"The Mystery of the Midnight Caller" - RA#9

The Mystery of the Midnight Caller

It’s late, the streets of Bray Park are quiet, and Birko is settling in with a cup of weak tea. But when the phone rings and no one is on the other end, the peaceful night takes a sudden turn. A series of mysterious calls, strange noises outside, and a growing sense of unease send Birko, Cinders, and Piper on a late-night chase for answers.

Is it a prank? A mistake? Or is someone—or something—watching them?

Some mysteries don’t wait until morning…

Act 1: The Midnight Ring

The quiet hum of Jeopardy! filled the Birko Burrow as Birko lounged in his recliner, a steaming cup of weak, milky tea balanced precariously on the armrest. He tapped his foot in time with the familiar game show jingle, furrowing his brow at the screen. Piper, sprawled lazily at his feet, let out a low, sleepy sigh, while Cinders, perched on the couch, occasionally glanced up from her phone.

“Who is Napoleon?” Birko said confidently, pointing at the screen.

“Wrong century,” Cinders muttered, not bothering to look up.

“Close enough,” he grumbled, sipping his tea. “At least I’m playing. You’re just over there scrolling.”

“Because someone has to fact-check your guesses,” she teased.

The clock ticked over to midnight, and just as the next category appeared on screen—Australian Landmarks—the old landline on the far wall rang. The sharp, unexpected sound jolted Piper awake, her ears flicking upward as she let out a confused bark.

Birko froze mid-sip, his eyes darting toward the phone. “Who even calls a landline anymore? That thing’s practically a museum piece.”

Cinders smirked, setting her phone down. “Maybe it’s someone asking about your Jeopardy skills.”

Piper barked again, louder this time.

Birko sighed, hauling himself out of the chair and muttering, “If this is a telemarketer, I swear I’ll personally hunt them down.” He lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

At first, there was silence. Then, a soft, eerie voice whispered through the line. “Shadowbrook Crescent… The past can’t stay buried forever.”

Birko blinked, gripping the phone tighter. “Uh, sorry—what?”

The line clicked dead.

He stared at the receiver for a moment, then hung up and shuffled back to his recliner. “Well, that was unsettling.”

“What was it?” Cinders asked, tilting her head.

“Some weirdo whispering spooky nonsense,” he said, sinking into his chair. “Probably a prank. Or one of those * ASMR things gone wrong.” He shook his head. “People need better hobbies.”

Cinders frowned. “What did they say?”

“Something about Shadowbrook Crescent. And the past. And burying stuff.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s probably just kids being creepy.”

Cinders didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But that’s us—Shadowbrook Crescent is our street.”

Birko shrugged. “Yeah, and half the city knows it because I made that Facebook post about lawn grubs last month. Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t been prank-called sooner.”

The next night, at exactly midnight, the phone rang again. This time, both Birko and Cinders stared at it, neither moving to answer. Piper barked sharply, breaking the silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get it,” Birko grumbled, walking over. He hesitated for a second before picking up. “Hello?”

The same whispery voice floated through the line. “13 Shadowbrook Crescent… Dig it up before it’s too late.”

Birko’s brow furrowed. “Look, mate, if this is about my lawn, I’m not interested in advice. It’s Sir Walter Cooch, and it’s staying that way.”

The line went dead again.

Cinders, now fully awake and pacing, was more rattled. “That’s twice. Same time, same creepy message. I don’t think this is random.”

“It’s probably just some lawn-care cult trying to intimidate me,” Birko said, though his voice wavered. He walked over to the window and peered outside. The streetlamp flickered ominously, casting strange shadows across the yard. “That light’s been acting up all week. Coincidence?”

Piper let out another low growl, trotting to the back door and sniffing furiously. Birko sighed. “Oh, come on. Now the dog’s in on it?”

Cinders moved to join him at the window, her arms crossed. “It’s weird, Birko. Admit it. Two calls, creepy messages, and now Piper’s acting like someone’s out there.”

“Well, if there is, they’re not getting my lawn mower. That thing cost a fortune.”

As if to punctuate his point, Piper suddenly began barking loudly, rushing to the door. Cinders flicked on the porch light, revealing nothing but the empty backyard—except for a small, faintly disturbed patch of soil near the old tree.

“Now what?” Birko muttered, grabbing a flashlight.

They stepped outside cautiously, Piper leading the way. The cool night air was eerily still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. Birko shone the flashlight on the patch of soil, frowning. “That wasn’t like this yesterday.”

“Something—or someone—was digging,” Cinders said, crouching to inspect the spot.

Birko rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around nervously. “If it’s kids, they’re getting coal for Christmas. If it’s something worse…” He trailed off, his flashlight beam darting between the trees.

Cinders straightened up, brushing dirt off her hands. “We’re not going to figure this out tonight. But whoever—or whatever—is doing this, they’re not done.”

Birko sighed, following her back inside. “Fine. Tomorrow, we figure this out. But if this turns out to be a prank, someone’s explaining it to my lawn.”

As they locked the doors behind them, the flickering streetlamp finally went out, plunging Shadowbrook Crescent into complete darkness.

Act 2: The Neighbourhood Lore

The next morning, the bright sunlight streaming into the Birko Burrow did little to ease the eerie tension from the night before. Birko stood in the backyard, hands on his hips, staring at the faintly disturbed soil under the old tree. Piper sniffed the area again, wagging her tail furiously like she was onto something.

“Alright, Pipes,” Birko muttered, crouching beside her. “What do you know that I don’t? Is this a treasure? A bone? Or are you just in cahoots with the lawn grubs?”

Cinders appeared behind him, holding two mugs — a milo for her and weak, milky tea for him. “Still grumbling about the yard, I see.”

“Cinders, this isn’t just a yard. This is Sir Walter Cooch perfection. And someone’s been digging in it. If this is the work of a rogue landscaper, they’re getting a talking-to.”

She smirked, handing him his tea. “Or maybe it’s connected to the creepy calls?”

Birko groaned, taking a sip. “Don’t remind me. Two nights of whispered riddles, and now my dog’s acting like a detective. What’s next? The shed disappears?”

Cinders looked thoughtful. “We need to figure out what’s going on, Birko. And I know just who to ask.”

An hour later, they stood on the front porch of Mr. Mortimer, their eccentric neighbour from two doors down. Mortimer was a retired historian with a cluttered yard full of half-buried antiques and a fondness for neighbourhood gossip. He opened the door with a wide grin, his glasses perched precariously on his nose.

“Well, well, the Shadowbrook duo,” Mortimer said, leaning on his cane. “What brings you to my humble abode? Looking for a history lesson?”

“Actually, yes,” Cinders replied, stepping forward. “We’ve been getting these strange calls, and there’s… weird stuff happening around our place. Digging, whispers, missing tools. It’s like someone’s targeting us.”

Mortimer’s expression shifted, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Interesting. What exactly are they whispering?”

Birko crossed his arms. “Oh, you know, the usual. ‘Shadowbrook Crescent, the past can’t stay buried forever,’ that kind of thing.”

Mortimer’s eyes widened. “Ah. You might be on to something.”

Birko raised an eyebrow. “Care to share with the class?”

Mortimer motioned them inside, leading them into his chaotic living room, where stacks of books and rolled-up maps covered every surface. Piper sniffed curiously at a pile of old newspapers while Mortimer rummaged through a box.

“You see,” Mortimer began, pulling out a faded map, “Shadowbrook Crescent wasn’t always just a quiet street. Back in the 1800s, it was farmland worked by convicts.”

“Convicts?” Cinders asked, leaning over the map.

Mortimer nodded, tapping a spot near their address. “Convict work crews cleared the land and built some of the early infrastructure around here. And, as legend has it, they left something behind.”

Birko’s sarcasm kicked in. “Let me guess. A treasure map? Buried gold? A secret lawn-care formula?”

Mortimer chuckled. “Not quite. The story goes that some of the convicts, hoping to escape, hid tools, artifacts, and supplies underground. The exact location was never found, but people have searched for it for years.”

“And you think that’s connected to the calls?” Cinders asked.

Mortimer leaned back in his chair. “It’s possible. Whoever’s calling you clearly knows something. And if digging’s happening around your place… well, let’s just say you might be living on top of history.”

Birko groaned. “Great. I always wanted to live on a crime scene.”

That night, back at 13 Shadowbrook Crescent, the eerie tension returned. The streetlight outside flickered again, and Piper began pacing by the back door, letting out low growls.

Birko sat in the Birko Burrow, staring at the rusted tools Mortimer had loaned them for “investigation purposes.” “You know,” he said, holding up a particularly old-looking spade, “if this is part of some convict stash, it’s probably just an old shovel. And let me tell you, my lawn deserves better.”

Cinders peered out the window. “Birko, what if we are living on something important? What if there’s more to this?”

Before he could answer, Piper started barking furiously. This time, it wasn’t just the wind. A faint scraping noise echoed from the backyard.

Birko shot up, grabbing a flashlight. “Oh, no. Not my lawn again. I draw the line at this!”

Cinders followed him outside, her phone ready. Piper darted ahead, her nose to the ground, as the sound of footsteps grew louder. In the faint moonlight, they caught a glimpse of two shadowy figures near the old tree.

“Hey!” Birko shouted, shining his flashlight at them.

The figures froze for a split second before bolting toward the fence. Piper gave chase, barking wildly. Birko ran after her, but the intruders were too quick, vanishing into the night.

Panting, Birko stopped near the disturbed patch of soil. “What is this, amateur hour for backyard thieves?”

Cinders knelt by the tree, her flashlight catching a faint metallic glint. She reached down and unearthed a small, rusted key, its surface etched with a barely legible inscription: Shadowbrook Vault.

She held it up, her eyes wide. “Birko, I think we’ve just found a clue.”

Birko squinted at the key, shaking his head. “A rusted key and some dirt. Yeah, that screams ‘mystery.’”

Cinders grinned. “Come on, admit it. You’re curious.”

Birko sighed, scratching Piper behind the ears. “Curious? Sure. But if this thing leads to more digging, I’m filing a noise complaint.”

As they headed back inside, the streetlight flickered one last time before plunging the crescent into darkness.

Act 3: Under the Crescent

The following day, Birko stood in the kitchen, staring at the rusted key on the counter as he absentmindedly stirred his tea. Piper sat at his feet, tail wagging and eyes fixed on the mysterious object. Cinders entered, her phone in hand and an excited gleam in her eye.

“Alright, I’ve got a plan,” she announced.

Birko raised an eyebrow, taking a cautious sip of his tea. “Please tell me it involves locking the doors, ignoring the weirdos, and me reseeding my lawn in peace.”

“Not even close,” she said with a grin, holding up her phone. “I talked to Mortimer. He said this key might be connected to an old convict hiding spot near Shadowbrook Creek.”

“Shadowbrook Creek?” Birko groaned. “You’re telling me we’re traipsing through mud and snakes because some convict back in the day had a bad sense of property value?”

Cinders rolled her eyes. “It’s history, Birko. Don’t you want to know what’s buried out there?”

Birko leaned down to scratch Piper’s ears. “Honestly, I just want to know who’s been stomping all over my yard. But fine, let’s humour the convict ghost fan club.”

By late afternoon, they stood at the edge of Shadowbrook Creek, a quiet and overgrown area on the outskirts of the neighbourhood. Mortimer had joined them, carrying an old map that looked like it belonged in a pirate movie. He squinted at the faded paper, then pointed toward a cluster of trees near the water.

“This is where the old convict trails converged,” Mortimer explained, his voice low and reverent. “If there’s anything to find, it’ll be around here.”

Birko looked down at Piper, who sniffed the ground eagerly, her tail wagging in excitement. “Well, at least one of us is enjoying this,” he muttered.

Cinders ignored him and knelt beside a moss-covered rock. “Look at this,” she said, brushing away dirt to reveal a faint engraving of a rose entwined with chains—the same symbol they’d seen on the key.

Mortimer adjusted his glasses, leaning closer. “That’s convict work, no doubt about it. They marked these symbols to guide each other. We’re close.”

Birko folded his arms. “Great. Now what? Dig until we hit something spooky?”

Before anyone could answer, Piper let out a sharp bark and darted toward a nearby thicket. Birko scrambled after her, flashlight in hand, as she stopped abruptly in front of what looked like a rusted metal grate embedded in the ground.

“Is this… a door?” Cinders asked, stepping closer.

Mortimer’s eyes widened. “It’s an entrance to the old convict tunnels.”

Birko groaned. “Of course it is. Because why wouldn’t there be creepy underground tunnels right under our noses?”

The rusted grate groaned loudly as they pried it open, revealing a dark, narrow passage leading into the earth. Birko hesitated at the edge, shining his flashlight into the void. “Alright, I’m officially filing a complaint with whoever planned this neighbourhood.”

Cinders smirked, gripping his arm. “Come on, Birko. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Back at the house with my lawn,” he replied, but he climbed in after her anyway, Piper close on his heels.

The air inside the tunnel was damp and cold, carrying the faint scent of moss and old stone. Birko’s flashlight beam illuminated the rough-hewn walls, which were etched with more convict symbols—arrows, roses, and chains pointing deeper into the passage.

“This is incredible,” Cinders whispered, running her fingers along one of the carvings. “They built all this.”

“Incredible isn’t the word I’d use,” Birko muttered, ducking under a low beam. “Claustrophobic, maybe. Smells like a wet sock in here.”

Piper barked sharply, her nose pressed to the ground. She led them to a section of the tunnel where the floor was littered with broken tools and rusted chains.

Mortimer crouched down, examining the debris. “These are authentic. They must’ve been left behind when the convicts tried to escape.”

Birko sighed. “Great history lesson. Now, can we go before this whole place collapses?”

But before they could move on, the sound of footsteps echoed through the tunnel. Cinders froze, gripping Birko’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

Mortimer nodded, his face pale. “We’re not alone.”

A flashlight beam swept across the tunnel, and two shadowy figures emerged from the darkness. One was tall and wiry, the other broad-shouldered and menacing. Both wore smug expressions as they approached.

“Well, well,” the taller one said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like we’ve got some amateur treasure hunters.”

Birko groaned. “Let me guess. You’re the midnight callers?”

“Guilty as charged,” the wiry man said with a smirk. “Name’s Rayner. My associate here is Marcus. And you’ve stumbled into our little operation.”

“Operation?” Cinders asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Call it treasure recovery,” Marcus said, cracking his knuckles. “That key of yours? It opens something very valuable. Hand it over, and maybe we won’t lock you in here.”

Birko stepped forward, Piper growling at his side. “Alright, listen up, Marcus. I’ve had my lawn ruined, my dog traumatized, and my tea interrupted for this nonsense. You want the key? Come and take it.”

Rayner laughed, pulling out a crowbar. “Gladly.”

The tension exploded into chaos as Piper lunged at Marcus, barking ferociously. Cinders ducked out of the way, grabbing Mortimer and pulling him toward the safety of a side passage. Birko swung his flashlight at Rayner, narrowly dodging the crowbar.

“Not so smug now, are you?” Birko shouted, scrambling backward as Piper snapped at Marcus’ legs.

In the commotion, Cinders spotted another engraving of the rose and chain on the tunnel wall, pointing toward a hidden door. “Birko! Over here!” she called.

Rayner turned toward her, but Piper blocked his path, barking furiously. Birko grabbed a loose rock and hurled it at Marcus, buying enough time to retreat toward the door. Cinders pressed the key into the lock, twisting it until the mechanism groaned and the door creaked open.

“Go!” she shouted, pulling Birko and Mortimer through the opening.

They slammed the door shut behind them, leaving the treasure hunters pounding on the other side. Piper wagged her tail triumphantly, as if she’d planned the whole thing.

Birko leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “Next time, remind me to leave the keys at home.”

Act 4: The Hidden Vault

The door groaned loudly as it swung open, revealing a hidden chamber that smelled of damp earth and secrets long forgotten. The air inside was heavy, and the faint glint of something metallic caught the light of Birko’s flashlight. Piper darted ahead, her paws padding lightly on the stone floor.

“Alright,” Birko muttered, still catching his breath, “please tell me there’s something amazing in here, like a pizza oven or a gold-plated lawn mower.”

Cinders smirked as she stepped inside. “Not quite, but I think we’ve found the convict stash.”

Mortimer followed close behind, his face lighting up with awe. “This is extraordinary. Do you realize how long people have been searching for this place? The convict vault—it’s real.”

At the centre of the room sat a large, rusted chest, its edges encrusted with dirt and moss. Birko eyed it suspiciously. “Great. It’s a creepy box. Let me guess—it’s cursed.”

“It’s not cursed,” Cinders replied, crouching beside it. “It’s history.”

“Same difference,” Birko grumbled, but he moved to help her. Together, they pried the lid open, the old hinges creaking in protest.

Inside, the chest was filled with relics: rusted tools, a small pouch of convict-era coins, and a weathered journal with its pages carefully preserved. At the bottom of the chest lay an ornate golden locket, engraved with the same rose-and-chain symbol they’d seen throughout the tunnels.

Cinders picked up the locket, turning it over in her hands. “This is beautiful. Look at the detail—it must’ve belonged to someone important.”

Mortimer leaned closer, adjusting his glasses. “That’s no ordinary trinket. That locket likely carried a message. The rose and chain symbol represented both hope and confinement for convicts. Whoever left this behind wanted it to be found.”

Birko snorted. “Well, they’ve got their wish. Now what? Do we call the museum? Or do we leave it here and pretend we never found it?”

Before anyone could answer, a loud thud reverberated through the chamber. The pounding from the other side of the door grew louder, followed by muffled shouting.

“Rayner and Marcus,” Cinders whispered, clutching the locket tightly. “They’re trying to break through.”

Birko’s jaw tightened. “I knew they wouldn’t give up. These guys are like lawn grubs—persistent and irritating.”

Mortimer glanced around the chamber, his expression anxious. “If they get in here, they’ll destroy everything. We can’t let that happen.”

Piper growled, her ears pinned back as the door began to splinter under the force of the treasure hunters’ assault. Birko grabbed a rusted crowbar from the chest, turning to face the door. “Alright, if they want a fight, they’ll get one. But fair warning—I’ve had a long day, and I’m not above using dirty tactics.”

Cinders placed a hand on his arm. “We don’t need to fight. There’s another way out.”

She pointed to a narrow passage at the back of the chamber, partially hidden behind a pile of loose rocks. The faint sound of running water echoed from within.

Mortimer’s face brightened. “That must lead to the creek!”

Birko groaned. “A cramped tunnel and water? Fantastic. My two favourite things.”

As the door began to buckle, the group hurried toward the passage. Birko used the crowbar to clear the debris while Piper barked furiously, standing guard at the entrance. Just as they slipped into the passage, the door burst open behind them.

“Get back here!” Rayner shouted, his flashlight beam sweeping the chamber. He and Marcus charged toward the chest, their eyes gleaming with greed.

The passage was narrow and uneven, forcing them to crouch as they moved deeper into the darkness. The sound of the creek grew louder, mingling with the distant shouts of the treasure hunters.

Cinders held the locket tightly, her determination unwavering. “We can’t let them take this. It’s too important.”

Birko, crawling behind her, muttered, “Right, because saving convict trinkets is definitely what I had planned for today. Remind me to charge Rayner for a new pair of pants after this.”

Finally, they emerged at the edge of Shadowbrook Creek, the cool night air a welcome relief after the stifling tunnel. Piper bounded ahead, her tail wagging furiously.

Mortimer pointed to a small embankment. “We can follow the creek back to the neighbourhood. They’ll never catch us out here.”

But before they could move, Rayner and Marcus burst out of the tunnel, their faces twisted with fury. “You’re not going anywhere!” Rayner shouted, holding a crowbar of his own.

Birko stepped forward, crowbar in hand, and Piper growled beside him. “Look, mate, I don’t know what your plan is, but I can promise you one thing—you’re going to regret it.”

Marcus lunged, but Piper intercepted him, barking and snapping at his legs. Birko swung his crowbar at Rayner, forcing him to stumble back. “You’re not as tough as you look,” Birko quipped, swinging again.

Cinders took the opportunity to toss the journal and coins into the creek, ensuring they’d be preserved rather than stolen. The locket, however, stayed in her pocket.

“Let’s go!” she called, grabbing Birko’s arm.

Rayner and Marcus, distracted by Piper’s relentless barking, were left scrambling as Birko, Cinders, Mortimer, and Piper disappeared into the night.

By the time they returned to Shadowbrook Crescent, the police had arrived, alerted by a call Mortimer had made earlier. Rayner and Marcus were quickly apprehended near the creek, their plans foiled.

As the artifacts were handed over to authorities for preservation, Mortimer turned to Birko and Cinders with a satisfied smile. “You’ve made history tonight. That locket and journal will be studied for years to come.”

Birko sighed, wiping dirt off his shirt. “Glad to hear it. But next time, can we make history without me crawling through a tunnel?”

Cinders grinned, holding up the locket. “You didn’t do too bad, Birko. Turns out you’re a pretty good adventurer when you put your mind to it.”

Birko smirked. “Don’t push it.”

Act 5: Midnight Resolution

The quiet hum of the Birko Burrow’s TV filled the room as Birko sprawled on his recliner, a fresh cup of weak, milky tea in hand. Piper snoozed on the rug, clearly exhausted from her heroic escapades. Cinders sat curled up on the couch, turning the gold locket over in her hands. Outside, the streetlights of Shadowbrook Crescent glowed softly, a peaceful contrast to the chaos of the past few days.

“You know,” Birko said, breaking the silence, “I’m starting to think I attract trouble. I mean, who else stumbles into a convict treasure hunt just trying to protect their lawn?”

Cinders smirked, setting the locket on the coffee table. “I don’t know, Birko. You handled those treasure hunters pretty well. For a guy who complains about bending down to tie his shoes, you were surprisingly heroic.”

He pointed at her with his tea mug. “Hey, don’t spread that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain as a reluctant hero.”

“Right,” Cinders teased. “Reluctant or not, you saved the day. And Piper gets the assist.”

At the sound of her name, Piper thumped her tail against the floor, letting out a happy little huff. Birko chuckled, reaching down to scratch her ears. “Best dog in the business, aren’t you, Pipes? Rayner didn’t stand a chance.”

On the mantle above the TV, the locket sat on a small stand, gleaming faintly in the light. Next to it was a folded newspaper with the headline: “Hidden Convict Vault Discovered Beneath Bray Park.” Birko had circled a particular line in red pen: “Local couple and their dog credited with preserving a vital piece of history.”

Cinders glanced at the article and grinned. “You know, Birko, you could frame that and hang it in the Burrow. Your big moment of fame.”

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “If I start hanging up reminders of this stuff, what’s next? A trophy for defeating lawn grubs?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, her grin widening.

Just as Birko settled back into his chair, the phone rang. He froze, his eyes darting toward the landline. Piper perked up, her ears twitching, and Cinders raised an eyebrow.

“You think it’s Mortimer?” she asked.

“Or another midnight creep,” Birko muttered, setting down his tea. He hesitated for a moment before getting up and answering. “Hello?”

A familiar voice crackled on the other end. “Birko, it’s Mortimer! I’ve been going through the journal we found, and you won’t believe it—there’s another set of symbols pointing to the park near Shadowbrook Creek!”

Birko’s shoulders slumped. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not at all! This could be even bigger than the vault!” Mortimer’s enthusiasm was palpable, but Birko could feel his last ounce of energy slipping away.

“Mortimer,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I appreciate your excitement, but I’ve just reclaimed my living room. Can this wait until I’ve had at least two days of peace?”

Mortimer laughed on the other end. “Fair enough. But don’t rest too long—history waits for no one!”

Birko hung up, shaking his head as he returned to his recliner. “Cinders, if Mortimer calls again, tell him I’m on strike. No more convict tunnels, no more treasure, no more midnight mysteries.”

Cinders chuckled. “You know you’ll cave the moment Piper starts digging again.”

“Yeah, well, that’s future Birko’s problem,” he said, sipping his tea with a contented sigh. “Tonight, it’s just me, my Burrow, and whatever nonsense is on TV.”

As if on cue, Jeopardy! flickered onto the screen. Cinders laughed softly as Birko immediately blurted out the wrong answer to the first question.

Piper stretched out on the rug, her tail wagging lazily. The locket glinted faintly on the mantle, a quiet reminder of their unexpected adventure. For now, Shadowbrook Crescent was calm again—but with Birko, Cinders, and Piper around, it was only a matter of time before the next mystery came knocking.

The End.

* ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, which is a tingling sensation some people experience in response to certain sounds, visuals, or gentle, repetitive actions. This tingling often starts at the scalp and travels down the neck and spine, and it’s often described as relaxing or soothing.

Examples of ASMR triggers include:
Whispering or soft speaking.
Tapping or scratching sounds.
Page-turning or paper crinkling.
Hair brushing or scalp massage. Watching someone perform detailed, repetitive tasks (e.g., painting, folding towels).

ASMR content has become hugely popular on platforms like YouTube, where creators (called “ASMRtists”) produce videos specifically designed to evoke this response. People watch or listen to ASMR videos to relax, fall asleep, or reduce anxiety. While not everyone experiences ASMR, those who do often find it incredibly calming.

Stay Tuned—Next Adventure: The Mystery of the Bray Park Garden Show

Just when Birko thought his prized agapanthus was destined for garden show glory, chaos strikes in the most unexpected way. Missing flowers, suspicious competitors, and a horticultural rivalry like no other—Birko, Cinders, and Piper are about to dig up more than just soil.

Can Birko prove his gardening genius, or will foul play wilt his chances? Stay tuned for The Mystery of the Bray Park Garden Show!