.jpg)
Cub Reporter Investigates: Mystery at the Maypole
Pyz Village — Well, I don’t rightly know what to make of it, but lots of turnips is gone from gardens and fields and Aunt Mabel’s special patch too. People saying they seen a fella running through the bushes late, holding a basket full of stolen turnips. He was short and twitchy, and he kept whistling funny tunes, real loud like. Not the kind of tunes you’d want to hear at night, if you’re trying to sleep.
Mrs. Crumble, she’s in the knitting club and says it must be the Turnip Thief what’s been told in stories. She says, “I seen spoon-shaped footprints near my big marrow last week, honest I did.” I ain’t sure what that means but sounds serious. She also says her cat started acting all funny, like it’s scared of shadows or something. “Maybe the thief got magic,” she whispered, real quiet so no one hears.
The village folks had a meeting in the church hall — well, not all the folks, but a bunch of them — and they talked about making turnip watches, like people who watch out for badgers or foxes. They even thought about putting tiny cameras on the vegetables. But the village cat didn’t like that one bit; knocked one camera off the table and ran off with it, probably thinking it was a new kind of mouse. The meeting got a bit messy after that, with someone spilling tea on the ledger of who’s supposed to bring more twine next week.
At the pub, they done made a new drink called Turnip Ale, says it’s “mysterious like the missing turnips.” I tried some — tastes funny, a bit like muddy water and honey, but nice enough if you’re thirsty and got no tea. Old Bert said it might help us think like the thief, to catch him or her. I dunno if that’s true but it made me feel a bit braver.
No one caught the thief yet, but there’s a big poster in the shop saying “Reward for catching Turnip Thief, but must share turnips if you get money.” That’s fair, I think. I’m going to keep my garden locked up tight and maybe learn some whistles too, just in case.
Some say the turnips might be hiding on their own, or maybe they ran away ‘cause they’re tired of stew. Mrs. Crumble says, “If you listen close at night, you can hear the turnips talking, like a secret meeting in the dark.” I tried to listen but mostly heard the wind and a fox barking somewhere.
So keep looking for your turnips, people! They hiding somewhere, maybe watching you too. And if you see a short twitchy fella whistling those funny tunes, don’t be scared — just offer him a cup of tea and maybe a turnip or two.
