John Sunderland

New York, United States

Yorkshireman. Designer, writer, poet, artist, riddler, curator, urban walker, bathroom-cleaner, table-setter and napkin-folder. New York...


Journal entry 16
23 December 2009

This intriguing communication from Sussex England, has us guessing at UAP. If you can help this gracious lady with her enquiry please let us know and we’ll pass your message on to her.

She headed her letter, ‘THE MYSTERY GIFT’

From Dowager Amy Carlisle-Buckley-Stonehouse

I received a gift yesterday after lunch, it came in a tastefully wrapped gift-box addressed to myself at the house here at Buckley Grange. I do not for the life of me know what to make of its’ contents; so I thought I would contact those nice people at UAP in the hopes that someone out there in ‘Plankers’ World’ or whatever you call it, can tell me what it is.

I’ll have a try at explaining what was in the box. Firstly, when I opened the wrappings and the box inside with the help of James, a rather unpleasant odour arose (not from James, he’s always spotless, but from the box), quite unpleasant actually. I would have instructed James at that point to remove it immediately had I not then heard a sound from within, a kind of gruff whimpering.

Well of course straight way that ruled out surprise gifts of porcelain or
garden implements. So standing clear, I asked James to carry on. Doing as he was instructed, he started to remove the rest of the wrapping and the shredded tissue paper (a lovely colour of green). Then to my utmost surprise out popped a furry ball sort of thing. Most peculiar I must say and totally unexpected.

Let me try and make sense of it. It was hairy, with two triangular shaped protuberances on top also hairy, below which were two roundish dark shiny things.
Below those was a wet black twitchy blob with two little holes in it. If that wasn’t all too much to make of, the bottom part of it then opened up and a long pink thing came out all wet and unpleasant looking.

James who I believed fearless, (Victoria Cross and all that) did not flinch when the pink thing touched his hand, if it had been me I would have called for Doctor Smythe immediately and ordered the elephant gun brought already primed.

James however proceeded and in a few moments revealed the whole of it; a stranger thing I have never set eyes on. Below what I described above was a larger roughly cylindrical mass, covered with the same grey hair and at the far end a thinner thing stuck out which waved back and forth, beneath this four thin things that went down to the bottom of the box.

What next happened even made the redoubtable James jump. It made, then quickly repeated, a huge and alarming noise, a sound most offensive and ear shattering. I had immediately to turn down my hearing aid for fear of internal injury. And then just as I was recoiling from the shock, the thing jumped clear of the box and ran straight for me. Though small it had me up against the Hepplewhite shaking with fear.

“James” I shouted, “get it off me!” But the coward had turned tail and run and closed the doors behind him!

Well that was yesterday. Soon after I discovered that the ‘thing’, whatever it is, meant no bodily harm, so I decided to show James and the rest of the staff what we Buckley-Stonehouses are made of.

I managed to calm it down and surprisingly found it warm and not unpleasant to the touch. I even kept it overnight with me to further observe its’ habits, and so it kept me company in my bedchamber. However it did make two small unpleasant deposits beneath the chez longue; which this morning I was pleased to have James, and not one of the below-stair staff, remove, before delivering my breakfast.
It was then during breakfast when I discovered that the opening in the front end with the pink thin ( and the sharp white things I discovered inside) accepts food items and moreover appears to have a liking for buttered toast and soft-boiled eggs.

If dear old Donald were still alive he would surely have known what it is. Well, I have to report that the mystery is still here and actually as I write this, upon my lap fast asleep.

Though I now have no fear of the thing, I shall be comforted by the full knowledge of what on earth it can be; fears are often assuaged by knowledge I find and ignorance a catalyst for doubting fears. So if anyone out there has a notion as to its’ identity, would you mind kindly dropping me a line care of those nice people at the Universal Association of Plankers.

Thank you so very much in anticipation.

Journal Comments