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'''FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T KNOW, THIS IS A PARODY OF THE FAMOUS CREEPYPASTA "1999".'''
'''"The year is eighteen-ninety-nine."'''
That sentence brings me back to my senior wood-chopping class when I was 14 and a half years old, where we would do nothing to chop wood all day to build summer homes for people. The year 1899 exists as a mustard stain on my shirt, as something I can try to wipe all day but It would never go away. 1899 was when I built my 100th house, my first time on a rowboat, and, unfortunately, the loss of my sanity completely.
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The library was right in the middle of town, where the old general store used to be. Unfortunately, It was just a real small one and only had a couple sections of books, with none starring Utah McLaren. I didn't care, though, I was just thrilled that my town got its own library. After looking at the sections several times, I came to the conclusion that the library only has 5,000 books, about half the size of an average library, and had only a couple hundred that were worth reading, so I checked out about twenty of those and read those for a while. It wasn't for a few months before I discovered a new section in the library.
'''May 1899'''
One day in May, I was roaming through the library, trying to see if there were any Utah McLaren books. I decided to ask a librarian if there were any Utah McLaren books in the library. "McLaren?" the librarian said. "We have some books on that. Follow me."
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When I got home, I plopped all the Utah McLaren books on my bed and started to read the fox book. I opened up to the first page. Blank. I flipped to the next. Blank. I flipped all the way to page number five. There was a small, folded piece of paper there. I grabbed the piece of paper and opened it. It had something scribbled on it in pen. The handwriting was extremely poor and lacked proper grammar. I thought it was just a bookmark or something a kid had left in the book by mistake. I threw it away.
[[File:C9P0770C.JPG|thumb|347x347px|A picture of one of the blank pages.]]
I shouldn't had done that.
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Reading it was a big mistake.
[[File:Fox News-2.svg.png|thumb|220x220px|A picture of Mister Fox.]]
The story was about a fox that lived in a tool shed in the countryside who often had visits from kids. Usually, during the visit, they would either play tag, read books, or sometimes do acts that are illegal now. The whole story seemed nice, even though it had horrible spelling and grammar. There was just one thing, though. At the end of the story and all the other stories that were in the book, they all ended the same way: Mister Fox and the kid digging a hole in the field that surrounded the shed.
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"Goulash and Fork", a story about a fork who chases a bowl of goulash around
'''July 1899'''
It's been a while since I went to the library, mainly because of that book I checked out. Anyway, I went to the library and saw they had built a new section in the library full of the fox book I checked out. The fox book was now part of a series of fox books. Reluctantly, I checked out another one of the fox books. I wanted to see if the stories had gotten tamer.
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I stopped reading the fox books then.
'''November 1899'''
I hadn't been to the library after that episode. Even though my books were way overdue and I would have to pay about $5.00 for it, I still wouldn't go to the library. One day, I got up my courage and decided to go to the library. When I got there, though, I saw that the section with the fox books had expanded. I couldn't believe it. How could a book series that gory be that popular? I was just about to leave until one of my friends from my wood-chopping class came up to me. "Hey there, Norman." he said. "Hi, Eli," I responded. "So," Eli started, "Did you read the latest Fox Book?" I almost had a heart attack when he said it. He liked them too? "No," I said, my voice cracking a bit, "Did you?" "I sure did!" Eli said, "I even wrote a letter to Mister Fox requesting that I be in his next book!" I couldn't believe it. Eli was going to be in a Mister Fox story. Then Eli said something that made me even more scared. He said, "Want to come with me?"
The next thing I said might have put me in an asylum.
"OK."
'''NOVEMBER 23, 1899'''
[[File:5654060665 9a74c7ecd8 z.jpg|thumb|220x220px|The hut Mister Fox lived in in the stories.]]
162 Pine Street, Irish Springs, MO, 63959.
The address of Marcüs Schevíng.
Also the home of the Big Mac.
Eli, my dad, and I all rode our carriage to this place. At first, we thought we got the address wrong, but after a few minutes, we decided, reluctantly, that this was the house the author lived in. Eli ran up to the shed and knocked lightly. Reluctantly, I followed him to the shed and also knocked lightly. The door slowly opened.
And then a skeleton popped out.
'''THIS STORY IS NOT DONE, DO NOT EDIT!'''
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