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Merasmus vs. the Better Business Bureau

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Merasmus laughed in his very spooky and not-at-all-cubicle-like office. He hit the mic: "My circus isn't very safe, is it? Too bad you can't file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau! Because...wait, I suppose there's nothing stopping you, is there? Well, it appears Merasamus didn't think this through..."


He gulped and let go of the button. There’s no way any one of those fools noticed. Half of them were in the process of exploding when he said that…



Two days later…


Merasmus’ phone rang from his desk. “Hello?” he grumbled. Ever since the Bombinomicon had figured out the spell to make a call…

“Hello, this is Rebecca from the Better Business Bureau, I’m calling to contact you about a complaint filed against your business.” an extremely perky voice came from the other end.

“Erm… what?” Merasmus needs his morning coffee , the wizard said to himself.

“I’m with the BBB. And I am here to let you know that there is a complaint, but don’t worry, we are going to work together to fix it!” Rebecca, the BBB agent, replied.

Merasmus blinked and remembered what he’d said over the speakers two days ago. “Oh, the eldritch gods have damned me.” He mumbled, his face in his hand.

“What?” Rebecca chirped.

Merasmus heaved a long sigh. “What happened?” He asked. First the Japanese Mafia, then the Bombinomicon dating that cookbook, now this?

“Well, let’s open up the file, Miss Merrymus!”

Merasmus briefly considered ripping the phone line out of the wall. He instead enchanted a mug of strong coffee to his desk.

“Okay!” Rebecca trilled. “There are actually eighteen complaints here, but they are all identical , so we can treat them all as one complaint! Isn’t that good to hear?”

“Not really, no. Miss, erm,” Merasmus realized he didn’t know her last name.

“Please just call me Rebecca!”

“Rebecca,” he sighed. “What do I have to do to make this go away ?”

“Well the file says…” Rebecca trailed off. “The file says that your, uh, circus―”

“Carnival,” Merasmus interrupted.

“Carnival,” Rebecca said carefully, “is… killing people. On purpose. Like, not accidentally, that’s the point of it.”

There was a long minute of silence on the phone.

“So, um, the official complaint is false advertising…” Rebecca said.

Merasmus jumped right in, suddenly energized. “Well, that is just false! It is stated before you even get a ticket that participation in the carnival will result in Merasmus stealing your soul! And also, generally they kill each other before I kill them.”

Rebecca was silent. Blissfully, wonderfully silent.

“Okay…” She began again. “Um, if you can just fill out the paperwork that says that… you disclaim… that problem… that’ll dismiss the complaint. It should be mailed to you within a week”

“Got it, got it.” he said.

“And if you become a BBB-accredited business― which will run about a thousand dollars for a first-time registration― we will be able to give you an official rating of an A+. If not, we’ll still be able to give you a B- rating, assuming your paperwork checks out.” Rebecca spoke timidly.

“Merasmus can’t afford a thousand dollars right now. How about I give you a free ticket instead?”

“No, no. no! But, um, for your generosity, I can give you a B+ rating, you know, for good customer service, or something!” Rebecca pleaded.

“Alright then. Thank you, Miss Rebecca.”

“Thanks, goodbye!” Rebecca slammed down the phone.



Two weeks later…


“Welcome, fools, to the carnival… of your doom! With a rating of B+ from the Better Business Bureau! Nice try, mortals!”