Week 17: 67
Dec. 16th, 2025 07:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inkstainedfingertips“Admit it, Caleb,” Asher growled.
“I didn’t do it!” he yelped.
“Troop 67 is a brotherhood. It’s sacred, dude. We don’t lie to each other.”
“I didn’t do it, man!”
Asher held his flashlight and leaned close, letting the tip of his nose hover mere inches from his suspect’s like the hardened detectives in his favorite shows. He shone the bright beam of light into Caleb’s wide, watery eyes. The boy shook his head, straining against the duct tape binding his wrists to the chair.
“If you didn’t do it, then what’s that mess on your face?”
“It’s powdered sugar,” he cried. “From donuts, okay? My mom packed them... for emergencies!”
Asher nodded to Isaiah who rifled through Caleb’s duffel. Plastic crinkled as he pulled out a half-eaten pack of donuts.
“See?” Caleb shrieked.
Asher muttered to himself as he cut the tape around Caleb’s wrists with his pocketknife. Free, Caleb nearly toppled over as he leapt to his feet. He righted himself then snatched his donuts from Isaiah, but not before he managed to pop one into his mouth.
“These are mine!” he protested.
“They’re stale anyway,” Isaiah complained around a mouthful of donut.
“Why are you even accusing me?”
Isaiah patted Caleb’s ample belly. “That’s why.”
Caleb’s chubby cheeks turned bright red. “That’s like racial profiling.”
“Fat isn’t a race, dummy,” Asher snapped.
“You guys are jerks.” Caleb flopped onto his bunk, bright red and sulking.
“Don’t cry,” Isaiah said.
“I’m not going to cry.”
“You kind of look like you’re going to cry.”
“Shut up.”
As his troopmates bickered, Asher paced, thinking hard, then turned to his cabinmates. They weren’t taking this problem seriously. And this was a very serious problem.
“Troop 67, listen up,” he intoned. “This is the third time our marshmallows have been stolen. If we don’t figure this out, Mr. Riley is going to cancel s’mores night.”
“Well, it wasn’t any of us,” Isaiah said, wiping the sugar from Caleb’s donut off his lips. “Bet it was those jerks over in cabin twelve.”
“Troop forty-two?” Asher asked. “Nah. They’re cool.”
“They’re jerks,” Isaiah insisted.
“Maybe they’d be nicer to you if you hadn’t put salt in their lemonade instead of sugar,” Caleb chimed in.
Isaiah shrugged. “Whatever. It was funny. Not my fault they can’t take a joke.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Whatever. Practical jokes are like a rite of passage at camp.”
“Not everybody feels that way,” Caleb retorted, the scorn of having been the butt of more than a few of Isaiah’s practical jokes clear in his voice.
“Come on, Troop 67, we need to focus here. We’ve got a major situation on our hands,” Asher called. “We can’t let s’mores night be canceled.”
“Your definition of a major situation is different than mine, man,” Isaiah said.
“Yeah, mine too,” Caleb agreed.
“Yeah, his definition of a major situation is running out of donuts.”
“Shut up!”
“Come on,” Asher snapped. “Focus.”
“I’m focused on my pillow,” Isaiah said.
“But we need to figure out who’s stealing our marshmallows. We need to save s’mores night!” Asher called, trying to rally his troopmates. “Who’s with me?”
“Not me. I’m tired,” Isaiah said. “I’m going to bed.”
Asher watched aghast as the rest of his troop murmured their agreement and shuffled to their bunks. He stood in disbelief and horror. He couldn’t believe they didn’t seem to care about the best night of their whole week at camp being canceled.
“Fine,” Asher growled. “I’ll solve this case myself!”
“Good luck with that,” Isaiah called.
Asher stomped out of the cabin, slamming the screen door behind him. The nearly full moon hung high overhead, bathing the world in a silvery light. Asher breathed in the earthy aroma of the forest, trying to calm down. He heard whispered conversations and soft laughter drifting through the night. He frowned and couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.
He tried to keep his spirits up. He had a mission. A new case. Maybe his troop didn’t care about s’mores night, but he did. And when he uncovered the thief, he’d be the hero of Troop 67. He might even get a special merit badge for his crafty mystery solving skills.
He would uncover the thief and save s’mores night. No matter the cost.
Leaves crunching beneath his feet, Asher walked around to the side of their cabin and stood before the table. The cooler they kept their dry goods in sat atop the table.
“The scene of the crime,” he said as he pulled out the old, battered notebook he’d been using for years labeled, Detektive Klews.
The ground squelched underfoot as he inspected the area. Opening his notebook, he jotted a few observations. “Lock intact. Cooler left open! Bucket overturned again. Ground muddy. Bucket Bandit’s motives unknown. This is no ordinary criminal. A mastermind. Not to be underestimated.”
Asher scanned the darkened cabins, hearing whispered conversations and quiet laughter. He remembered what Isaiah had said about practical jokes. Maybe another troop was playing one on them. Troop thirty-seven had a reputation for mischief. He thought about capturing one of them and interrogating them. But then an idea struck that was so clever, it would have made his favorite detectives proud.
“I’m going to catch you jerks in the act,” he said with a devious grin. “And I’ll be a hero!”
Moving quickly, Asher refilled the bucket and set it beside the table, then cracked the cooler lid. Everything was set just as it had been when that devious and nefarious thief had stolen their marshmallows.
Scene staged, he ducked behind a bush, making sure he had a clear line of sight. It wasn’t the most comfortable position—there was a stick poking somewhere sticks definitely shouldn’t be poking—but real detectives suffered for justice.
Asher pulled out his journal and made another entry. “Trap set. Must be careful—this criminal is vicious. Could be my final case.”“Stakes high. Morale low. Snacks dangerously depleted.”
A twig snapped in a nearby bush and his pulse raced as he imagined a bear, or Bigfoot, or a hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding maniac. But it was just a bird. It shrieked as it soared into the darkened sky. Asher sighed as he sat down, feeling silly. His favorite detectives were never scared like that.
More long minutes passed, and as his eyelids grew heavy again, the sound of rustling leaves jolted him awake. From the darkness, a masked figure emerged. Asher held his breath. The thief hesitated, then moved toward the cooler with speed and stealth. He stared in disbelief as the moonlight revealed his nemesis.
“No way,” he whispered.
It was a raccoon. A big one. It turned the bucket of water over, further muddying the ground, before clambering on top of it. With nimble hands, it flipped the cooler open and reached inside, pulling out a bag of marshmallows—their last bag! Without it, s’mores night would be ruined.
“I’ve got you now, Bucket Bandit.”
As Asher rose to put a stop to the theft in progress, more movement sounded in the bushes to his right. He turned to see three smaller raccoons emerging, chirping hungrily at their mother. The mama raccoon, bag of marshmallows in tow, hopped off the bucket and slipped in the mud she’d made. With a sharp squeak that might have suggested embarrassment, she rounded up her babies and disappeared into the bushes, gone as swiftly as they’d arrived.
A small smile on his lips, Asher opened the notebook as he listened to the raccoons retreating into the night with their ill–gotten gains. Suddenly, Troop 67’s s’mores night felt like a worthy sacrifice if it meant a family got to eat.
“Even bandits deserve dinner. Especially when they’ve got mouths to feed."
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he said, closing the notebook with a snap, another mystery solved. “Scout’s honor.”
“I didn’t do it!” he yelped.
“Troop 67 is a brotherhood. It’s sacred, dude. We don’t lie to each other.”
“I didn’t do it, man!”
Asher held his flashlight and leaned close, letting the tip of his nose hover mere inches from his suspect’s like the hardened detectives in his favorite shows. He shone the bright beam of light into Caleb’s wide, watery eyes. The boy shook his head, straining against the duct tape binding his wrists to the chair.
“If you didn’t do it, then what’s that mess on your face?”
“It’s powdered sugar,” he cried. “From donuts, okay? My mom packed them... for emergencies!”
Asher nodded to Isaiah who rifled through Caleb’s duffel. Plastic crinkled as he pulled out a half-eaten pack of donuts.
“See?” Caleb shrieked.
Asher muttered to himself as he cut the tape around Caleb’s wrists with his pocketknife. Free, Caleb nearly toppled over as he leapt to his feet. He righted himself then snatched his donuts from Isaiah, but not before he managed to pop one into his mouth.
“These are mine!” he protested.
“They’re stale anyway,” Isaiah complained around a mouthful of donut.
“Why are you even accusing me?”
Isaiah patted Caleb’s ample belly. “That’s why.”
Caleb’s chubby cheeks turned bright red. “That’s like racial profiling.”
“Fat isn’t a race, dummy,” Asher snapped.
“You guys are jerks.” Caleb flopped onto his bunk, bright red and sulking.
“Don’t cry,” Isaiah said.
“I’m not going to cry.”
“You kind of look like you’re going to cry.”
“Shut up.”
As his troopmates bickered, Asher paced, thinking hard, then turned to his cabinmates. They weren’t taking this problem seriously. And this was a very serious problem.
“Troop 67, listen up,” he intoned. “This is the third time our marshmallows have been stolen. If we don’t figure this out, Mr. Riley is going to cancel s’mores night.”
“Well, it wasn’t any of us,” Isaiah said, wiping the sugar from Caleb’s donut off his lips. “Bet it was those jerks over in cabin twelve.”
“Troop forty-two?” Asher asked. “Nah. They’re cool.”
“They’re jerks,” Isaiah insisted.
“Maybe they’d be nicer to you if you hadn’t put salt in their lemonade instead of sugar,” Caleb chimed in.
Isaiah shrugged. “Whatever. It was funny. Not my fault they can’t take a joke.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Whatever. Practical jokes are like a rite of passage at camp.”
“Not everybody feels that way,” Caleb retorted, the scorn of having been the butt of more than a few of Isaiah’s practical jokes clear in his voice.
“Come on, Troop 67, we need to focus here. We’ve got a major situation on our hands,” Asher called. “We can’t let s’mores night be canceled.”
“Your definition of a major situation is different than mine, man,” Isaiah said.
“Yeah, mine too,” Caleb agreed.
“Yeah, his definition of a major situation is running out of donuts.”
“Shut up!”
“Come on,” Asher snapped. “Focus.”
“I’m focused on my pillow,” Isaiah said.
“But we need to figure out who’s stealing our marshmallows. We need to save s’mores night!” Asher called, trying to rally his troopmates. “Who’s with me?”
“Not me. I’m tired,” Isaiah said. “I’m going to bed.”
Asher watched aghast as the rest of his troop murmured their agreement and shuffled to their bunks. He stood in disbelief and horror. He couldn’t believe they didn’t seem to care about the best night of their whole week at camp being canceled.
“Fine,” Asher growled. “I’ll solve this case myself!”
“Good luck with that,” Isaiah called.
Asher stomped out of the cabin, slamming the screen door behind him. The nearly full moon hung high overhead, bathing the world in a silvery light. Asher breathed in the earthy aroma of the forest, trying to calm down. He heard whispered conversations and soft laughter drifting through the night. He frowned and couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.
He tried to keep his spirits up. He had a mission. A new case. Maybe his troop didn’t care about s’mores night, but he did. And when he uncovered the thief, he’d be the hero of Troop 67. He might even get a special merit badge for his crafty mystery solving skills.
He would uncover the thief and save s’mores night. No matter the cost.
Leaves crunching beneath his feet, Asher walked around to the side of their cabin and stood before the table. The cooler they kept their dry goods in sat atop the table.
“The scene of the crime,” he said as he pulled out the old, battered notebook he’d been using for years labeled, Detektive Klews.
The ground squelched underfoot as he inspected the area. Opening his notebook, he jotted a few observations. “Lock intact. Cooler left open! Bucket overturned again. Ground muddy. Bucket Bandit’s motives unknown. This is no ordinary criminal. A mastermind. Not to be underestimated.”
Asher scanned the darkened cabins, hearing whispered conversations and quiet laughter. He remembered what Isaiah had said about practical jokes. Maybe another troop was playing one on them. Troop thirty-seven had a reputation for mischief. He thought about capturing one of them and interrogating them. But then an idea struck that was so clever, it would have made his favorite detectives proud.
“I’m going to catch you jerks in the act,” he said with a devious grin. “And I’ll be a hero!”
Moving quickly, Asher refilled the bucket and set it beside the table, then cracked the cooler lid. Everything was set just as it had been when that devious and nefarious thief had stolen their marshmallows.
Scene staged, he ducked behind a bush, making sure he had a clear line of sight. It wasn’t the most comfortable position—there was a stick poking somewhere sticks definitely shouldn’t be poking—but real detectives suffered for justice.
Asher pulled out his journal and made another entry. “Trap set. Must be careful—this criminal is vicious. Could be my final case.”“Stakes high. Morale low. Snacks dangerously depleted.”
A twig snapped in a nearby bush and his pulse raced as he imagined a bear, or Bigfoot, or a hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding maniac. But it was just a bird. It shrieked as it soared into the darkened sky. Asher sighed as he sat down, feeling silly. His favorite detectives were never scared like that.
More long minutes passed, and as his eyelids grew heavy again, the sound of rustling leaves jolted him awake. From the darkness, a masked figure emerged. Asher held his breath. The thief hesitated, then moved toward the cooler with speed and stealth. He stared in disbelief as the moonlight revealed his nemesis.
“No way,” he whispered.
It was a raccoon. A big one. It turned the bucket of water over, further muddying the ground, before clambering on top of it. With nimble hands, it flipped the cooler open and reached inside, pulling out a bag of marshmallows—their last bag! Without it, s’mores night would be ruined.
“I’ve got you now, Bucket Bandit.”
As Asher rose to put a stop to the theft in progress, more movement sounded in the bushes to his right. He turned to see three smaller raccoons emerging, chirping hungrily at their mother. The mama raccoon, bag of marshmallows in tow, hopped off the bucket and slipped in the mud she’d made. With a sharp squeak that might have suggested embarrassment, she rounded up her babies and disappeared into the bushes, gone as swiftly as they’d arrived.
A small smile on his lips, Asher opened the notebook as he listened to the raccoons retreating into the night with their ill–gotten gains. Suddenly, Troop 67’s s’mores night felt like a worthy sacrifice if it meant a family got to eat.
“Even bandits deserve dinner. Especially when they’ve got mouths to feed."
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he said, closing the notebook with a snap, another mystery solved. “Scout’s honor.”
no subject
on 2025-12-17 10:46 pm (UTC)So cute. I like that the kid felt compassion for raccoon kids :)
no subject
on 2025-12-18 02:34 am (UTC)It's so funny and adorable and at the same time I love how cleverly you set up the mystery and keep the awesome tight pacing throughout, keeping us engrossed and invested in Asher, as we wait with him to find out who the culprit is!
The characters are wonderful too, (Isaiah still so relatable bahaha), they just jump off the page and the dialogue is so believable and gives us a clear portrait of all of their personalities.
I want more of their adventures!
This is such a perfect example in showing without *telling* us!
And of course, I adore the ending hehe the raccoons <3
no subject
on 2025-12-23 07:22 pm (UTC)From the darkness, a masked figure emerged.
I totally wasn't expecting this to be a raccoon, though I probably should have.
I loved all the details in this, including the characters in the cabin and their dynamics, and the misspelled title on the journal.
Well done, my friend. :D
no subject
on 2025-12-23 08:48 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2025-12-23 08:49 pm (UTC)I really am glad you liked it, though. I am so grateful for all your amazing comments and for you. <3
no subject
on 2025-12-23 08:52 pm (UTC)hahahha stretching my wings a bit. Just dipping my toes into the non-creepy waters to see how it feels. And you probably weren't expecting a raccoon because it's me. Totally understandable.
I'm glad you liked this piece so much. Thank you, my friend.
no subject
on 2025-12-31 12:27 pm (UTC)