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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 2, 2013 14:44:37 GMT -8
ROOT ROT
I was disappointed in my choice of footwear that day. Boots, I thought, were a natural choice for trekking through the wilds and muck and all that. The pair I had chosen though, while ruggedly stylish enough for long walks around the campus, proved blister-inducing nearly the instant I set foot in the gardens. It might have been the uneven terrain, or that I really just didn't walk as much as I imagined that I did. In any case, I was limping by afternoon. I stuffed rolls of wadded tissues on the backs of my heels to try to cushion my uncomfortable skin, but it was like wrapping a broken leg in a thick blanket and continuing to walk on it.
I had arrived that day all full of nervous energy. Originally the property manager was going to give me a lift from the station, but last minute canceled plans came up. The kind that only ever seem to happen to terribly important and busy men with ties on their necks.
The estate paid a cab for me, but I was still left waiting at the station for at least an hour. Goosecross was the hilariously named town where I found myself killing time. The townsfolk seemed not as whimsical as one might imagine residents of such a place would be. Naturally public transport did not extend through these verdant (plural of oasis???), so the station was a great distance from the estate. Or anything else for that matter. I found myself in turns needing a drink, needing a restroom, growing a bit peckish, really needing to use a restroom... A few surly old folks arrived on another teeny-tiny bus like the kind I'd arrived in myself a half an hour earlier. They glowered at me with squished up old people faces and trundled down the road at a less than break-neck pace. The station consisted of exactly one bench, which I and my steamer occupied. The road was actually just a generally defined bit of gravel among thick foliage. I could see through a bare patch to a distant field and possibly a house or some other rectangular-ish shape in the far distance. I watched the old folks disappear from view with the speed of the sun's ascent in the early morning sky. They were long gone by the time the taxi came.
I only got a grunting mutter from the squat man in the driver's seat, which was either the least friendly welcome in the world, or the most grudging apology. The ride was long, perhaps even a bit distressingly long. If I didn't have a car, how could I get back in case of an emergency? I imagined slasher movie scenarios of being the only person on the grounds and running through woods like a true scream queen. Imagine how deflated my fantasy became when I saw the front of the estate, if it belonged in a movie, it wasn't the kind I'd want to watch.
The driver pulled up to a boxy white building that looked like it had been dropped in from the plastic dimension. Huge floodlights stood on 15 foot stands on either side of the driveway, of course they were off at 10 in the morning, but I could imagine the scene at night and I was sure it was something like a prison yard.
I assumed that as the man sat their idling, that this dismal place must be my destination. I stepped out of the door, sat my steamer on the ground and before I could make it to the driver's side for my tip, the car abruptly reversed. I nearly did an action movie dive to avoid crushed toes. Well, I guess he'd been paid in advance?
I walked up to the sterile white building, it was no larger than sizable bathroom. Now that I was standing, I could see a large iron fence behind it in the distance. It had to be the office. The bright morning sun hit every sparkle of dew on every freshly grown blade of grass. The garden here was well tended, but a bit boring. It might have been beautiful if it wasn't blinding. I wanted to see behind the building, but it stood like a bouncer keeping me from the swanky club. A terribly tacky vinyl sign was tacked over the cheap wood door-- 'ARGENTSMOORE RETREATS' My new employers.
I could see enormous trees in the distance that swayed gently. The world was so quiet that I could hear their sussurance, the movement of every fresh bud and new green leaf. The pines were green as ever of course, but the deciduous trees were looming skeletons. Already though, the vibrant buds were struggling to form. Spring was coming, and that's why I was here.
I knocked on the door, and it shifted with my blows. Classy. The inside looked dark, but with the shocking glow of the unshielded sun from my eyes, I wouldn't have been able to tell if there was a tanning parlor in there. I knocked again. Damn business men.
I had a panicked moment where I thought I'd lost my phone, but finally found it deep within my coat's pocket, shrouded in a used tissue and bus transfer. I called the last dialed number.
He picked up, to my surprise.
"Heyyyy I was just about to call you." Mr. Barker sounded 50% used car salesman, and maybe 40% overly enthusiastic aerobics instructor. The other ten percent I reserved, I didn't know him that well yet.
The background noise was quite loud, he was either on a busy street or watching TV with the volume up to illegal decibels. He continued.
"Are you there?"
"Yes..."
"I'm not there."
"I know."
"Listen, I'm sooo sorry. Just, you know how it is, things came up."
"Yes..."
"I mean, EVERYTHING came up. You know?"
"Uh huh."
"So listen, are you listening?"
"..."
"OK, just leave your things if you have them-- just leave them on the porch of the front office. It's that white building just in the front. Feel free to have a walk around. I'll give you a call when I'm there."
"When do you think--"
"As soon as I can, really. I swear. OK I gotta go, enjoy yourself!"
That bastard. I guess I can expect to get zero help while I'm here. I might as well get used to it now. I felt hesitant about leaving my steamer, a squirrel might get in there to wear my socks or some errant large bird would carry it away to its nest on a mountain top of however that goes. The idea of trying to roll it over natural terrain seemed less than appealing so I decided to leave it. I fished out my umbrella, the dewy look of the world suggested another rain might come, and then I'd be hungry, thirsty, having to pee AND wet. I hoped I wouldn't have to go foraging for berries just to survive, I'd regret not actually majoring in horticulture rather than just being a hobbyist.
I strolled around the dreadful office, looking off at those looming trees. Directly behind the building was that gate. It was even bigger than it seemed as I approached. How huge must those trees be? I was really feeling awed. I mean I'd certainly seen big trees in the national park and whatnot, but to think I am the only person to be walking among these giants? I felt like a tiny little mouse, even more than normal.
The gates were probably twice my height, black and curling in ornate patterns. Bits of discoloration gathered mostly at the top. It seemed someone had tried to clean them but gave up once they needed a ladder. I expected similarly fine dedication to work on the inside. The gate was open a crack, luckily. It would've been a short walk otherwise.
It was heavy as hell, or just poorly oiled. I shoved my whole body against it and it opened just a narrow crack further. My shoulders already hurt. Was I in good enough shape to even handle this job? The sides of the gate were met by a large stone archway that was flanked by completely obscuring ivy and brush. I almost considered tearing my way through the vegetation than try to open this thing again. I knew why it was only open a crack now. I kicked at it in frustration, and luckily only hurt my foot a little. I sighed, and gave it the full brunt of my weight again. It creaked open another unsatisfying degree. My feet had left tracks from where they slid back as I pushed. Oh well. I squeezed my way through, glad to be at least as narrow as I was. Though if I'd been stouter, maybe I could've scaled the damn thing. It seemed like a missed opportunity in retrospect. My hands were indented with the cruel iron bars, and black and sooty from their filth. Good thing I didn't wear white, even though it was completely in season.
I was so distracted by the whole ordeal, I hadn't taken in my new view. The other side of the fence was like a verdant tunnel of life. Low hanging branches formed an almost completely opaque ceiling. I stood at the front door, and was looking into the green foyer. Little trails of ivy hung down like streamers, and the ground was papered with layers of dead leaves like an elaborately patterned carpet. Sunlight filtered in through the tiny holes, leaving beautiful little rays of light streaking down. I was awed again. At least the view was seeming worth the effort.
The ivy tracers brushed the top of my head, and had to be swiped out of my face at times. Ahead of me was an overgrown mound of grass that blocked further view. The ground was squishy, and made an unpleasant slop slop as I walked. The land below it was uneven and rocky, but layers of mud and decaying plant matter made it slippery and (something.) The air was pure plant, both fresh and loamy, wet earth and wet leaves. Really appealing, at least to me.
I made my way out of the little entry tunnel, and into what I could only imagine was the grand hall. A huge field of overgrown grass, bushes and flowers stretched out ahead of me for what looked like a good mile or two. Those behemoth trees gathered in small clusters here and there, like they were milling about at a party for giants. I was so small, insignificant. A little crack formed in my awe though-- this was going to be *so much work.*
Well, it wasn't like I had to do it all at once. Just a little at a time huh? I got paid by the day so... Oh who was I kidding? It would've been nice to get another job where I could lazily spray some tomatoes with a hose and then sit in a lawn chair reading a book. Even if I wasn't getting tight supervision, I didn't think that was going to cut it here. I trudged through the tall grass at random. I had no idea where to go, and the organic and sprawling layout of the gardens gave me no clues. The grass shushed as I glided through it. A good deal of it was still dead from the winter, though some thin lime-green species had shot out of the carnage to be nearly to my crotch level, already. No way was I mowing all that...
Of course, I didn't think that was on my task list anyhow. I saw an inorganic shape in the grass ahead. A gleaming white curve in the wheat-colored mess around it. I approached, it was the top of a chair. I happily found a buried set of garden furniture. I had to stamp around on the dead grass to reveal it fully. It was beautiful, white and ornate as the fence. A bit rusted in parts where the enamel had chipped away. They were heavy and iron, relics from the good old days when you could kill someone by dropping a chair on them. I sat, not caring if my jeans were stained by the rust. I was a gardener now, there was no fooling around with that whole 'looking presentable' thing anymore.
I pulled up my feet to sit on them, the cold iron cooling my rear. I pulled out a notebook from my bottomless coat pockets, and checked my notes. Indeed, mowing grass was not one of them.
'Creating pathways' *was* though. Okay, I'm still only mowing a bare minimum. I wondered if they had one of those huge riding mowers. Glancing around at the extremely rustic surroundings seemed to answer my question for me.
Let's see... * Organizing Gardner's house and shed * Discarding refuse * Creating a compost * Fully explore all boundaries, look for weak points in security.
Ooh, that was going to be fun. I only half meant that sarcastically. 'Security' though? Why would anyone 'break in' here? It was just a huge overgrown forest, what was there for someone to steal? They must only be worried about that for future developments. But already, duh, people could just climb a tree and hop over if they really wanted to. I didn't want to mention that, in case they cut every tree in the place down to a stump.
I hadn't been impressed with Lindquist Equity, but they were the reason I had this job. Typical corporate types, they only gave a shit about the bottom line. In fact, not even that. They made all kinds of foolhardy business moves even a Liberal Arts undergrad like myself could spot. Like this one. Up until this very year, they sat on this property for years and years. I'm not even sure how long, but apparently enough for most of the buildings to go to total ruin. They'd started deconstructing the main estate so it wouldn't completely collapse and damage the property further, but they even half assed that. I made a note to look for the remaining ruins when I got the chance. They'd acquired this property years ago from some rich old family that'd died out with no offspring. (Or at least, none that could afford lawyers...) They owned the property for decades, doing nothing with it. I'm sure developers would clamor to turn the whole thing into some shitty condos that would go bankrupt in a year when no one rich enough to buy them wants to move to Goosecross. That would've made Lindquist money. They could've done *anything*, renovated, sold, leased... but they just held on to it. Why? Maybe they thought some exciting developments would come out that would make the property a hot ticket. Some ghost story or renewed interest would manifest from the ether, and they could sell it for a bank full of money! But of course, it didn't. People were mildly interested, but then they forgot. Because it was in Goosecross.
So the place fell apart. That was one way of looking at it at least, the structures of man decayed, but wild nature took over. As I sat on the cold chair, I saw some sizable animals darting about in the brush some ways again. Deer? Lindquist wouldn't give a shit about that, of course. They'd pave the whole thing down if they thought it'd make them a few bits. Thankfully for anyone with taste, nature was big at that moment. They could bank on the untamed wilds. Of course no one was going to move to the podunk town, where the closest organic food shop was more than an hour away. They had to find people willing to travel a great distance, at great expense, to stay in barely maintained quarters. Total suckers paying exorbitant rates to just visit a place that was next to worthless in the eyes of the company. Writers of course.
Argentsmoore Estate was to become a writer's retreat, for very wealthy clients. I couldn't imagine that was a sustainable market, but I just a lib arts student, what did I know? The whole place needed a serious makeover. They'd already done some of the bare minimums. --and when I say bare minimums, I mean bare minimums. Working plumbing? Forget it. There's a nice rustic well, and vintage style outdoor toilet! Electricity? You can always come to the office if you need to charge your phone. Pretty much I think they just went about looking for poisonous vipers under toilet seats and shipping in some cheap assemble-yourself furniture to the cabins. I wasn't even sure if that all was legal, but again, undergrad.
I wasn't there for the viper hunting, at least I hoped I wouldn't have to do that. I was here to make the whole thing look all graphically appealing. Why not pay a real gardener? A landscape architect? A outdoor organic 3d designer? (Or whatever they're called these days.) Why not hire a real professional or even someone who's taken a couple botany classes? Why, because college students are the sliver above hiring undocumented workers, and just a ginger step away from indentured servitude. So I was making just a token nod away from minimum wage, for on-site full time work. At least I got boarding. If boarding with potential vipers under the bed counts.
I wondered where the cabins were, but didn't want to stray too far from the entrance in case Barker gave me the whole 'hey schlep all the way back here so I can show you around to the place you just were' thing.
I sat in the garden chair and took in the scenery. It was amazing how detailed the real world could be. Hi-def was a total joke compared to nature. Every little struggling bud, every blade of grass, every crack and line in the trunks of ancient trees, I could see it all. I could see to my eyes' full capacity. The world was overwhelming and grand. And I fell asleep.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 5, 2013 11:17:15 GMT -8
Chapter Two I was woken by a metallic clatter like some very small industrial machinery had gone out of alignment. My phone vibrated on the seat of the bench, propelling itself to the edge. I fumbled around for it with heavy meat hands. Too late, I missed the call. The sun had risen more fully, now directly overhead and casting deep black shadows at the bottoms of everything. I had to shade the phone with my hand just to read the screen. Thankfully, it was Mr. Barker and not my mother or a wrong number. I figured faster than playing phone tag, I would just check the office myself. My legs were unsteady and I was tangled in the tall grass before I even thought of it. How long was I asleep? I half-fell ten times before I finally squeezed past the gate and came around to the office. A brown sedan was parked crookedly in the driveway, and my steamer missing. I was not one to fear the theft of my underpants and toothbrush, so I presumed the likely suspect. The flimsy door to the office gave way this time, and I stepped into the small building, which seemed pitch dark until my eyes adjusted. I smelled drug-store cologne trying to cover the rank odor of cigars.
"Ah this must be our savior!" My eyes could focus now on a man smaller than myself, who made broad gestures with his hands as he spoke. He looked like someone who would play a sidekick to a mafia boss. He was wide but short, and had a thin black moustache and only a small doughnut of black hair around the back of his head. His gray suit was at least modern enough to keep him from being straight out of a car dealership 30 years ago. "I'm sure you're in love with the place already, look at you with grass in your hair, oh what a frolic."
Mr. Barker clapped me painfully on the back and returned to his desk to shuffle some papers inscrutably. The interior of the office was like a giant cubicle. The walls were upholstered in a felty gray-blue material, everything had rounded corners edged in beige plastic. The computer at the desk had a decades old monitor that was as thick as a microwave. Barker's desk was quite messy, which was laughable given how little he seemed to be here.
"Let's walk and talk."
I took a little step forward to avoid the next back clap, but the blow landed nonetheless.
"I loaded your trunk into my car, we can drive it over to the cabins, there's a side entrance that's more convenient. Boy that thing was heavy, d'you pack your whole library in there? I hear you read books." Indeed, I was known to read a book sometimes. The short man lead me to the iron gates I'd just come from and gave me the whole story on the estate again. It would've been more interesting if I hadn't already heard it word for word. "Now there are many stories about the manor itself," he waggled a finger illustratively. I didn't get the benefit of body language on the earlier draft of this story, so I was being enriched in at least a small way.
"All we know for sure is that the Argentsmoores that owned the estate were a very young, wealthy couple. The husband went to war, and never returned. The wife just packed up her bags and left town, leaving the whole place as it was. Now, that's the official word, but there just might a little more mystery to the proceedings if you ask me." He tapped his nose conspiratorially. This was surely an attempt at hooking writerly interest in the place. As though to confirm my suspicion...
"So you write, kid?"
"A little. Not professionally."
"Oh who's a professional these days? Just 'cause someone decides to give someone some money doesn't make it any more important. They give guys like that... guy who writes... those mystery books, y'know. The one. Anyway, they give that guy money and he's a complete hack!"
"Uh huh." He seemed to be sizing up the gate, but gave up and went to the car. Wiser than me. He let me into the small sedan, my steamer rested on the backseat already buckled in with a belt. It looked cute that way, like it was ready for the ride. The car reeked of cigars and old man smells I didn't want to differentiate. "Here we go!" he said as he pulled out. I wondered if he had any children, he seemed like such a stereotypical uncle it was hard to imagine him being anything but. He drove a little too fast, we zipped by thick greenery at a rapid clip. Even with our speed, the estate seemed quite large. "How big is the estate again?" I asked, watching the trees zoom by the window.
"Mm about 250 acres I believe. Gets a bit fuzzy over by the lake." I had forgotten there would be a lake. Probably the cabins would be by it. That was typical for a slasher movie.
"Don't worry," Barker said, perhaps misreading my thoughts about slasher movies as apprehension, "not like you gotta mow the whole damn thing. Just worry about the area near the cabins. Gotta kinda get the whole thing in the view though, and it's pretty flat..." "Yeah." "Should be some fun though, right? You kids are always in front of the computer screens, be good to go out and get some fresh air and sun. Maybe get a little color, huh?" "Yeah maybe...?" The thought of being alone again for weeks on end was growing more and more appealing. We stopped seemingly at no particular landmark. As we got out and I unloaded my steamer, I could see the opening in the trees. They were so thick, they turned the estate into a natural fort. There was no peering inside. "Used to have all kindsa stuff here, they all go out of business." Mr. Barker seemed to enjoy taking the role of nostalgic old man, but his indifference showed in the amount of time spent staring at his phone. "Oh?" it seemed like any business venture in a place this secluded would seem like a bad idea. The writer's retreat excluded, I actually thought that seemed like a decent idea. "Yeah, back when the manor was still up and running. They put up some folks during the White Death, after that there was a girl's school for a few years. Place was fallin' apart already though." Good fodder for the writers, I could see the pamphlets already. Now it was just up to me to make the place not look like hell. And hell it was. Well, it had that natural charm of nature untamed, but anything manmade was slowly disappearing under thick brush and rotting leaves from the previous year. "Yeeeeah it's a little nasty." Barker stood several feet back as I pulled my steamer through the rocky terrain. Probably need new wheels after this. There were five cabins, huddled together like a wagon circle. In the center was a nearly buried garden sculpture, a couple benches and possibly a manmade pond or just a really large hole filled with mud. Flies buzzed lazily around the water, and ivy climbed up anything that wasn't flat. "Looks like a movie set." Barker lit up a cigar in the same spot, like there was a stream between us and he was a vampire. Behind one of the cabins I could make out a smaller building. Looked like a large sized shed. "That's the gardener's cabin?" I nearly had to shout to be heard at the distance. "What?" "I SAID IS THAT MY CABIN BACK THERE?" my voice cracked a little embarrassingly, but I didn't want to walk back to the weird guy just to talk. "Oh, yeah. Well, I don't think you can stay in it just yet..." he looked a little exasperated, and finally walked over. "I just hate to fill up your lungs with this stuff." Well how considerate. We walked over to the gardener's cabin, the cigar smoke indeed was a bit choking,but it was better than screaming across a field to talk. The building was smaller than the other cabins, and quite obviously much older. The newer cabins had that faux rustic log exterior, that was only decorative. You could tell at the corners, where they joined neatly, each log was split so they laid flat against the actual walls. I guessed they might have been built 40 or 50 years ago based on the style and the weathering.
The gardener's cabin was smaller side to side, but slightly taller. There seemed to be two floors, rather than one broad one. It had a covered porch, which ivy dripped from like a lacy curtain. The walls were thin boards that were perhaps once painted but now were a smoky grey. The roof looked new in large patches, the rest were covered with vibrant moss. It actually seemed charming in the context of a sunny day with grass swaying around the edges and bits of wildflowers peeking out here and there. I could easily imagine it inspiring terror if it were alone on the top of a hill on a rainy day, with craggy dead trees beckoning you closer. "Cute, huh? We patched up the roof, get in big trouble if it falls on you, you know." Reassuring. "I'm too old to make it through there, but why don't you take a look inside?" I understood what he meant when I got to the porch. It was mushy and creaky, and felt very unsafe. "That'll be your first project huh?" he chortled from behind me. I'd probably just tear the whole thing out, I was no carpenter but I was good at destroying things. I crept my way across unstable structure, parting the thick ivy and getting to the door. The door also seemed new, with a shiny faux-glass knob. It opened easily to my surprise. Inside was very dark, and I wish I'd brought my flashlight. Bits of dust swirled around in the filtered light from the dirty windows. It was filled with piles of junk. Neat, discrete piles, but junk. No furniture. The floor and walls seemed to be the same smoky gray as the outside, and the construction seemed to be tight at least, no shafts of light permeated the wood except at the windows. I didn't feel like poking around in the dark, so I emerged. "We thought you might have fun going through that stuff," Barker said. He had a strange idea of fun.
"Of course you don't have to sleep there right away, the cabins are furnished. Once you get it cleared out we'll order you a bed and what not." I avoided the back clap this time as I approached, and it turned into a simple hand on the back. It was a little familiar for my liking but preferable to physical abuse. We walked back to my steamer which looked lonely abandoned in the grass. "Before I let you loose here, let's talk about the particulars..." We seemed to walk in concentric circles around the cabins as the old man re-informed me of every bit of basic info and legalese I'd already heard. Reminded me of the papers I'd signed and what they meant.
For my food there was an old-fashioned ice box in the center cabin, and I'd get a weekly delivery of ice to keep it cold. Along with that I'd get weekly grocery deliveries, and I could call in special requests as long as they stayed within my budget. Barker himself would come by once a week or so, and assured me he'd be available by phone. For what that was worth. As we walked and walked, that's when my feet began to hurt. I wished we could've just taken a seat to hash this stuff out. Despite having a labor-heavy job, I really was pretty sedentary. If I could sit, I'd rather.
I started to feel uncomfortable as he discussed emergency services and the like, how to call the local police if there was an intruder. I was only thinking of slasher movies as a sort of joke to myself, the thought that I'd be all alone on a huge empty estate with infinite places murderers could hide was very unnerving.
"But of course almost no one will know you're here! Just a bunch of old folks around here. For the most part." Barker smiled with crooked cream colored teeth. Perhaps he noticed my distress, because he quickly changed the subject.
"Now that we've got all that boring stuff out of the way, I have a special present for you that I think you'll really enjoy." He instructed me to leave my steamer by the cabins, which I was glad for, my arm was already feeling strained by hauling it around. He walked a little faster than I was comfortable with. How did someone so small go so fast? Maybe short legs had less gravity to fight against. We came back through the side entrance, and he made a sharp turn. The slope down the hill proved more slippery, so I remained at the top and watched him curiously as he dug through some brush. "Here it is, it was here the whole time and you didn't notice!" he chuckled to himself, but I couldn't see how he'd pulled on over on me given that it was something he had to dig through a bush to find. With a few jerks, he pulled out a turquoise bicycle. It was an obvious antique, solid metal construction with just hints of rust at the joints. It had a brown leather seat, and a little headlight on the front. The turquoise paint was rather lovely, I drew closer to examine it and saw the craquelure in its surface which did nothing to detract from its beauty. I was honestly impressed. "Our gift to you!" Barker smiled like he was presenting a child with their first means of transport, "we found it in the junk from the school. Thought about auctioning it off but figured you could use it while you're here. Works and everything, had my nephew try it out after we got it oiled. Probably won't do you much good with all the grass but maybe you can go for a ride around the town. There's a gas station about half a mile from here, could get yourself some candies." It was embarrassing to be treated like a child, but the idea was appealing. I was perhaps a little less trapped now.
He made me sit in the car for some more discussions and additional paper signings. I got the key to the office in case I needed to use the computer or charge my phone. They'd be setting up a generator in the cabins eventually. As I was about to leave, Barker caught my attention one last time, he pointed, more gravely than before. "I don't expect any trouble," he said, "but if something comes up, there is a small pistol in the top drawer of my desk in the office. There's also a shotgun over the mantle in cabin A. Just for your information." My breath caught in my throat. Barker smiled suddenly, "Maybe get to take down a bear, huh? Haha!" He couldn't reach me for a back clap for settled for a friendly finger wag. I smiled uncomfortably and stepped out of the car. As he pulled away, I stayed standing in the drive for a few moments. I could hear the car grinding through the gravel until it faded to nothing. The world was just bird chirping and soft sounds of wind rustling through tree branches. I saw an airplane overhead, slicing a little white trail through the sky. It would be easy to forget I wasn't a hundred years in the past otherwise. I picked up the bicycle, it was amazingly heavy compared to the lightweight one I used as a teenager. No helmet, but didn't seem possible to get in a collision with anything more dangerous than an errant sparrow. I wondered if any of the old folks drove a creaky old jalopy. I'd at least be able to hear them coming. I noticed at the handlebars there was a strange remnant of colorful cloth poking out of the end. Streamers. They were probably cut off. It was a girl's school, this must've belonged to a student. I sat on the bike, and the size was just fine. The vibrant paint didn't bother me, in fact the streamers might have been fun. I wasn't one to be bothered by fanciness. Compared to all the overwhelming green and gray, some color would prove welcome. I rolled the bicycle inside, wishing I could ride it all the way to my steamer, as my feet were already crying for a return to their former metropolitan life.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 6, 2013 17:11:50 GMT -8
(I feel like this is super slow and boring, trust me, I'm going somewhere. It's just veerrryyy sssllooooowwwww. ) CHAPTER THREE I leaned my new bicycle against the closest cabin, and got to the unpleasant task of dragging my steamer into the clearing. Some of the grass had been tamped down near the entrances, probably so the furniture could be loaded in more easily. I found the building with the letter A, a piece of black plastic airbrushed to look like burnished bronze. From the view of the front door, I could see the other cabins, lined around in a circle. The gardener's shack peered from behind Cabin C like a shy little sister. I unlocked the door with my office key, apparently a one size fits all situation. I better not lose it... This door was solid and weighty, a welcome contrast to the shoddy office in front. I rolled my steamer over the doorstep and inside. Again, it was dark. The windows were covered with stiff linen curtains. I went around parting them, which let in satisfying shafts of sunlight, until the cabin was lit. A battery operated nightlight was pinned next to the door, and I tapped it on to fill out the remaining darkness. The cabin was pleasant in that faux-rustic style of the past. The walls and floor were a hardwood laminate that was at least a little convincing. It smelled a bit musty, but not in an intolerable way. The interior was just one room, with a few bookcases used to create a divider around the sleeping area. A stout brown leather sofa beckoned from one corner, looking plush and inviting. Next to it was a stone fireplace, and of course, the aforementioned shotgun pinned over the top of a mounted bearskin. The bear must have not been very big, it was like bragging about killing a baby. The shotgun seemed ominous though, and I didn't even want to think about it. Behind an empty bookshelf was the small bed. It had a simple wire frame, and was neatly made with an old looking red and blue quilt. On further inspection, it was a half-convincing replica, probably purchased from the same place as the build-yourself bookshelves. I left my steamer to rest at the foot of the bed, and sat on the edge. It was firm like one from a cheap hotel, but any rest at the moment was blessedly welcome. I pulled my boots off to examine my blisters. They were just angry and pink, but the skin wasn't broken. I left my books to languish in the steamer, and laid back. I would have a rest this time on purpose. When I opened my eyes it was completely dark. I sat up with a start, forgetting where I was for a moment. A dull glow showed from behind the bookshelf-- the night light. My feet were freezing, left uncovered in the unheated cabin. I pulled my steamer out into the grey light and dug blindly for my flashlight. Somewhere I had a mini LED light, but my hands easily found the beefy lantern with the top handle. I pulled out the heavy neon-yellow chunk of plastic, and flicked it on with a heavy clunk of the switch. The room was illuminated by the sickly greenish, but strong light. I cursed myself for not unpacking sooner, and just tossed the contents of my luggage around on the floor. It wasn't like there was anyone to trip over it. I pulled on some thick wool socks, and a heavy grey fisherman's sweater my mother had knitted for this very occasion. I was fitting the part of rugged gardener already, I was sure. Except I was still shivering and clutching my cold hands to my chest. I took far too long trying to figure out how to light the fire, nearly giving up and huddling in bed several times. At last the pressed log inside decided to burn rather than just smoke. I sat back to enjoy the fruits of my labor, and my eyes fell upon the shotgun once more. Disturbing. I'd rather have thought it was a replica and been able to ignore it. Now it was always in the back of my mind. Now there was an extra reason to lock the door. ... I jumped to my socked feet and nearly slid the entire way to the door. It swung open as I checked it, completely unlatched. What kind of idiot was I? Outside was lit only by the unseen moon, the faintest of dull green shine. To my eyes it was nothing but a swirl of film grain. My cabin would be the only light in the area, probably for a mile or more. I slammed the door closed and locked the dead bolt, trying to open it multiple times before I felt satisfied. So paranoid. I clutched the flashlight to my chest and slumped on to the leather sofa, which was as comfortable as it had earlier advertised. I stared up at the wood planks over my head. Great, no way I was going to sleep now. I flicked off the light and tried to close my eyes and focus on the crackling fire. Perhaps it was more hypnotic than I would have suspected, because I opened my eyes to a bright shaft of sunlight falling directly across my face. I sat up, squinting. The fire was dead and the cabin was alight with morning sun. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about insomnia. I took some time that morning to finally unpack my luggage and straighten up. The icebox was in the exact spot someone might expect a refrigerator to be. The kitchen area had an open hole in the counter top where a sink might go one day, but for now was stuffed with plastic packing material. There was a tiny gas powered burner attached to a small tank, and a big iron skillet. Inside the icebox I found a carton of eggs, a pack of bacon, a big block of orange cheese, a jug of milk and a six-pack of cheap beer. Manly. I wasn't quite ready to go whole-lumberjack, so I opted to raid the dry goods and ate a bowl of cereal and a piece of bread with raspberry jam. At least waking up was easy, when it was dark, it was *really* dark. The morning light slapped you in the face and told you to go to work. That was nice, nothing like nature to force you into a sleeping schedule. I felt excited as I stepped out into the bright morning. I'm sure I looked very cool too, with my sunglasses and wooly jumper. My thick socks were pulled over my pant legs to protect from scary mystery mites and hopefully to protect my tender feet this time. I still hadn't explored the area, so I figured it was a good time to make a map. I circled around the homestead, taking note of the woodpile. The old mud hole of a former pond would need a lot of work. I checked my phone's map, the area was a vague light blue field, and when I changed to satellite, it was a smear of green blobs. I could see the lake though, an unsettling black pit from orbit. I zoomed in close, the lake still seeming like a portal to the abyss. The trees were shapeless lumps, but I paged around until I saw the tops of the cabins. There was a dark spot there in the clearing. I wondered if it was a person but they became three grey pixels as I moved closer. I'd never know. I paged around the area, finding the former manor. It was little more than a grey roof spotted with chimneys as far as I could see. I expected something less intact. Too eager to continue dawdling around on the phone, I headed in the direction of the lake. GPS made me feel more confident, but I took mental notes and was ready to take notes in my book as well. It was glaringly bright, so I was glad I'd worn my stylish sunglasses. Dew still clung to the grass, and my jeans were soaked from the knee down. I'd never gone further than the gardener's shack, quickly entering unexplored territory. I had to pass through some thick trees, their roots twisting together into gnarled handshakes. I resisted the temptation to keep checking the map, (what little good it would do anyway.) I struggled to pull away a half-broken branch, it finally splintered, leaving me with a good poking stick. Just in case I run into those vipers after all. Past the trees I came to a rather depressing clearing. Perhaps there had been some sprawling berry bushes, but they'd either died out or been burned away. Now the earth seemed to be covered with a lawn of bones. Pale twigs jutted out of the dark mossy earth, coming to blunt ends. This dismal lawn stretched out for the length of a block or so. Intermittent bony trees reached up to the sky, and a few squat bushes were the only greenery but the thick moss below. Far in the distance I could see black silhouettes of evergreens. I crunched my way through the graveyard, trying to use my stick to knock down my (hindrance???) I heard the uncanny call of a loon, I must be coming close. The stabby little sticks grew sparse, and the spindly trees more dense as I came closer to the pines. The ground here was growing softer and more mossy. Short thick grass formed clumps here and there, looking bright and cheery compared to the desolate landscape I'd just seen. I saw a structure covered in thick ivy, and was surprised to find that it was a stone handrail. Broad mossy steps lead down through some thick bushes, more lush than the short, spinach green ones further back. I attempted to push back the thick leaves with my stick, but had to just force myself through anyway, hoping I wouldn't get a mouthful of spider webs. Carefully making my way down the steps, I finally emerged from the dense brush, and at last got a view at that mysterious black abyss. It was, in fact, not an inky pool of ichor. I wouldn't go so far as to have called it a lake, but it was a sizeable pond at least. It seemed like it might have been artificial, the land sloped off into the water abruptly, with no real shore. The stone steps lead to a flat area with a unappealing metal bench that was shrouded in years of rotten leaves and rust. Ahead, the water was still and green. Bits of plant matter floated on the top, a few errant logs and branches bobbing on the surface. The previously heard loon had a friend and they swam lazily, ignoring me completely. It was charming, but I couldn't hold back the kind of morbid thoughts that always struck me when I saw bodies of water. What would happen if I fell in? Were there creatures that would eat me? I shuddered at the thought of what mucky pond water would taste like as I gasped for breath. What horrors sat at the bottom of the water? It was easy to imagine century old skeletons pinned down by rocks. Unwanted babies and victims of crime. So dreadful, movies had really ruined my sense of wonder. My thoughts kept me several paces away from the water, and no closer. It wasn't technically my job to renovate this pond, and I would do everything else first. I turned to leave and a loon cried out, sending my heart into my throat. Bastards. I gingerly circled the area of the land, not drawing too close to the creepy water. The earth was so mushy and the shore so steep that I didn't have the nerve to try my luck any further, and went back the way I came. Some chattering crows had gathered to either mock me, or the loons. I stopped to watch them, and they became silent, staring at me sideways with their beady black eyes. They held on to bare branches of a large un-budded tree. The wind made them dip and sway, but they held steady in their staring contest. I just didn't have the heart to deal with them, so I turned away. They chattered immediately. My first day, and I was already being bullied. A long walk through more verdant fields found me on the other side of the estate. The sun was overhead again, and my feet complained, but were muffled in thick socks. The tall grass obscured so much, despite the effort involved, I was interested to begin cutting it back. All kinds of interesting things were surely hidden beneath. Just on my walk I'd found a long handled shovel, a few concrete blocks that'd almost broken my shins in half, and a rusty tin bucket full of slimy water. Valuable antiques, I was sure. I came to rest against a mossy stone fence, as high as my shoulders. The fence came to a rotted wooden gate with a decrepit metal sign that probably read 'no trespassing' years ago, but now was a blank sheet of rust. The ground was paved with complex cobblestones that blocked out most of the grass, though tenacious moss obliterated the design. I was about to open the gate, but the soft wood shifted beneath my hands and the top beam fell off with a wet plop. I pushed the rest open with my foot, and it listed at an angle, one of the hinges corroded to nothing. Past the gate, I had a good view of the manor. I'd been given the impression it had been demolished or fallen apart, but from my view it was quite intact. The windows had been broken out, leaving only the occasional corner remaining. The door had been boarded over at one time, but now had only traces remaining, someone had pulled them off and left the front an open hole. I came closer, trying to take it all in. It was a charming brick building with a wooden roof that was indeed sagging miserably. Maybe the brick had been painted a red color, but now it looked like it'd gone through the wash a few too many times. It was drab everywhere but a few colorful corners. The steps up to the front were crumbling as everything, and wild bushes and trees battered at its walls in their slow motion war. The windows on the upper floor were slightly more intact, and it seemed some of them still had lacy curtains in place. I made my way through the tangle of plants to the open maw of the door. My foot clanked against something metal. At the doorstep was a coffee can filled with cigarettes. The design of the can looked a few years old, but not as ancient as all that. Had they tried to renovate? I peered in to the darkness inside, but didn't have the heart just yet. I'd have to work on my courage but I guess I had all summer to do it. I walked around to the side of the building, which was in more dire straits than the front. Sheets of plywood had been hammered up in various spots, presumably either holes in the wall or windows. A faded 'PRIVATE PROPERTY' sign had been haphazardly dumped on the ground with a broken bottle atop it. Someone was cavalier about the law, it seemed. I wondered why someone would bother coming all the way here to poke around. Homeless people could find much more structurally sound homes in more convenient places. I ran through scenarios in my mind which all led to me discovering caches of murder victims. Around the back some rusted scaffolding crept up the walls like a metal cobweb.Plastic sheeting had caught in the metal bars and flapped around like a ragged flag. This must have been some attempted renovations, but they were half-assed at best. The roof still sagged pitifully. The movement of the tattered plastic unnerved me, and I didn't linger. On the other side some pretty trees were already blossoming. Tiny green leaves shot out of the branches, and hard white buds would be flowers in no time. The trees were wispy and delicate, but tall and gangly. They reached their little arms through broken windows, and all the way to the roof where they tangled in the gutter. I wondered if the house would be full of flower petals come summer, and the image was charming enough to make me forget about basements of corpses. I came upon a tall archway around a green painted door, surely once very vivid. The arched door was so much more grand and imposing than that blank hole I'd seen before, that I presumed this must be the actual front of the building. Two columns stood next to the door, ivy snaking up them elegantly, (though a trim would make them more elegant.) The green door had a single board nailed up in front of it, it didn't seem like much of a imposition. Why did someone tear all the boards off the back door and not go through this much easier entrance? Two window frames mirrored the shape of door on either side, they were probably stained glass once, based on the gem-like shards scattered around the entryway. I peered into the darkness, and saw nothing but bits of dust fluttering around two inches in front of my face. I remembered the small LED flashlight in my pocket, and shined it inside. The tiny beam of light was an odd purple color, and I waggled it around, trying to get a notion of what I was even looking at. The floor seemed blank and wooden and was scattered with crumbly bits of debris. I thought I could make out a couple door frames, some peeling wallpaper, some stairs leading up at the end? Something shrieked behind me and I nearly did a back flip, only holding on to the flashlight because the strap was attached to my wrist. I spun around, reading the poking stick for combat. I saw nothing. A thick trunked oak tree sat unassuming. I crept closer, my eyes darting around. If it was another crow I was going to have to make use of that shotgun after all. A big brown rock caught my eye, it quivered, and shrieked. I had girded my loins that time,and it did not strike terror into my heart. This time. It was a huge brown toad which stared at me with an unamused expression. I wasn't one to let amphibians tell me what to do, but after being chastised I was ready to go home. I wondered about the manor, as I came back to the entrance. Why hadn't anyone bothered to buy it? It would've made a very nice country estate for some wealthy person, it was attractive even with its grievous injuries. Mr. Barker had threatened to unleash a treasure trove of ghost stories about the place, but I'd changed the subject every time. I was already worried about slashers stowing bodies away on the estate, I didn't need to worry about undead threats as well. As I was walking back to the cabins, my stick hit something with a metallic clack. A crushed up can of beer. It looked surprisingly new, probably shielded from the sun by the grass. I was about to drop it again, (not like I had a recycling can around,) when a few drops leaked out of the opening. I was quick to dismiss them as dew, when I realized it smelled like beer. Cheap, convenience store beer. The can was still vivid red and didn't have a spot of rust on it. It was new.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 7, 2013 7:36:14 GMT -8
Chapter Four After eating a few slices of cheese out of sheer culinary laziness, I spent the rest of the afternoon sorting out the tools in a hutch on the back of the gardener's cabin. Some were a bit too well-loved and would need sharpening or replacing. Generally the things I needed were all there. Shears, scythe, rake, shovel (though I wondered if the one in the grass was nicer.) There was a snazzy-looking manual mower, but I'd have to trim the grass down before I could use that thing, if the lumpy terrain could even stand it at all. I dumped out the plastic tubs full of dirty rain water, I could use them to hold the grass clippings when I got to it.
My sweater was long removed, even the chilly air of the early spring wasn't enough to cool me as I got working, and I spent the rest of the day in my undershirt. As the shadows began to grow long, I was filthy and my arms were shaking. Bits of debris had glued themselves to my damp skin and I felt thoroughly disgusting. I packed the tools back under their little roof, and gingerly held my sweater away from my sticky body. As I came inside, I smiled at the sight of my bicycle leaning against the porch.
It was time I figured out how to wash up. I'd already gotten over the hurdle of using the toilet, it was behind my cabin several paces. It was actually bigger than your typical modern portable toilet, and there were attempts made to make it look nicer. Nonetheless, the main comfort there was that it had a lock, and I was the only one using it. For washing though, there was a whole damned arts and crafts project I had to undertake. I heated a pan of water on the tiny gas burner, and stood around in my underwear. After I washed I could toss my clothes in the pot and wash them too. The late afternoon sun was waning and shot through the front window like an orange laser. My muscles were made of clay and I wished I could soak in a bathtub. How long would it be until I could? Could I clean out that mucky pond and make it into a hot tub? How soon before I could install my hammock and teach squirrels to fan me with palm fronds? As I waited for the water to heat, I glanced at the aluminum can on the counter. I had unfolded it to the best of my ability. 'Candy Stripe' brand, I'd never heard of it. I'd call Barker about it later, maybe they'd recently had some workers go through to check things out. Someone had delivered the furniture after all. I imagined the kind of men who'd dump beer cans in the grass as they moved big pieces of furniture and hammered on things with hammers. Big brutes weren't my type. I washed, I put on a burgundy Harlan University sweater and a pair of cotton shorts and did my laundry by swirling around my jeans and underclothes with a soup ladle and hung them in front of the fireplace to dry. I fried some eggs, drank some tea, and ate a few blocks of chocolate and laid on the couch next to the fire. As the light disappeared, I read one of my stack of classics I'd hauled over. I figured since I 'never had time' to read them before, now I'd have no choice. Of course, I could play mindless games on my phone, but I didn't. want to wear the battery down more than necessary. I'd have to go to the office and charge it soon anyway. I wrapped up in the blanket, and felt quite comfortable as the darkness fell, and the fire weakened. By the time it'd burned out, I was asleep. I woke up after uncomfortable dreams. I rolled my eyes around confused in the dark. How long before I'd become use to waking up here? I tried to go back to sleep, but became aware of the reason for my discomfort. Besides the soreness of my muscles, my guts contracted and complained. I had to use the toilet. I audibly whined to myself. I had thought about this before, thinking I could try to use some container in the cabin. If only there'd been a real sink... But that wouldn't help in this case unless I wanted to switch cabins afterward. I put it off, hoping I could wait it out until morning but the dead blackness laughed at my torment. Whining to myself still, I sat up and flicked on the big lantern. I planned my escape. I'd just rush over to the toilet, and rush right back. No... I'd feel too terrified to leave the door unlocked. I'd just have to be an adult and brave the night. It wasn't like wild creatures were more likely to be wandering around at night, there weren't humans here in the day to scare them either. I thought I'd seen the flicker of deer through the woods once, and a few scampering squirrels. I tried to recall the tranquility of the place, it wasn't any different at night, surely. I pulled socks on, and slipped into some sneakers and just tucked the laces inside, urgency precluding the time to tie them. I stood at the door a moment, key in hand, took a breath, and stepped outside. I stood in front of the door a moment, ready to fly back inside and find a plastic bag if there was a monster or bear in front of me. I slowly moved the lantern and saw only softly undulating grass. It was disturbing still, how dark it was at night. My eyes had adjusted already, so I could see the distant grainy shapes of the pines by the lake, and the edges of the other cabins. I locked the door with my hand shaking only a little, and held the key tight in my free hand. Nothing was going to happen. I walked slowly, pointing the light down at my feet, watching for debris I could trip over. I shuffled slowly, feeling out the ground with my feet. The grass brushed softly as I walked through it, in dry rhythmic waves. I circled around the cabin, seeing the moon now, only a sliver right now. I thought about how significant the moon must've seemed to early people. It was the only thing at night, the only bright spot in a world of darkness, rather than just an unimportant little rock. I saw the toilet, luckily closest to my cabin. I jiggled the light around, half-expecting to see the flashing eyes of some night creature. There was nothing. Some animal made quiet noises in the distance, but they sounded more mournful than threatening. My heart's thud did not calm though. I would eat more chocolate when I got back inside. Yes, yes I would. I fumbled with the door a moment, before remembering the padlock. I had to hold the lantern between my thighs while I fumbled with the damn thing. In the morning I'd have to request a tap light to put next to it. A bit of hokey-pokey and I was inside at last, shutting the door firmly behind me. I held the key between my lips, I didn't want to have one of those nightmare scenarios of dropping the key down the toilet. Wait, I had an idea! I should request an extra key be made that I could hide somewhere. There'd be the fear in the back of my head that the slasher would find it, but the fear of losing the original key seemed a little worse than that one. I fumbled around for the tissues, before I remembered there was a nightlight inside. I tapped it, and the little shed lit up all pale blue. I had to squeeze my eyes closed a moment to adjust. The toilet was one of those eerie chemical ones, so much for roughing it entirely. Not that I minded. It smelled strongly of bubblegum which was disturbing, but better than the alternative. A little counter and mirror were installed opposite it. No sink though, just a jug of hand sanitizer and some toilet tissues. I saw myself in the mirror, pale and ghastly from the blue lighting. My hair was a wreck, plastered down from not being dried after I'd washed it, separating into pointed black spider legs. Lucky no one would have to see me. I fervently hoped. Cleaned up at last, I started worrying about what was outside the door. I squirted a little hand sanitizer from the big jug, and the stinging alcohol vapor made my eyes water. Wine. I should get some wine at the store. I wasn't a big beer fan, oh but maybe I could make some cheese soup with it. I tried to think of food as I flung the door open and pointed the flashlight around like it was a gun and I was a TV show cop. Nothing leapt out at me, so I did the shuffle of turning out lights, closing doors and locking padlocks. I sighed, and as I was about to walk back, I heard a strange noise. I stopped in my tracks. A night bird? I heard it again, a distant echo, a bit like a sharp laugh. I could easily imagine it being a bird call. I wondered if my imagination was getting the better of me, but I squatted down and shut off the lantern, listening. Night insects chirruped, thankfully not in squadrons of crickets. Again, there was the sound. Distinctly human-like laughter. Birds were very good at terrifying people, I thought of the tales of demons and monsters of night. Early people would be terrified by owls and bats in the dark and make up stories of wicked creatures. Nonetheless I waited, squatting, until I didn't hear the sounds again for a few moments. I flicked the light on again, and hurried toward the cabin, somehow more nervous than when I'd set out. My legs quivered a bit, but I kept upright and got to the porch. My fingers shook as I worked the lock, both out of fear and chilliness. I hadn't even thought of the brisk cold that bit through my thin clothing, I was too worried about monsters and beasts. Finally the door was opened, warm air caressing me. The earlier fire had kept the cabin toasty without my appreciation. I jumped inside and almost slammed the door, before I thought of possible repercussions of making a loud noise. I closed it very firmly, but softly, and bolted the lock. I tried the doorknob several times before I felt comfortable. The cabin was lit only by my big lantern. I swapped it out for the tiny LED, worried about being a glowing beacon in the night. I did a circuit of the cabin, feeling ridiculous but wanting to check for monsters nonetheless. I peered out every window, seeing only grass two feet away, and blackness. I didn't even feel like eating that chocolate. I huddled up on the couch, waiting for my heart to slow. I listened to the sounds of the night. Wind shaking up the trees, a gentle creak of the cabin adjusting itself, my own breath and my heartbeat echoing through my ears. I remembered a silly thing from my childhood. The sound of my heartbeat ringing through my ears, muffled by a pillow. It sounded like someone walking through crunchy snow. I imagined a tiny man coming for me very slowly. He was some kind of wild man, dressed in furs and carrying a spear. Walking through the snow white of my sheets until he got to my pillow. Of course, he'd harpoon me through the ear if I let him get too close. So I had to listen, make sure I didn't let him surprise me. Ughhh, I had the worst ways of making myself feel even more terrible. I couldn't sleep now. I sat up and played pointless games on my phone until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 8, 2013 12:42:19 GMT -8
((NOTE: I feel bashful about the state of my story. My style of non-outlining is bound to require many revisions. I like to figure out who my character is by writing, so please bear with my story's growing pains. ))
CHAPTER FIVE I laid in bed for too long and I knew it. I watched the shafts of sunlight stretch from one end of the couch until they hit my face, and still I didn't move. I only unrolled myself from my blankets when my phone rang. Mr. Barker. "Hey kid, you still in one piece? Haha!" He sounded like he was in a cafe, I could hear the clink of glasses and silverware on plates. "Ha, um, yeah mostly. Hey uh, it's just supposed to be me here, right?" "You and the ghosts! Well, the delivery man will come later this week, but you'll get a call first. Hey speakin' of that, any special orders?" I sat up and fumbled around for my notebook. "Er, yeah, just a second. Oh yeah so I was wondering if I could get an extra copy of the key? I'm just worried about losing it." "Ohh yeah that's a smart idea. I'll see what I can do about it." He sounded extremely non-committal. "...Okay..." I went on to list out a few odds and ends we needed, the tap light, some garbage bins, a larger tarp. I hoped he was writing these things down because it sure didn't sound like he was. That'd be on him though, there wasn't much I could do about it. "Yeah you know," he said after an audible slurp, "I was thinkin' more like... fun stuff. Any fun things you want?" "Uh. Some wine?" "You got it!" I'd really have rather had the extra key than a bottle of wine. Maybe I could drink my worries away instead. We continued chatting for a bit, I tried to make my stories a little more interesting than I might have otherwise, and he seemed to appreciate it. After I hung up I thought about how long it'd been since I talked to someone other than Barker. It was kind of depressing. My mother sent me a text before I left for Goosecross but no one else had contacted me in a week or more. I wasn't very popular but this was getting ridiculous. School was out for the year, and I guessed my friends were all busy going to exotic locales and visiting big loving families. Of course they wouldn't have time to contact me. I dragged myself out of my blankets, and wondered if I was too depressing. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about how alone I was. It wasn't all that much different than my usual daily life. Just take out the classes and bus trips and replace them with yardwork. Most of the time I communicated with people it was over email or a shallow conversation when we ran into each other in the coffee line. Whatever. There was work to do. My jeans from yesterday were still soaking wet, so I took them outside and draped them over the railing. The cold spring sun was probably not going to do much good but I smacked them around as good as I could to remove the water. I got dressed in my second set of clothes, brown corduroys tucked into boots and a thin oxford, as I was invariably going to get too hot again. Today I decided to explore the gardener's shed. I brought the big boy lantern and a bucket of water. First thing, I washed the filthy windows, and the room became twice as bright. The old cabin was musty like an antique store. Not intolerable but a bit stifling. I opened all the windows to get some air circulating. The wood floor creaked under my feet, but it was dry and sturdy seeming, not like the porch. I brought the flashlight upstairs. It was hard to imagine living in a place like this, would I eventually be doing that later this summer? It was like poking into someone's tool shed and imagining it being your future apartment. Upstairs the floor had an even more pronounced creak, though at least it didn't seem like you were going to go foot first to the foundation. It didn't seem like that, at least. Up here there were a few remnants of the furniture, an old metal frame that might've been from a couch. Some wobbly wooden chairs, some spare shelves that were probably the most useful item in the cabin. I wiped down the windows with the wet rag, and took a moment to peer out of them. This was the highest vantage point I'd had since I'd arrived. I could see the roofs of the cabins, and behind them to the fort walls of trees. I wondered what the view was like from the top floor of the manor. I thought about those lacy curtains. What else was remaining there? It was strange to imagine people picking up, and leaving belongings behind. I'd always been desperate for my deposits, so I'd stayed behind plastering thumbtack holes and scrubbing the toilet more than I ever had when I'd lived there. It must be some kind of luxury of the rich, I guessed. I started going through the piles of junk, and I had to admit, Barker was right. It was kind of fun. I was sure they took out all the valuables and auctioned them off, because nothing here was worth anything to anyone but a collector or an especially desperate antique store. Old brown bottles, wooden crates with attractive brand logos, some rusty metal baskets, old-fashioned mouse traps, suspicious looking insecticides, strange detritus... most were typical junk shop fodder, a hand sized meat grinder, ugly ceramic bowls, stacks of ancient newspapers with nothing particularly interesting inside. But then there were some odd things, small animal bones in a glass jar, an empty snuff box, an ancient tin of rotting condoms, a surprisingly clean pair of young girl's shoes... My mind was constructing a disturbing narrative. I found a sturdy wooden stool to sit on, and was sifting through some small items. Playing cards, books, magazines, some photos of old cars. My mind wandered and I started thinking about that laughter last night. I wished I was more up on my local ornithology, surely it was some kind of night bird. I wondered what the evolutionary advantage of psychologically torturing humans was. I picked up an old ledger book and a pile of papers fell out, they'd been tucked beneath the cover page. I retrieved them from the floor, mostly some old hand-typed notices. They'd surely been glanced at once, folded and stuck into a book never to be considered again. They were from the era of the girl's school. That was probably the last time the place had an on-site gardener. From the picture I was getting of this man, he didn't seem very appealing. The notices were about humdrum events, a holiday bazaar, employees must not use the break room after hours, et cetera. Folded in a large stack was a yellowed envelope. It'd been taped shut with ancient tape that was now a gooey mess. I considered taking the time to slit it with my pocketknife, but the weak paper crumbled at my touch, and its contents came spilling out into my hands. Nudie pics. I laughed. I suppose that was the sort of thing one would expect to find when they dug around in someone's personal effects. I shuffled through them. They weren't originals of course, they were printed onto cheap cardboard, presumably to be used as postcards though I had a hard time imagining them going through the postal service unmolested. (So to speak...) They were mostly quite tame, old time ladies sitting around insouciantly with various themed sets, generally with their bosoms out. Nothing too outrageous, but I'm sure quite scandalous at the time. The backs were blank, save for the postcard template. I tried to imagine what sort of note someone would add to the backs of these. 'Greetings from Mexico City, I didn't see these boobs here but wouldn't that be great?' I thought about keeping the cards for amusement, but it didn't seem like they were for me. Who then? I didn't know, but I didn't feel like being caught with them either. Once I had my fill of sorting though the little treasures, I went back to work. ((Maybe find something else here, I don't know. Fill in later)) I opened the front door and did some intense sweeping, despite the kerchief on my face I sneezed hard five times in a row. My face now turned inside out, I went for a rest in the daylight. I tried to imagine what the cabin would be like once I finished. It was daunting. I always dreamed about having my own house, but not a strange little shack with no indoor plumbing or central heating. It wasn't like I'd get to stay here forever, either. Would that even be a good thing? I wondered if any famous writers would ever end up staying here. Probably not. If the track record of this place was any indication, nothing would happen here ever. Well, that was a depressing thought. I persevered though, and worked through the day. I began the monumental task of cutting the grass. I started by (HOW DO YOU USE A SCYTHE???) trying to form a cleared path between the cabins and to the toilet. This of course, was impossible to complete before my back started screaming. Tomorrow I wasn't going to do this much work, I had the whole damned summer. I did all the usual nightly preparations, and the day waned away to darkness. While the sky was still that royal blue shade before it went completely dark, I decided to go for a walk. Conquer your fears and all that, right? Chances were, I was going to have to use the toilet again in the night and it couldn't be a horror show every time. Better to take it on willingly, on my own terms this time. I sat on the porch bench, drinking one of my complimentary beers. I really didn't like beer but it wasn't so bad once you were drunk. Normally I wouldn't get drunk that quickly, but something about being thirsty and tired made it hit your bloodstream eagerly. It really helped. Aha, I decided, the way to face your fears is to be completely wasted. The sky darkened and my field of view shrank moment by moment. Once I couldn't stand the dark any longer, I turned on the lantern. Here, sitting in front of my cabin, the world didn't seem so scary. At least as long as I didn't move from the porch. Baby steps. I wanted to hear that bird again. Then I could laugh it off, and forget about it. But I didn't hear it. Eventually I got too cold, and went back to bed. And my phone was dead. A hell of a night. At least this time cringing fears and weenieness were overtaken by a hard day's labor and I slept a black dead sleep. CHAPTER SIX All morning I thought about Candy Stripe beer. The crumpled can still sat on my kitchen counter like a piece of evidence ready to be bagged. It *was* evidence. But of what crime? It was probably just some hobos having a hobo party. But what if they discovered the cabins? I groaned and buried my face into the sweaty leather cushion. I really had to start sleeping in the bed. Alright. I promised myself no hard labor today. That bike had been sitting in the same spot since the day I'd arrived. It was time to put it to use. First I'd have to go charge my stupid phone though. I hiked through the grass, irritating myself thinking about how long it was going to take to cut it all. I found that shovel I'd found before, I'd left it leaning against a pine tree. I decided that it in fact, was a better shovel than the other one. I decided to take it with me, I might need it to defend myself against hobo attacks. Since I was on this route anyway, I decided to go out of my way a bit, to pass by the manor. I felt my blood pressure rise, but sunlight gave me courage, like some kind of reverse vampire. I'd hardly made it to the big stone fence when I saw it. I wondered at first if it was a shard of glass, or something metallic. It glinted in the sun at a distance. I certainly didn't remember seeing anything there before, and the grass was still tamped down around here from my earlier trip. In fact, was it more worn here than it should've been...? I had to get right up to it before I could tell was it was. It was perched on the top of the tall grass, maybe it'd blown there, and maybe it'd just been gingerly dropped. It shined brilliantly in the sun, all silver on one side, and bright yellow on the other. A metallic bit of plastic, a bit of garbage. I picked it up at the corner, it was still wet with dew. Cheese Bites. An empty bag of chips. This certainly had not been there when I found the beer can. I stood around holding the wet bag for who knows how long. My mind couldn't connect the dots properly. Was I not getting enough nutrition? The laughter. The beer can. The bag of chips. Hobo party. It had to be. That wasn't so scary, was it? I stared off at the little bit of the manor's roof that peeked out from between the trees. I didn't know what to think. (RESEARCH ABOUT GENERATORS HERE PLZ.) I finally got my phone charging in the creepy little office. I definitely didn't want to go sorting through the junk *here.* Or did I? Would I find some kind of multinational conspiracy? Proof of the hauntings of Argentsmoore Manor? Hobo Party Invites? No, probably some whatever kind of creepy porn Barker liked, and that was not information I needed to know. I sat at his computer desk, the chair was upholstered with that strange gray felt that covered the walls and seemed to only exist in miserable offices. There was another, smaller desk on the other side of the room, but guessing based on the tidiness, no one had claimed it yet. The huge monitor was off, and I could see a dull ghost of my reflection in the greenish surface. I was glad I couldn't make out the details, I tried to avoid looking at myself in the mirror in toilet, I knew I was going to look awful. I imagined finding out after everything that I was the hobo --the whole time--! Good twist. I sighed and stared at my phone as it tried to reanimate itself. It was strange being this environment, so out of step with the rest of the world it existed in. It was the equivalent of the chip bag in the grass. Speaking of which, it sat on Barker's desktop, beads of water still sparkling on its surface. It still had orange residue in the bottom. Ugh. I'd just leave it here, I didn't even want to think about it. I finally acquiesced and started playing Solitaire on Barker's computer. The password had been written helpfully on a post-it note stuck to the monitor's frame. I wasn't sure if Barker understood the reasons passwords existed. I couldn't help but poke around a bit on the desktop, avoiding the PHOTOS folder like the plague. I certainly wasn't going to look at his bookmarks either. I decided to kill some time by looking up the manor on a map site, spending a good fifteen minutes beating the wireless router into submission so I could connect. The bigger screen made it easier to browse around. Beyond the vast tract of the estate were more sprawling estates with much smaller houses forming their nucleus. I found a bit of road lined with small buildings that seemed more likely to be a commercial area, and sure enough, a review popped up for MJ'S TACKLE AND WHATNOT. Two stars, terrible customer service. Sounded good to me. I marked down the directions in my notebook. I idly browsed over the estate again, and another tab popped up. SPECTRAL VIEW TOURS (This business has closed or relocated.) Oh really? I looked it up, I certainly never heard anything about this before. I found their (former?) homepage, a tacky affair with a very long address, it seemed to be made with one of those free do-it-yourself services. Spinning skulls flanked the title at the top, written in huge red letters that dripped animated blood to the surely ominous text below. "Providing premier ghost hunting tours to the Parkville, Lake Forest, Susserwald areas." I wasn't familiar with the local geography here, but a quick look at the map showed that indeed, those seemed to be somewhat nearby regions. This was getting a bit out of the way though. There was a blog post on top, it was dated from four years ago. "Stay tuned for our next tours to open soon, Spectie-heads! And please donate generously, see the sidebar." There were pages for their various tours, a haunted hotel, a haunted brothel, a haunted insane asylum, a haunted bathhouse, a haunted swimming pool, a haunted accounting office... No girl's school, no Argentsmoore-- until I found the 'upcoming tours' page. Indeed, 'Ardenmore haunted orphanage' seemed to be chockfull of terrible ghosts and you could pre-register before the start of the year three years ago. Small wonder this tour wouldn't go over well, it was a two hour winding trip from the nearest metropolitan-esque area, who'd want to go all that way to muck around in an overgrown garden and look at some spirit balls? (That phrase amused me for a moment.) You'd have to be a real diehard weirdo to put up with it. It must've never gone through, it surely seemed like something Barker would've advertised if so. A shrill bleep from my phone announced its readiness. I was eager to get out of the airless room and onto my pretty bike. Great, I was sounding like a twelve year old girl. Maybe I was possessed by little girl students of the past! OOoooOOooooh!
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 10, 2013 3:01:32 GMT -8
CHAPTER SEVEN I wondered if this place was starting to really feel like home when I'd stepped foot off its edges and wondered if I'd left the burner on. I chided myself for thinking like a grandma and started rolling down the road. I had a vague mental map of where I was going, but more explicit notes in my book. If I had to, I could rely on technology but I would feel ashamed. The bike rolled smoothly, just a little creak when I turned the pedals. I felt wobbly, I hadn't ridden a bike in a couple years, but you know what they say about knowing how to ride one. Of course they also say 'easy as falling off a bike' or wait, was it a log? Either way. Even on the bike the distance of the estate felt tremendous. I wondered if this would be a faster way to get from one end to the other, rather than slogging through all the grass. I rolled over the gravel which grinded and complained under my wheels. I wondered if this town had any paved roads at all, it would feel like a creamy luxury compared to what I'd grown accustomed to. I came to the first turn, and realized with surprise that the 'road' in front of the estate had a name. On a weather-beaten sign post, an old wooden sign read 'Argentsmoore Ln". Well how charming. I took a turn there, and recalled my drive in the taxi. The trip was easier than I'd expected, there really weren't many options so it made finding your way fairly simple. I stopped a couple times to check my book, but I was always on the right path. At least some things could be easy in life. I passed a few small houses that were greatly distant from one another, like they didn't want to be associated. They were weather-beaten and un-stylish. Dented mailboxes sat on moldering posts. A dog barked viciously, unseen. It didn't seem so far off from the suburbia of my youth, just more spaced out. The sky was a giant mushroom belly, shrouding the world in mist. It was very early, I realized, even after all I'd gotten done. Most of my neighbors were probably still sleeping. I passed a hulking red pickup truck, it gleamed brand new in the morning light, perched up upon tractor-like wheels. I wondered what my neighbors were like, it was hard to imagine the tiny trundling old folks roaring down the roads in behemoth trucks. I didn't know them personally though, who was I to judge? I hoped I wouldn't be pegged as some monstrous city-dweller and had some big scene like there always were in movies. I was wearing my stiffened jeans, which smelled a bit musty after all their time outdoors drying. I'd rolled the cuffs up for the bike ride, and had my woolen socks and scuffed-up old boots beneath. On top was my grey raincoat and the cream colored woolen sweater, covered in ornate, twisting rope designs. All that was reasonably country-ish enough, wasn't it? I was, after all, a gardener and not some fancy business man like Barker. Eventually I did come to that sought after luxury, a paved road. The trees here thinned, and the side of the road opposite from my origin was all fenced in with angry spiked chain link. Beyond was flat yellowed grass, maybe disused farm land. I made a turn and followed the smooth pavement. Smooth was a relative term, the road was in moderate disrepair, thick cracks formed deep spider webs and potholes gaped like open sores. I was surefooted though, and avoided the pitfalls, rolling gently. The world was quiet, and felt rather post-apocalyptic, at least post-human. I took a stop to poke around on the phone, when I heard the hum of an engine in the distance. Social anxiety wanted me to dive into a bush, but I just rolled the bike to the distant side of the road, off into the mossy shoulder, and continued looking for the map. The car approached so slowly I wondered if it was just a power mower in the distance. I craned my neck to look down the stretching road, the trees sparse compared to my little home but still too dense to see beyond the closest turn. I couldn't concentrate on the phone, but continued staring at it, waiting for the car to pass me by. Why was it making me so nervous? At last it appeared, glimmering in the bright white day. A roaring beast like the one I'd seen earlier, taller than a (big horse), gasping an environment-killing black steam. It seemed to hover in the distance like it wasn't moving at all, but as it drew closer the apparent speed picked up. The giant truck roared closer, and I watched it pseudo-casually over the top of my phone. Ghoulish faces peered out of the windows with wild buggy eyes. They almost looked like cartoon wild-men, black around the eyes and shaggy dark beards. They said nothing as they passed, but I felt the scorch of vicious stares. I was just glad to not have my sexuality disparaged, or any other cruel remarks. The truck thundered into the distance, a large sticker on the back reading 'IF YOUR GONNA RIDE MY ASS AT LEAST GIVE ME A REACH AROUND.' Ew. The steel beast safely in the distance, I was able to concentrate on the map, and find MJ's place was indeed on this road. This place was out of the way enough that there was no street view, only a distant satellite shot, but it seemed enough. One tree was no different from the rest so I didn't need a blow-by-blow to find the place. Scraggly brush surrounded the crumbling pavement like untrimmed sideburns. A rich tapestry of detritus littered the shoulders, shards of broken glass sparkled like fairy dust, brightly colored bits of unidentified plastic looked cheerful compared to the dreary gray of the pavement. I saw the familiar cheery red of crushed up Candy Stripe beer. I wondered if those sunken-eyed creatures in the truck were the litterers. I had to put it out of my mind to cut off the inevitable nightmare scenarios. I passed a few empty looking buildings, dead blocks of brick and wood. Windows broken and PRIVATE PROPERTY signs defaced with colorful depictions of genitals. Based on the architecture, I could imagine this road once being the center of a larger town. Farming used to be big in this area, but most land was now leased to city firms who sat on the properties, leading them to similar fates as my Argentsmoore. Now only the most rural of the rural lived here, old folks who only needed to collect their pensions. Younger people with mysterious means of income. Probably some owners of internet businesses lived here in pastoral comfort. I wondered who the defacers were, and how they found themselves living in such a relic of the past. The shoulder jutted outward abruptly, and I saw a flat building with a red roof, my destination. A big old-timey sign read "MJ's TACKLE AND WHATNOT" and tacked beneath it was a flapping sheet of vinyl that read "CHEAP CIGS & BEER * SNACKS * PETROL" Well then. I was about to roll the bike smooth around the corner when I saw the shuddering monstrosity of that truck again. It idled, silhouettes of large heads inside. I stuck out my feet to brake quickly, and backed up, nearly into a bramble bush. I waited out of sight (I hoped). After a moment, a large man in an ill-fitting flannel came lumbering out, carrying a huge cardboard case of beer. Not the Candy Stripe brand to my relief, but some blue box with rugged mountains and such. The men in the truck let out a manly clamor, and they were rejoined in the roaring truck. I sunk back into the bush, and was happily unnoticed as the pillars of manliness rolled away into the distance. It wasn't like I expected to get bashed or something, (though that was never a threat to be overlooked,) but I just didn't like even being seen by aggressive types. Or anyone really. I didn't notice a bike rack out front, so I gingerly buried my turquoise friend in the bramble bush, safely hidden. I nearly slipped down the muddy slope to the shop. Years of heavy trucks had worn deep grooves into the earthen parking lot. Not much of a lot really, just an empty space in front of the store. The shop had once been as red as the roof, but hadn't had the paint touched up in years, and had faded to a strange shade of pink. Amusing to imagine those lumberjacks shopping in a pink store. The huge store windows had black tarps taped up on the inside, making the interior a total mystery from the outside. I gathered my courage to not hesitate at the front door, and went inside. Tinkling bells heralded my arrival, and to my surprise, just a couple feet away the shop clerk. I hadn't expected him to be so close and let out an embarrassing gasp. A young black man sat at a wooden counter with a glass display full of cigarettes. He leaned on one hand, reading a book with a leather binding. He glanced up with an 'oh really' expression and looked back to his book wordlessly. I comported myself, and shuffled out of his way and into the store proper. It had the typical metal shelving units found in any convenience store. The contents were a bit sparse, and the freezer units in the back were small and rumbled loudly. The overhead florescent joined in to make the white noise in the shop very loud. The young man leaned his fist against his ear, maybe in an effort to block it out. I went around to look at the freezers, one was stuffed with cardboard crates of various beers, most advertising the previously seen rugged mountains, mountain bikes, glacial fonts and other advertisements of the cold. In the other freezer there were individual cans of soda, a few bottles of chocolate milk and a single familiar can of Candy Stripe. It must be popular. I decided to get it out of morbid curiosity. The rest of the store had a variety of automotive products, strange odds and ends like cans of tomato paste and shoe polish. And of course the advertised snacks that gleamed beneath cellophane wrappers. I picked up a few orange snack cakes and a couple packs of batteries. Having quickly explored the entire tiny shop, I put my purchases on the smoothly polished counter. The young man looked up and I noticed the rack of magazines behind his head, various heads of blond hair peered behind telling black plastic covers. The young man looked like he might still be a teenager, his eyelids were heavy and he seemed either ill-rested or just world weary. His haircut was tight and freshly done, and he wore a crisp white shirt with no nametag. "Hey," he said in a husky boys' voice. "That's it?" "Yes..." He looked at me like he didn't believe me, but pulled out a binder and started tallying the prices. "Never seen you before," he said flatly, like he didn't really want to go through with the conversation, "just passing through?" "No, I uh, I'm working on the Argentsmoore... place." I forgot the word 'estate'. I expected the young man to raise his eyebrows and say something portentous about how the townsfolk avoid *that place* but he just nodded vaguely. I gave him the cash and he methodically counted out the change and sat it on the counter. He put my purchases in a paper bag, and as he put the can of beer away, I got up the nerve to ask. "I've never seen that brand before, is it any good?" "I dunno. Yeah it's sorta local, they got a brewery few miles away. Kids like it." I realized he might not even be old enough to drink it. Old enough to sell it though? I had to muster more courage to keep talking, he didn't seem overly put out about it, but glanced wistfully at the book which he'd kept a finger in to keep his place the entire time. "Um, can I ask you a little about this place?" He shrugged, took one of my coins and used it to mark his place. "Go for it." "Well, what do people do here? There's not really many places to work or anything, I mean, except for here." He looked thoughtful for a moment, "I guess. There's some places, you just have to drive pretty far. My dad owns this store, mum works at the post office. There's a school and stuff down in Evencliff... People around here, I dunno. Some people work at the hatchery, go fishing or whatever." I nodded sagely, and he cocked his head, and sighed. "You're probably just waiting for me to tell you how that place is all haunted and shit." I feigned innocence, "Huh? Well, no not really..." "Everyone says that kind of thing about any place that's big and empty. People say it but there's ghosts in every other place around here. Only people who care about that place special are weird city losers. No offense." "Oh I mean I don't really believe it, I just... I thought maybe some people were poking around there or something. People leaving garbage behind." This of all things, caught his interest. "Huh. Sometimes we get strangers here, usually they're just passing through for some reason or other." "Did you see anyone yesterday?" "I dunno, I only work here in the morning before school. In fact, I gotta go real soon. Maybe come around later and ask my dad. You should be careful though, some crazy people around." He pushed the rest of my change toward me, notably keeping the coin he was using as a bookmark. I figured that was a reasonable tip. He went back to reading studiously, but glanced at me furtively. I smiled awkwardly and shuffled outside. Well, that was no help at all really. I glanced in the paper bag at the can of Candy Stripe, already budding with condensation. I felt a little unsettled but made a plan with the map, and got back to riding. I circled around the neighborhood, getting a lay of the land. The sun was up more fully, and by the time I came back past MJ's, an angry orange CLOSED sign was up on the door. Family businesses had the right to be open whenever they felt like it. The neighborhood was full of fenced off fields, wooden gates, KEEP OUT and PRIVATE PROPERTY. Not a very warm community. By the time I arrived back at the estate, my shins felt like they'd been strung too tight. The journey up the incline was murder, and I wanted to lie down in the grass afterward. The paper bag of my goodies weighed heavy in my coat pocket. I rolled up to the cabins, feeling eager to lie on the couch and see what was next in my neglected bedside book. Something felt off but I couldn't place a finger on it. I stood there, holding the bike, glancing around like I was staring at a 'spot the differences puzzle.' A gentle breeze wafted by and I realized, the gardener's cabin door was open. It flapped weakly in the light wind. I stood staring, probably with an idiotic look on my face. At last I made my feet move, the bike making its little whirring noise as it rolled with me. I'd just go close it, it probably came loose who knows how long ago and I just noticed it. Something moved on the upper floor. I rolled my eyes up and saw a dark figure move out of sight. Somehow I found myself in my cabin, sitting on the floor, blocking the entrance. I sat up with shaky legs and bolted the lock. I dove around for the couch and peered out the window. Nothing. I saw the grass ruffle in the wind, the bicycle fallen on its side. I ran around from window to window, seeing nothing. I stopped, and listened. I heard nothing but the usual sounds, creaking wood and rushing wind. I sat backwards on the couch, my chin resting on the back, craning my neck to see out the window. I could see just a sliver of gardener's shed, and there was nothing of note. Was I just seeing things? The door was open, that much was sure. Maybe it was just an animal, a cat? Cats weren't that big and if it was a cat that was that big that was a problem. I dialed Barker, who didn't pick up. His default answering machine intoned the number back to me with a methodical robot voice. Once the maddeningly slow message had finished and I heard the beep, I tried to not sound like I'd lost it. "Barker, I-- This is me at the A-argentsmoore. I-- *may* have seen someone trespassing and I-- I just want to know what the procedure is? I don't want to c-call the police but... Please call back? Thank you." I hoped I didn't sound like the terrified mouse I surely was. I stayed perched like that on the sofa, watching out the window until my back ached and I had to sit. Barker never called back. I tried to get a hold of myself. It'd been 30 minutes since I'd... seen something? I remembered the bag of goodies in my coat pocket. I stood with wobbly legs, and shuffled to the kitchen. The cupcakes were only a little smashed, but still salvageable. The can of beer was sweaty. I wiped it on my sweater and put it in the refrigerator with a shaking hand. That door didn't have a lock. The gardener's shed was the only thing that wasn't locked around here. Had someone gone around trying all the doors? I wanted to check for fingerprints. I looked at the door twice in a row to make sure it was latched. Please. It wasn't such a big deal. Again, probably just hobos looking for a place to stay. Nonetheless, I felt my eyes creeping over to the shotgun on the mantle. I wanted to cover it with a blanket. I needed to investigate. Feeling like a fool, a chicken and a madman, I pulled the thickly bladed kitchen knife off the counter. It was heavy in my hand, together with the blade it was as long as my forearm. What was I going to do with this? Was I really going to stab someone? Wasn't the statistic something like a person with a gun is more likely to be shot with it? Well, it wasn't a gun. That seemed good enough for me. I opened the door.
CHAPTER 8 I held the knife out like I was planning to cut the invisible man. I cast about left and right, seeing nothing. I locked the door behind me, keeping my suspicious gaze wary. I walked slowly from the porch and into the grass. The gardener's cabin peered from behind Cabin C, now seeming less shy and more devious. How could you betray me, gardener's cabin? I'm the gardener! My eyes flitted back and forth, I lowered the knife to my side, walking stiffly. The bike lay in on its side, a sad victim. Don't give me that look. I examined the tracks in the grass, I'd cut it down here raggedly, but there were still signs of my passing, long blades bent down. I wished I could tell if someone else had passed over them. I'd been here less than a week but was already feeling my home had been broken into. Finally I could see the front of the cabin, the door banged against the frame, not quite able to close itself. There it was. It was open. I stared at the upper floor, seeing nothing. I crept closer. I wish I had the gun. Damn it. No. I shouldn't have a gun. I shouldn't even have this knife.
Should I sneak up? Should I yell? Yelling seemed like a good idea, it wasn't like I really wanted to sneak up and stab someone. My mouth hung open for a moment while I tried to bring the words to my tongue. "Hey!" my voice cracked a little, I sounded like a teenager. "Hey, just-- is someone there?"
I wondered if my voice could even be heard. The door banged.
"Hey! Just... get out of here! I'll-- just..." I couldn't even think of what to say. I rolled the knife's handle around in my palm. I glanced down, trying to listen. I heard a rustling tumult and as I looked up again, I saw only the shaking of the branches of a distant tree. I stalked toward it, gripping the knife. Oh god what if I found someone and stabbed them? It wasn't like trespassing was a capital crime. I tried to keep the blade low. "Hey! S-someone there?" I tried to sound authoritative. I stopped just short of the now only quivering tree, and listened. Nothing. Somewhere, a loon cried.
Later that night, I found a lazy way to take a bath. After all the stress, I needed a way to relax. I took all my used towels, soaked them in hot water, and laid them on top of myself as I laid on the couch in my underwear. It sort of worked. I especially wrapped them around my sore calves. The day had frittered away and I still felt agitated. Barker finally got back to me and gave me the whole 'well you need to make sure, can't call in a crime that doesn't exist' blah blah blah go to hell. What could I do? Did I need to catch them in the act? I'd scoured the plant graveyard and the pond and found nothing. There was of course a million ways someone could've gotten away or hid. That is, if it really was someone there and not just a hyperactive squirrel. There was no special trace left in the gardener's cabin, which was disappointing after I'd worked up the nerve to explore it. Not even the nudie cards were out of place. I slept through the night somehow, and got to work the next day. Today I had to pick up a delivery to be left at the office, but in the meantime I labored. I finished cutting down the grass around the cabins, and got to try out that fancy manual mower. It worked beautifully and I was happy to partake of its convenience. Before I'd arrived here I'd wondered if I'd want to listen to headphones as I'd worked. I brought a pair, and my phone was loaded up with music. I never seemed to want to, not just out of paranoia of wanting to keep my ears free. I also came to enjoy the sounds of nature, strange birdcalls I spent my evenings trying to identify, the rustle of plants in the wind and the sound of my own breath. Pretty damn peaceful. A bleep from my phone sounded absurdly unnatural and startled me. The delivery? No. My mother. She sent a text - "Enjoying yourself? Haven't heard from you, hope all is well - Mum"
Half-hearted as ever. I sent back an appropriately formal reply. "Yes, everything going well. Estate is lovely, a lot of work though." To my surprise she replied quickly. "I never knew you enjoyed outdoor work. Good luck!" I grimaced, and left our conversation at that. I was always surprising her without being surprising at all. Reading, writing, drawing, gardening, animal spotting, cooking ... these were the typical pastimes of millions of people, the unathletic, the androgynous and the introverted. It would be obvious if she'd thought about it for more than an instant. I always had a windowbox garden, as much nature as could be allowed in a tiny dorm room. Though, had she even been there? I couldn't remember. 'I never knew', that wasn't the only thing she'd said that about... I bristled at unpleasant memories and went back to my labors. I was having a rest when the delivery service called. A friendly woman told me the package was left in front of the office door. Lindquist must be going all out, delivery this far off must be pricey. I emptied out a duffel bag and fetched the bicycle. Since the incident I was a bit flinchy, sudden shudders of trees and chittering of squirrels were quick to set me on edge. The world didn't care, and the towering trees just kept growing, silently and slowly. I rode the distance to the other entrance, grinding over the gravel. I wondered if next week I could be faster and catch the driver while they were still here. But why? Did I want to say hello? That was unusual for me... A snowy white foam cooler waited for me, and several plastic bags of dry goods. They were neatly placed on the steps up to the office, like they'd been caught choreographing a musical number. It was more than I could carry in one trip, especially on the bicycle which had no basket. The afternoon sun was beating down, and while only lukewarm, I worried about the frozen foods going soft. I couldn't carry that cooler on my bike though, so I decided to drag it in the miserable office. I stuffed as many of the bags of dry goods as I could into my duffel bag, and made the trip. I felt like a child, eagerly wondering what goodies I'd find. I'd already eaten all the orange cupcakes, and my diet was irregular and scant given my laziness for cooking for myself. I was eager for snacks. I nearly hurled the bags out of my knapsack, and on to the couch, bed, and anywhere else I could stack them. I really needed to pick up around there... Back on the bike, and I was whirring down the gravel lane. I was entertained. Woo! Look at me, I'm riding a bike! I don't need friends! I zipped around the entrance and up to the office door. I leaned the turquoise beauty against the side and went in to retrieve my prize. But how would I retrieve it? I stared at it like a monkey, sizing it up and walking around it as my primitive brain struggled. No way that was fitting on the bike, I'd have to carry it by hand. Ugh. But that would take walking. And carrying something. I sat on the office chair and felt petulant. The afternoon was waning and the sky outside the window was fading to a richer blue. Outside something snapped. A twig? Twigs don't spontaneously snap, and that'd be a really fat squirrel. I almost leaped right for the window, but took a moment to listen first. A giggle. A distant, muffled giggle. My face went hot and my arms tingled with a sudden change in blood pressure. That wasn't a bird. That was definitely not a bird.
CHAPTER NINE I crept to the desk, trying to not let the floor squeak too much. I reached for the drawer, which I could tell was going to make a metal-on-metal squeal if I pulled it too quickly. What was I doing? A small silver pistol sat alone in the drawer, save for a pink highlighter pen that rolled up to the edge expectantly. I took the gun. It was heavy. Was I really going to shoot someone for laughing in the wrong place? I didn't even know how to turn off the safety or any of that. I could just use it as a threat if I had to. Most gun owners will be shot by their own gun! Well, it wasn't my gun. I was still, listening. The sound of feet crunching through gravel and grass. "Hey, lookit this bike." What? No! You bastards, don't touch my bike. The voice sounded young and male, the accent sounded local.
"Nice," a woman's hoarse voice, "you should ride it out there." No you shouldn't!
"Nah I dun' think it'll go through this brush." It won't!
"Fine, jes' leave it. We'll get it on the way out." No you won't! These hobos were not taking my bike. I heard their footsteps fade, and a quiet creak from the big scary gate. Normally I would've been stricken with fear but they dared threaten my bicycle and I wouldn't stand for it. I had to see what they were doing. The cooler would have to wait. Determination fueled me, and I left the office stealthily, locking the door with a whisper-quiet movement, and treaded lightly over the grass and through the iron gate, who was now agape enough for me to pass through without touching. Animals. I tucked the gun into my coat pocket, feeling like an idiot, but knowing I might be glad it was there later. I passed through the ivy entryway, and out into the broader part of the garden. The denim blue sky tinted the growing shadows that stretched through the gardens. I could see in the distance, two figures shuffling through the grass. They were backlit against the darkening sky. They lumbered, not used to the terrain like I was. One was smaller and had a pointed head shape, probably wearing a hood. The other hoisted a heavy bag over a shoulder. I followed, taking advantage of the lengthening shadows to disguise myself. They never looked back though. They must've not expected there to be any reason to. They were walking straight for the manor, they knew where it was. I frowned to myself, I wasn't a complete stickler for the law but this felt very wrong. Why were they here? Taking a bicycle that doesn't belong to them? Unforgivable!
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 11, 2013 0:36:39 GMT -8
CHAPTER TEN The sky was darkening by the moment, and I was hiding at the base of a sprawling willow tree, watching two strangers poking around a wrecked old manor. The two travelers slipped inside the open maw of the side door like they'd done it a thousand times. I shuddered to think what kind of hideous party they were going to be throwing in there with just the two of them. I waited a moment, and then went that way myself, passing through the dry grass. The dilapidated old house audibly groaned, wooden beams readjusting, the roof sagging unhappily. I marveled how people could just waltz into an intimidating place like that. The roof could collapse at any moment, the floor could let out beneath them. Who knew what diseases the vermin that undoubtedly lived there carried. Maybe I felt jealous, they could just go head on into danger like that and I meekly poked around the edges. It had to be easier with another person, a partner in crime in the most literal sense. Was this when I called the police? Well, I'd have to explain why I was carting a gun around in my pocket with no license. Or why Barker had no license too, as I'm sure he didn't. Also, I was just curious what they were doing. Curious wasn't the right word, more like compelled. I walked up the gaping mouth of the house and paused, my fearfulness returning. I just envisioned the two of them on my bike, hoodie woman sitting on the back, ding ding! Somehow they'd installed a bell. Never! I stumbled over the doorstep and entered the dark building. Oh it was dark. Diffuse blue light streamed in from the open door, but quickly dissipated into grainy black. I waited for my eyes to adjust. The inside of the manor still had the cold moist scent out the outdoors, fresh and earthy. There was already the hint of the mustiness yet to come. Eau d'Antique Store. I squeezed my eyes open and closed until I saw a little better. Beneath my feet was a dusty floor, ghosts of former tiles criss-crossed into the distance, they'd long been pried up. I chanced the use of my pocket flashlight, flicking it on quickly just to see ahead without announcing my presence too dramatically I hoped. Ahead was a long hall that recessed into the gloom. Some checkered tiles left behind glimmered in their brief moment of illumination. The color of the walls was unknown due to the strange lighting, but smooth white paneling was still remaining, forming the lower half of the walls and a strong horizontal line leading into the distance. The place was an exquisite piece of design. Doors lined the hall, but I didn't need to look everywhere. The creak of footsteps above my head was plainly heard. I walked along the hall in the near pitch dark, hand tracing the wall. My feet scuffed against unseen debris. I was amazed I too was now under that sagging roof. What was I doing? What did I hope to accomplish? Something rustled at my feet, probably bits of peeled away wallpaper. The heavy clomping of feet above made me less concerned with my own noisiness. I flashed my light again. Ahead of me was an alcove that could've held a small car. Glass shards sparkled beneath it, it'd once had grand bay windows which were now covered with hastily nailed boards. The hall lead off on two directions. One side seemed to be going off to a big dining hall, the other to another hallway. That'd be the more likely place for stairs. I slipped down the hall, and nearly tripped over a large cement block sitting in the middle of the floor. Annoyed with the flagrant safety hazard in the crumbling ruin, I forged on. The feet above were quiet, with only infrequent groans of floorboards. I tried to keep my approach subtle. At the end of the hall was a large arch with stairs leading up. Something beyond it flashed strangely with my light. As I drew closer to my... pursued, I couldn't afford to make myself sensed, so I continued in the shadow. I took small steps, testing the ground in front of me with a toe before I moved forward. I brushed sheets of fallen wallpaper, crumbled bits of plaster and tile. At last my hand fell upon the opposite wall, and I traced my fingers to the trim of the arch. My toes bumped against hollow wood, the stairs. Should I wait here? The silence above was deafening. What were they doing? This was no kind of party... I had to know. I used my hands, bending at the waist, and crawled up the stairs blindly. They were very short steps, I imagined it was better suited to children's feet. I wondered what strange bits of rubble my fingers were crawling over. I gained more even footing, presumably on the landing. My hand felt the wall, but I was still in near total darkness. The stairs seemed t0o short for me to have gotten upstairs. I didn't want to fumble around through coat closets, I'd just use my light very briefly. I clicked it on. The light flashed brilliantly in a sudden strobe and I nearly fell back down the stairs. A dark figure stood in front of me, within arms reach. I scuttled back, thumping against the wall. It went dark again as I released the button. Should I get the gun? I reached for my pocket, going for the light again. Flash. The figure was still there visible through a cracked window, dark coat and face invisible in the glaring light. Before I could make a move, a sudden thumping from above distracted me. "HEY!" A man's voice, footsteps down stairs. I flattened against the wall, a bright beam of light shot out from the wall and I saw movement on both sides of me. I felt a presence coming close and used all my energy to shove my body against it, pushing it away. The figure gasped and fell away from my blow, loud thumping behind me. The light flew around and skittered away. I'd thrown him down the steps, his flashlight spun on the floor below. More footsteps from above, lighter. "Danny?" the woman. The spinning flashlight had come to rest and the man was a dark lump on the ground below me. He stirred with a groan. The ambient light from the flashlight seemed good enough to make my escape. I hopped down the stairs and past the man and over the cement block. "HEY!" Pounding feet behind me. Thud. "UHF!" Forgot about the block, I'd bet. I reached the end of the hall and became disoriented, which was the hall and which was the dining room? I was far enough away the world had gone all dark again. A beam of light shot over my head and traced downward toward me. I stood in front of the door frame to the dining hall. I slipped around it, hiding on the other side. "WHO ARE YOU?" The woman's voice, both frantic and enraged. My arms twitched with adrenaline. I considered going for the gun, but my eyes were distracted by a gleaming object on the other side of the frame. A bit of loose trim dangled, two fingers thick and as long as my arm. It came loose in my hand easily. My thundering pursuer tried to stop at the bend in the hall, but was distracted by my blow. I slapped the stick against the solid form, and the man gasped in shock. "DANNY?" from behind. The man in front of me twisted away, and aimed the flashlight directly at me. I squeezed my eyes in pain from the bright light but lashed out with the stick. He hopped back again, keeping the flashlight on me. I panted, incensed. What were they doing here? Going after my bicycle. "Wh--who are you?" the man nearly whispered, his voice dry and tiny. "We-we don't-we're not going to..." He was invisible to me save for the silhouette of his head in the glaring white circle of light. "GET OUT!" I snarled, shocked at my own volume. He stumbled, and to my shock, he fled down the hall toward the exit. The woman squealed in shock, and followed with fast light steps. I let her skitter past me and around the corner. I caught my breath and then jogged to the exit, now feeling brave enough to use my flashlight fully. I stood at the entrance, and watched the two figures fleeing through the grass. The larger figure turned, and I couldn't see his expression but he fell backwards into the grass at the sight of something. The hooded woman helped him up and they shrunk into the distance.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 11, 2013 16:32:23 GMT -8
CHAPTER ELEVEN I stood in the doorway with my heart thudding into my throat, breathing shallowly and fast until the intruders were gone. The world was tinted indigo, and the last rays of light were swiftly fading. I caught my breath, my heart calming, when I remembered my bicycle.
I hurried back out to the office, and was glad to see the bicycle leaning against the thin wall eagerly. I sighed with relief, and took a moment to run a hand over its smooth handles. I walked the cooler back to the cabin, the day dwindling to nothing. My bicycle was safely hidden inside the locked office where no hobos could kidnap it. I sat on the floor in the kitchen, sorting through the foods. The frozen goods had gone a little soft, but they'd firm up in the icebox. I laid on the couch and ate potato chips, too exhausted to bother with cooking. My legs throbbed and I'd scratched up my palms crawling up the stairs. What the hell was all that? I'd investigate in the morning. I couldn't believe my bravery, chasing away intruders in the scariest place on the estate. (Other than the scary pond.) I slept easier that night, though I knew in the back of my mind that there were probably other intruders, and the two I'd scared might be back, maybe with a hobo posse. The gun from the office sat on my kitchen counter-top. I really had to put that thing away, the idea of it being around grew more disturbing. After my breakfast of scrambled eggs, I trudged back to the office, the gun in my pocket weighing heavily in more ways than one. I considered bringing my shovel, but was afraid what I might do with it. I shut the gun away in the creepy office, and rolled my bike back to the safety of my cabin. I'd start leaving it indoors, I was too protective of it to leave it alone outside. I set about my daily chores, but thoughts about the manor distracted me.
I took the scythe and decided I'd cut my way to the manor, at least getting some work done while I was at it. I gave up after ten minutes and left the blade leaning against a tree.
The manor looked very different in the bright light of day. The brickwork looked nearly cheerful, the palest rosy pink. The rest of the day it looked a drab grey. The brambles and brush shone green and translucent in the sun, the wispy trees budding more every day. Light caught on the broken windows and they gleamed brilliantly. The lacy curtains on the upper floor caught my eye again, was that where the intruders were?
I slipped through the busted open door, the sunlight providing a nominal amount of light. I could see with the more natural light that the walls were painted a vibrant blue. I still needed my flashlight to help me down the hall, which I took my time shuffling down. The floor had once been checkered, and further down the hall more of the tiles remained. Someone had been prying them up to sell maybe, but was too cowardly to venture farther inside to continue taking them. Tiny shafts of sunlight beamed in from cracks and the door-less rooms in the hall were lit through busted windows. Fluffy bits of insulation dangled from the ceiling like a forest canopy.
The rooms in the hall had interesting bits of junk lying around. Wooden frames and stacks of bricks, the missing doors and old chairs,. Beautiful bits of ornately carved trim lie busted on the floor. Of course amidst all the extant wreckage, I saw the glitter of chip bags and crushed red cans. Brown bottles huddled in corners. I bristled at the thought of weirdos gathered here, eating and drinking in the unsanitary conditions.
I came to the end of the hall where it split in the directions, with the alcove of boarded up windows in front of me. I saw the door frame I'd hidden behind, and the stick I'd used to whip the man that passed me. I shook my head, I'd really hit someone? Behind the frame was darkness, but I could tell with the way my flashlight beamed uselessly into it and didn't touch the walls that it must be a giant room.
I went down the hall on the other side, wall paper peelings scattered like autumn leaves. Perhaps they'd been a vibrant blue like the paint in the entry hall, but time had been more unkind to them. Now they were curls of sky blue, rustling as I walked by them. A bit of black curling letters caught my eye, fuzzy and grimy. "SCARY" it read, some ugly graffiti sprayed over the mildew stained plaster. Way to state the obvious.
Actually, I wasn't very scared at all. A little worried about the roof, and inhaling toxic mold spores, but the floor was solid cement and the buildings creaks were predictable and inoffensive. The purple light traced ahead, and fell upon an archway. I recalled last night's events and had to force myself forward. Again, the light glinted against something above and I shuddered. I pressed on, probing ahead with the vivid little light. A cracked window? I came up to the narrow little stairs which were crusted with strange little bits of wood and plaster. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at.
I walked up the stairs, squinting my eyes. Ahead of me was a gigantic mirror. It was severely cracked, and the silver lining was peeling into tiny silver curls. I saw myself in the filthy glass, spotted with mold and grime. I had scared myself last night. I was a ghastly phantom, dark coat like a grey shroud. I forced myself to turn away from my uncanny reflection. The stairs split and led up on the other side. The room above was filled with light and glowed down hazily, flecks of dust floating around like lazy flies.
I went up the steps which creaked under my weight. I was nervous, there was no banister and the narrow steps were steep. The room above was open, perhaps there had once been a wall here but now it was gone and the entire entryway was revealed. Another, even larger mirror was in front of me. This one made of a finer material that did not peel, but it was opaque with grime. The source of light was above, a hexagonal skylight the size of a small swimming pool, the glass cracked but still intact. The room was warm with the sun's radiance. Beautiful. The warm light tinted everything golden, the cream colored walls rose to a lofty ceiling, the skylight above was rimmed in ornate carving and several layers of crown molding. The room was cavernous, and had two arched doorways that led off into dimmer areas. In front of the mirror sat a single seat, a child sized wooden chair.
The floor groaned in pain as I moved, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable now. The floor was unlikely to collapse now, after all those hoodlums had spent so long traipsing about. It had to happen sometime though and I wasn't eager to be the first victim. I peered in an archway to one of the more tenebrous rooms. Dull rectangles glowed from the other end, a strange shape silhouetted against them. I moved forward, the floor creaking loudly. Something stood on twiggy legs, a hat rack? Light cast on to the gritty floor in stretching shapes that mirrored the windows, a strange pattern dotted their surface. Lace. The curtains diffused the light softly, and that strange object stood in front of them. I didn't have to draw much closer to see it was a camera tripod. On the floor next to the black structure was a large dark bag. The intruders had left their belongings. I wanted to jog over to it to get things over with, but feared the structure of the floor couldn't handle it. I walked calmly as possible, and retrieved the bag, hefty in my grip.
I didn't want to stand around on the tenuous floorboards, and hurried downstairs and out into the light of day. The air was fresh and moist, a welcome relief from the dry dust that now coated my tongue.
I found a place to sit under a massive oak, I was long used to mucking up my jeans with the earth. The bag was a stiff black canvas, still a deep dark shade, the zippers clean and slick. It was new. I unzipped the largest zipper, and opened the flap. Something inside was wrapped in sheets of plastic, I pulled them away and revealed a camera, covered in ornate and inscrutable buttons. The rest of the bag was filled with similarly wrapped contraptions, some lighting equipment, battery chargers, pieces of machinery I didn't even recognize. They were photographers? What were they doing in there?
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 13, 2013 2:12:42 GMT -8
CHAPTER TWELVE I got all excited to look at the pictures that were on the camera's memory card, but was completely deflated: it was empty. Guess they hadn't started. The camera was so baroque with buttons and menus and little wheels that I didn't think I could even figure out how take a basic photo. Those kids had to be serious photographers to understand this thing. I felt a little guilty for cursing them in my head as hobos. In fact, I should've been guilty for cursing hobos in general. Not all hobos were bad. I thought about leaving the camera bag by the office entrance, but worried that it might get rained on. On further thought, maybe it would be better if it didn't look like I'd moved it at all. Those two had been so scared by me, maybe they thought I was some kind of slasher. I know I'd be scared of that. Probably better they wonder if it was all in their heads, and take their equipment and leave. I felt conflicted now, was it really so bad for them to come here and take pictures of... whatever they were taking pictures of? I was still irritated about my bicycle though, and I would never forgive them for that. I brushed the camera off and tried to re-wrap it in the plastic, but it was too much of a craft project for me. I just stuffed it all in the bag and tried to arrange the top neatly. They'd never know... I'd just take the bag, and bring it back upstairs next to the tripod. I could bring to mind its original position and I'd just replicate it exactly. No big deal. Then I'd leave and I could check back tomorrow and see if the bag was gone. Easy. Some crows were screaming at each other in the trees, and it started to put me on edge. For half a second I considered taking the scythe with me, but that would inevitably lead to infinite nightmare scenarios I didn't want to consider. I tied my handkerchief around my face and I came back to the busted door. Here goes. I walked swiftly, the lower floor was firm and the biggest danger was tripping on the many obstacles. Well, and the roof collapsing but there wasn't much one could do about that. I turned the corner with ease, going right where I wanted. I realized how quickly someone could grow used to this layout. Maybe those photographers hadn't actually been here as many times as I was imagining. Maybe they weren't the Candy Stripe drinkers. I sighed to myself, no reason to keep making myself feel guilty. Up the stairs, and I almost slipped on a sheet of torn away wallpaper. I caught my balance, and gave a glowering look to my mirror self. The bastard. More careful on the upper floor, I kept my hand on the grubby wall. The skylight now let in the afternoon light which had changed position. Now the room had longer shadows, and a more orange tinge. Not quite as awe-inspiring but still nice, especially compared to the dismal hallways. I crept over to the open room, taking delicate little steps like a cartoon thief. I really worried about the creaky floor, I could see places where the boards had split and my imagination was very good. The lacy curtains undulated in a gentle breeze, and the boxy cast light on the floor had moved closer to me and grown longer. I took my tiny steps, and sat the bag down carefully, remembering the delicate contents. The floor was clear except the edges where stacks of debris were neatly gathered. It seemed like someone had swept the room, and I wondered if the strange photographers had. I honestly couldn't fathom what they were doing here. I turned to leave, but stopped, and drew my foot back to its original place. I heard something. Echoes from below. Murmurs. People talking. Someone was downstairs. I panicked. *Surely* it wasn't a slasher, why would he be talking to himself? But I couldn't just be caught standing there! I cast about the room looking for a hiding spot, but the place was so big and open, there wasn't a good place. The voices drew closer. Trying to keep from panting in terror, I noticed the way the light fell. The corner of the room was quite shadowy, and there was a small inset, maybe where shelves used to be. Feet started creaking up the stairs. I took big steps over to it, and flattened against the wall. What a nightmare. "See it's gonna be in here, s'no big deal." A man's voice. I couldn't tell if it was the one from before. Someone with a softer voice murmured back in disbelieving tones. Creak creak. I was glad the kerchief was there to muffle my breath, as well as keeping out the scary spores. "There!"
A dark silhouette stood in the door frame, back-lit by the warm afternoon light. A smaller shape appeared behind him. The hood. "Danny" (?) walked into the room assuredly, gesturing broadly at the tripod standing in front of the window.
"See? S'all there." "Let's just take it and go!" "C'mooonn, we came all the way out here." "No, I don't want to... What if..."
The woman slumped against the wall, stuffing her hands into her hoodies front pocket.
"No no, last night.. That was just some hobo, there's no one here now!"
Hobo?! I never. I wasn't ready for that twist ending, not yet.
"It just... I d'know, Danny. Dontcha think it could be summink... different? They say it's haunted."
I couldn't see Danny's face in the strange light but I figured he was probably rolling his eyes based on the way he threw his head back. He was tall and lanky and seemed to have some sort of spiky hair based on his outline.
"Nah. Let's just take some for quickly, huh? Might as well. I'm here, and look, it's daytime." "Alright, but let's hurry." The man came closer to work with the tripod. I pressed hard into the wall and held my breath. Luckily he seemed engrossed, and the woman was petulantly crouched against the wall, waiting for him. They fussed around with the camera and the tripod for a painfully long time. Painful in a literal sense, standing flat against a wall for a long period of time is more uncomfortable than one would guess. They took practice shot after practice shot. 'Danny' whined about the white balance and they should've brought reflectors and the lighting in here was all wrong they should go into the garden room it was much more interesting in there. Yes. Go into the garden room. Whatever that is. I'm sure it's great. The woman complained back, she wasn't going anywhere else and they should just do it and get it over with and she was tired and this place was awful and cold and disgusting. They continued bickering, and I started to feel less bad about slapping Danny around. At last they seemed to be going through with things. The woman came to stand in front of a side wall, and Danny took some practice shots of her. I couldn't get a good look at her face, but she was pale and some of the hair peeking from under the dark hood was a vivid blue. "Okay, g'head." Danny gestured as he looked through the camera. The woman unzipped her hoodie, gingerly setting it on the swept floor. She had a white t-shirt and-- she pulled it over her head. Oh. I gritted my teeth. I tried not to look at first, but figured it didn't really matter if I did or not. The woman wore only a pair of black shiny underpants, and was doing a variety of poses that reminded me of the cards back in the gardener's shack. She was very pale in the strange afternoon light, and her skin was covered with a smattering of ornate tattoos. Danny was saying stupid little things as he shot the photos, "Yeah, yeah, s'good" and some cruder things that made me roll my eyes even in my discomfort. I really didn't feel bad about throwing him down the stairs any more. My left foot was falling asleep, and I tried to gently move it, but it wasn't helping and the risk of making a creak was too great. The woman leaned a white hand against the wall, and covered her chest up with an arm.
"C'we be done yet? It's freezing." "Nah nah, c'mon. I think they were overexposed, let's try it again."
Danny: I hate you. They went back to it, and the woman rubbed her bare arms and legs between shots, obviously miserable. My foot was feeling numb up to the knee and my back was cramping up. I couldn't stand it. Maybe I could just move my foot very slowly and very gently. I leaned into it and was able to move my foot quiet as a whisper. The pain of the needles coming back to my feet was tremendous, and I leaned a hand against a bit of trim to steady myself. It cracked in half. Loudly.
Danny jolted upright, and the woman dove for her shirt.
"What was it?!" "Nah, y'know old places they're just like that."
Yes, that is totally true. Just like that. "Wait..." The woman stared in my direction.
No. Don't do that. "Danny?" she kept her eyes fixed on my corner. She held her clothes bunched in front of her chest. "We need to go downstairs. Now." "Aw c'mon..." "Look..." she gestured at me. Oh god no, and my foot was burning with pain from the blood rushing back into it. Danny turned the camera in my direction, and snapped a photo. The flash lit up the corner, and I was dazed. I lurched forward, my dead foot screaming with prickling pain. My sore back contracted and I spasmed, falling to the side but catching myself against the wall. It made a tremendous thud. The woman screamed, and it reverberated through the empty house. She ran for the door, still holding her bundle of clothes. Danny looked hesitant, stepping backwards, and he took another picture just as I was trying to right myself. I groaned in annoyance and pain and somehow he found that so scary that he turn and ran, dragging the camera and tripod with him. I stayed in my corner, listening to the thumping feet and the frantic voices as they faded away. I finally felt comfortable to stand, but still had to limp my way away from the corner. A small object on the dusty floor caught my attention, the woman's black shiny bra. Well, there's another object I can let them get for themselves.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 15, 2013 12:47:09 GMT -8
((I wrote this stuff while I was very distracted and tired, it's pretty 'eh'.))
CHAPTER THIRTEEN A few days passed without incident. I did my chores and no one else came to the manor. I even went upstairs and found the left behind object was still there, untouched. Barker came around to annoy me. He asked me to walk him around and tell him what I had done. A whole lot of "Well, I cut the grass here too..." I think he might have been disappointed but I'm not sure what he expected. It'd only been about a week, what did he want? The next day he surprised me by bringing a big crate full of plants. Flowers still budded and some tiny seedlings. I was about to compliment his choices when he told me they were leftover from the landscaping at his own house. Well gee. It was nice though, I had something more interesting to do then endlessly slicing down grass. I started gathering interesting looking stones to build a flower bed. If I couldn't get the little mud hole to look nice yet, I could at least stick some flowers in front of it. Not yet though, they were still tiny and delicate, I put them inside Cabin B, which had the best light. For now I worked on making a space for them, laying down the stones in a line around the old fountain. ((there was a fountain, right?)) I busied myself for the rest of the time this way, until the strange thing happened. I was harvesting some fresh soil near the front gate. The earth there was loamy and rich from the scattering of years worth of dead leaves. I heard a strange hum, and wondered with a panic if I'd left the generator on since the other day. I put it out of my mind, and figured it was someone driving by, probably the delivery person. I was eager to go meet them, but I was covered in muck and would probably look like some kind of filthy beast if I met them now. I was quite literally elbows deep in dirt. I'd been squishing around with rubber gloves until the mud started slurping up through the tops. I took my sweater off and just went in with the hands. Obviously, I was very occupied. I continued working. No one called... The hum got closer, and I heard the sound of gravel popping under heavy wheels. If that was Barker coming around to annoy me again I was going to kick his ass. Well probably not literally, but I would give him the sourest of looks. At least for a few seconds. A car, probably a truck, maybe a big truck. It grinded its way closer, and came to a stop. Idling. I stopped working and stared off in its direction like I might be able to see it if I stared hard enough. Or that it might come bursting through the thick ivy. That would just be silly. That would never happen. Nope. Then I heard a car door. I found myself holding my breath. A squirrel suddenly leaped from a bush and did that freak out thing that squirrels do sometimes, flipping around with its fuzzy tail. I know, squirrel. I know. Feet crunched over gravel. C'mon, it's the deliver person. More feet. That was definitely more feet. I carefully pulled my hands out of the mucky hole. It made a soft slurp as they came free. My arms were covered in gloppy mud. What was I going to wipe them with? That would've been a good thing to think of, wouldn't it have? "OK, I mean, it happened around this time I think." Don't tell me that was that terrible Danny again? He had another set of stairs to meet if you know what I mean. I crept around the ivy, easily finding ropes of ((gawd, say the word ivy again???)) to hide behind. Sure enough a familiar pair came through the canopy. But this time, someone trailed behind. A short man wearing a black shirt walked casually behind the agitated youngsters. He glanced this way and that, like he was looking at a new apartment. His black hair and light skin made him seem like he fit in with the other two and their generally gothic teenager look. On second glance his clothes were much more tidy, clean woolen coat, shirt tucked and tight haircut contrasted with the dishevelment of the youths. I guessed he was probably older than me even. "What do we do if it comes out again? I mean, you have ways to fight that kind of thing, right? Don't they hate light?" Danny flapped his arms like he was an exasperated victim talking to a taciturn cop. The small man moved his head from side to side and waved an ambivalent hand. "Ghosts don't hurt people," he said. His voice was high and a bit thin, he had a northern accent, the 'don't' sounded like 'dunt'. Wait, was I a ghost? "Ghosts don't hurt people, huh?" Danny exposed his pale belly to the man, who made no special sign of recognition. Presumably there were bruises or some such, but I couldn't see them. "Well," the man said after a monumental pause, "Y'fell down the stairs." Danny flapped his arms again, like he was going to fly away. The woman covered her face. "Well fine but jes'... don't make me go back in there." Danny felt the need to cover his face as well. The woman dropped her hands and chuckled at the fellow's cowardice. "Yes," the man said, "I don't want you to go anyway." Danny peeked out between his fingers, "Really?" "Yes. I don't like to have anyone with me." "Wow," the woman put a hand on her hip, appraising him, "Goin' into a haunted house alone? S'brave, man." "It doesn't have to be brave. Ghosts don't hurt people." "AGAIN," Danny bugged his eyes to the point that even I could see them, "if ghosts don't hurt people, why'd I get bruises all over? Fallin' down the stairs, huh?" "If it hurt you, it wasn't a ghost." Danny shook his head dramatically and pointed off in the direction of manor. "I just don't care any more. Just go look at it and call us." Again, the man waved his hand dismissively and turned to look off in the general direction of the manor, which from that vantage point was a large tree four feet in front of his face that blocked the rest of the view. Danny gripped the woman by the hoodie sleeve, and dragged her off. What a charmer. I was more comfortable in my hiding place this time, shrouded in ivy. Maybe my muddy skin protected me from the little bugs that normally feasted on my exposed skin. The man stood looking at the tree, hands in his pockets. I wondered if there was something there, but as soon as the car engine started up again, he glanced back over his shoulder, and turned away from the flat bark in front of him. I was sure I'd be caught. He acted like he was looking for something in the pantry. He turned and strolled in the direction Danny had pointed. He glanced around now and then like he was walking through a park he'd never been to. As he caught sight of the fence in the distance, he walked with more purpose, but just as casually. Well, my curiosity hadn't gotten me personally in trouble yet, so I followed him. The afternoon air was on the crisp side, but I was still overheated from my work. The mud on my arms was beginning to dry, turning into dry crackled grime, gross. I did my usual hiding behind the tree, and trailing behind as the man passed through the gate. He seemed interested in the manor, more so than the photographers. He moved with no trepidation though, which was baffling to me. Was he looking for a ghost? That didn't make him nervous at all?
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 16, 2013 18:14:32 GMT -8
((This chapter was terrible at first because I wrote it in a car full of talkative relatives. I rewrote it from scratch and I think it's better now...))
Chapter Fourteen The small man circled around the building, eschewing the gaping front. I liked that, it really did seem like an undignified way to enter, didn't it? He walked around to the side, only slipping a little in the mud, but not enough to take his hands out of his pockets. He examined the green door thoughtfully for a few moments, and decided to go in the front after all. I know my friend, I know. I was creeping around the edges, familiar with the landscape. The man peered into he darkness, steadied himself against the broken boards and slipped inside. He disappeared into the darkness. I considered following him, but figured that would get me caught for sure, flashlight and creaky floor and everything. I was consumed with curiosity though, what was he doing in there? How did one look for a ghost? I knew that obviously, there were no ghosts in the old house, but nagging childhood worries remained and I felt nervous for him. I should probably be more nervous about floor collapses and the like. Ghosts were more glamorous ways to go though. I stood, leaning against the fence until my legs ached. I remembered leaning on the window sill as a child, waiting for my mother to get home from work. I could've really used some friends, apparently. I plopped down in the tall grass, listening. I heard nothing but the usual sounds of the estate. The trees rustled, unseen creatures hopped and scampered through the brush, crows squawked and chattered. I rested my eyes, and nearly fell asleep. Actually, maybe I did fall asleep, because before I knew it, the sky was darkening already. The manor stood quiet and dim as ever. I got tired of staring at the front and decided to walk around the building, maybe I could get a good look in the side windows. I poked around carefully, treading gently over mushy leaves. I had nearly slipped so many times, I became a natural ice skater, slipping over the wet ground, but remaining upright and moving in the direction I preferred. I came up to the green door, and got up the nerve to peer inside the broken windows. As usual, I could only see the same grainy blackness. But from somewhere behind me, I heard a heavy creak. I flew back in a surprisingly deft maneuver and hid behind a bulky oak trunk. Padding footsteps came from the back of the house. The back? How did he get outside from back there? I didn't remember a door being there. Apparently my search of the house had been shallow. The world had gone dull gray, but the man was meandering around unaided, hands still in pockets. Totally fearless. I would've shook my head in disbelief if I wasn't trying to be invisible. I felt comfortable that I was, the shadows had become inky black, and I was safely inside one. The man came to the green door to stare at it again. I wondered if he was having the same thoughts that I had about it. The single board in front of it looked easily removed, but it remained. It occurred to me that I was being peculiar. The man *was* trespassing, but what was I doing? Why was I creeping around like this? Should I introduce myself? A violent croak assaulted my ears, inches away. I spun around, catching sight of the fluttering throat sac of the sullen brown toad. I slid in the mud, but kept my grip on the tree trunk. The man had taken notice, and stood frozen, his hand slowly reaching for his pocket. Oh god, I was going to be shot. I crouched low behind the tree, pressing my cheek against the craggy surface. My heart thudded until even my eyes pulsed with my throbbing blood. Padding footsteps. I held fast to the tree, maybe if I was still enough I'd blend in with the lumpy roots. The toad suddenly hopped into a mud puddle, making a loud blorp. Croak. I heard a chuckle from the unseen man. Was I saved? Did that surly amphibian damn me and then rescue me all at once? Apparently not, a dark figure stepped around the trunk. I slid in the mud, still crouched, trying to get around the tree. I skidded through the gooey soil and the toad complained loudly. My boot tried to gain traction in the glop, but my heels only sunk deeper. I tried to keep a hand on the trunk, to keep on my feet, but slid back until I kneeled in the muck. A pale hand reached around the tree, and I could only stare silently as a shadowy face came into view. Obscured by the dark, I could only see vague suggestions of features. I couldn't make a noise, I couldn't take a breath. I don't know how long we stared at each other. The man silently moved a small object in front of his face, and I was blinded by a bright light. Click. A shutter closing. I blinked, blind. The man said something under his breath, "wow?" He took a step back. Blip. A digital sound. He was looking at the picture? I stood slowly, my vision still blurred with yellow spots wiggling around. I pulled a heel out of the muck with a blorp. My eyes focused on the man, now more fully lit in the last remaining light of the day, and the light of his camera screen illuminating his face with aqua tinge. The sound of my boot made him look away from his camera screen, and his eyes became large. He stared blankly, as I stared back, blankly as well most likely. He started to raise the camera again when I let out a hoarse "No," waving a muddy hand. He jumped at the sound, but stood in place, staring with big eyes, and let the camera drop again. I stepped forward, a muscle in my leg strained and contracted like a tight guitar string. I groaned and slipped a little, but kept upright. The stranger kept his eyes on me, and as I moved closer and out of the shadow, I could hear his shallow, quick breath. Now I could see my filthy arms, cracked and gray from bicep to forearm, slimy brown from forearm to fingertip. My undershirt was splattered with mud and probably the rest of me too. Now I could understand the man's ragged breath, and why he took a firm step backward when he deemed me too close. I couldn't think of anything to say, so we stood in silence. I could see him better now, just as well as he seemed to be studying my face with terrified fascination. He had a face like a mouse, his eyes a flat black in the night's gloom. His right eye fluttered, the lower eyelid visibly twitching. He didn't look like someone who would walk fearlessly through a haunted house, especially frozen in terror like this. I started to catch my breath, having switched places to become the object of fear. When I began to speak, the man jerked his head back, but stayed in place. "Why are you here?" I croaked like my little brown friend. "I--just-- t-taking pictures. I'm sorry." His voice was a thin reed in the wind. I coughed and rubbed my face, forgetting my muddy hands, letting out an irritated sigh. "I'm not a ghost," I said. "Not a-- Oh." He crinkled his forehead. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just... I wanted to see what you were doing." I shook the mud off my hands, and wiped my face on my relatively clean shoulder. "You live here?" he said. Great, another person thought I'm a hobo. "Not here," I gestured to the ruins, "I'm a gardener." "Oh..." Did he look disappointed? "I don't care if you come around here, but it's private property, you know." "Y-yeah, I... I know. I didn't expect..." he sounded like a child. "It's going to be dark," I said. "Err..." he broke our uninterrupted eye contact self consciously, and held the camera close to his chest. He kept his eyes down and shrank in on himself. Ah. I figured it out. "Why don't you just tell those kids that picture of me was the ghost? They won't come around here and you'll get your money still." I said. "--It's not for the money!" he seemed to startle himself with his sudden words. "It's... well. I guess that's a good idea." "Should I show you to your car?" It sounded more rude than I intended, I scrambled for more words, "I mean, it's confusing at night." "I 'dunt have a car..." he said vaguely, looking at my feet. "How are you going to get home?" "Those kids've a truck and..." a realization flickered in his eyes,"...Oh." Way to plan things out. He was as bad as me. I sighed, "There's some cabins at the other end, you can call them to come get you and stay there until then." He frowned and wrinkled his brow. I rolled my eyes, "Oh my god. I was just doing some work when you got here, I'm not some kind of filthy beggar. The cabins are nice, we're fixing them up for rich people so it's not like they're hovels." Apparently that wasn't his problem but he acted like it was. "Oh. Okay..." I was starting to feel chilled by the wet mud, and started to hobble back to fetch my sweater. The man trailed behind me, clutching the camera at his chest. "You're disappointed," I said, not turning back. He didn't say anything in return. We hiked through the tall weeds, and I fetched my moist sweater with my crusty fingers. I gestured vaguely, "Cabin's are over there. It's a walk." He barely nodded, and kept his eyes pointed to his feet. What happened to the fearlessness? Was he less scared of ghosts? Maybe I should've been a ghost. Maybe we both would've preferred that.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 16, 2013 23:45:47 GMT -8
CHAPTER FIFTEEN I showed the man to Cabin B, and he hesitated outside it even after I unlocked the door.
I remembered something, "Be careful of the seedlings, they're fragile."
He flattened his brows, "Seedlings..."
Did he think they were alien seed pods or something? I didn't feel like explaining, and went to my cabin. It was unpleasant getting the mud off, it'd dried into a thick crust which left chunky blobs of dirt all over my kitchen, disgusting. It dried onto my arm hairs and yanked on them as I tried to peel it off. I used up every towel in the cabin, but felt tolerably clean. Clean enough to start cleaning up after my cleaning project. Ugh. There was a weak knock at the door, and I was still standing around in the nude after my chore. I hurried into my robe, my skin was a raw pink, with rakes of red from my fingernails. I answered the door. The man stood at the bottom of the steps, like he didn't want to be too close to the door when I answered. He did seem calm enough to have his hands in his pockets again. The light from my cabin was the only light source in the gloom.
"Yes?" I said, wiping the strings of my wet hair back.
"They didn't answer."
I stood there rubbing my neck, until the cold on my wet skin was too unbearable.
"Come inside." I said as I stepped in and rushed over to kick the muddy towels to the corner of the kitchen. At least the rest of the cabin was clean. He lingered outside, and I felt the rush of heat escaping. I almost yelled at him in frustration, but he came in at last and closed the door behind himself. I went back to work, filling a kettle with water from one of the big jugs of rain water I kept under the nonexistent sink. He stood in front of the door like he'd never been inside a house before.
"You can sit down," I said with a more gruff tone than I intended, but was too frustrated to correct it. He took it as an order and came to sit on my beloved leather sofa.
I set the kettle to boil, and came into the living room, feeling exposed in the thin, red robe for the first time. I crossed my arms over my chest and stood behind the easy chair kitty-corner to the man. He had his hands neatly arranged on his lap like he was waiting for the doctor.
"You can stay the night here." I said almost like a question. He made no special reaction. I was glad he didn't seem to take it as a come on.
"It's only you?" he asked.
"Yeah."
We made eye contact for a moment too long and turned away at the same time to glance at random objects.
"I um," I rubbed my cold hands together, "I'm going to go get dressed." I nodded toward the wall of bookshelves.
"Oh." he nodded with his chin dropped to his chest. I stepped behind the bookshelves and sat on the edge of the unused bed. I rubbed my face briskly. Well, this was weird. I dressed, fumbling around a bit like I was in a cramped dressing room. I put on a shapeless black t-shirt and grey jeans that I'd saved for non-gardening activities. I stepped back into the main room in my bare feet. The man regarded me out of the corner of his eye. "I'll set the fire," I said, and he nodded. I sat on the smooth wood in front of the fireplace, and set about the fiddly task of getting the fire going. The awkward tension was unbearable, even with my back turned. "What's your name?" I asked as casually as I could muster. "Huh?" "Your name." "Oh. Bernard Roch." "Rock?" "Roch. As in... I don't know, it's pronounced 'Roch.' " "Ah..." I crumpled up a few newspapers from the stack I kept nearby and packed them around the log. "So...?" I said after the air had been dead for long enough. "Oh-- And you?" It seemed like the pleasantries of human society were things that took conscious effort for him. "Robin," I said. "Robin. Like the bird. Robin what?" "...Robin Lane." "Robin Lane? Sounds like a place." "Uh huh." "A nice place, I think." "Thanks." I lit the newspapers and they turned a glowing orange, spreading around the dry wood. I was pretty good at getting the fire going with so much practice. I scooted around to face my visitor. "Bernard?" I asked, and he jumped a little, giving me a bewildered look. "Sorry," I said, "I was just trying to remember your name." "Oh, right." He went back to slowly rubbing his hands together. "If you don't want to talk, I can just go to my bed and read or something. You can sleep on the couch or go to the other cabin, you'd have to start your own fire." He looked racked with indecision, but I wasn't one to coddle some weirdo I'd met less than an hour ago. I shrugged and went behind the bookshelves to sit on the bed. Dammit, I should've told *him* to go here, now he gets my nice sofa and the fire and run of the living room and kitchen and I'm stuck back here with some dusty old books and this stiff bed. Ugh! I flopped on my back and stared up at the cobwebs on the ceiling. Ew, I should really clean up there. "Hello?" a thin voice called, sounding like it was three rooms over. I sighed, and got up. I peered around the shelf with my arms folded. Bernard looked up with doleful black eyes. He spoke with a hesitant, reedy voice, "I don't want t'bother you. I didn't mean to have to stay here, I just wanted to find a ghost." I raised my eyebrows, and moved closer to lean on the other chair. He continued, "I don't-- I don't really like to talk. I'd like to hear you talk though. I don't know about what though. Wh-why were you..." "Why was I going around the manor?" He nodded. "I was near the front when I heard the truck. Um, the other day I had a run in with those two. I didn't mean to scare them. Well, I said that today too didn't I? I guess I'm just a scary person." It seemed my joke fell flat, Bernard just listened intently. I took a seat in the chair and told him the story of scaring the two in the manor and pushing Danny down the stairs. He got a half-smile at that part, and I wondered if he felt similarly about that guy. When I told him about the second half of the tale, and that the woman had left something behind, he lit up. "The woman's bra!" he said, "I found that! I didn't know who it belonged to so--" he looked a little embarrassed, but his excitement about the exploration overwhelmed it. "You know it was a girl's school, so I didn't know..." "Probably not a lot of school girls wearing vinyl tops..." I tried to joke again, but he just nodded gravely. Oh well. "Well anyway," I went on, "I haven't really explored the place that much so I suppose you'd know more about it than I do by now. I've been over here most of the time." "Did you find anything interesting?" talking about this subject really seemed to breathe life into his small frame. "Well, yeah, kind of..." I told him about the eerie pond, the strange objects I found in the gardener's cabin. I left out the nudie cards, since it didn't seem like he'd be interested. He chewed on his lip, eyes darting around in thought as I spoke. I noticed that the twitching eyelid I saw earlier seemed to be a permanent feature. That eye seemed sluggish in movement as well. I said, "I haven't seen much of the mansion. I didn't even know there was a door in the back, where you came from." "It's a cellar door. It's at the end of the tunnel." "Tunnel?" He nodded. "Underground tunnel. Found a handyman's shop, some bottles. Not much interesting." "I can't believe it. I was out of my head just creeping around on the second floor in the light of day. You wandered underground a spooky old mansion in the middle of the night?" "It wasn't night yet." "But weren't you scared? You have to admit that sounds pretty scary." "What's to be scared of? Ghosts don't hurt people." "I wasn't even talking about ghosts, what about slashers and collapsing roofs?" "Tunnel's concrete, and why would a slasher be underground?" I sighed, but it did seem like a reasonable argument. I pulled my feet beneath me to warm them. "Why are you so sure that ghosts don't hurt people?" He widened his eyes, did he think I knew something? I shrugged, "I mean, it's not really canon of the horror flicks now is it? Quite a lot of ghosts hurting people in those." He shook his head, "No, they don't hurt people." "But how do you know?" He frowned and looked at his hands. I decided to drop it. We sat in silence for a moment, the fire cracked and popped in its usual way, the cabin was lit up all orangey with shadows darting around with the flickering of the fire. He spoke up, "The seedlings were nice. I didn't know that's what they were called. They're growing?" "Yeah, they're too small to plant." "Y'got to do the whole place then? It's big." "I have the whole summer. I mean, I don't have to do every inch, mostly just around here." "--I'm not disappointed," he blurted out. "Sorry. I was disappointed that I wasn't seeing a ghost but it's not like..." he gestured uselessly, trying to look for words. "It's okay. I'd be a pretty good ghost though, huh?" "But you'd be dead." "Fair enough."
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 17, 2013 4:09:55 GMT -8
CHAPTER SIXTEEN I got my dirty clothes boiling in the kettle, threw the dirty towels in a bucket to soak, and fried some bacon and eggs for dinner. My guest ate about an egg and a half and was full. Perhaps I was on my way to being a lumberjack because I had no trouble finishing my food. I continued on with some chores, while he fiddled with his camera, probably browsing through the day's pictures. "Get anything interesting?" I asked as I stirred my dirty laundry with a wooden spoon. It was like the world's grossest soup. "Eh, s'hard to tell. Got t'get it on the computer." I didn't know anything about ghost hunting, didn't they just look for spirit balls? It was hard to imagine excitement in that. I remembered the look on his face when I had approached him in the dark, I felt guilty to ruin that for him. It was hard to imagine feeling like that, I would be shitting my pants if I saw a real ghost. Why would someone want to see one that badly? I asked. "Why are you looking for ghosts? Do you have anything to do with that site?" "What site?" "I don't remember, something about 'Spectie-heads?' He looked aghast, like I'd unleashed a thousand flying cockroaches that had all flown directly into his face. "Not those bastards. No." "Sorry, I just saw it on the search engine map... They couldn't even spell the name right. 'Ardenmore haunted orphanage' can you believe it?" He sat his camera in his lap with a baffled look, "Nah, that's in Lake Forest." "Huh, they didn't have this place listed. Wonder why they--" "--BECAUSE--" he said, before he closed his eyes and calmed himself, "they're lying cheats. Stealing our photos and saying they'll do tours. They just take people's money." "Wow, and with that classy page and everything." Okay, I had to stop joking with this guy. "Well looked like they were out of business anyhow, nothing new on their page for a couple years and the search engine said they'd moved." That didn't seem like it comforted him, but he nodded placidly. "You're from around here?" he asked me, and I laughed. "No, family are in Havenward, I'm going to school at H.U." "We're both in Harlan then," he said. "You came all the way from Harlan?" I asked, "How are you going to get back?"
He smiled sheepishly. His teeth were small, he looked like a kitten. I shrugged, "Guess you can call a cab in the morning. Get you to the station." "Those kids are supposed to pay me. Had t'pay for the cab to Lake Forest, not sure I have anythen' left." "Wow, those kids are just bloody little brats aren't they?" "Girl seems fine, that Danny though." he grimaced at a memory. "Don't I know it, just imagine me flinging him down the stairs though and whipping with with a stick. Does that make you feel better?" He considered it, "Yes." I finished my laundry and got it up to dry over a bucket. I was able to convince Bernard to sleep on the bed, which he tried to argue with since it was too generous for me to lend a stranger my bed and be left to sleep on a couch. I insisted graciously, and smiled evilly on the inside. I lent him a spare shirt to sleep in. It was even baggier on him than it was on me. I noticed a small silver bracelet on his wrist, it seemed incongruous with his extremely spare fashion sense. He did have that fresh haircut though, maybe it was his thing. He asked for a glass of water, and took out a small pillbox with the days of the week marked out. He took his time retrieving numerous pills of different colors, and taking them with tiny sips of water. I had enough tact to not pay attention. I let the fire die out, and got to sleep, my guest tucked away behind the bookshelves. I had trouble sleeping, despite the total silence of the world. My sleep was shallow and I wavered in and out of disturbing dreams. Mostly unmemorable but a lot of them about getting stuck outside in the dark or dropping the damned key down the toilet. After I felt like I'd been lying there awake with my eyes closed for an hour, a voice startled me to sit up. I gasped so loudly I hurt my throat. Bernard was leaning over to look at me with his hands on his knees like I was a strange plant species he'd never seen. "Sorry," he said, "I need to use the toilet." The morning sun had already risen, and I had apparently slept in. I let Bernard outside with the key, making sure to impress on him the importance of not losing it. He didn't seem to be affected by my grave warnings, but did return with the key in hand nonetheless. I was a wreck, and he'd already dressed himself neatly, his shirt only slightly more rumpled than the day before. I on the other hand, had slept in my clothes. The leg I'd strained the previous night felt creaky as an old door and I was trying to keep still as much as possible. I put water on to boil for morning tea, and Bernard noticed me hobbling. "You were hurt." he said. "Eh, it's not bad." "It's my fault." "Don't be silly. It's my fault for mucking about out there like a ghoul," I really didn't want to be thinking about what happened out there, better to imagine it an embarrassing dream. "How do you like your tea?" "Pretty well. Oh-- Er, however you make it..." The last delivery had a nice treat of some local cream and bakery biscuits which I was keeping in the icebox. I heated the biscuits on the pan, and served the tea with cream, and the warm biscuits with butter and some packets of berry jam. It was almost as good as a civilized breakfast. I pulled over a card table for the breakfast, it was flimsy and didn't match the decor at all. It was usually kept behind the door, probably for that reason. The tea was a rich brown and the cream bloomed inside it when poured, clouding the surface in an appealing way. The butter was appropriately soft, since the icebox was due for a refill. The biscuits were a tad hard on the edges, but the insides were preserved well, still soft and able to carry butter and jam into one's mouth, and that's most of what a biscuit exists to do. I was pretty hungry but my guest ate as fast as a weak rodent so I restrained myself to make sure he got enough food. "It's nice," he said. That was probably a high compliment from him, and I took it as such. We ate in silence, but outside the birds made a racket, whipping and chirping and shrieking and chattering. I went outside to beat on the wet towels and get them hanging to dry. I'd finally gotten a clothesline up the other day, and it worked well to keep my jeans from becoming stiff boards. Bernard came outside to make a phone call. He seemed to be involved in an automated phone tree as he only spoke occasionally with a "YES" or random strings of digits. I tried to focus on my work, the flower bed was nearly complete, I had a stack of rocks nearby to arrange. I'd put off making the compost because, ew, but it really needed to be done. I had a few bags of trash I'd left behind the toilet at first, until some enterprising young squirrels had torn it open and made a mess. Now they were under a flipped over plastic tub. Some crows hopped around, eyeing me with those glistening beads. The world smelled like wet soil, and I felt that I'd never find it unpleasant. It was beginning to warm up, but mornings were still as frigid as ever. My spot-cleaned sweater was barely enough to keep me from shuddering. I wanted to arrange the stones but I loathed the thought of touching them after they'd had all night to cool. I came around to the front of the cabin, and found Bernard sitting on the steps with his head buried in his hands. "Are you alright?" I asked, coming to lean on the railing next to him.
He ran his hands over his face and over the top of his tidy hair. "I haven't got enough. Those kids, they aren't going to pay me. I don't know what to do." I shook my head, "Figures that damned little bastard would be a thief too." He didn't seem comforted by my indignance. He leaned over his legs, nearly putting his chin on his knees. Folded up like that, he looked especially tiny. I sat by him on the step. "Hey, it's okay..." I realized I sounded I was talking to him in a soft voice like one uses to comfort a child, and tried to adjust, "you can just stay here, I'll call my boss and see if he can give you a lift to the bus, I've got some tickets." "But then what?" he said into his knees, "I just go back home with nothing? This was my big chance..." I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he didn't do well with questions. "Come on now," I said, wanting to pat him on the back or something, "we'll get you a ride and before then, we can go poke around the manor some more, how about that? I can show you around the estate." He peered over, and unfolded a bit. "You'd go in there?" he said, "I don't normally like someone with me." "Well, I can just walk you over there I guess, plenty of work to do." "No," he sat up, looking a little rumpled, "maybe it would be nice. I never did it before." I wanted to ask how he knew he didn't like it then, but refrained. He brightened up a bit at the mention of the adventure, and straightened out his hair like the nearby preening crows. Our knees brushed against each other, and I realized we were sitting a bit close. Ahem. I stood and dialed up Barker, walking around to the back of the cabin to lean against the faux logs. He answered with a bit of bluster until he realized who he was talking to. I did the 'is this a bad time?' show, and got through all the other formalities and check ins. Finally I got in a word, "How would it be if I had a guest here? You know, might be tricky with the traveling and such. Is it a great trouble to give someone a lift?" "Oh, no, that wouldn't do. I'm afraid you can't have guests there." "Oh?" "Yes, recall your contract. Unfortunately the whole project is hush-hush, so we've got to keep details from the public. Perhaps next month we can get you a weekend to go visiting?" "Ah, yes, let's talk about that sometime..." Damn. Well as small as Bernard was, he wasn't going to fit on the back of the bicycle. I didn't want to crush his spirits again so I decided to just move things along. When I came around to the front, he was examining the mucky fountain with great interest. He looked up, and had the smallest of smiles, not quite able to part the lips. "Got a frog in there, some nice maggots for it to eat." Indeed.
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 18, 2013 17:22:19 GMT -8
Chapter 17
Bernard got his overly large leather satchel from the cabin. It looked quite new and high-end. He put on a pair of shiny black galoshes in a surprising bit of forethought. Something I seemed to lack, at least I didn’t mind getting muddy any more. The sky was a cold white, the world covered in a big wet towel made of clouds. Moisture still clung to the brush and sparkled in bare branches like fairy lights. I picked up my umbrella which leaned against the porch wall, as yet unused. I didn’t know if it was big enough for two people, though. I figured he’d want to go straight to the manor itself, but he wanted the whole tour. I led him toward the pond, through the pines and to the bare field, with all its little sticks pointing in the air like grave markers. He looked all around like he wanted to take everything in all at once, sometimes trailing behind me because he’d stopped to kick over a rock. He had an almost child-like enthusiasm, but regarded the sights he took in as gravely as a grizzled old naturalist. Besides, I was pretty sure he was at least a little older than me. I’d nearly gotten to the steps when he suddenly diverged from my path, making a sharp turn toward a stout spinach colored bush.
“What’s down here?” he asked.
“Er, a bush looks like.”
He gave me a flat look.
“I saw something back there.” Now that made me nervous. Something had been jumping around in the bushes the other day and I wasn’t eager to find it on its own turf.
“Saw something? What is it then…?” I asked, edging closer.
“ ‘Dehno, we’ll have to take a look.”
He poked around the bush, and found a branch he could push back, and moved behind the leaves. I had to follow, of course.I was certain I was going to get a mouthful of spiderweb this time, but again, luck was on my side. We emerged into a clearing, the ground was covered in creeping ivy that had choked out any natural grasses or weeds. The trees had low hanging branches, still nursing tiny pale-green buds. Bernard marched forward through the ivy, and pointed out what he’d seen.
“Headstone.”
He gestured to a moss covered wedge of cement that listed to one side. Sure enough, it seemed roughly headstone shaped. Bernard had a strange sparkling look to his eyes as I came closer.
“Y’din’t know this was here?” he asked, starting to rifle through the heavy satchel.
“No, I guess I didn’t.”
I bent down to look at the marker, which was fuzzy with green growth. I could make out bits of some words, probably an epitaph, but I wasn’t going to go scraping the thing down just to read it. Why was there a headstone out here in the middle of nothing? Was there really a dead body under here? Bernard pulled out a bizarre looking device that looked like an old fashioned video game cartridge. He poked around on the boxy grey thing until rainbow colored lights started flashing from the top edge.
“What in heaven’s name is that thing?” I asked. He frowned at the device and poked around on it for an interminable time before he muttered a response.
“EMF reader. Gotta find… No… Damn.”
He meandered around the clearing, holding the thing this way and that like it was a remote control for an unseen object. I found myself about to lean against the headstone and jumped back in horror. That seemed like a sure way of getting cursed. I poked around in the ivy with the tip of my umbrella, finding mostly rotting leaves and twigs. My toe thunked against something solid, luckily my boots strong enough to protect my toes, but the blow rattled up my still creaky leg unpleasantly. A pale rock stuck up out of the ivy, I brushed the leaves away and found it to be elaborately carved.
I leaned my umbrella against the headstone, and bent down to try to pry the thing up. I got a grip on it, and had to jerk on it several times, but it felt like it was giving. A month ago I would’ve been unlikely to reach right into the ground to pull up a rock, but by now my nails were permanently rimmed with dirt. It finally gave with a slurp of wet soil, rolling out of my grip and I nearly fell back onto my duff. I regained my footing, dignity intact. The grapefruit sized rock had rolled dirt side up, and I could see it was roughly broken on that end. I hoisted it up, it was indeed carved with strange grooves. I rolled it around in my hands, wiping up the clots of dirt and moss that filled in the cracks. It had a face. I wanted to take off my shirt and give it a good wipe down, but I just wetted my hands with the dew on a robust little fern. It seemed to be the carved head of a little cherub, broken off at the neck. The grooves I'd seen were his elaborately carved curls. His nose had worn down to almost nothing, but his eyes were clearly formed, a sharp drill-hole in the center to form his pupils. His expression looked pained, or it was just the effect of the dripping soil and stains from years of being buried in the earth. Did I pull him off his neck? The weighty granite in my hands laughed at that perception of my strength. I poked around where I’d found it, and there was only sloppy mud.
Bernard had come up to me when I hadn’t noticed, and I gasped at the sight of a dark figure standing nearby. I’d been alone too long.
“Found a rock?” he said. He was eating something dark, and I wondered if it was a piece of wood for a moment, until the smell of chocolate hit me.
“Yeah— well not just a rock, look.” I showed him the face. He widened his eyes a little, and stared for longer than I’d expected him to, my arm started to cramp from holding it aloft. He pointed that strange device at the head with one hand, still casually eating the chocolate bar from the other. The little rainbow lights flashed in sequence, and his eyes flitted around as he looked at the display. I hoped I wasn’t going to get some rare cancer from having that thing pointed at me.
“Huh.” He wolfed down the rest of the candy, and dug around in his bag again. My umbrella was sliding down the headstone, and I had to push it back up with a toe, waiting for him to finish. He pulled out something that looked like a digital thermometer you’d stick in a turkey. He poked it at the stone, the device chirping. He raised his eyebrows.
“S’cold.”
“It’s a rock,” I said, and got that flat look in return again.
He shook his head, and put the device back in his pocket. He was still rubbing his tongue along his teeth after eating the chocolate, trying to talk at the same time. “S’not the only thing. Supernat’ral phenomenon are known to cause fluctuations in temperature.”
“Are you saying this thing could be haunted?”
“May well be. May well be… I’d need to to more testing.” We stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other blankly.
I hoisted the stone into the crook of my arm, “You want me to take this then.” He nodded gravely.
The cherub’s head safely perched on a plastic tub back by the cabins, we continued our trek to the pond. I brought some gardening shears, and finally cut back that brush that hung over the steps. Bernard easily kept himself busy by poking around on arcane instruments that beeped and chirped. The way was clear now, or at least as clear as I was willing to make it at the moment. I kicked the leafy debris aside and went first down the mossy steps. Bernard slipped a bit on the slimy surface, and had to grip on the back of my coat to right himself. I glanced back and he nodded stoically. “Right,” he said.
I couldn’t feel the rain, but the tiny ripples in the pond indicated an invisible shower. The loons were not present today, but crows chided us from somewhere unseen. Bernard walked right up to the edge of the shore to peer down into the murky water. I wanted to pull him back like he’d just run into traffic.
“Mind your step there…” I said in a feeble voice, edging closer to the eerie abyss than I was comfortable with. He hardly seemed to register my words. He found a good stone and tossed it in the the center of the pond where it made a loud ‘blorp’ into the green water. The pond rippled, the water seeming even more gelatinous now than I would’ve guessed. Bernard scratched his head, and started circling the cloudy pond.
“What are you looking for?” I called after him, feeling panicked about my footing in the soft ground.
“Eh…” he mumbled something after that I couldn’t hear. A crow let out a low grinding caw. I stood around wringing my hands as Bernard made it almost the whole way around the pond, stumbling around in some tree roots to get farther. What could I even do if he fell in? The idea of even touching that water made me feel ill. Wet gooey algae running into my nose and ears… I shuddered and rubbed my face vigorously as though I could slough away the phantom slime.
“Oh wow,” I heard from a distance, “How about that.” I opened my eyes, Bernard had an arm hooked on a tree branch and leaned over the water so he could peer deeper inside.
“What?” I crept closer and the soft earth squished under my boots.
“Somethin’ down there.” He called, craning his neck forward. I didn’t think that branch looked near as sturdy as it should be to pull off that maneuver.
“Something? What something?” I leaned my body that way but couldn’t make my feet follow suit. To my horror, the precariously dangling man used one hand to root around in his bag, before wobbling dramatically. He got the other arm around the tree firmly and was able to right himself. Then he went back to rooting in the bag. “Oh for god’s sake!” I wrung my hands all the deeper, “What are you doing? It doesn’t look safe! Just— just come back here!”
He looked at me like I was mad, but pulled himself back, and trundled around the pond toward me. “I wasn’t going to fall in,” he said, hands in his coat pockets like he was waiting for the bus.
“Well…” I caught my breath, “what did you see in there?”
“Strange, wanted to get a picture of it. Sky’s too reflective I think,” he broke a long stick off a spindly tree, “looked like chairs.”
“Chairs?” I asked, sometimes his accent was a bit hard for me to parse.
“Yeh.” He bent down and poked at some mud with the stick.
“What do you mean, chair?” I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I’d heard of people finding old jalopies in bottoms of lakes, cement-shoe victims and all that, but why a chair?
“Chairs,” he corrected the plural, “Just all scattered down there. Got a bunch of slime on ‘em but I can make out the shapes.”
“Why would they be down there?”
“ ‘Dehno. I’m not gonna go for a swim. Hey, look at that,” he poked at something moving in the muck. I leaned over and squinted, I could only make out some vague wriggling. I imagined for a moment it was a severed finger still flopping around.
“Slug’s fighting a leech,” he said, “Haha, how about that.”
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Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 18, 2013 21:00:55 GMT -8
Chapter 18
We walked to the manor on a slightly different path than the one I normally took. Bernard insisted, since he’d ‘already been that way’ before. We walked around in a circuitous route, and I had to check my phone several times just to get our bearings. I’m sure my guest could’ve found his way, he’d pointed out the compass on his watch earlier. Perhaps he enjoyed getting lost.
We came at the manor from the other side, a way I’d thought impassable because of the thick brush. It was only impassable if one minded diving through brambles and ending up with twigs in their hair. To my horror, we found another set of headstones, these ones even more mossy and ivy covered than the last. They were lined up in a row, with a few odd ones here and there. One had a particularly tall, graceful arch at the top, with ornate beveled edges. Bernard walked up and gave it a little shove. It wobbled in the soft earth.
He nodded at me with a thoughtful expression. “Whole family’s here, I bet.”
“Let’s hope not…!” I didn’t like the way he was going around uprooting the earth with the toe of his shiny galoshes.
“What do you know about this place?” he asked. It seemed like he couldn’t decide what instrument to use first, pulling out one after another.
“Well, I don’t know a lot really. Married couple lived here until the husband left, wife left shortly after unannounced. Don’t know why all these headstones though. Think it was a hotel then a girls school? Or the reverse, I forget.”
“Graves at a girls school? That’s damned eerie.” He looked far too excited, almost tripping over the rough ground as he bustled around pointing his instruments here and there. “We have to come here at night!”
“Please, let’s not…”
“Come on now, like I’ve told you, ghosts don’t hurt people.”
I folded my arms, “I asked you before, why do you think that? I never heard that before.”
He groaned, and turned to me. He was exasperated, but in a better mood for this line, it seemed. “It’s just logical isn’t it? How can a ghost hurt someone? They’re incorporeal.”
“Well,” I acted like I knew what I was talking about, “how can you see them if that’s so? Wouldn’t they have to, eh, manifest?”
He lolled his head back like I’d said the stupidest thing in the world.
“Just trust me,” he waved his hand dismissively, “I’m educated about the supernat’ral. I’ve never once believed a story of a ghost harmin’ someone.”
The caveat made me bristle, but I let it be.He gingerly sat on the edge of a sturdier grave marker, and I cringed.
“Isn’t that bad?” I asked.
“Why? Unlikely that’s our ghost down there. They don’t just hang about with their corpse forever. How boring would it be? Besides, would you pitch a fit if someone leaned on your house to rest while they were walking by?”
I thought, ‘probably’ but I didn’t say it. I let him mess about with the electronics in silence.
“Why at night?” I asked after a moment, “If that’s when they come out, why bother looking now?”
“They don’t ‘come out at night’,” he emphasized that phrase like it was from a spooky film trailer, “They’re always around, it’s just easier to see at night.”
‘Always around’ was an unsettling phrase. He walked to the other end of the clearing and mumbled to himself on a device I guessed was a digital recorder. I felt a wet spot hit my scalp, and then patter against my shoulders. It started to rain. Bernard groaned in the distance, and put his equipment away.
“I hate the rain,” he said as he trudged over. I flipped up the umbrella with a flourish.
“How’s this then?” I said, smiling. He groaned again and gazed longingly at the manor peeking out between the brambles.
“Let’s go.”
“Why not to the manor?” I asked.
“I didn’t go completely through it,” he said, “but I could see the holes in the roof. Bad for the instruments, gets too cold for us. Wood gets soft, more dangerous. Maybe we should see about getting me that ride after all.”
He caught my reticence, “…I don’t have a ride, do I?”
“I’m sorry,” I tried to hold the umbrella over both of us, but he was too far, “We’ll figure it out.”
He sighed, and his breath came out in a subtle steam. It was colder than I’d thought, we’d done too much trekking around for me to notice. We went back in a different route, passing closer to the manor but at least not having to fight through the thick brush again. He gave a sidelong look to the house, but looked away quickly, shrinking in on himself. His coat was getting spattered with rain, and uncovered head was being splashed with droplets.
“Hey, why don’t you use this?” I offered him the umbrella, which he waved away.
“I don’t want you to get wet either,” he said.
“Why not come closer then? It’s probably big enough if we walk together.”
He gave me a strange look, but moved closer, taking tiny steps until his shoulder brushed mine. He nodded with his eyes low, and we went on our way. The rain wavered by the second between light sprinkling and a heavy pour. The wind was merciful though, it didn’t come blowing up under the umbrella to sting our faces, like it did sometimes.
“I should’ve packed an umbrella,” he said, his voice sounded different in the hollow acoustics of the umbrella, “I hate the rain. I really do.”
“I hate walking through the mud,” I said, “but it’s kind of peaceful when it’s just tapping on your umbrella, don’t you think?”
He gave me an unpleasant gaze as his answer. I came to rue my cheerful view of the weather when the wind picked up and my pant legs were soaked up to the thigh. We finally arrived at the cabins, the trees were thrashing about in the wind, and the shed door had come open again, slapping around. I ran to it, leaving my umbrella with Bernard. I groused to myself and searched around for the key in my pocket as I was splashed with the heavy rain. Bernard walked up calmly, and handed it to me. “Sorry. Hey, what’s in there?”
My wet hand slipped on the door handle, and I scrabbled around to catch it again. “Gardener’s shed.”
“Why don’t we go in?”
I felt irritated enough with the door, I took a giant stride inside and waved him in. He gently closed the door behind us, as though it’d always been that easy. I wiped back my wet hair and gestured vaguely at the interior.
“Lovely, isn’t it.”
The grey sky outside lit the cabin in a cool blue that made me feel even colder than I’d become. Bernard wandered around looking at the piles of junk. “Fascinating. What’s here?” he asked, picking up a tarnished trophy with a statue of a woman holding a ball over her head.
“Just a bunch of junk that got left behind. I went through a little, but got tired of it.”
He got onto his knees and sorted through some crumbly old magazines. I calmed down from my earlier irritation, and leaned against the stairwell railing. It was cold inside, but with the door closed it was a welcome shelter. Rain tapped on the windows and made a gentle patter on the roof. Bernard shuffled through old papers, and the cool light and quiet was so tranquil. I sat on an old stool, and rubbed my hands back to warmth. I remembered that I’d installed some tap lights, and walked around clicking them on. Their weak yellow glow hardly made a difference, but it filled in the darkest shadows. “I don’t suppose…” Bernard’s sudden words made me jump,”…you found anything of interest here?”
“Oh, well some old nudie cards if you’re into that.”
“What kind?” he asked almost immediately.
“Er, you know, old time ladies being… y’know… nude.”
“Ah.” He had a funny, tiny smile.
I felt awkward enough to start rifling through things myself. I’d set aside old bottles in the corners, thinking I could make some interesting vases. Barker felt the ‘shabby DIY’ style would appeal to the patrons. Luckily, this place had shabby down pat.
“Hey, this is interesting,” Bernard waved a yellowed sheet of folded paper at me. I took it, its paper was gritty and tattered at the edges. On the cover was a faded pen illustration of what I guessed was the manor in its heyday. “Argentmoore Gardens” was the title, written in an elegantly curled but outdated font. Seemed this was from the hotel days.
“Read it to me,” Bernard said. I complied with his order, and read the pamphlet in a grandiose voice of old.
“’Any traveler in the beautiful Goosecross region will tell you that Argentmoore Gardens is the finest of lodgings. None that have seen the majestic estate with its glistening pond and countless bounty of verdant greenery can ever forget its splendor.’ Boy, laying it on a bit thick aren’t we?”
Bernard waved at me to continue, “Goosegross in an exceptionally lovely area, comparable to more expensive hosts such as Susserwald and Lake Forest.’ Geh, cheaper than a dump like Lake Forest? Says a lot. ‘The view from the estate surely takes the breath away from any who chance to avail themselves.’ Takes their breath away by killing them dead perhaps!”
Bernard sighed, his little eyes glittering in the blue light.
“Blah blah blah, the place is nice. Ah here, ‘—From its humble beginnings as the bridal gift to Leonora Earwine Crowhurst-Argentmoore, to the modern lodgings for travelers of distinction.' That name ring a bell at all?”
“Hm,” my guest stood up and dusted himself off, “Crowhurst… That’s a building at the University.”
“Right, probably the rich family she came from. Not much use.”
“We could use the name to call her.”
“She’d be dead by now…”
He chuckled at my gaffe. “I meant with a spirit board.”
It was my turn to laugh, “A bloody spirit board? Like the game for children?” I worried that I might have offended him again, but instead he folded his hands and gave me a condescending tilt of the head.
“That’s what you’re supposed to think.”
Oh now I was in for it.
“I’m not ready for it though,” he said with eyes turned up in thought, “it’s important to know as much as you can before you speak to the dead. You don’t want to upset them.”
The light shifted in a dramatic way as a cloud passed over head. Or at least, I hoped that was why.
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