The Mystery of the Carpet Monster!

'The carpet monster' is a widely held superstition amongst plastic modellers, who believe it explains any parts of a model dropped on the floor disappearing completely. A part goes missing, and the modeller says "oh, it's been taken by the carpet monster".

Every modeller has experienced the archetypal 'part dropped on floor disappears forever'. But beyond this, the Carpet Monster is associated with even more bizarre phenomena. Parts disappearing from boxes put aside on the shelf. And, not just parts disappearing, but - parts appearing. Sometimes; parts from kits that the modeller themselves doesn't actually own!

I'm of a skeptical disposition, and naturally I found this supernatural nonsense in my favourite hobby ridiculous. It needed scientific investigation to end the silliness. So, I put an ad in the Tomerton Gazette:

'Investigators Wanted: Missing plastic parts. Reward.'

********************************

The following morning a procession of detectives queued outside my house.

The first wore a ridiculous costume, with his underpants on the outside. He was a nutter. I politely shooed him away.

The next two were much more my type. They even came in for a drink (*come to think of it, they helped themselves). They were former police officers, who loved the thrill of the chase - in it for the 'birds, boozers, blaggers and barneys' said the younger one. I'm an intractably honest person, and I felt I had to level with them: In a crime involving plastic modelling, neither 'birds', 'boozers', 'blaggers' or 'barneys' were very likely to happen. They thanked me, and went on their way.

The third candidates were just right. They called themselves 'Mystery Inc'. They were young Americans; on a gap year travelling the world in their van. Detective work was just their thing: Fred and Daphne were hoping to graduate as criminal investigators, Velma in forensic anylysis. I liked them - very smart, well mannered and keen. Although I wasn't too sure about the scruffy one outside, talking to the dog (?), but if they kept him out of trouble I supposed it would be alright. I gave them the job.

*********************************

Fred and Daphne approached the problem from a criminal angle. They quizzed me on people I might have disagreed with in the village, and possible financial motiviations in stealing plastic model bits. They rounded on one likely suspect: Dirty Dave, at the village garage.

As you'd expect, most cars in Tomerton are made of plastic, and it's true, I had argued with Dave over a bill. Could Dave be maliciously stealing model bits and using them for repairs? Off to the garage they went:

'Hi there, what a charming and delightful garage you have!'
'We'd like to get some gas sir, and if you dont mind, I could use the restroom?'
'yeah, alright. its round the back'. Fred sauntered away, as Daphne stood giving the grubby mechanic a selection of smiles.

Dimly aware that he couldn't just stand there leering at her, Dave eventually managed
'American are you?'
'thats right, all the way from...' Daphne launched into the chirpiest and most time consuming recount of how the gang had met and everything they had done in their travels , filling in a good ten minutes while Fred, inside, rifled through Daves office looking for evidence.

Eventually, even Daphne ran out of things to say. They returned to the awkward smiling/gawping phase.
'He's taking his time. your fella.'
A clanging came from inside, pathetically disguised with a raspberry.
'He ate a big breakfast' Daphne offered helpfully. Till at last Fred emerged.

Alone:
'what did you find out?'
'well, that man has the largest collection of top shelf magazines I have ever seen'
'Fred!'
'i had to move them to get to the records'
'Eughh. And?'
'he's got paperwork for everything - Dirty Dave is clean'

*********************************

Scoob and Shaggys instructions were simple: 'just go to the park and stay out of trouble'.

Within seconds of arriving at the park, they were in trouble:

'Oi! Hippy - the hairdressers that way! The opshop want your trousers back! Oi - i'm talking you hippy, you and the dog - I can smell you from here! 1971 is that way!'
Oblivious to being insulted and the rude gestures being made, I wouldn't so much say Shaggy was thick skinned, as, well, just thick. Shaggy and Scoob gormlessly walked over to the spiky haired, cider swilling punk: Gavin.

'Hey man'
'Hay man? No hay here, where do you think you are, a farm? what are you, American? wots your name?'
'Well i'm Shaggy, and this is Scooby Doo'
'Shaggy eh? wonders never cease. wot you doing in my park?'
'well, um we're on a gap year like travelling with our friends...'
Gavin butted in:
'Why are you and the dog eating out of the same box? Are you eating dog food? Give me one of them' and snatched a Scooby-Snack.

Giving it a sniff, then holding the brown aromatic cake up to the light, Gavin was awestruck...
'Crumbs... no wonder you keep talking to the dog... i'm flipping amazed you don't just lift off... you know what this is right?'
'Yeah man, they're Scooby-Snacks. We were like in Morocco and we couldn't find dog food, but both me and Scoob liked these biscuits, so we bought boxes and boxes of them. Man, our van is full of them'
Shaggy clearly has no idea what he was casually munching on. Gavin couldn't believe his luck!
'listen Shagger me old chum, it breaks my heart to see a friend of mine eating dog food, when Tescos over there has shelves and shelves of proper stuff. What do you like? Pizzas?'
'woof!'
'Burgers?'
'woof'
'Fries? Ice-cream? Perhaps even, hot dogs?'
'woof woof woof woof woof!'
Scoob and Shaggys blood-shot eyes span as their brains boggled over the delicious munchies Gavin described.
'I tell you what - this is my Giro cheque; that is a fortune in Tomerton money - I will cash the cheque, and give you all the money in exchange for all these horrible dry Moroccan biscuit things. So you can go to Tescos and eat everything you like!'

In what would later be recounted in court as the largest drug deal ever made in Tomerton, Shaggy and Scoob droolingly agreed.

********************************

Velma meanwhile had been busy at my house setting up advanced monitoring equipment - high speed cameras, laser motion sensors, microphones and a 'spectral imaging' machine - around my modelling workbench. Her plan was simple: I would start building a plastic model as per normal, then when I dropped a part on the floor, the monitoring would solve our mystery. One missing piece - I asked, how would Velma know when I dropped a part?
'We need a pass-phrase. What do you normally say when it happens?'. I told her.
'Ok. We are all set - ready when you are Tom'.

At 7.30pm, I got up from the lounge room, and moved to the kitchen bench where I like to build models. Tonight's subject was an Airfix P1127, where I'd reached work on the undercarriage. I was just attaching the wheels to the rear axle, holding one in tweezers when
'AH FIDDLESTICKS, NOT AGAIN!'
Hearing the pass-phrase, Velma leapt into action. And this is where things got very weird.

******************************

I have watched the video tapes countless times since then, and, although I don't want to admit it to myself, it is impossible to deny we have found evidence of a paranormal phenomenon.

Which wasn't quite the result I was hoping for. I could have quite happily spent the rest of my life regarding the Carpet Monster as silly nonsense. And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids!