. Daffy grumbled to himself as he felt along the wall for the fusebox—he wasn’t exactly a master electrician, but he could work a fusebox well enough if called upon. “Right. Right. Of courthe. Keep thaying it’th not thuppothed to trip when jutht one bulb goeth, but, ‘No, Daffy, I don’t want to bother the landlord…’” He smacked up against something hard and metallic. “Ah.”
He had just worked his fingers into the hinge to open it and was feeling for the first switch when a sing-song voice came out of the darkness. “I wouldn’t do that, if I was vous…”
Daffy gasped and whirled around, flattening against the wall like it was going to help. A shadowy figure loomed behind him, one hand on a hip, the other held up dramatically at roughly eye level. Said figure was vaguely feminine in shape, obviously wearing a long gown with capelike sleeves under the arms…at least Daffy hoped they were sleeves…and with long, flowing hair. There were also, on the top of the head, two small bumps that may have been part of the hairstyle and may have been bows and may have been something else.
“I mean,” the voice continued with a demure giggle, “you can, of course, if you really want to, but I don’t think you’ll like it. Sometimes not being able to see something is a very good thing.”
“Who are you?” Daffy managed to squeak. He should know that voice, he should, but he didn’t…or should he?
“Well.” The figure took a couple more steps closer, although Daffy still couldn’t make details out in the darkness—not even the eyes, so not a Toon. Probably. “My 'father’ named me Pigatha Lee, and then I killed him, so I thought I should take the favor of his second name, too. Which makes me Pigatha Lee Henson, but you can call me Miss Piggy.” She extended a hand forward dramatically. “Pleased to make your acquaintance at long last.”
Obviously Daffy was meant to take the hand and kiss it. He was absolutely not stupid enough to do that. He was, however, apparently stupid enough to stammer out, “You—you killed Jim Henthon?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Miss Piggy did not drop her hand from its extended position. “He really was so boring, and I am a monster. What was I supposed to do—not tear him to bits? I did use all the pieces, though.”
Okay. She was a Muppet. Daffy was…only loosely familiar with the Muppets, since—except for when they’d come to Los Angeles to film—they mostly lived on the other side of the country, but everyone knew who Miss Piggy was. Or at least, they thought they did. The backstage lives of the Muppets were generally a lot more open, but…
“Don’t. Turn on. The light,” Miss Piggy said, her voice dropping from sweet and coaxing to the shrill growl in an instant.
Daffy hadn’t even been aware his hand was straying towards the fusebox again, but he dropped it hastily and gulped hard. “Are—are you going to—” He gulped again. “Kill me?”
“No!” Just like that, Miss Piggy’s voice was back to sweet as she finally lowered her hand to—from the looks of it—press it to her bosom. She gave a small, light laugh. “Well. Yes. Of course I am. But not just yet! I don’t want you to go to waste.”
Daffy couldn’t even summon up a sarcastic thanks for the sour persimmons. Everything he had ever heard about her indicated she wouldn’t appreciate it, and he was pretty keen not to upset her unnecessarily. He licked his lips. “Then—uh, then what—why are you—here?”
“Well…” Miss Piggy drew out the word. “After you so cruelly attacked poor, dear Sarah, I thought it was time we had a nice little chat. Face to no face! Eye to…well.” She gave a small, polite laugh.
Daffy was not put at ease. “What…what do you want?”
“Oh, it’s very simple, really,” Miss Piggy said carelessly. “We just want one…teensy-weensy little favor. You remember that old piece of skin you were talking about? We’d like it back. Silly thing—at first we thought poor old Granny had destroyed it. But you were looking for it, so now—we think maybe she was just very, very good at hiding.”
Daffy blinked. “I’m thorry, you’re athking me to find it for you?”
“Pretty please?” Miss Piggy wheedled. “It would be so much nicer for you than our other ideas.”
As far as Daffy knew, there were no gorilla Muppets, so it wasn’t like this was a discarded brethren she was trying to save, especially given its age. Also—he had to admit, if only to himself—he wasn’t sure how much she was still a Muppet anymore. Still, he found himself too morbidly curious not to ask. “What’th tho important about an old piethe of taxthidermy, anyway?”
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about,” Miss Piggy said, her voice still light and sweet. “It’s my costume, that’s all.”
“Cothtume?”
“For my big number, when I dance the world new!” Miss Piggy flung her arms wide.
Daffy’s mind was racing. The Unknowing, that thing Bugs kept talking about—that had to be what this was. Maybe this was his chance to find out more details. “But—but wh—”
“Hiiiiiiiii-YAH!!!” Without warning, Miss Piggy swung her arm forward and karate-chopped Daffy directly in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs and forcing an urk from his throat. For something supposedly made of felt and stuffing, she was surprisingly sturdy, confirming his previous thought that she was less Muppet than she had once been.
“Question time is over, you little…Archivist.” Miss Piggy’s voice had dropped back down to a growl, one that sent shivers down his spine. “Find the skin. Give it back to me. You have exactly until I change my mind.”
Daffy wanted to protest that that was an extremely nonspecific amount of time. He wanted to argue that if he knew where the skin was, he wouldn’t have asked Sarah about it. He wanted to point out that black wasn’t really her color and dyeing the fur pink might be a bit noticeable.
All he could manage was a gasp for air as she yelled out another “Hiiiiii-YAH!” and stomped on him.
“You always hurt the ones you love,” she said, going back to her usual sweet diva voice. “Hush now. Save your energy for the dance. Kissy, kissy!”
Muppets didn’t really have footsteps, but Daffy heard her flouncing away, and then the click of the tape recorder shutting off as it reached the end of the reel, leaving Daffy alone on the floor in the fetal position.
He had to get out of here. He was putting Jonny in danger, and probably Sasha and Alex, too.
Things had just got serious.