The Note

Anne is lost. When morning came and she did not, I left the abode. The Lurker I left to its own designs, for however weighty the import of the pan, so much more weighty was the weight of Anne. But when I stepped across the threshold and out into the now Budge-infested world, I found despair. Upon the ground lay a note writ by a hideous hand. None but the Budge-Nuzzard could compose such a maddening scrawl. With trembling I seized upon the lonesome note and examined it. It's words were thus:

"No Pot like the Pan...except Anne."

Oh, what purpose drives such hate! What budging madness fuels my wicked progeny! What lobidious torments does it visit, even now, upon my Anne's delicate joints. I dare not think of it, lest I wax toward forbidden lunacy. No, instead I shall compose a note to answer this most heinous of notes.

Having thought long upon the content of such a note, I found that petty letters, and words, and sentences did not properly express the violence and rage I intended to visit upon my wicked progeny when finally our final confrontation shall commence. Therefore, no words, nor letters, nor sentences, shall I include. The note, the answer, the challenge, therefore, is thus:

"!"

And so did I thrust this note upon my doorstep. Now I have resumed my interogation of the Lurker, and my mind is pleased with the certain terror that my note will, no doubt, instill. The tables are turned and the Nuzzard must make the next move!