Try this 9.9

    Humphrey had a house on the edge of the forest, a good mile out of the center of town. He lived alone, having moved here two years past with no baggage of any kind, no family, only enough money to hold on to the house and to set  up shop near the town square in a minuscule office. That office, as he had it stenciled on the square pane of translucent glass in the door, was known from then on as "The Bogart Detective Agency."
    Word spread that Humphrey was taciturnly sulky and aloof. He wore his slicked back hair with pomade and always had on a freshly laundered suit. Humphrey would spend his days in his office, around town and his nights out in that small house by the forest. He warranted no second glance aside from the peculiar fact that Humphrey had no secretary, no clients and for all we knew, solved no crimes. Believe me, someone would have said something to him, if only he weren't so damn intimidating. He'd stare at you with those dark, almost black eyes, silent as the grave until the pleasantries were exhausted and you rushed off just to get far away from that presence of his.
     Things continued in that banal routine as is common around here. This detective with no clients payed his bills and seemed well off financially. But five years down the road and not one client, no sign of any business whatsoever, and no personal companion or even acquaintance made people suspicious. Often people care most about money, and certainly other people's money is included in that financial vigilance. Everyone in town was desperate to know how this silent mystery stayed afloat, and what made him stay here with no one by his side, but shit, he was just too frightening a figure to approach.
        Nothing stays secret in a small town for long, unless you dispose of the body properly, and too many townspeople became suspicious before talk of investigating this apparent investigator hopped like fire from the lips of every bored to death resident in this small town by the forest. Our investigations though produced no satisfying results; this guy was clean, as straight and upright as a man could be, so we left him to live his life of quietly bizarre solitude, because that's what seems he wanted.
        Ten years passing in this town and little changes. Humphrey hadn't changed either. And we all kept our distance. Except one day, in the winter of '37, a tiny, fancy car drove through town and out to Humphrey's hideaway near the forest. Evidently it was a man, Humphrey's exact physical match, except this young man's slicked back hair was a vibrant red. Mrs. Flanning, Humphrey's closest neighbor, and the nosiest woman I've ever met, got it from these two men that the new man in town was named Ingrid, a strange name for a man, we all agreed. Before we all new it, these two friends actually moved in together. I suppose this friend needed a place to stay, but years pass and they still lived with one another. It was the sort of occurrence that doesn't happen in a town like this. There began to spread a frightening rumor that these two were dandies, faggots in fact. We were not as a town going to allow such a sacrilege, right near the forest and everything, and so the townsfolk, we decided to pay these two faggots a visit, to show that they aren't allowed to flout the rules of a god-fearing civil society.
      It was in the night, as these sort of things often are, that we made our way to that old house by the forest. We knocked the door practically clear off its hinges. They came to door underdressed and we pushed our way in, looking for anything to away their lifestyle. I've heard they own feminine trinkets of sorts lying about the house. We demanded what their situation was, whether they were together in the coital sense. We screamed it at them, up close, as they shivered in fright. Their response was the strangest and most honest I've ever heard. "Yes, we're lovers, man and wife in fact, if you must know, and as it happens, we're on our way out of here this very night," said Humphrey. The trees in the forest burst into a multicolored light and a sound blared through all our ears like an airplane engine, only smoother, and what should I call it, more metallic? We were stunned and the two strange men walked right past us through the front door and out into the forest aglow. It's been several years and there has been no sign of Humphrey or Ingrid anywhere near this town, and ever since, and I haven't the slightest idea why, I miss those two men in a way I can't begin to describe.