Mr. Dink peeked over his fence to examine the Funnies’ yard. It was dark outside and nothing was stirring, so he made his move and tossed over the suitcase he was carrying before hopping over himself. Immediately he pressed himself against the frame of the house, shielding himself from the light of the streetlamps. He didn’t want to be seen, just in case his instincts turned out to be wrong and Doug hadn’t really been sending him secret, coded messages. Sneaking around like this was embarassing, but Mr. Dink had to take the risk because of the importance of what he’d realized.

Long ago Doug had given Mr. Dink a key to his family’s front door. It was for emergencies, and even though Mr. Dink wanted to tell the boy’s parents, or refuse the key outright, Doug made him promise to never say a word. When the time came, Mr. Dink would know when to use it, and Doug’s parents couldn’t know because they’d disapprove.

“Why?” Mr. Dink asked at the time, gripping Doug’s hands earnestly in his own and pulling the boy forward. Doug’s eyes were downcast; Mr. Dink gazed beneath the boy’s furrowed brow to try to make eye contact, but Doug was lost in his own world. “Douglas, if this is really for your own safety, then why would your parents disapprove?”

“Because they’re fools!” Doug finally said. His face was pale as he stared directly into Mr. Dink’s eyes, sending chills down the man’s back; the desperate expression on his face betrayed the deeply troubling turmoil within. But just as quickly as it arrived, the storm passed, and the boy looked incredibly relaxed, just as on the wonderful day they had met; serenely Doug stood from his knees and kissed Mr. Dink on the forehead. “I know you’ll do as I ask, Mr. Dink, because you’re a beautiful man.” He ran to leave.

“Wait, but you forgot—!” Mr. Dink yelled after him, but it was too late. The frontdoor slammed behind the boy as he darted across the lawn toward his own home. Mr. Dink looked at what the boy had left: the key to his home, and the rose he said was for a girlfriend called Patti Mayonnaise.

“Funny,” Mr. Dink had thought to himself at the time. “Douglas always speaks of this Patti, but I’ve never met her. Is it possible that this rose was actually meant for me?” He held it up to his nose and fondly remembered the first time Doug had brought him flowers.

But that was all in the past. Mr. Dink took the same key he had been keeping for years out of his pocket and used it on the front door, letting himself in quietly and breathing heavily under the stress and excitement of entering someone else’s home uninvited. “I understand now, Douglas,” whispered Mr. Dink to himself and he wiped his brow with a handkerchief. Then he returned the kerchief to his front pocket along with the key and pulled out a long kitchen knife. After studying its sharpness for a few minutes, he took out a fork and began licking his lips.

“Message received…” he said and stared at the ceiling above him, where he knew Doug was peacefully asleep in his bed, at the foot of which must be his trusty pooch, Porkchop. “Porkchop!” Mr. Dink groaned loudly. Porkchop was the whole reason he was here – for Porkchop alone, but only as a favor to Doug.

It was what Doug had been secretly telling him all this time. How could he have been so blind as to not realize it? And how rude was he to keep the boy waiting year after year as he ignorantly overlooked the boy’s secret, coded message?

Porkchops… Mr. Dink had always loved them. In fact, they had been his favorite dish ever since he and the Mrs. had them on their honeymoon, and it was the first dish she ever cooked for him, and continued to cook for him each month up until her death.

A tear formed in Mr. Dink’s eye as he remembered these things and opened his trunk. Tippi had meant meant the world to him. Ever since she went missing a year ago almost to the day, he hadn’t been the same. She’d just vanished, mysteriously, and after months of searching, Mr. Dink finally lost hope.

He took out what he had in the trunk. It was Mrs. Dink’s wedding dress and he rubbed its fabric against his cheek. “Oh, Tippi. Finally we can be together again, thanks to this lovely, wonderful boy.” He began dressing himself in it, talking as he did. “We can enjoy this one last Porkchop together. Doug has offered it to us as a treat – a final treat before I join you. Isn’t that so kind of him? I know you said we were too close before you died, that Doug and I needed to distance ourselves, because it wasn’t proper for a man and a boy to meet so frequently, but I know you’ve changed your mind now. I know you’ve seen the truth about Doug and what a wonderful young person he is.” He was crying, now fully adorned in the perfectly kept wedding dress. “Porkchop, here I come.”

He went running up the stairs, the fabric of the dress swishing and swooshing noisily as he reached the top floor and stood outside Doug’s door, knife and fork in hand.

“Well, this is it,” he said. In one sense, he was ashamed, but he knew it was exactly as Doug wanted it. By naming his dog Porkchop, Doug had been saying all this time, in large, bright neon colors, “Please, Mr. Dink, eat my dog!” “You’re finally going to get your wish, Douglas…” he said as he began to choke up. He opened the door.

Doug was in his bed, barely visible in the darkness, the only light provided by the moon- and star- light shining through the window over his bed. But Porkchop was nowhere in sight. Mr. Dink glanced around the room, stepped fully inside and closed the door behind himself. On the carpet were dog-tracks leading directly to the closed closet. “That must be where the dog is hiding,” he thought.

Mr. Dink was trembling with fear. He clutched his knife and fork in white-knuckled fists and stepped before the sliding closet door. “This is it,” he said, inching it open.

“Oh my God!” he gasped. While the room was dark, the closet was fully illuminated by artificial lights. And there, bound and gagged and hanging by a bundle of ropes from the ceiling’s center, was a terrified and worn looking, wedding dress-adorned Roger Klotz.

“Help me!” came the boy’s muffled cry, but Mr. Dink jumped back in shock and confusion, spilling his cutlery onto the floor. Before he knew it, Doug had stirred from his bed and Mr. Dink felt something sharp plunge into his side. It was only a flesh wound, piercing his body from one end to the other, but it was so painful that he couldn’t help but scream, except that a hand reached around him from behind and stifled his cry. It was a trap!

“It’s just too easy,” said Doug victoriously. “Oh, and I’d rather you didn’t scream, Mr. Dink. My parents wouldn’t approve.” He chuckled maniacally and then bound the man with duct tape and threw him to the floor, whipping him for hours in his Quailman outfit with electrical wire.