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The Inexplicable Reality - Sideshow Bob Pt.1	By : Wendell Urth Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 4077 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: The Simpsons and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: The Simpsons and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.
Chapter 1: A Small House on the Edge of Town
He sat alone in the darkened house. Ankle bracelets on the left and right foot, monitoring his movements. Wrist bracelets on the left and right arm, also keeping a close electronic eye on his whereabouts.
No cameras were allowed inside the home, his parole allowed for that much privacy. But there were cameras everywhere outside. Some infrared, some ultraviolet. Focused on every conceivable exit.
The terms of his parole kept him at home. He was allowed a once weekly trip to his Parole Officer (14.8 miles each way). Quarterly visits to his doctor and dentist (17.3 and 19.2 miles, respectively).
Although not rich, he still had enough money to live on. But as part of his parole he was required to work. He also maintained a small novelty online business. His computer was routed to law enforcement, he didn’t have a cellphone.
He swept, cleaned and did routine maintenance at a strip mall six nights a week after closing (1.3 miles away). His duties there kept him within the confines of the shopping center (0.5 miles east and west).
Groceries, pharmacy items, postal service pick up and deliveries were all done to his home.
If he strayed as much as a tenth of a mile, police would be called out. If he strayed two tenths of a mile, the shock collar around his neck would render him unconscious. If he headed towards certain locations such as Evergreen Terrace, Walnut Street, etc., the Swat Team would be called out.
It was still better than prison… well, slightly better.

Wednesday. 3:30 PM. (Not-so-surprise visit from his Parole Officer).
“Keeping out of trouble Bob?”
Bob stares at him for a moment. Nods and answers politely. The door was left open and a squad car is parked on his lawn. Two nervous police officers stand in plain sight. They have not drawn their weapons, but their hands never leave the vicinity of their holsters.
“What’s all this stuff?”
“My mail order business. Inkjet carts, Japanese toys. Other collectibles.”
“Junk,” The Parole Officer begins overturning boxes, dumping the contents, opening some at random. “What’s this Bob. A knife?” he holds a brightly printed box, maybe three inches long and pulls out an ornate looking finger length Samurai sword, a miniature model.
Bob gestures and the Officer pulls out the sword. He smiles a ‘gotcha’ grin for a second then is clearly disappointed to see that the blade is cheap painted plastic, not sharpened, no point. It bends in his hand and snaps. He throws it to the floor.
There is no point in Bob asking him to pay for it.
There are several large cartons he opens next. He pulls out a couple of ugly dolls, googly eyes, fashion dresses. “What the fuck are these supposed to be?”
“They’re called “Mabels”. Very popular at the moment. I buy them wholesale from some place in Oregon and sell them online, small markup. And before you ask, I don’t correspond with children. I only sell to adults 18 or older. The only interaction is the order form and invoice. I don’t take orders from Springfield or anyone within a hundred miles.” Bob smiles.
The Parole Officer chooses a couple of dolls from different cartons, opens their boxes and begins to tear them apart, searching for God-knows-what. Soon they are reduced to scraps of rags and sticks and wood shavings.
Bob raises an eyebrow as the Parole Officer takes a couple of other dolls under his arm and turns to leave. ‘You’re not fooling anyone, Terwilliger. Sooner or later you’ll snap and then it’s back inside for life.”
Sideshow Bob looks at him for a moment. “So nice of you to drop by.” Studying the mess the officer has made, Bob then says “Please feel free to come by for a visit anytime.” He follows the man to the door and waves as he and the police pull away. There is no sense trying to fill in the ruts they left in his lawn. They’d be back and do it again. He turns and goes back inside, closing the front door at last.
He carefully cleans up the mess. He keeps things in his house very neat… just like his cell had been. He carefully notes the broken merchandise. It will cut into his profits, such as they are. He doesn’t really care about the money. He maintains the mail order business to keep busy, to eat up time, to keep his mind active.
He pulls out six boxes of Mabels and quickly wraps each in brown paper, affixing preprinted address labels. He’ll contact the Post Office to come pick them up. The Post Office is outside his travel zone.
He knew the police would be checking to see if sent any dolls or other merchandise to the Simpson kids. He wasn’t that stupid!
He weighs each to print the postage. “Strange.” He thinks. One is much heavier than the others. He didn’t notice when wrapping. Did the Parole Officer plant drugs or something? Bob lived in fear of that. If he was going to go back to prison, it would be on his own terms!
He goes to the door, then each curtained window. He didn’t see anyone watching the home… which he knew meant nothing.
He unwrapped the one box. Each doll was supposed to be unique. This Mabel had wavy brown hair. There was a blue ball cap on its bulging head, someone had drawn the Big Dipper on the doll’s forehead… or maybe it was just dots and lines. Bob didn’t think much of the “Mabels”, he expected the fad to pass soon and planned to liquidate before having to cut the price when the demand dried up. Predicting the trends helped keep his mind sharp too.
The doll was the usual weight. But underneath was something else. Something strange. “A voodoo doll? Is this a joke?” He picked the strange little figure up and was suddenly stabbed through the palm of his hand. “Merde!” he cursed in French, that being the kind of sophisticate he was. He bled on top of the Mabel. He threw the voodoo doll in the corner. And held a clean, freshly pressed, expensive linen handkerchief against the palm of his hand. Another ruined doll cutting into his profit. Well, he’d keep this one for himself. A reminder of… something.
He quickly wrapped another “Mabel”, did some bookkeeping (he didn’t use online programs, he liked doing bookkeeping the old manual way).
He read a chapter from Les Miserable in the original French and then translated it into German (it kept him busy). It was 9:00 PM. He went to sleep. Lights out in prison had been 10:00 sharp. Now that he was no longer in prison, he always went to sleep either earlier or later, but never at 10:00. Just to prove he could.
He couldn’t sleep. He went back downstairs, looked in the room’s corner where the doll rested. There was a blue guttering glow, like matches sputtering in the darkness. “Damn thing…” skipping the French this time. He picked it up carefully, but could not find the needle or whatever had pricked his hand. He took it to the trash and stopped. Looked at carefully.
It wasn’t a typical voodoo doll. It appeared much older than that and looked remotely familiar. Bob had spent some time (and made more than one fortune) in the antiques business. In fact, he had sold antiquities to several major museums and was proud that some of the fakes he marketed were still considered genuine.
It wasn’t Japanese or Chinese, it didn’t appear West African. It might be something belonging to a child in some primitive culture. It was wrapped in twine and wire and something gray and unpleasant. The head was a loop. String had been tied to the top of the loop to simulate hair. It had no eyes, no mouth and no face, just an empty loop… yet it looked deep into his soul and approved.
In spite of his classical education and pretensions, Sideshow Bob was very much a man of the 21^st century and lived in the world of science. But the doll stirred something deep inside him, primitive.
He went online searching for the doll and found nothing, then spent hours skimming pages about fetish magic. Poppets, Poppits, Moppets, Mommets and Pippys. Faster and faster, at blurring speeds he dove into preserved & scanned journals and tomes of ancient magic.
In the British Museum’s private collection was a twenty-page palimpsest. The 14^th century text had been scrapped off the vellum and a new book and been written on top of the old a century later. Didn’t matter, he didn’t have to read the hidden text through the computer, he absorbed it in an instant. Including the text from four missing pages, torn and burnt in 1594.
In an Israeli museum was a copper scroll that had been so corroded that it was now a single lump of metal, impossible to open or translate. Bob’s eyes burned with blue fire as the meaning leapt off the screen into his head.
The next morning, his Parole Officer was greeted with the news that “Looks like the freak is starting to crack.” The P.O. rubbed his unshaven chin and asked, “Yeah, anything we can arrest him for?”
“Not yet. But he spent the night looking up magic and shit on his computer.”
“Look at how fast he skimmed pages, no way he could read that stuff. It aint even good English!”
“He knows we’re watching his online activity. He’s just messing with us.”
The Parole Officer grunted. “He’ll slip up, he always does, we just have to catch him.” However long it takes. Then he brightened. His nieces got a real kick out of the Mabel dolls. He’d be sure to pick up a few more next time. Kids loved them and his wife had a big family. “And its not like I have to pay for them.”
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The Inexplicable Reality - Sideshow Bob Pt.1