The Black Balloon Arch by Owen Townend

I’m not a detective but a party planner. Not professional, just the kind of girl who likes to do nice things for her friends. With a clipboard checklist.

            I’m not particularly a fan of balloons either though, Lord knows, some of my friends are. When duty calls, I can blow up four or five balloons before losing puff. Helium seems like cheating to me.

            It’s obvious when balloons have been freshly made. That’s precisely what I was looking at when I saw the gate. Two black balloons on either end, bobbing in the wind. And there was a gale that day: that’s how I knew they had only recently been tied up. If they had been there longer than ten minutes, those flimsy knots would have pulled loose and the balloons would be down the other end of the field.

            Still I didn’t like the look of those black balloons. They had an odd stickiness to them, definite stains when I took a closer look. I spied another on a post further along the path, like it was a trail marker. I know I shouldn’t really have followed but I did.

            The next balloon was much smaller than the ones on the fence. Rookie mistake, I thought, whoever had blown these up must have been running out of puff by this point. The distance between post and fence was short. Whoever did it was either out of shape or moving very fast. I assumed the latter.

            I carried on till I found the next black balloon. This one I saw it tangled in a nearby tree. It had just finished deflating though the balloon hadn’t been pierced by a branch. That told me the tie-off had been neglected. It also told me that the balloon inflator wasn’t far away.

            It took some nerve to enter the wooded area. While I enjoy country walks, Blair Witch scarred me for life. Still there was a mystery to solve, poor balloon craftmanship to address.

            I certainly didn’t expect to see a balloon arch in the middle of the clearing. All black and perfect. The inflator had obviously found a pump and had been working it hard.

            I heard a hiss from behind me. My trained ears could tell it was helium but still there was a doubt. My heartbeat was thudding louder than anything.

            I turned slowly round. For some reason I expected to see a demonic clown. There are those ‘clown in the woods’ sightings, aren’t there?

            Still it wasn’t anything like that. It was two teenage lads: more chav than goth. Even so they looked spooked.

            “What’s going on here?” I asked them. No answer.

            Then a balloon popped and they ran. It was one they had just that minute blown up. Near as I can figure it, the sun had come out from behind the clouds. There were definite rays shining through the thick canopy above. Black balloons have been known to burst in direct sunlight.

            I turned back to their black balloon arch. I’m no gardener but I could tell the earth beneath had been disturbed. Then was this arch some kind of commemoration? An inflatable grave marker?

            So I called the police. You came down quick as a flash with a million and one questions. I gave you descriptions of the boys but still you seem to be having a hard time believing I just stumbled across the crime scene.

            Like I said, black balloons. Try Brookmoor’s Party Emporium. That’s the only local shop where I’ve seen them sold. I should know, I’m a party planner. I know it’s hard for some people but please try to take me seriously.

            And how about a little counselling?