The swamp looked like a melted smore that caught fire. Syrupy sludge and white foam oozed out of the ground like life was still trying to evolve.

“I love the smell of Napalm in the evening,” Gregson said. “It smells like a weenie roast. I’m hungry.”

“We barbecued the monsters… why don’t we barbecue those cows out back. The meat hasn’t gone bad yet and if we don’t eat them, it’ll start to smell,” the barkeep said.

“Is that Kosher?” Murphy asked.

“Don’t worry,” I’ll say a prayer; I’m half Jewish.”

Cops juiced with adrenaline have bigger appetites than monsters and 13 head of cattle disappeared faster than you can say “moo”. When morning came, house wives warded off toads with brooms and kids collected snakes in terrariums. The monsters lived long enough to horrify teachers for show and tell.

Police were gutting McMasterson’s house when Gregson arrived. Scanners moved over every inch of the residence. “Maybe he kept his formula in his own head,” a rookie said.

“Why don’t you get us some coffee and donuts as long as you’re thinking, Sherlock.”

Gregson chuckled; it was only yesterday when he was a rookie.

“Who invited you?” A fat lieutenant asked.

“Don’t you know who he is?” The rookie said.

“Go get the coffee,” the officers chimed. Gregson had come home and suddenly, a volume on the shelf caught his attention.

“The Purloined Letter… don’t you know… the best way to keep something hidden is to put it in plain sight,” Gregson said. He pulled the volume off the shelf and opened it. Two sheets of formulas floated to the floor.

“I think this is what you’re after.”

“Who are you?” The lieutenant asked.

“I’m Gregson.”