Head Detective Carlton Lassiter prided himself on being serious. After all, he was head detective. There was no room for goofing off.

However, one day he found himself with a strange case of boredom. He had a cold, and Chief Vick wouldn’t let him near the police department. She told him she didn’t want everyone there catching what he had.

Sleep eluded him.

That was how he found himself with nothing to do. Nothing good was playing on TV. He’d already tried the shooting range (and found out that loud noises are bad for headaches).

He’d tried all the goofy games on his computer, but nothing held his attention. That was why, in sheer desperation, he found himself staring at the internet search browser.

In what he would later chalk up as insanity, he entered five letters into the text box: P-S-Y-C-H.

One of the results was called Psychfic. Whatever that was.

He clicked on it, and up popped the strangest picture he’d ever seen. There was Guster and Spencer, himself (Were those bunny ears – from Spencer – on his head? These people certainly had Spencer pegged correctly.), O’Hara, Henry Spencer, Chief Vick, and McNabb, all standing in a line. At least the artist had drawn him in neat and proper – not like some people, psychics who shall remain nameless.

His eyes explored the menu options. What were all these stories?

Wow. There were people who devoted their time solely to making up stories about them? What wackos.

He browsed through several of the selections. Maybe his day home wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Ooh, he’d definitely have to read all those “Shawn Whump” stories …