[ WP ] `` Where 's Waldo , Really ? ''

When I was a kid, I could never find Waldo. I had a few of the books, we seemed to collect old hand-me-down editions from the local book store, but every time I looked through, he was never there. I'd whinge to my parents that I could n't see him but they just thought I was a bit thick. 
 
 Years later I was clearing out the attic when I found the old books. They were covered in dust, yellowing from the fusty atmosphere up there. I took one out and leafed through it. Despite being all grown up now, I still could n't find him. As I turned to the last page however, I noticed something I had n't seen before. 
 
 I'm sure you all know the premise behind the Where's Waldo books. Each double paged spread has a setting or environment where you have to spot Waldo and his various friends. This was why I was surprised. The last page was of my house. This was getting weird. 
 
 Quickly I grabbed one of the other books and flicked through it. Sure enough, the last page was odd, but this time it was the school where I grew up. I frantically searched through the pile and every edition had the last page as somewhere I was familiar with. The park I'd spent most of my teenage years. My dorm block from college. The clothing shop I'd worked in when I first graduated. Every single book ended with an important place in my life. 
 
 An uneasy feeling crept over me. I picked up the first book, the one showing our house, and headed to the attic ladder so I could go show my wife. As I climbed down I had a distinct feeling of loneliness, and realised the only sound in the house was the creaking of the ladder as I descended. 
 
 `` Abigail!'' I shouted for my wife. She had been downstairs watching some dumb reality show when we'd eaten, so I headed to the lounge, with the book clutched to my chest. The lounge however, was empty. The television still flickered, but it was n't making a sound. 
 
 I looked out of the window. Her car was still there, sitting silently in the driveway. I slowly moved around to the kitchen door, but once again, there was nobody there. This was freaking me out. I was sure I had n't heard anyone go upstairs, and yet my wife had seemingly vanished. Her keys were still by the door. At this point my heart was racing and I dashed upstairs again, lunging up three steps at a time. 
 
 The bathroom was empty. I stepped into the bedroom. Empty. Where was she? Then I heard a noise. Just a muffled thumping. It was coming from the attic. The ladder was still down, it's stark shadow stretching across the wall behind it. I looked up. There were feet coming down. 
 
 Brown shoes, followed by faded, somehow flat, blue jeans. I stepped back. In horror I recognized the figure. The striped red and white jumper, the bobbled hat, the out of place cane. It was him, Waldo! As he finished coming down the ladder, he turned around, and there it was. That manic, smiling face from the front of every one of my books. 
 
 He did n't say anything, but he silently moved toward me. My throat had seized up from disbelief. He reached towards the book in my hand, firmly removing it from my grasp. Slowly, he turned the pages, his grin getting wider the closer he got to the end. There, on the last page, printed against the background of my house, was my wife. Even in the cartoon style of the book I could tell it was her. She was obviously dead, bruises covered her face and a pool of blood was around her lifeless corpse. The same colour of blood as that which I now noticed was dripping off Waldo's cane. 
 
 He dropped the book on to the floor, the image of my house now at my feet. As he raised the cane above his head I could only stammer a few short words. 
 
 `` Why, Waldo? Why...?''
