Sharpen your claws and get ready to dig!
Badger Camp: October is almost here!
Our theme this time around is suspense, and to help spark creative juices, our favorite camp counselor, Spark, has written a suspenseful film noir tale, featuring Detective Clawson, known for digging up trouble.
I’ll be posting each section on my blog.
Without further ado, here is part 1!
Part 1: Trouble In Fur
The rain came down in sheets, battering the city with a relentless rhythm that echoed like a badger's heartbeat in an empty tunnel. I was nursing my last cup of coffee in my office—a cramped hole-in-the-wall that smelled like damp earth and bad decisions—when she walked in.
Her fur was slick with rain, stripes sharp as daggers, and eyes that could cut through fog thicker than a badger’s burrow in midwinter.
“Detective Clawson,” she purred, her voice smooth but with an edge, like talons sheathed in velvet. “I hear you’re the kind of badger who can handle... delicate situations.”
I leaned back in my chair, claws tapping the desk, sizing her up. “Depends on the situation, honey. What’s your trouble?”
She glanced out the rain-streaked window as if expecting someone—or something. “It’s about a house. The old Barrow estate on the hill.”
My tail twitched. The Barrow estate was a dilapidated ruin, left to rot after its last owner vanished without a trace. The kind of place where shadows whispered secrets you didn’t want to hear. What could a whisker like her want with a place like that?
“What’s your angle?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“My uncle was the last to live there,” she said, her gaze darting around like she was scared of her own words. “There’s something buried in that house. Something valuable. I need someone who can dig it up.”
I wasn’t born yesterday. This dame was trouble wrapped in a velvet pelt. “Why not dig it up yourself?”
She sighed, running a claw through her damp fur. “Because someone else wants it too. Someone dangerous.”
I was about to tell her to find another badger when she leaned in close, a hint of desperation in those cold eyes. “Meet me at the old train station on Mudpaw Lane tonight. Midnight. We can discuss the details there.”
As she turned to leave, I reached out a paw and grabbed her arm. "You got a name?"
"Melinae," she answered, a small smile playing around her lips as if she knew she'd won. "Melinae Brock. But you can call me Millie." Then she vanished through the door with a flick of her tail.
It looked like I had plans later. At midnight.
I should’ve known better, but sometimes a badger’s curiosity gets the best of him, and this case was already digging its claws into me.
