The Beginning of the End

It had not been a good day for Fred.  First, the paperboy threw the newspaper through the window instead of onto the porch.  Second, Fred tripped over a newspaper—that had somehow appeared on the porch—on his way out the door.  Third, he made road kill out of a squirrel on his way to work.  Fourth, his boss promoted him (oh, I suppose that’s a good thing).  Fifth, he got fired (never mind), for spilling scalding coffee over his boss’s wife in his excitement over being promoted.  Sixth, on the way home he got a flat tire.  Seventh, he didn’t have a spare. 

When he finally got back to his house, he sank into his favorite rocking chair and heaved a sigh.  What was he going to do now?  His job was gone, and with it his livelihood.  And jobs were so hard to get these days.

Then, the telephone rang.  Fred picked it up.

“Hello, this is Fred speaking,” he said.

Someone with an English accent said, “Hello, Fred.  We would like for you to come here to England for a job interview.”

Fred jumped to his feet. “Really!?”

“Really,” the person replied. “You no doubt have the plane fare in your mailbox at this moment.  We shall expect you ASAP.”

“All right!”

The person hung up and Fred dropped the phone and ran out to his mailbox.  Sure enough there was a ticket that would fly him straight to London, first class.  The departure time was just a few hours away.  Luckily Fred lived just a couple miles from the airport.  He ran back into the house and threw the majority of his clothes into a suitcase, dashed out to his car, hopped in and with a squeal of tires shot out of the driveway.   There was a bit of traffic along the way, but he made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare, and, two hours later, he was comfortably seated in a plane up in the clouds. 

The seat next to him remained empty, leaving Fred alone with his thoughts.  But not for long, because he soon drifted off to sleep. 

He was awoken by a jerk and the Captain’s voice informing the passengers that they had hit a small storm and apologizing for the inconvenience.  Fred was just about to get ticked off about this, when he noticed a bag of peanuts on the seat next to him.  His eyes widen.  Fred loved peanuts.  Not like most people say they love chocolate, but like most people love their lives.  But, sadly for poor Fred, he was deathly allergic to them. 

He stared at the peanuts for several minutes, mesmerized, then slowly reached over and picked the bag up.  Never removing his gaze from it, he laid the bag on his lap.  He only stopped staring at the peanuts long enough to blink once or twice every minute.  But eventually his eyes started drooping, and a few minutes later he had again fallen asleep.

Another, harder jerk woke him an hour or so later.  He quickly looked down at the peanuts and came fully awake.  They were gone!  In their place was a note that read,

If you wish to see your precious peanuts again

Leave exactly $100 on the seat next to you

And then go back to sleep

If you notify any authorities, your peanuts will suffer

Fred stared down at the note in shock, trying to figure out who would do such a thing.  There was only one possible answer.  Only one group of people would do such a dastardly deed. 

The PEANUT terrorists!