They had to bring in Woody Woodmanson to translate. He slowly slid the “Necronomicon” upwards out of Osborne Well’s clutching hands and replaced it with “Floydodo.”
“Well?” Pitch Darkly demanded after a 1 minute wait. “Anything?”
“Shhh,” Woody said. “He’s still reading, still absorbing. Nothing like the ‘Necronomicon,’ you see. He’s having difficulty.”
2 more minutes passed by. “Well I’m going to get some milk out of the refrigerator. Anybody else want anything?”
“I’ll take a coke,” requested Wheeler. Mary gave her a dirty look and she changed it over to milk as well.
“Milk all around, then?” asked Pitch. “Everyone mumbled agreement. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
1/2 hour later: “This is getting ridiculous, Woody,” Pitch declares. “Maybe the moon is in the wrong phase or something.”
“No, I’m getting a, er, reading now. Something about black and white, up and down. Red all over.”
“Um, that’s a newspaper, Woody. What we have here is a book.” Pitch pauses. “Isn’t it?”
Woody suddenly locks into gear:
At 1pm, Bland spots a British patrol near Osborne Hill, and reports back to General Washington, “I have discovered the enemy on the heights just on the right of two Widow Davis’ who live close together on the Road called [can’t read that] about half a mile to the right of the Meeting House. There is a higher hill on their front.” Panicked by Bland’s report, Washington quickly orders Alexander Stirling and Adam Stephen to Birmingham Hill three miles north to defend the vulnerable Continental right flank.
Woody ends as abruptly as he began. Looks all around. “Osborne Hill?” Pitch exclaims. “Bermingham?”
What they then found on the next page sealed the deal.
Sunklands 