Hound, Chapter Eight: Nothing says "bleak" like time on the moor.

And here is where it gets a little dismal. Remember back when we were all, "Hooray! We're going to Baskerville Hall! We're going to get to see the moor!" Well, less than two weeks later, things have gotten so bad that even Watson can't bear to re-live them to write them up when he's working on the novel of this Baskerville business! He just copies off his old letters to Holmes for the next couple chapters of The Hound of the Baskervilles!

I mean, you can only wander around the old stone huts of the local cavemen for so long. You could go dig up skulls with Dr. Mortimer. And all Stapleton wants to do is just keep talking about monstrous hounds and family curses. Weird how he seems to know more about it than any of people who actually live at Baskerville Hall, but I suppose he heard about it from Sir Charles.

The two giant stone fangs at the little valley spot where evil old Hugo met his end are just a little too convenient aren't they? Almost like the story was concocted just to bring tourists down here. Of course, with the local prison unable to hold on to its convicts with any certainty, tourists are probably not going to be loving this place. Watson certainly isn't.

The best thing about the moor seems to be everybody just looking at Beryl Stapleton, but that could be "girl in the comic shop syndrome." In an environment populated by primarily males, that rare female can go from a six to a nine pretty quickly. Of course, it's better to stare at a girl whose brother might not possibly be a wizard. Remember that "dry glitter" thing Holmes was doing with his eyes a few chapters back? Stapleton is starting to do that.

Hmmm, what else is fun to do around this chapter of The Hound of the Baskervilles? Well, there's the game of going into the empty rooms in the deserted wing of Baskerville Hall with a candle, late at night. That seems to be all the rage, at least for Barrymore (and Watson, sneaking behind him).

And then there's that wacky old Frankland of Lafter Hall, whom Watson calls the local comic relief. His stand-up act is a little hit-and-miss with the townsfolk, but you know how those edgy, breakthrough comedians can be. Old Frankland is like the Andy Kaufman or the Borat of the moor, coming up with performance art lawsuits involving fences and gates. Oh, and old Frankland's telescope? He says he's looking for the escaped convict, but he's really just hoping Beryl Stapleton will stroll by.

I should listen to the Baker Street Babes latest podcast "Holmes After Dark," as maybe they'll talk about Holmes and some beauty who isn't Beryl Stapleton. See you in the next chapter!