THREE SMALLVILLE RESIDENTS MEET GRUESOME END

Spontaneous Human Combustion?

By Kathy Romita

Piles of human ashes and tiny bone fragments are all that remain of three Smallville residents, Birdy Sikes, Hank Pond and Tyler Randall, who recently met mysterious deaths in separate locations in Smallville. Authorities are investigating these bizarre cases but don't have much to go on. All three resemble an unproven phenomenon known as spontaneous human combustion (SHC). See accompanying article.

Mrs. Birdy Sikes, an elderly, bedridden woman, lived alone. Her remains were discovered by neighbor Annie Burton, who often walked Sikes' beloved dog, Pepper, and then checked on Mrs. Sikes. Burton entered Sikes' house and heard only the television. She recalls, "It was strange because Pepper always greeted me with her yapping--and this time she didn't. I looked in Birdy's bedroom and found a heap of ashes on the sheets but no Birdy. I immediately called the sheriff." Authorities reported that even though Mrs. Sikes used oxygen, the nearby tank didn't explode. Lowell County animal controller Randy Aparo has been searching for Pepper and hopes to find the dog a new home--if Aparo ever locates her.

Mobile Meals coordinator Hank Pond expired at the facility warehouse. Implicated in Pond's death, volunteer Tyler Randall didn't live long enough for the sheriff to question him because Randall soon became the third to die under suspicious circumstances. According to a witness, Randall got into an altercation with Pond and then Pond was inexplicably and instantaneously cremated. Later, Randall met his molten demise in a patient's room at the Smallville Medical Center.

This strange occurrence also hit Metropolis when Dr. Heller, a medical examiner, was reduced to ashes while performing an autopsy in the Metropolis morgue. Lowell County coroner Lexington O'Connor has called for a federal investigation, "For us to have four such cases of SHC, we need to bring in the big boys," explained O'Connor.

SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION OR SPURIOUS CLAPTRAP?
By Christopher James Beppo

A Ledger editor was recently overheard sighing, "maybe those letters to the editor are right--we're turning into a supermarket rag." Looking through the archives of this newspaper for the past few months, one would be hard-pressed to argue with that assessment: bizarre deer mutilation...a car-throwing teenager...dematerializing burglars...spirits in the woods...and now in the current issue, spontaneous human combustion (SHC).

Long a staple of credulous conspiracy worshippers, SHC is the supposed capability of the human body to ignite and burn completely from within. Going back to the 17th century, spontaneous combustion has often been relied upon to explain the inexplicable, such as burnt corpses found near unscathed furniture or rugs. This lasting mystery is often rationalized by what is known as the "wick effect." This theory postulates that the "wick effect," caused by burning fat, can bring about temperatures high enough to destroy even bones, and the heat would be retained by the body, thus leaving surrounding materials undamaged.

Anecdotal evidence abounds, like the story of a Florida widow, Mary Reeser, who was reduced to a pile of ashes with a slippered foot sticking out of it in 1951. There's the more contemporary case of Joyce Maslow, a college student in Elizabeth, New Jersey, who reportedly burst into flames while dancing in a club (the temptation is too strong to speculate about the particular song ["Hot hot hot"?] which ignited the unfortunate Ms. Maslow).
Par for the course in this town, Smallville has lately become the host of no less than three potential instances of SHC, as outlined in the accompanying Ledger article. The regrettable truth remains, however, that no one in Smallville--or anywhere in the world, for that matter--has actually recorded a human combustion that couldn't be explained otherwise. Going to bed with a lit cigarette, standing near flying sparks, falling into the hearth in a drunken stupor--any of those events would be more believable than melting from within with no provocation, given the incredibly high temperatures that would be necessary to incinerate human bone.

Scientists who have studied the phenomenon have failed to lend any credence to the SHC theorists' claims. Perhaps one of Smallville's brilliant minds, Sheriff Waid or Dr. Steven Hamilton, can be the first to provide incontrovertible proof. Until then, we'll have to rely on more mundane explanations and leave the speculation to our rivals at the checkout counter.

SHERIFF WAID
SOLVES 12-YEAR-OLD MYSTERY
By Gena McGuiness

At a time when the sheriff's department is experiencing dissension among its ranks, Sheriff Waid has cracked Smallville's oldest unsolved crime with the arrest of Lowell County resident Duke Pritchard, 30. Twelve years ago Pritchard had been the prime suspect in a series of burglaries. One of Pritchard's targets was Fordman's department store in which night janitor George Whitnall was found dead, hands and feet bound.

"When we had the unfortunate meteor shower incident, the leads went cold, but the murder always stayed in my mind," says Waid. The sheriff reopened the case on news of a similar string of burglaries in nearby Littleton. Working in conjunction with Littleton law officials, Waid diligently pursued all new leads and reworked old ones. Now Pritchard is behind bars, facing numerous counts of burglary and one count of murder. "I feel real good. George was a friend of mine, and I know he'd be quite pleased to know we finally got this guy," says Waid. When asked about the unhappy rumblings within the department, Waid replied, "I understand the frustration. I feel it too. But there've been some really strange happenings around here, stuff I can't explain. But I've got a lot of gumption. I'll get to the bottom of things, sooner or later." According to inside sources, "later might be too late."

THE TALON VS. THE BEANERY
Coffee Anyone?
By Angie Perez

With the recent grand opening of the renovated Talon as a coffeehouse/bookstore, the venerable Beanery, once the only place in town to get a cappuccino, now finds itself defensively positioned against a new competitor.

Is Smallville big enough for two trendy java joints? Whatever happened to a regular cup of joe anyway? Frankly, I'm surprised to see so many teens consuming mass quantities of the hot, brown beverage. One senior citizen remarked, "I thought kids still preferred burgers and milkshakes." But in the age of cyber cafés, cell phones and PDAs, the ol' Beanery must be prepared to fend off interlopers with new ideas, superior service and a product like no other. Can it offer fickle consumers more than just a "flavor of the day?" Or will they stray to The Talon to see what's brewin'?