"The Strange Case of the Singing Statue" – #RA14

The Strange Case of the Singing Statue

Arthur T. Bray always wanted to be remembered—but no one expected him to keep talking from beyond the grave. When his statue in the local park starts belting out eerie verses at midnight, Birko and Cinders find themselves wrapped up in a mystery decades in the making.

Is it a glitch? A prank? Or is the town’s most self-important founder refusing to shut up from the afterlife? With demolition crews on the way and a long-buried secret hidden within the bronze, the clock is ticking. Can they solve the mystery before Bray Park is doomed to an eternal one-man show?

Or worse—before Volume Two starts playing?

Stay tuned… because this one’s going to require more than just a mute button.

Act 1: The Mystery Begins

Bray Park at night was usually a quiet place. The streetlights cast long shadows, the occasional possum darted between trees, and the faint hum of distant traffic filled the air. Birko and Cinders, out for their usual evening stroll, enjoyed the peace—until the sound started.

A soft, ghostly voice drifted through the park.

“Remember me, oh Bray Park folk,
My legacy shall stand,
A man of song, a man of hope,
I built this park so grand!”

Cinders stopped mid-sip of her Milo. “Did you hear that?”

Birko froze, gripping his thermos of tea a little tighter. “I heard it. And I’m ignoring it.”

Piper, trotting beside them, let out a low growl, ears pinned back as she stared toward the statue of Arthur T. Bray—the town’s self-important founder.

“Looks like it’s coming from him,” Cinders murmured, pointing at the bronze figure standing atop its stone pedestal.

Birko stared at the statue. It was the usual boring council-funded affair—some old bloke in a suit holding a book, looking very pleased with himself. But tonight, it had an extra feature. It was singing.

He rubbed his temples. “Right. I’m assuming some joker’s hidden a Bluetooth speaker in it. Classic prank.”

“Then why’s Piper acting weird?” Cinders asked.

Piper inched closer to the statue, her tail stiff, nose twitching. Birko didn’t like it. Piper only acted like this when something wasn’t right—like when the lawn grubs had tried to invade.

A jogger zipped past, shaking his head. “Creepy, isn’t it? Been happening for weeks. My missus won’t even walk through here anymore.”

Birko frowned. “You mean this isn’t a one-off?”

The jogger slowed. “Mate, every night at midnight, that thing starts up. Sometimes, the voice is louder. Sometimes, it’s just a hum. And every time someone tries to record it—nothing. Just silence.”

Cinders immediately pulled out her phone and hit record. The singing continued, soft and rhythmic.

“For those who seek to tear me down,
A curse shall strike you true,
The spirit of old Arthur Bray,
Will always watch o’er you!”

She stopped recording and hit play.

Silence.

Cinders blinked. “Okay, that’s freaky.”

Birko gave a nervous chuckle. “Alright, I’ll admit… it’s weird weird.”

A new voice broke in. “I say it’s a nuisance.”

They turned to see a suited council worker approaching, holding a clipboard. “The city’s already gotten complaints. We’re tearing the statue down next week.”

“Tearing it down?” Cinders repeated. “Without figuring out why it’s singing?”

The man shrugged. “Not my problem. Some of us have real work to do.”

With that, he walked off, leaving them staring at the statue.

Birko took a sip of his tea. “Well. Guess that’s that.”

Cinders shook her head. “Oh no. We are not leaving this unsolved.”

Birko sighed. “Of course not.”

Piper barked, tail wagging. The case of the Singing Statue had officially begun.

Act 2: Investigating Arthur T. Bray

The next morning, Birko and Cinders sat at the kitchen table, their usual drinks in hand—tea for him, Milo for her. Piper lay under the table, chewing on a tennis ball. Birko flicked through the newspaper, occasionally muttering about how “journalists these days don’t ask the right questions.”

Cinders, meanwhile, was deep in research mode. Her laptop screen displayed article after article about Arthur T. Bray, the town’s founder and—apparently—a posthumous performer.

“So,” she said, leaning back, “turns out Arthur T. Bray was obsessed with leaving a legacy. The guy wrote his own biography twice.”

Birko scoffed. “Bet he gave himself glowing reviews.”

“Oh, he did,” Cinders said, scrolling. “Claimed he was ‘Bray Park’s guiding light’ and that ‘no monument would ever be grand enough’ to honor him.” She turned the laptop to show Birko a black-and-white photo of a smug-looking Arthur T. Bray posing in front of a construction site.

Birko sipped his tea. “So he was a bit of a tosser.”

Cinders grinned. “That’s putting it politely. But get this—when the statue was built, they sealed a time capsule inside it.”

Birko nearly choked. “Inside the statue?”

“Yep.” Cinders pointed at the screen. “It was supposed to be opened fifty years after his death, but the council ‘forgot’ about it.”

Birko rubbed his chin. “And now, right when it’s about to be torn down, it starts singing?”

Cinders smirked. “Spooky, right?”

Birko set down his tea. “Alright, I’ll bite. We check out this time capsule. Maybe there’s some dodgy wiring inside, or—” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute… this isn’t just about history, is it?”

Cinders batted her eyelashes. “What do you mean?”

Birko groaned. “You love this mystery stuff. You’d dig up an entire cemetery if you thought there was a weird plaque at the bottom.”

“Oh, come on,” Cinders said, grinning. “Don’t you want to know what’s inside the statue?”

Birko sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if we get haunted, you owe me a lifetime supply of tea.”

“Deal.”

Piper, sensing adventure, barked and wagged her tail.

A Nighttime Stakeout

That evening, Birko, Cinders, and Piper returned to the park, prepared for some hands-on investigating. The statue of Arthur T. Bray loomed before them, bronze and imposing, looking smug as ever.

“Alright,” Birko whispered, adjusting his flashlight. “Step one—poke around for anything suspicious.”

“Scientific,” Cinders muttered.

They circled the statue, checking for hidden speakers, loose panels, anything that might explain the singing. Piper sniffed at the base, her ears twitching.

Then, right on cue, the voice began.

“For those who seek to tear me down,
A curse shall strike you true,
The spirit of old Arthur Bray,
Will always watch o’er you!”

Piper let out a low growl.

Cinders pulled out her phone to record, but—again—there was nothing on playback.

Birko took a step back, staring up at the statue. “You know… for the first time in my life, I think I might believe in ghosts.”

Cinders nudged him. “Or maybe someone doesn’t want this statue demolished.”

Birko blinked. “Wait, you think this is staged?”

Cinders nodded. “What if someone’s faking the singing to stop the council from tearing it down? Maybe they know about the time capsule.”

Birko considered this, then pointed at the statue. “Then I say we find a way inside.”

Cinders grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a detective.”

Piper barked in agreement. The investigation was officially in full swing.

Act 3: Cracking the Case (Or the Statue)

The next morning, Birko, Cinders, and Piper returned to Arthur T. Bray’s domain—armed with a new plan.

“I still say we take a hammer to it,” Birko muttered, sipping his tea as they stood before the statue. “One good whack, and we’ll know what’s inside.”

Cinders gave him a look. “Birko, I’m pretty sure smashing a public monument is still illegal.”

Birko shrugged. “Not if it’s cursed.”

“Still illegal.”

“Fine. What’s your fancy legal plan?”

Cinders pulled out her phone. “I called the council.”

Birko’s face fell. “Ugh. The council? You invited the red tape brigade?”

Cinders ignored him, scrolling through her messages. “They said the time capsule is officially part of the statue’s foundation, which means if we want to check it out, we need to—”

“Fill out a form?” Birko interrupted, groaning. “Pass. I’d rather take my chances with Arthur Bray’s ghost.”

“Actually, we just need permission from a council member.” She smirked. “And lucky for us, I know one.”

Birko blinked. “Wait. What? Who?”

Just then, a car pulled up near the park, and out stepped none other than Barry, the same man who ran the Redcliffe golf tournament.

“Oh, no.” Birko groaned. “Not Barry.”

“Yep,” Cinders said cheerfully. “Barry’s on the heritage committee.”

“Barry thinks everything is a heritage site,” Birko grumbled. “Last time, he tried to get a protection order for a fish and chip shop.”

Barry, beaming as ever, approached them. “G’day, you lot! Cinders said you’re keen to see the old time capsule?”

Cinders nodded. “We think it might explain the, uh… singing.”

Barry’s smile faltered. “Oh yeah. That.” He scratched the back of his head. “Look, between you and me, we’ve had some… odd complaints. One bloke swears he heard it recite his bank details.”

Birko raised an eyebrow. “And that’s not enough for you to investigate?”

Barry shrugged. “Council’s been too busy. Budget’s tight. We’re only funding one mystery at a time, and right now, the ‘Phantom Pothole Filler’ takes priority.”

Cinders blinked. “Phantom what now?”

Barry leaned in. “Some bloke’s been filling potholes without permission.”

Birko stared. “Mate. That’s not a mystery. That’s a public service.”

“Council disagrees,” Barry said solemnly. “Anyway, we’ve got a window of about twenty minutes before I have to file a report, so if you two want to crack this thing open—now’s your chance.”

Birko grinned. “Barry, for once, I like you.”

Barry grinned back. “I do grow on people.”

Breaking Into History

With Barry’s blessing (and clipboard-based supervision), the trio got to work. Cinders found the original blueprints of the statue online, which revealed a hidden access panel at the base—something nobody had noticed in decades.

“Alright,” Birko muttered, prying the panel open with a crowbar. “Moment of truth.”

With a final creak, the panel gave way, revealing a dusty metal box.

“There it is,” Cinders whispered. “The lost time capsule.”

Piper barked excitedly, tail wagging.

Barry adjusted his glasses. “You know, if this thing has Arthur Bray’s last will inside, I technically have to log it with—”

“Barry,” Birko interrupted, “how about we open it first before you start filing things?”

Barry nodded, looking slightly guilty.

Birko reached down and carefully lifted the box. The metal was rusted but still intact. With Cinders’ help, they popped it open, revealing a stack of documents, an old cassette tape, and…

Birko frowned. “What the hell is that?”

Cinders pulled out a crumbling, yellowed piece of paper. “It’s… a speech.”

She cleared her throat and read aloud:

“To the people of Bray Park. If you are reading this, my voice has lived on. For I, Arthur T. Bray, have ensured that future generations will always hear my wisdom. My words will echo across the ages. My presence will never—”

She stopped, rolling her eyes. “Wow. This guy really loved himself.”

Birko nodded. “I was expecting a map to buried treasure. This is way worse.”

Cinders dug deeper into the box. “Wait—here we go.” She pulled out a second note. “Looks like instructions.”

She squinted at the faded ink and read:

“Should the glorious statue ever face demolition, my message will play for the final time—so that all will remember me before I am gone.”

Birko frowned. “So… the singing isn’t haunting… it’s just a pre-recorded speech?”

Cinders held up the ancient cassette tape. “Yep. Looks like it’s wired into the statue somehow.”

Barry scratched his head. “You’re telling me this whole ghost business… is just Arthur Bray advertising himself?”

Birko sighed, closing the box. “Barry, mate, I think we just uncovered the most self-absorbed ghost in history.”

Cinders chuckled. “At least now we know—no curse, no mystery, just an old bloke making sure nobody forgets him.”

Birko stretched. “Well, that’s that. I say we turn it off and call it a day.”

Barry, however, hesitated. “Ah… small problem. See, the speaker wiring’s been buried under fifty years of concrete.”

Birko stared. “So… what you’re saying is…”

Barry sighed. “Arthur Bray’s never shutting up.”

Birko groaned and rubbed his temples.

Piper barked.

And somewhere in the background, the statue spoke again:

“Arthur T. Bray! Never to be forgotten!”

Birko sighed. “Cinders, I’m moving.”

Cinders laughed. “Oh no, you’re stuck here with me and Arthur.”

Birko groaned. “Worst haunting ever.”

Piper wagged her tail.

Act 4: The Man Who Wouldn’t Shut Up

The revelation of Arthur T. Bray’s self-imposed immortality had done little to soothe Birko’s nerves. The fact that a decades-old cassette was responsible for the so-called haunting wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that it was still playing.

“Arthur T. Bray! Never to be forgotten! A visionary! A leader! A man of unparalleled brilliance!”

Birko pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. I’ve had enough of this.”

Barry, ever the bureaucrat, checked his watch. “Council’s meeting next week to discuss possible mitigation strategies.”

“Mitigation?” Birko snapped. “Mate, just turn it off.”

Barry gave him a sheepish shrug. “Yeah… so about that. The wiring is somewhere inside the statue.”

Birko blinked. “So you’re telling me the only way to stop Arthur Bray from narrating his own life… is to smash the statue?”

“Which, I remind you,” Cinders added, smirking, “is illegal.”

Birko clenched his fists. “This is why people go off the grid.”

Barry pulled out a clipboard. “Look, there’s a process for this. We submit a formal request to investigate further, then send it up the chain. Should only take… oh… six months.”

Birko twitched. “I’ll be in a straightjacket by then.”

“And so, I leave this message for future generations, knowing that my words shall echo through time, a beacon of—”

Birko lunged forward. “That’s it! I’m stopping this now.”

Before Barry could protest, Birko grabbed his crowbar and marched straight up to the statue’s base. He tapped along the old stone, listening carefully.

“I dunno, Birko,” Cinders teased. “You sure you wanna do this? Desecrating a monument? Bit of bad karma, don’t you think?”

Birko jabbed the crowbar into the panel. “Cinders, I will personally fight Arthur Bray’s ghost if it means I never have to hear his voice again.”

Barry gasped. “You can’t just go in blind! There could be structural consequences!”

Birko kept prying. “Mate, if I have to hear about Arthur Bray’s ‘visionary leadership’ one more time, there will be real-life consequences.”

With a loud POP, the panel gave way. Behind it, nestled between a mess of old wiring and insulation, was a rusty, battery-powered cassette player—still running.

Birko let out a slow breath. “Right. Time to silence history.”

He reached in and yanked out the batteries.

The voice cut off instantly.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, a beautiful, absolute quiet.

Birko let out a victorious sigh. “Finally. We got him.”

Cinders clapped slowly. “You really showed that outdated audio technology who’s boss.”

Birko ignored her, tossing the batteries into the bin. “That’s it, case closed.”

Barry, looking both horrified and impressed, adjusted his glasses. “Well… technically, I should report this, but… considering the public disturbance element, I suppose this could be written off as unscheduled maintenance.”

Birko patted him on the back. “Good on you, Barry. You do have a spine.”

“Arthur T. Bray! Never to be—”

Birko froze.

Everyone turned.

The statue was still talking.

Birko’s eye twitched. “Oh, come on!”

Cinders doubled over laughing.

Barry looked just as pale. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“For I am Arthur T. Bray! And as long as this town stands, so shall my voice—”

Birko turned to Barry. “Where’s your sledgehammer?”

Barry gulped. “I, uh… I left it at home.”

Birko spun to Cinders. “Plan B?”

Cinders wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “I dunno. Learn to live with it?”

Birko grabbed the crowbar again. “No chance.”

Piper barked and wagged her tail.

And somewhere deep inside Arthur Bray’s stone chest, the cassette kept playing.

Act 5: The Final Silence of Arthur T. Bray

Birko had dealt with a lot of nonsense in his life—mysterious lawn disasters, ghostly golfers, even a rubber shark-induced panic attack. But this?

This was personal.

Arthur T. Bray refused to shut up.

“Arthur T. Bray! A legacy carved in stone! A beacon of—”

Birko slammed his hands over his ears. “If I have to hear this bloke one more time, I’m gonna start seeing him in my nightmares.”

Cinders, still wiping away tears from laughing, patted him on the back. “Come on, Birko. Just embrace it. The man wanted to be remembered forever.”

“Then why does he sound so smug about it?” Birko groaned. “It’s like he knew this would happen.”

Barry, nervously flipping through his council papers, muttered, “We could… ah… file an urgent noise complaint?”

Birko turned to him, deadpan. “Barry. A noise complaint. Against a statue.”

Barry shrugged. “Council’s got procedures.”

Cinders sighed. “There’s got to be another way to stop it. Are we sure you pulled out all the wiring?”

Birko crossed his arms. “Unless this bloke had a backup power supply installed for the afterlife, I—”

“And so, as my voice echoes across the ages—”

Birko snapped.

“That’s it. I AM GOING IN.”

With the fury of a man who had simply had enough, Birko leapt onto the statue’s base and started hammering away with the crowbar.

“BIRKO—” Cinders gasped. “This is government property!”

“This is personal vengeance!” Birko shot back, wildly prying at the seams of the stonework. “I don’t care if I have to drag him to the other side myself!”

Barry flailed. “Stop! You’ll make it worse!”

“And to those who would silence me—”

“OH, WILL YOU JUST QUIT IT?!” Birko shouted, yanking at a loose slab of stone near the chest.

With a loud CRACK, the front panel of the statue gave way… and something clattered out.

The cassette player.

And next to it?

A SECOND cassette.

Cinders peered down at it. “What’s that?”

Birko picked up the dusty tape and turned it over. The label read:

“Arthur T. Bray: Fun Facts and Personal Reflections, Volume 2.”

Cinders burst out laughing.

Birko gaped. “THERE WAS A SEQUEL?!”

Barry, looking absolutely horrified, murmured, “I… I didn’t know there was a Volume Two.”

Birko clenched his jaw. “You mean to tell me this bloke planned to talk about himself for multiple generations?!”

Barry nodded solemnly. “Arthur Bray was… very dedicated to his legacy.”

Birko took a deep breath. “Right.” He turned to Cinders. “Do we burn it?”

“Bit dramatic,” she replied, smirking. “How about we just… lose it?”

Birko eyed the nearby storm drain. “Works for me.”

With no hesitation, he lobbed the tape straight into the grate. It bounced once, then disappeared into the darkness below.

For the first time in days, the park fell into a beautiful, perfect silence.

Barry took a deep breath. “I’m probably going to have to write a very long report about this.”

Birko dusted off his hands. “Or… hear me out… we pretend it never happened.”

Barry hesitated. Then he looked at the now-quiet statue and sighed. “You know what? Yeah. I reckon we let this one go.”

The Aftermath

With Arthur Bray finally silenced, Birko, Cinders, and Piper wandered back toward The Festy.

“You know,” Cinders mused, “he did get his wish in a way.”

“How?” Birko frowned.

She smirked. “He will be remembered forever. Just… not in the way he intended.”

Birko scoffed. “Yeah. The Great Ghost of Gabbled-On-Too-Long.”

Piper barked happily.

Barry, now massaging his temples, sighed. “Well, I’ll… uh… let the mayor know we fixed it. More or less.”

Birko patted him on the shoulder. “Good work, Barry. You’re finally learning that sometimes, red tape is best ignored.”

As they reached The Festy, Birko stretched with satisfaction. “Right. What now?”

Cinders grinned. “Well, I was thinking we celebrate with a nice, quiet drink.”

Birko exhaled. “That sounds perfect.”

They climbed into The Festy, ready to leave the statue (and its endless commentary) behind.

Then—

“Arthur T. Bray! Never to be forgotten! A vis—”

Birko’s head snapped toward the park.

“No. No. NO. HOW?!”

Cinders cackled.

Barry looked like he might pass out.

And in the distance, a local kid kicked a soccer ball into the storm drain… where it thunked against something hard.

Something that sounded an awful lot like a cassette tape.

Birko groaned. “I hate this town.”

The End.

Stay tuned for the next adventure:

The Great Backyard Heist!

Birko’s prized vintage lawn flamingos—his secret collection—vanish overnight, replaced by ominous garden gnome lookalikes. Convinced that his yard has been compromised, he enlists Piper and Cinders for a high-stakes backyard stakeout.

But when similar thefts start spreading across the neighborhood, the trio stumbles onto a bizarre underground network of stolen garden ornaments—where nothing is as it seems, and the truth is far more ridiculous than they ever imagined.

Can they crack the case before Bray Park is overrun by unwanted gnomes?

Find out next time!