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The inspector looked around the brightly furnished living room.

"He must have liked Swedish design.." he said to himself, taking in the bright red sofa and strangely shaped tables.

"The body's upstairs sir" the uniformed officer told him.

"Found by the cleaner at 8:00 am this morning." he continued. "It looks like he was strangled with one of those paper tape measures that you get at furniture stores".

"What have we got on the victim?" asked the inspector.

"Nothing much sir, it seems that he kept himself to himself. Very interested in décor. Neighbours report lots of flat pack furniture arriving and sounds of hammering and swearing at all hours of the day and night."

The inspector wandered upstairs to investigate the corpse. The uniformed office took out his notebook and pencil. "Darn it", he muttered as the lead broke off the instant it touched the paper. He looked around the room and saw on the mantelpiece above the pine fireplace a little brown pencil. "Nobody will notice", he thought, as he picked it up and started writing....

The inspector looked down at the case files on the desk. Case 1, a man who built himself into a wardrobe. Case 2, a chap who seems to have consumed fifteen sachets of furniture glue. Case 3, the bloke who did that horrible thing with the Allen key. The inspector shuddered at the memory. Case 4, the new guy, the one with the paper tape measure round his neck. There had to be something that linked these deaths. He racked his brains. Perhaps they were linked by being totally unconnected. He imagined the headlines "Police solve the case of the completely unrelated murders". He shook his head. Probably not. Someone was standing at his desk. He looked up. Constable Wilkins did not seem himself. His uniform was disheveled and he had what appeared to be sawdust on his jacket.

"Bad night constable?" asked the inspector.

"Not too bad sir" came the reply "Although those doors with the fitted hinges are a devil to fit, and the handles were the wrong ones..".

"What do you want?" The inspector did not fancy another drawn out description of DIY.

"There's a chap at the front desk who wants to see you. Swedish bloke. Says he knows something about the recent deaths."

"Oh well, send him in."

Lars Swedishname was a small, nervous man with a package under his arm. As he spoke he looked constantly around, as if he expected something to jump out from the shadows at any moment.

"I know what is causing the killings" he said breathlessly as he sat down, clutching the package to his chest. "Something terrible, something evil. And I have in my possession the only thing that can stop it".

"And what would that be sir?" asked the inspector smoothly. He knew from experience that the best thing to do with these types was to humour them.

The little man indicated the package he held and leaned forward towards the inspector.

"The Blessed Electric Pencil Sharpener of Salvation" he whispered.

Lars Swedishname knew he was going to die. He also knew who was going to kill him. The man moving towards him, a once proud member of the MadeupTown police force now driven mad by a demon of home furnishing was closing in for the kill. Lars thought back over his past, the happy days spent at the Swedish Furniture academy. The adulation given to his now seminal research paper "101 More things to do with sawdust". Such happy times.

And then he remembered how it all went wrong. The gypsy curse, the meeting at the abandoned cemetery near that old house with the strange Indian from Area 51. The marketing men with their ideas about customer motivation. And the first test subject.

Behind him, the architect of his downfall glowed slightly as it rested in the one device that could have saved humanity. The Blessed Electric Pencil Sharpener of Salvation, denied of power because of a faulty cable, was useless to him now.

"That's enough background plot reminiscing" snarled constable Wilkins raising his baton. "Now you die and then I buy a new shoe rack"

Suddenly the window burst open. The inspector flew across the room and crashed into policeman. Things happened in a mad blur. Within seconds constable Wilkins lay handcuffed on the ground. Then the inspector reached into his raincoat pocket and produced a Swedish-UK mains adapter. "I think you'll find a use for this" he said coolly.

In a trice the cable was reconnected. The three men watched transfixed as the sharpener whirred into action. Within seconds the pencil was reduced to dust, producing an unearthly shriek as it was ground into oblivion. In the silence, Lars found his voice.

"Now, I must eat the sawdust" he husked.

"Why, does that finally end the curse?" asked the inspector.

"No", said Lars, "I just like the taste."

The inspector shook his head. But it seemed that things were now resolved satisfactorily. Quite simple really. Thank heavens that he had followed his instincts, contacted Lars again and learned more of the threat. Buying the adapter and getting to the hotel had been easy enough. Although it would have been better if he had not burst into those other three rooms before finding the right one. With a bit of luck nobody will sue, he thought to himself.

On the floor constable Wilkins seemed to be returning to his old self. The evil glow had gone out of his eyes and he was looking nervously up at the inspector.

"Sir", he said, "I don’t know what happened. One moment I was at a crime scene and the next I'm doing all kinds of weird stuff. I don't even like pine that much. I'm more of a chintz person."

The inspector smiled, "Don’t worry son" he said. "None of this needs to be on the record. And who would believe us anyway".