Bentley, the most affable basset hound you’d ever hope to meet, loved a good mystery. He liked to savor the thrill of the unknown, each question mark a wobbling scented bauble on the Christmas trees in his mind. Fuelled by this insatiable curiosity, where other canine companions would gaily fetch a tossed stick, Bentley would endeavor to find and apprehend the unseen hand that threw it.

One fine afternoon, Bentley’s owner, a rotund man with a penchant for polka-dotted bow ties, decided it was time for a jaunt to Hotel de Facade, the kitschiest resort you’d ever dread to stay at. An hourly parade of cartoon character mascots, pumpkin-colored cutlery, and steak dinners that quiver when you stick a fork into it.

Check-in at the reception went smoothly, despite Bentley cowering in fear of the scary, giant, innocent-looking but suspiciously jiggly mascots dressed as nursery-rhyme characters greeting guests. Bentley was wary. He knew evil often wore the masks of everything friendly and fun.

Post terror-inducing greeting ceremony, they settled into their room where Bentley immediately started his investigation. Rumors were that the hotel was a staging area for heinous plots with the mascots being the primary suspects. At least, this was confirmed on the Canine Reddit Bentley was browsing when his owner wasn’t around.

Every corner, every hideously floral-patterned chair, every unusually shiny chandelier was meticulously scrutinized by our jowly detective. Crumbs were not just crumbs, they were clues. Random barks of other canine guests weren’t just communication – they were secret codes. Paranoia or heightened intuition, you wonder? Well, heightened paranoia is what we call it.

Then the first real puzzle piece appeared. In the outhouse lay a pair of oversized boots. Bentley perplexedly smelled them and recoiled as if confronted by a ghastly spirit. He had smelled this presence before – from the mascots. They were shrouded in the same garish scent of latex, stale sweat, and fear.

So, those jiggly creatures are humans underneath? The revelation was as shocking as the owner deciding to wear a bow tie matching the drapes.

After his owner dozed off, a timid Bentley left his comfy basket and embarked on a Sherlock led expedition, tiptoeing through silent corridors.

Past the gaudy paintings of spoons playing banjos, he reached the infamous ‘Masquerade Room’. It was a strangely fascinating panorama of life-size hunks of fiberglass with gaping head holes, standing against the wall like delinquents at the principal’s office. The costumes were eerie in their silent stillness, looking like a flock of petrified, headless mascots. His fear was a live wire twanging in the air.

And then he saw it. A towering mascot of Humpty Dumpty. The terror! Calculation spun into Bentley’s mind. The rhyming fool on a brick wall had been haunting the hallways. An evil mission wrapped up in an egg-shell onesie.

As though confirming his worst fears, Humpty waged an unholy battle – a costume ballet with an unseen human, convulsing in the room. Bentley’s heart pounded like the little drummer boy, the fear as thick and bitter as the hotel coffee in his veins.

With a ferocity that made Godzilla look like a lounging iguana, Bentley dashed headlong at the monstrosity – breaking the silence with his barks that were, until then, reserved exclusively for the postman.

The next moments were a blur. Owners descended upon the scene, bewildered and alarmed. Bentley held his ground barking at all the mascots, his courage gleaming in the face of soul-rattling terror. His mission was clear – expose the mascots and save his oblivious brethren.

Who knew that the bouncy mascots were merely sullen part-timers zipped up in a skein of synthetic fur? Bentley did. He had glimpsed the evil underneath the good, and like any intrepid hound, he found and apprehended the unseen hand that threw the stick. The security cameras would later show a tired actor, terrified out of their wits by a dog half its height, abandoning Humpty Dumpty mid gig, thus exposing the dreadfulness they were unknowingly inflicting on the canines.

At dawn, when their chauffeur arrived to take them back home, Bentley bore the air of a lauded hero, his tail wagging like a victorious banner while eyeing his nauseatingly floral trophy: a bouquet from the Hotel de Facade management for his bravado or probably just to cease his assault on their staff.

Back home, Bentley would go back to his quaint hobbies- chewing ugly toys, squinting at the suspicious trees, and of course, getting ready for his next grand mystery. After all, good mysteries never end, they just get momentarily hushed by visionary basset hounds.