Deary Abby Game

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

HELP ME! I am absolutely desperate, and there is no one else I can turn to. If this letter appears to have been written hurriedly, roughly mishandled or otherwise unordinary, I apologize. It was smuggled out and mailed to you by my captor’s servant. You see, Abby, I’m being held prisoner by a psychotic man… no, actually, he’s a vampire who is deeply disturbed. He’s trying to make me into the reincarnation of his long-dead love from the late eighteenth century… and, make me like he is. My father and my boyfriend must believe me to be dead by now, for I’ve been missing for months it seems.

I’m being held in a little cell in the basement of the vampire’s ancestral home. I know that I’ve little, if any hope of escaping my eventual fate. But, Abby, that’s not my purpose in writing to you. I’ve got an even worse problem. While locked up in this dark, cold basement cell, I keep getting visited by a little girl. Now, you may ask what is so bad about this. Couldn’t she send for someone to help me? No. In fact, this is the most obtuse little brat I’ve ever met. She couldn’t spell “cat” if you spotted her the “c” and the “t”. Most of the time, she can’t even speak in complete sentences, and her vocal intonation is so monotone, it’s like trying to listen to a leaky faucet. Sometimes, she even forgets what she was saying, in mid-sentence, and I’ve had to prod her with the words to continue. It can be quite embarrassing. The worst part, however, is the singing. Every time this kid shows up down here, she’s singing “London Bridge is falling down, falling down…” on and on, in that maddening monotone.

Abby, my question is this: Seeing as how it would appear that my own fate is inescapable, do you suppose that God would forgive me if some sort of horrible accident were to happen to little Miss Chatty Kathy? The servant has promised to check your column for your response, and let me know. Please, I’m so desperate!

Signed,

Doomed in the dungeon

Next Letter:

Deary Abby:

At the risk of sounding less than humble, permit me to begin by stating that I am likely the nicest, most trustworthy individual you’ll ever encounter. In fact, I’m often too good for my own wellbeing. Why, just today, having had such a positive impact upon the lives of those in my present locale, I’ve been asked to go spread my joy and goodness to others… within twenty four hours. Perhaps I’ll return to South America for a while.

Here’s my dilemma, Abby. I’ve found a rather large sum of money ($10,000 in cash). I have no idea to whom it rightfully belongs, and would like to see that it is returned to its owner, but I simply do not trust anyone… except, of course, you.

All we need to do, Dear Abs, is this: we will keep the money in the bag in which it was found, wait several days for someone to claim it, and if not, divide it between us as our good fortune. There is just one small problem: how can I really, truly trust you in this matter. Sure, you’re famous and well respected, but even a bank would want some sort of security. Would they not? Of course they would. Alright, rather than a whole ten thousand, I’m willing to permit you to put up a mere two thousand dollars, in cash, as security in this endeavor. I’ll even let you hold onto both the found money and your security money, once they’ve been put into the bag together. I know that some in my line of work would think me crazy for being so trusting and generous; but, you are after all, “Deary Abby.”

So, can you suggest a place in Collinsport, Maine, where we can conduct this transaction? I am most eager to see that all involved get what is coming to them.

Signed,

Jolly Good Fellow

P.S. : When you get to Collinsport, please kindly ignore what anyone might say about me. They’re all so frightfully jealous of me, and of the depth of my character.

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I have a moral dilemma that I hope you can help me resolve. I’ve recently moved back to my hometown where I was born and raised. When last I was here, I was convicted for a crime I did not commit, and sent to prison. After serving my sentence (four years of which was with a three hundred fifty pound pervert named Chester), I worked very hard, and actually became quite financially successful in entrepreneurial business ventures. Having returned to town to exact my revenge upon those who had wronged me, I set about getting near to them so as to enable my plans. In doing so, I’ve discovered that not all of the members of the family in question are so bad. I’ve grown particularly close to the boy of the family. He really seems to look up to me. His father *cough* is the former best friend who committed the crime for which I was falsely convicted, but the boy seems okay. Sure, he likes to start fires and shows every indication of being a budding sociopath, but he did make a rather clever attempt to kill his father *cough*, so he can’t be all bad.

My question, Abby, is this: should I go ahead with my plans to destroy this family, the father *cough* in particular, or bury the hatchet for the sake of the lad?

Signed,

Avenging Stranger

Abby must be on vacation, she's not answering her letters.

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

I’m not one who would ordinarily seek help from anyone as I’m usually pretty self-reliant, but this time, I find that I am desperately in need of some sound advice.

A few weeks ago, I met a man and we quickly became involved. In fact, we eloped, and are now happily married. He is one of a much respected old New England family, and… is rather wealthy. He brought me home, to the family estate, and all seemed well at first, until I met his insufferable cousin.

I don’t know if this cousin is a chronic drunk, a drug user or is just mentally deranged – but, he is making me want to hit him with a broom. He lives in the family’s original house, on the opposite side of the large estate, rent free. He appears to have nothing better to do than to sit around in candlelight, and think up ways to annoy me. Get this – he wears a cape. A cape! Really? Anyhow, every time that the two of us have been together when other people are around, he seems perfectly normal, but, as soon as we are alone he becomes a raving loony tune. He starts accusing me of being some long-lost love of his who must have jilted him. Oh, and it gets better… he appears to think that this all happened over one hundred years ago. He even insists on calling me by this fictional woman’s name, and demands that I confess that I am her. He even has threatened to expose me to the family. Yesterday, he went so far as to destroy the portrait of myself which my husband had commissioned. He slashed it to shreds with a big knife. What a psycho!

Abby, I will admit that my intentions in marrying the pompous schmuck who thinks I love him, were not the most honorable. Truth is, I’m a brazen gold digger. Now, I’ll also admit that there have been times when I’ve made my living by indulging some stranger's kinky delusions… for money of course; but from the looks of that house this jerk can’t even afford a can of Lysol let alone a world class trick like me. This cousin is starting to become not only an annoyance, but also a serious threat to my plans.

Whatever can I do?

Signed,

Bewitchingly bewildered

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

Some weeks ago, you published a letter which you had received from a young woman who stated that she was being held prisoner in a cellar. She described to you that during her captivity she has been periodically visited by an odd young girl. I too have met such a girl, and, my own daughter has been missing (believed to have been abducted) for the past several weeks.

Abby, was that letter by any chance postmarked from coastal Maine? I believe that my daughter may have been the writer of said letter. Please, Abby, I am desperate to have my only child returned to me unharmed. If you can help in any way, it would be greatly appreciated. I know a discount liquor distributor… just name your poison and I’ll get you a special deal.

I’ve been out of my mind with worry these past several weeks; but, thank God for the kindness of one very special citizen of my local community. I’m sure he’s too modest to accept any public recognition for his deeds, so I can’t mention him by name. If it were not for his generous commission for a portrait (I make my modest living as an artist), and his kindness and understanding, I don’t know what I would do. Why, he and his servant have joined myself and the local Sheriff on several nights to search the local area for my missing daughter. I just want to take this opportunity to express my gratitude.

Thank you, Abby for giving me this forum with which to reach out for the help needed to find my dear daughter.

Signed,

Never stop searching.

Next Letter:

Deary Abby,

It seems the whole world is out to get me. I am a Commissioned Officer in the military, and deserve a considerable measure of respect. Sadly, I am being shown very little of it at present by those around me.

I am on special assignment for the government to oversee the construction of certain large items for use by the military. This assignment has required me to work on a daily basis on the premises of the contracted manufacturer, and reside in the local community. Having a preexisting relationship with the family, I gladly undertook this assignment. Unfortunately, not everyone appreciates me.

To make a long story short, I became engaged to the younger cousin of the contractor, and there have been some complications. It could happen to anyone, really. Okay, so… this woman I knew from Baltimore just showed up a few days ago, and introduced herself to my fiancé as my sister. Can I help it if she lied? Alright, technically speaking, we’re still married, but what a nerve, huh? So, then, the contractor becomes enraged, banning me from not only his home but also his manufacturing facilities. He is even threatening to send word to the War Department of my alleged “poor character.”

Abby, I will tell you, I just don’t get any respect. What can I do?

Signed,

Taking on water

Next Letter:

Dreary Abby,

Who would have thought that one could be paid for answering the letters of strangers? Well, I suppose someone must.

Be that as it may, perhaps you can assist me with my situation. I’ve recently returned to the town in which I previously lived; and, it would seem not everyone is delighted to see me. Now, I can understand my former husband (and, father *cough* of my son) not being warm to the idea of having me around; after all, who wants an old flame after such bitterness. His family, as well, is putting a real damper on my mood. Really almost made my plan to reacquire custody of son, go up in smoke. In fact, they seem as though they’ve got a burning desire to have me go away and never return, not even in a hundred years.

So, what can I do? I’m not leaving without my son. Has this whole thing burned up in a flash, or will it still work?

Signed,

Flashy Bird