The Silverchurch Mystery - Part 02
= Be John Egbert
You are still John Egbert. Which means that you were at one point having an incredibly bizarre dream. It was so vivid, almost like it was actually happening. You disembarked from a train into a really shit town, trudged through the rain to this wacky house full of weird gubbins, and met this weirdly attractive blind woman with a voice like cutlery scrapping across porcelain-
"Hello, my baby! Hello, my honey! Hello, my ragtime gaaaal!" Your eyes snap open. "Send me a kiss by wire. Baby, my hearts on fiiiirre…"
The rest of the song trails off somewhere downstairs, accompanied by a loud series of bangs and cracks. You're lying on your back on the hard wood floor, staring up at the slanted roof, with nothing but your suitcase under your head and your coat over your shoulders for comfort. The cobwebs above drift lazily on an invisible draft and specks of dust dance through the beam of sunlight filtering in through a crack in the curtains.
So as it turns out, your experience last evening wasn't a stress-induced fever dream, but an actual thing that you did. It's funny. You honestly don't know how you feel about that. A part of you wishes that you were back in your old house in Maple Valley, surrounded by the familiar walls and the comforting warmth of your childhood bed sheets. Then there's the other part, the little twist in your chest that tightens as you sweep your eyes around you current surroundings and as you listen to the ruckus downstairs. It makes you dizzy, like you've been spinning in circles for too long and decided to try and sit down.
You realize that you're excited to be here, in this town, in this house, with your new boss, and it's that realization more than anything else that urges you up from the floor and into a sitting position. Good thing too, as you barely register rapid footsteps in the hallway outside before the door to your office is shoved open furiously.
"I'm making breakfast." Declares Miss Pyrope from the threshold. "Eggs are hard to come by around here, but I thought to myself 'why not?' Today's a special occasion, after all, and I do like to flex my domestic fingers every whence and…" She trails off and twists her neck, as if glancing about the room. "You're still here, right?"
"Yeah, I'm still here." You answer quickly, fighting a chuckle.
As soon as you speak, her head snaps in your direction. Her brow furrows.
"Are you naked?"
"W-what? No!" You really aren't, but that doesn't stop you from pulling your coat up over your chest, or the burst of heat that flashes across your cheeks.
"Hahahaahaha!" She laughs shrilly and retreats from the doorway, walking backwards down the hall. "Put some pants on and meet me downstairs, Egbert!" She calls, still cackling.
Grumbling a few muted obscenities (you've heard stories of blind people having enhanced hearing abilities and you don't want to test that as of yet) you do as your told and rummage through your suitcase for appropriate attire. You only packed one pair of pants, which in hindsight was probably a lapse in judgment, as the pair from last night has mud splattered up to the knee and horrible wrinkles everywhere else. You'll have to find the local tailor pretty soon, after your first paycheck of course.
You debate whether or not to forgo the knee brace for now, as it's rather a hassle to put on and pretty damn uncomfortable to wear once you do, but decide to spend the extra minutes strapping it on anyways. You don't know what your new employer has planned for you today, but you doubt it entails sitting around and playing board games or something equally mundane. Maybe you'll help her investigate a crime scene? Or trail a slippery jewel thief? Or maybe engage in a wild carriage chase through the city streets?! Geez, you're getting pumped just thinking about it!
Resisting the urge to race down the stairs, you track Miss Pyrope to the kitchen, and find it to be a small room near the front of the house. You are immediately greeted by the smell of burnt eggs.
"I hope you like cold cereal." Miss Pyrope says without turning as you appear in the doorway. The floor in this room is made of grey stone bricks instead of wooden planks and is largely occupied by a massive wood stove against the far wall. A small, two-seater table sits in the middle of the room and Miss Pyrope herself is bent, digging through an ice chest tucked into the corner.
"Sounds good to me!" You chirp happily and head for the table. You're distracted though, by a rectangle of light set into the wall, a window. As it turns out, your assumption from last night has proven to be utterly wrong. The town of Silverchurch does not look better under the light of day, if anything, it looks even more depressing, as the feeble rays of light that penetrate the overcast struggle to illuminate the gloomy streets below.
A well-dressed fellow, sporting a fancy-looking cloak and swinging a bejeweled cane waltzes by across the street and you watch him as he disappears around the corner. Odd. You didn't think you'd see anyone as swanky as that hanging around in a town like this.
A loud clatter draws your attention from the window and you turn to see that Miss Pyrope has deposited a milk jug on the small table, along with several cups and jars full of miscellaneous foods.
"Pull up a chair over here, Egbert. I won't bite. Hehe." She sits and you quickly join her. "Help yourself. I struck a deal with the grocery a few streets over. I get everything half-off!"
"Wow! How'd you manage that?" You perch in the chair opposite her and wince as it creaks dangerously.
"Easy, he offered me half-off as long as I promised to stop coating his front porch with oil slick. Ha!"
You pause, halfway through pouring yourself a bowl of milk.
"Why on earth were you putting oil slick on his porch?" You ask.
"Because he had a pixie stealing all his produce! Duuh. He wouldn't believe me though, said that it was one of the Makara kids, the little dimwit. He's in denial. He'll come around when over half of his stock goes missing, then he'll be begging me to douse his entire shop with slick." She gnaws on something small and brown as she speaks, probably some kind of nut. "Pixies hate oil, just so you know, their wings drag on the ground when they walk and oil will get all in there and muck them all up so that they can't fly. You should be writing this down, by the way. Watch the milk."
"Wha-?" You look down at your bowl and realize you've been pouring since she started talking. Milk escapes the brim of the bowl and flows onto the table. "Aw shit. Sorry." You cast about for a towel and Miss Pyrope points lazily towards the wood stove, where a bundle of dirty-looking cloth sits discarded. You quickly mop up the mess. "Uh- excuse me if I'm not hearing you correctly, but what the hell are you talking about?"
"Pixies, you little milk-waster, they're nicking fruit from the grocery. You know, you sure did pick an odd job if you're going to be zoning out on me all the time."
"You're joshin me, right? You do know that pixies aren't real things, don't you?"
With her eyes hidden behind her sunglass, it's hard to know for sure if she's rolling her eyes or not, but you feel you can safely guess by the accompanied head shake and exasperated sigh. She spits the nut she was chewing out of her mouth and it lands a little too close for comfort next to your bowl. She leans forward over the table.
"Eyes here, Egbert." You pull your gaze away from the nut to meet hers. Sort of. She's entirely focused on the top right-most edge of your chair back. "From now on, and for the foreseeable future, let's operate under the assumption that I am not a complete lunatic and that there actually are some things in this world that your feeble little thinkpan couldn't possibly begin to comprehend. I think it would be beneficial for us both, is that understood?"
"Yeess?" You answer, slightly confused.
"Good." She sits back. "I'm good at reading people, Egbert, better than most would assume. I took you on as my assistant for a good reason."
"What's that?"
"Because you seem like the type who can follow directions, even if they don't make any sense to you. Because you're a gullible little boy, with no worldly experience besides what he saw during the train ride between here and whatever smelly-ass city you came from."
For the umpteenth time, you feel warmth blossom in your face, although this time it might just be from pure frustration rather than anything else.
"I'm not gullible." You argue. "I'm not believing half the stuff you say about pixies and magic and other supernatural shenanigans."
"Disagreeing with me only proves how much more of a gullible sap you are." She retorts. "You've bought into all of… this." She gestures about the room, although you feel as if her waving hand encompasses much more. "You've been blinded by the minutiae of everyday life, social standards, taxes, relationships, clothes and high falutin horse carriages with golden trim. When's the last time you really looked at the world around you and understood what was going on?"
You feel the urge to bite back with a quick response like 'all the damn time' or 'I can see just fine, thank you very much', but instead you bite your tongue. A part of you, the small philosophical portion, comprehends that she's trying to reach out to you on a deeper level, one that, like she says, you fail completely to understand. You default to honesty mode:
"I don't know."
"Of course not." She grins, flashing too many teeth. "I see more than you could ever hope to imagine, John Egbert. You've vaguely been paying attention to what I've said to you about this job so far, but pay attention to this, you are not going to understand much of anything that happens, all I ask, is that you trust me to do the understanding for you. Follow my instructions and we'll all be happy. Last night you told me that you could do that. Is that still true?"
You think about it for a moment, ponder how hard it would be to find another job in Silverchurch, or to pack up your suitcase and head to the next town over. Both of those seem like quite a bit of work and, if you're being honest with yourself, Miss Pyrope lives all too intriguing of a life for you not to see her in action at least once. You answer honestly again:
"I think it's true, yeah." You smile at her and she smiles back.
"Then let's seal the deal! Put her there, Egbert." She reaches across the table and holds her hand for you to shake. You take it.
"Partners?" You question.
"Oh hell no. You're my assistant now and forever, Egbert. This wheel rolls alone."
"Ah, well. Okay then."
Her grip is firm, much more so than yours, and she releases you after two quick pumps. You make a mental note to practice your handshake in the future. Nothing leaves a worse impression than limp-handed greeting.
"Pass me back that walnut, would you?" She asks, and you spend a few seconds maneuvering the nut onto the tip of your spoon so that you can pass it back to her without touching it. She goes back to chewing as you prepare your muesli.
"So, er- what's on the agenda for the day?" You ask, careful to keep from sounding too eager for action. You remember reading somewhere that appearing cool, calm, and collected makes you seem more mature. As an assistant to a private detective, you feel it's important to act the role.
Whatever that means.
"What's today? Sunday?" She muses. "I usually tend to my garden on Sundays and prep myself for the week, but since you're here now, I suppose I'll leave you to do most the grunt work."
"You have a garden?"
"Top floor, yes. I'll show you it later if you're a good boy. If you're looking for something to do, I suggest you finish moving in upstairs and then report back to me. I should have a list of supplies made up by then that you can run to the store for. It'll be good for you to get out for a bit and familiarize yourself with the town's layout. Make sure you're back by dark though, because I lock the door by then."
"Couldn't you just let me in?"
"No one comes in after the door is locked."
"You let me in last night."
"Last night was an exception." Her walnut cracks loudly and shatters to pieces in her mouth. As she spits the shell into a cup, you silently mourn the fact that you'll be running errands today instead of doing some sweet detective shit. Ah well. Everyone starts out somewhere, you suppose. "Are you going to finish that?"
Miss Pyrope is pointing to your half-eaten cereal.
"No." You push the bowl into her waiting hands. You've lost your appetite.
You watch as she pours the broken walnut shell into your breakfast and mixes it with a spoon. She gets up then and exits the room without a word, taking the bowl with her and leaving you to clean up the table and wash the dishes. The milk goes back in the icebox, the burnt eggs go in the trash, and you step out into the hallway to make for the stairs. You suppose you actually will finish settling in upstairs. Your new room could use a dusting. Hell, the whole house could.
As you pass by Miss Pyrope's office, you see her replacing the moldy cereal in the glass case by her desk with your fresh one, and just shake your head.
The dust bunnies hiding under the desk in your new office are only rivaled in size by the spiders nesting in your small closet. You're fortunate enough to have a window that opens up onto the street and you make use of it now by shepherding all of the dirt, grim, and pests that you can out into the breezy, mid-morning air with a dustpan. Brushing dirt from your hands on your trousers, you turn to examine your office space. You had been so tired last night; you'd barely even registered four walls and a roof before you'd crashed on the floor.
Now you can see that you have a five by nine foot space all to yourself, with a slanted roof, crisscrossed with wooden support beams, and a small closet that fits your suitcase and coat perfectly, with little room for anything else. There's a desk and chair set too, much smaller than Miss Pyrope's and altogether much less impressive-looking when you remove the tattered sheet that had been covering it.
Miss Pyrope had neglected to inform you as to whether or not there was another bedroom in the house, or if there was even one bedroom in the place. You had yet to find out where your employer slept, although if you had to guess there's probably another room above yours, on the third floor; which apparently also houses a garden of some sorts? You decide to go snoop around later, probably when you've got some free time on your hands. Regardless if there isn't another bedroom in the house, you're happy to sleep in your new office, as that means you're be up and ready for some detective-ing in a moment's notice should the need arise.
Right now though, you've got some assisting to do.
The shopping list that Miss Pyrope gives you when you come back downstairs is surprisingly short, consisting of only three items: A loaf of bread from the grocery, a book currently being held on reserve for her at the library, and a special package from the post office.
"I'm expecting urgent mail from overseas." Miss Pyrope explains, in regards to the last item. "It's fragile and expensive so try to not break it, alright? And don't get it stolen either! The last thing we need is some hoodlum running around with one of these."
"One of what?" You ask. "What is it?"
"None of your business, that's what. Now hop to it, and remember what I said about coming home before dark! I'm serious about locking that door."
With a quick nod and a promise to "be back before you can say 'where the hell is John with all of my weird shit?'" you step out of four-thirteen and into the murky streets, pulling your coat tighter about yourself as you go.
You figure out quickly that the town of Silverchurch is essentially laid out like a giant wheel. As in, it has the central hub (where the supposedly famous Silverchurch resides) and a collection of spokes (or streets lined with buildings) pointing out in all directions. The grocery is the closest to your new home, only a few blocks towards the center of town, and is owned by a kindly man with watery eyes and two busted legs.
"Tavros Nitram." He's mopping the front porch when you meet him, awkwardly, due to his seat in a wheelchair. "Th-That's my name. Don't wear it out. Haha."
It's supposed to be a joke, but his delivery is a little off. You fight the urge to take the mop from his hands and finish cleaning the porch yourself, partially because you feel pity for this small business owner and partially because you can clearly see pools of oil slick stuck in the cracks of the floorboards. You shake his hand instead.
"John Egbert." You introduce yourself with a smile. "I just got in town last night and landed a job as Miss Pyrope's new assistant!" You point back towards four-thirteen for emphasis. It's unnecessary though; Tavros clearly knows your boss, where she lives, and what she sent you for.
"Bread is up front by the counter." He responds dully, all of his original hospitality falling along with his smile. "I'll be with you in a second."
"Uh- thank you, sir."
Tavros collects the money Miss Pyrope loaned you quickly and ushers you from the premises as soon as you have the first item from your list tucked under your arm. You leave willingly, if a little confusedly, and pretty disappointedly. You were looking forward to making some new friends when you set out this morning, and with stop one up and done, you've so far managed to do the complete opposite of that.
You look back at the store over your shoulder as you walk away and see Tavros mopping the floor once again, looking more down-trodden than when you'd first seen him. What did you do? What did you say? You didn't get a bath last night, but you're reasonably comfortable with your current level of hygiene to rule that out as a possible deterrent. You hope that you'll get another pass at Tavros, where you can rectify whatever mistake you unwittingly made and make a better impression.
Frowning slightly, you examine the passing buildings, looking for the next stop on your list. As luck would have it, you find the post office two streets over and bound inside, determined to leave with Miss Pyrope's mysterious package and a new friend to add to your short list of pals.
"Hey there!" The inside of the post office is warm and dry and, to your frustration, completely empty. Your greeting bounces off of the far wall, back to you, and out the open door to be swept away in the breeze. Frowning still, you approach the long desk in the corner and read a folded note propped up against a jar of pencils.
"Out on deliveries, be back later, leave a message if you're so inclined.
- Parcel Mistress"
You peek over the counter and find a stack of packages tucked between the wall and the counter, all of which are labeled with the names of their various recipients. Glancing around the store one last time, you sigh to yourself and hop the counter to search the stack for Miss Pyrope's mail. You find your boss's name scrawled neatly across a package at the very bottom of the pile and immediately let out a long groan.
It's massive, the approximate size and shape of a stand-alone wardrobe, and covered with a tightly-bound canvas sheet. You cast about for a trolley to help you move the thing, but find none.
"Of course." You grumble to yourself. "The Parcel Mistress probably took it out with her to make deliveries."
You debate whether or not to wait for her to come back, but eventually decide against it. You've wasted quite a bit of time wandering the streets already and the sun has since passed the highest point the sky and began it's decent. Or at least you think so, it's hard to tell with the sheet of grey clouds covering everything. No, you'll have to carry the damn thing yourself.
You leave a quick note:
"Came to collect Miss Pyrope's package while you were out. Thanks for your service!
- John Egbert"
With your mood quickly descending towards downright grumpy, you restack the other deliveries behind the counter, tuck your groceries inside your coat, and begin to drag the second item from your list out into the street. It's lighter than you would have expected, which is nice, but that doesn't stop it from being any less unwieldy. It thumps loudly as you pull it down the front steps and Miss Pyrope's words about treating the package tenderly come to mind.
"Shit." You moan. "This is going to be impossible!"
"Especially with that attitude." You whip around to find a familiar face leaning against the porch railing. The first thing that comes to mind is that this guy looks like a fucking badass. Black suit, white tie, dark sunglasses, and hair the color of corn, so perfectly mussed that he either just finished having amazing sex or just walked out of a studio where he spent time posing as a model for an art class. "Why don't you draw a sketch?" He says as he rolls a cigarette, like he was reading your mind. "It might just last longer."
You realize that you were staring then and your teeth come together with a sharp snap. He smirks, and yeah, you definitely know him from somewhere. Except you can't seem to remember where for the life of you.
"Er- Sorry." You respond, giving him a quick nod before turning back to your package.
"What you got there?" He asks.
"Just some mail. It's for my boss."
"Who's yer boss?" He strikes a match and lights his cigarette, taking a long drag.
"Miss Pyrope, the private detective who lives on Windyshade Lane." You respond proudly. The large package catches in the dip between the road and the sidewalk and you struggle to shift it for a second. When you get it free, you look up and see that the man is still standing there, his sunglasses dipping down so that he can look at you over their rims.
"What did you just say?" He asks.
"Um." You find the shift in his attitude uncomfortable. "I work for Miss Pyrope, the private detective-"
"Who lives on Windyshade lane, yeah." He finishes your sentence. "That's what I thought you said." He steps away from the porch and flicks his cigarette away to land in the dirt. He steps around your burden, out of sight, and you wonder what he's doing until your load becomes significantly lighter. "Where are you headin'?"
"The library now." You answer, then add: "Er- I appreciate it, but you don't really have to help me. I can do this by myself.
"It's no trouble. I was just headin' that way myself." With his help, you begin to carry the unwieldy down the street. "Name's Dave Strider, by the way."
"Oh man!" You're suddenly so excited you nearly drop your end of the cumbersome box. "You're that guy who owns that party store or something. I saw your poster on the message board."
"Hell yeah, that's me." He answers smugly. You can practically hear his smirk. "I'm the rhyme master extraordinaire, laying down beats so ill, you and your friends will be throwing up your own skeletons by the time I'm through."
"Awesome!"
"Tell me about it. You should come by the shop sometime. I make a habit of giving free demos from time to time, helps spread the business through word of mouth."
"Do you get a lot of business around here?"
"Not as much as I would like, but I think I do alright. The competition is too fierce everywhere else, it's hard to get your voice heard, but here in Silverchurch, I got the market basically on lockdown."
"Nice!" You've never heard of anything like a 'beat dropping service' back in the big city, but you decide to keep that to yourself. "It's nice to meet you, Dave Strider. I'm John Egbert, I just got into town last night."
"Where from?"
"Maple Valley. It's to the west of here, near the mountains."
"Never heard of it, although it sounds like one of those big ol' towns with a museum and one of those grassy places where you take kids to run around."
"A park?"
"Yeah, one of those. Why'd you leave a place like that for a…" He pauses while he thinks. "A shithole like this?"
"Aw, from what I've seen Silverchurch isn't so bad!"
"I appreciate the optimism, but really don't flatter the place." He tugs gently on his end of the load and you realize that the library is approaching on your left. You come to a stop and set the large package down together just outside the front door. "So come on." He presses. "Why'd you come out here?"
Dave steps around the parcel to face you, his arms crossed, and lips pursed. You think about your response, whether or not to broach the subject or to just brush him off. In the end, honesty wins out.
"After my dad died I just didn't want to hang around anymore." You speak quickly, all in one breath. "I didn't have many friends, no family, a boring job and I guess…" You look away for a second, over the dusty street and rundown buildings, to the crooked steeple of the silver church, barely visible over the rooftops. "I just wanted a change of scenery, you know?"
"I know exactly what you mean." Dave's hand comes down on your shoulder with a solid clap. "Welcome to town, Egbert."
You smile and before you can say anything else, Dave turns away and leads you into the library.
A wall of heat and powerful perfumes hit you as soon as you cross the threshold. It's incredibly dark inside, with windows clothed in heavy black curtains and small candles, little more than incents, dotting the many shelves lined-up between the walls.
"Yo, Lalonde!" Dave calls into the blackness. "You've got yourself a customer!"
There's some rustling beyond your field of view, accompanied by a soft, exasperated sigh. From the shadows, drifts a specter of silver and black and you're momentarily frightened by the sight until you realize that it is, in all actuality, a woman.
She's small and petite, with large, wide-set eyes and short platinum blonde hair. Her lips are stained as black as her dress and her gaze seems to cut right through you like you're as insubstantial as the wind.
Fuck. Why is everyone in this town so hot?
"David." She greets, her words measured carefully. "And a visitor. How do you do?"
"Well, ma'am." You subtly try to smooth your hair. "My name is John Egbert. I'm new. And you are?"
"Rose Lalonde." She offers her hand and you take it quickly. Like Miss Pyrope's, her hand is firm in yours and you really wish you'd taken some time to practice your grip before now. "Welcome to Silverchurch. I can see that you've already met my brother."
"Who? Dave?" You look between the two. Each of them raise an eyebrow slightly, and yeah, you can totally see the resemblance now. "Oh yeah! He helped me with an errand. He's super nice and cool."
"Egbert, you charmer you!" Dave pretends to swoon and Rose rolls her eyes with practiced ease. She's pretty good at that. Like, if eye-rolling was an Olympic sport, she'd definitely be a gold medalist.
Miss Pyrope would probably be her coach.
"Anyways, he's here for a book." Dave continues, shoving his hands into his pockets and addressing his sister. "You'll find it under his boss's name probably."
"Oh yes?" Rose drifts dreamily towards a shelf labeled 'reserves' and begins picking at the spines. "And who might that be?"
"Terezi Pyrope, our resident private detective." Dave answers before you can.
Rose falters, but only slightly. If you hadn't been watching her, you probably would have missed it. She continues searching the shelf and eventually selects one tome in particular before turning back to you and Dave. Her smile, structured from years of dealing with the public through her occupation, has weakened slightly, and you're beginning to realize why Tavros might have reacted the way he did and why you should probably refrain from mentioning your new job to everyone you meet.
"Here we go." She sets the book on a nearby counter and reads the title aloud. "Tales of Suspense: Unsolved Mysteries and Paranormal Happenings from the mid 1700's to 1865. Quite an interesting read, don't you think, brother dearest?"
"I'd have to agree, oh sister of mine." Dave leans against the counter and both of the Strider-Lalonde siblings look at you pointedly.
"What?" You ask. "So she likes mystery novels. She's a private detective, it makes sense to me."
"Has Miss Pyrope told you the nature of the cases she deems… rational?" Rose asks carefully.
"Yeah." You answer. "And okay, I suppose it's a little far-fetched, the magic and pixies and whatever, but she does make a lot of sense when she gets talking about it."
"We've all heard her speech at one point or another." Dave says. He covers his eyes with one hand and mimes sweeping a cane cross the floor with the other as he does a terrible impression of your boss: "I see more than you could ever hope to imagine! Hehehe!"
Dave's rude, fake laughter turns to genuine chuckles and even Rose hides a few giggles behind her hand. You feel heat beginning to creep up your neck again.
"You all think she's some kind of lunatic, don't you?" You ask stiffly.
"Of course not, that would imply that there's some sort of medical reasoning behind her behavior. We know better." Rose jots a quick note down in a journal as she speaks, marking down that your book has been checked out. "She knows exactly what she's doing, running around this town, screaming about goblins and ghouls, leaving vandalism in her wake. It's all fun to her, John. You'll learn that soon enough." She picks the book up off the counter and passes it to you. You take it and meet her eyes over your outstretched hands. "Although, if you're smart, and I can tell that you are, you'll reconsider your employment and perhaps find someplace else to lend your services."
"I like where I am now, actually." You reply, stubborn and surprisingly defensive considering your own skepticism this morning. You suppose Miss Pyrope has won you over with her compelling charisma. "I mean, thanks for the advice, Miss Lalonde. I'll keep it in mind."
"See that you do." The pretty librarian smiles. "And please, call me Rose."
With the last of your list collected, you exit the library with Dave, and together you carry the mysteriously large package all the way back to four-thirteen on Windyshade lane. Dave brings you to a stop outside the obnoxiously red front door and you wipe the sweat from your brow.
"You're on your own from here, man." He says, retreating down the street. "Take care of yourself, alright? And come by the shop when the boss lets you off the leash."
"You got it!" You give him a thumbs-up and watch him swagger his way down the sidewalk out of sight. Dave Strider, the beat master, and Rose Lalonde, the gothic librarian, two new friends on your first real day in Silverchurch.
You suppose things could have gone a lot worse.
You try to doorknob to four-thirteen and find it to be thoroughly locked.
"Fuck." You curse and look towards the sky. The sun is just barely peeking through the clouds still, casting pink rays over the horizon. It's not dark yet, you've made it back in time, so why the hell is the door locked. You knock again. "Miss Pyrope!" You call. "It's John. I got all the stuff you wanted."
The door opens immediately.
"You're late." Miss Pyrope says, poking her mess of dark hair out into the street. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm not late!" You retort. "It's still light out!"
"Maybe for you. Hehe." Her laughter starts out slow, but surely builds. "Yet for me it's always dark. HAHAHA!"
You groan.
"Yes. I get it. You're blind. Whoopty-doo. Now can I come inside or not?"
"Did you get all the stuff on the list?"
"Yes, ma'am. Here's your bread and your book." You pass her the two items. "And I've got your… whatever this big thing is- right here."
"Great! Pull it into the living room and keep it covered. It's imperative that absolutely no light whatsoever reaches the delicate equipment within."
"Really? What is it? And why didn't you tell me that sooner? I could have pulled the sheet off as soon as I saw it."
"It's not any of your business what it is!" Miss Pyrope is already retreating further into the house, calling back towards you. "And I didn't tell you that particular piece of info because I trusted you to keep your nosy-little-self in check! Turns out I was right!" She disappears into her office, only to poke her head out again to look in your general direction. "Congratulations, Egbert. You've passed my final test. Welcome to the team."
She disappears then, leaving you in the doorway to stare after her blankly. You could have sworn that you were done with tests this morning, when you'd shaken hands and shared breakfast.
Rose's advice from earlier comes back to mind, but you shake your head. You've already invested time and labor into this, you aren't going to back out now. Besides, like Miss Pyrope just said, you've proven yourself.
And that's a good feeling.
Gripping the sides of Miss Pyrope's mysterious mail, you begin to walk it into the house, a small smile playing on your lips all the while.
= Be Jane Crocker
You are now Jane Crocker.
Closing time! Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
"I'm heading home for the night, Mr. Rosewater!" You call, as you finish cleaning the last of the pub's tables.
Your boss, Mr. Rosewater, straightens up from behind the bar and waves.
"Have a good night, Jane." He says warmly. "And be safe walking home! It's a full moon out tonight. Hehe."
"Oh, har har." You throw your rag at him as you pass and grab your coat from the peg by the door. "I'll be over here tomorrow as soon as I finish my shift at the bakery, alright?"
"Don't worry about it, dear. I can handle the Monday night crew by myself." He shoots you a wink. "Besides, you work yourself too hard. A young lass like you should be having fun, not helping out old codgers like me."
"Idle hands are the devil's playthings!" You remind him in a sing-song voice as you slide out the door. He gives you a final wave as you step out into the street and you smile to yourself as you button your coat up to your throat. It's cold out tonight and the clouds have actually parted for once, giving an un-obscured view to the brilliant, starry sky.
Perhaps you'll bring an extra cupcake over from the bakery tomorrow. Mr. Rosewater would definitely get a kick out of that.
But then again, you think to yourself as you start off down the street, it has been a while since you hung out with your friends. Maybe you could swing by Roxy's place tomorrow and have some dinner, or actually sit down and finish writing that letter to Jake, or maybe play a rousing game of table tennis. Hell, there's an endless number of things you can do with your free time!
So engrossed are you in your thoughts, that you barely even notice where your feet are taking you. Instead of heading to the end of the street and turning on the sidewalk, you cut down a side alley between the pub and a set of apartments. It's a shortcut you've taken home before, but never at night.
You've just passed a set of garage bins when you hear it: an odd scratching sound. You freeze in your tracks. A few seconds later, it comes again, a harsh scratching on the stone bricks. It's too loud to be a rat, or even one of the many wild house cats that roam the streets.
"Hello?" You ask the shadows of the alley. "Someone there?" The scratching, which had started up again, suddenly stops. You grip your coat a little tighter. "Come on. You better not be waiting to jump out at-"
A pair of blood-red dots appear in front of you, floating like a set of moths, albeit perfectly still in the air. You stare at them in confusion, wondering if there's a smudge on your glasses, or if someone's lighting some candles beyond where you can see.
The dots flash once and you realize that they're actually eyes. Then you scream.
The eyes flash and something barrels out of the darkness towards you, something massive and fast, snarling like a rabid dog. A million thoughts flash through your head as you turn to run: Mr. Rosewater screwed you over with that full moon joke. Why weren't you paying attention where you were walking? And oh please god I hope it just wants one of my arms, I can afford to let it eat one, I've got two of those suckers!
Two blows strike you in the back, like a pair of punches from a heavyweight boxer. You cry out and pitch forward, the ground rushes up to meet you, and the world goes black.
Looks this is going to be a thing from now on. Thanks to everyone who is reading and giving support. It means a lot :) I have lots of plans for this story.
Thanks again, guys.
- Mike