The Muffin Man

　　

　　The Muffin Man was never caught,

　　Never caught,

　　Never caught,

　　The Muffin Man was never caught

　　For murder on Drury Lane.

　　

　　All of London was aghast.  Who did not know the Muffin Man who lived on Drury Lane?  How could it have been that nice old gentleman?  And where was he now?  The two constables who had pursued the Muffin Man were found in the alley, decapitated.  But where the Muffin Man had escaped to, nobody knew.

　　

　　“At least the horror is over now,” Londoners assured each other, “He wouldn't dare show his face in this city again.”

　　

　　Blood was written on the wall,

　　On the wall,

　　On the wall,

　　Blood was written on the wall

　　"Muffin Man has struck again."

　　

　　That was twenty years ago and, while the pace of the murders has slowed, they never stopped.  Only last year, the headless body of another young lady was discovered on Drury Lane.

　　

　　The muffin shop has been boarded up and padlocked ever since the Muffin Man ran out the back door.  But the women who walk the streets late at night will swear that they can see tendrils of smoke drifting up from the chimney and can smell fresh muffins baking when they walk past.

　　

　　The police will occasionally undo the padlocks to inspect the building, but it is as tight as a drum.  The oven is cold and silent and the quarter-inch of dust on the floor is undisturbed.

　　

　　They have no explanation when young office workers arrive at their desks in the morning with hot muffins.  When asked, they tell their co-workers that they bought the muffins off of a kindly old man in an apron pushing a hand-cart.

　　

　　But Scotland Yard insists that this cannot be true.  They have dozens of surveillance cameras covering Drury Lane from every angle and they have never seen a vendor who matches the description given by the office workers.

　　

　　Who's afraid of the Muffin Man,

　　The Muffin Man,

　　The Muffin Man,

　　Are you afraid of the Muffin Man

　　Who killed on Drury Lane?

　　

　　So, if you're ever on Drury Lane and you hear the call, “Hot muffins!  Fresh out of the oven!  Get your hot muffins here!” don't hesitate to buy one.  They're good muffins.  The best in all of London.

　　

　　But if you're a questionable lady… well, then you'd better run.

　　

　　Yes, I'm afraid of the Muffin Man,

　　The Muffin Man,

　　The Muffin Man,

　　Yes, I'm afraid of the Muffin Man

　　Who killed on Drury Lane.

　　

　　Note:  The story is by Victor Aguilar and the poem is by Dan “buddho” Duna

　　

　　THE END