Frankie's Very Bad Week

Day One – Monday

Dear Diary,

Today, I was certain the villagers would finally see me as good neighbor, not "terrifying monster who lurks in shadows." Small deed. Easy. Harmless.

Kitten in tree—classic hero situation. I reached up, plucked it down gently. Smiled. Practiced smile, too. Not too many teeth. Just enough to say, Hello, I am friendly, please offer pie.

Then Mrs. Kettleworth saw me. She screamed, "HE'S EATING THE CAT!" Villagers came running with pitchforks.

I tried to explain: "No eat cat. Just hold cat." But apparently my voice sounds like avalanche rolling through graveyard.

Set kitten down gently. Kitten scampered right back into tree. TRAITOR. Stupid fluffball could've been proof I'm nice, but no, prefers death branch over me.

Villagers chased me out of square. No pie.

Note to self: practice indoor voice. Also, maybe kittens are naturally ungrateful. Research required.

Day Two – Tuesday

Dear Diary,

Decided to try helping farmer. Donkey tipped cart of hay bales. Perfect chance to flex—literally.

Lifted bale with care. Very strong, very smooth. Villagers would clap, maybe say, "Wow, Frankie, what sturdy shoulders you have." Instead, accident. My arm over-lifted. Bale went flying. Landed on farmer's wife. She screamed.

I rushed to help. Farmer shouted, "Stay back, monster!" Wife groaned, "Menace!" Donkey brayed in a judgmental tone.

Honestly, diary, donkey is worst of all. I know sarcasm when I hear it.

Tried to apologize by picking up scattered hay. Grabbed too much at once. Hay exploded everywhere like golden confetti. Very festive. Very messy. Farmer's wife now looked like scarecrow. Not improvement to situation.

Farmer threw pitchfork at me. Missed. Hit donkey instead. Donkey gave me dirty look, as if this was MY fault. Clearly, donkey has issues with personal responsibility.

Retreated to forest. Stomach growled. Still no pie. Beginning to think pie is mythical concept, like unicorns or friendly villagers.

Day Three – Wednesday

Dear Diary,

Told myself: small act. Gentle act. No hay bales. No heavy lifting.

Spotted little boy drop toy soldier into river. Simple—retrieve soldier, give back, win trust.

Waded into river. Boy shrieked before I even touched toy. Called me "soul stealer." I did NOT come for soul. I came for cheap wooden figurine.

Picked toy up. Muddy. Tried to rinse. Accidentally squeezed too hard. Soldier's head popped off. Very awkward. Tried to fix, but head floated away downstream. Boy cried.

Villagers appeared, waving rakes like torches. I returned broken soldier, said, "Sorry." Voice came out like thunder. Boy wailed louder.

Hero rating: negative one star.

Decided to follow soldier's head downstream. Maybe could retrieve, glue back on? Found head stuck in beaver dam. Beaver family not pleased with intrusion. Head beaver chittered angrily. Even woodland creatures judge me.

Tried to negotiate with beavers. Offered to help with dam construction in exchange for soldier head. Beavers looked skeptical. Cannot blame them. My construction record is poor.

Reached for head anyway. Beaver bit finger. Small beaver, but surprisingly sharp teeth. Yelped. Sound echoed through valley like wounded bear. More villagers came running.

Gave up on soldier head. Beavers can keep trophy. They earned it.

Day Four – Thursday

Dear Diary,

New plan: community service. If people see me clean streets, they must accept me. Civic pride!

Borrowed broom. (Okay, took broom from outside shop. Will return later. Probably.) Began sweeping town square. At first, villagers watched cautiously, but no screaming. This was progress. I felt… dare I say… hopeful.

Then broom snapped in half like toothpick. I barely touched it! Half flew straight through bakery window. Shatter. Pastries everywhere.

Baker stormed out, red-faced, flour in beard, yelling, "Monster attack!" I tried to explain I was sanitation worker now. He waved rolling pin at me.

Did smell croissants, though. Almost worth it. Almost.

Attempted to clean up glass with bare hands. Bad idea. Hands now full of tiny cuts. Bled on croissants. Baker screamed louder. Apparently, blood-flavored pastries not popular menu item.

Tried to salvage situation by eating evidence. Grabbed handful of bloody croissants, stuffed in mouth. Delicious, actually. Buttery. Flaky. Worth week of disasters.

Baker fainted. Villagers assumed I was eating his entrails. Misunderstanding escalated quickly. Someone rang church bell. Emergency signal.

Note: next time, bring own broom. Also, avoid bleeding on food. Creates wrong impression.

Day Five – Friday

Dear Diary,

Today, I tried helping sweet old woman with basket. Basket looked heavy. Full of eggs. Perfect gentleman act.

I said, "Allow me." She shrieked like banshee, sprinted away faster than young athlete. I caught basket. Good reflexes. Balanced it carefully. Felt proud.

Then tripped over loose stone. Crashed down. Basket flew. Road now decorated with scrambled eggs. Chickens clucked angrily from coop. Looked like feathered mob.

Villagers gathered. One muttered, "First cats, now eggs. What's next, babies?" Ridiculous. I would never eat babies. They are stringy. (Kidding. Mostly.)

Tried to clean egg mess with shirt. Shirt now yellow and slimy. Look even more monstrous than usual. Achievement unlocked: new level of terrifying.

Old woman returned with constable. Pointed at me, shrieked, "Egg thief! Chicken murderer!" No chickens were harmed! Only eggs! And eggs were already dead! (Are eggs alive? Philosophy is confusing.)

Constable approached with handcuffs. Handcuffs looked small. Child-sized, maybe. Explained politely that restraints would not fit. Constable looked at my wrists, looked at handcuffs, looked very sad.

He tried anyway. Handcuffs snapped immediately. Constable jumped back, shouted, "He's got monster strength!" Well, yes. Obviously. This is surprise?

Chickens still clucking angrily. Formed circle around me. Pecked at boots. Tiny dinosaurs with attitude problem. Shooed them away gently. They scattered, squawking about police brutality.

Day Six – Saturday

Dear Diary,

Decided to try culture. Maybe show villagers I am not brute, but artist. Sat by fountain, sang gentle ballad.

My voice is… loud. Deep. Earth shook a little. Fountain rippled. Personally, I thought it sounded haunting, like opera singer who swallowed boulder.

Villagers called it "death chant." Someone threw shoe. (Ugly shoe. Not even worth keeping.)

One dog howled along, though. Beautiful harmony. At least one creature respects me. Man's best friend? Maybe Monster's best friend now.

Continued singing. Dog brought friends. Soon had entire pack howling backup vocals. Sounded magnificent. Like wolf choir with bass soloist.

Villagers less appreciative. Complained about "summoning hell hounds." Dogs are not hell hounds! They are good boys! (And girls. Equal opportunity howling.)

Mayor arrived with official complaint. Apparently, singing without permit is illegal. Also, "disturbing peace," "inciting animals," and "crimes against music." Last one seemed harsh.

Tried to explain artistic vision. Mayor not interested. Threatened to call army. Army seems excessive response to street performance, but what do I know? I am just monster trying to make friends.

Dogs followed me home. Now have pack of loyal companions. Small victory! Finally, creatures who appreciate my talents. Fed them scraps from forest hunting. They wagged tails enthusiastically.

Note: dogs much better audience than humans. Less judgmental. More tail wagging.

Day Seven – Sunday

Dear Diary,

After disasters, decided: today, no big gestures. Just sit in park, relax, feed ducks. Surely ducks will appreciate crumbs.

At first, peaceful. Sun shining, ducks quacking. Villagers passed by. No screams. No pitchforks. Success at last!

Then duck choked on bread crumb. I rushed to help. Held duck upside down, gave gentle pat. Bread came out. Duck saved! Hero moment!

Villagers arrived just in time to see me dangling duck by feet. They shouted, "He's preparing Sunday roast!" Ran at me with frying pans.

Duck flew away. Villagers chased me.

This time, chase lasted longer. Villagers more organized. Had strategy. Cornered me by old mill. Surrounded completely. Thought this was end of Frankie.

Then my dog pack arrived! Loyal companions formed protective circle. Growled at villagers. Not threatening growls—more like "please leave our friend alone" growls. Very polite, considering.

Standoff lasted ten minutes. Villagers with frying pans. Dogs with attitude. Me in middle, trying to explain duck CPR.

Finally, duck returned. Landed on my shoulder. Quacked once, as if to say "thank you." Then flew to villagers, quacked at them too. Duck testimony!

Villagers looked confused. Duck clearly alive, uncooked, grateful. Evidence of good deed finally visible.

One villager lowered frying pan. Then another. Slowly, mob dispersed. Still suspicious, but no longer murderous. Progress!

Duck stayed on shoulder for rest of day. New friend! Dogs approved. Wagged tails at duck. Duck preened feathers proudly.

Weekly Conclusion

Dear Diary,

This week was… educational. Every deed backfired spectacularly, but learned valuable lessons:

Kittens are ungrateful

Donkeys are sarcastic

Beavers are territorial

Brooms are fragile

Chickens hold grudges

Dogs are excellent judges of character

Ducks make good witnesses

Maybe I really should move to Paris. Heard they like brooding men there. Could sit at café, wear beret, write poetry: "Misunderstood creature, seeks pie and friendship."

But then again… have dog pack now. And duck friend. And villagers only tried to kill me six times this week, down from usual eight. Improvement!

Perhaps will stay little longer. Give village another chance. Maybe next week will try flower arranging. How dangerous could flowers be?

(Note to self: research poisonous flowers first. Just in case.)

Also, must find source of pie. Becoming obsession. Will not rest until pie is achieved. This is solemn vow.

Dogs agree. They also want pie. We are united in pie quest.

Until next week's disasters…

Yours monstrously (but optimistically),

Frankie

P.S. - Duck laid egg this morning. On my head. Not sure if this is sign of affection or revenge for yesterday's drama. Will choose to interpret as friendship gesture. Scrambled egg for breakfast was delicious, though. Don't tell chickens.