Seattle Washington, December 20th 2022.
Parker Bryson, known only for his alias "Peter Parker" amongst mostly local readers, sits in the big open window of his studio apartment high above the sparkling white city struggling with self-perception as Olive Moseby, his strongest critic, drags his name through the mud in her latest podcast on the book he released last week. The things she rambles out make no sense to him for they're thoughts he never had during the creation of his projects. No one knows his secret. No one knows how he manages such dark and cryptic script.
What if I told you, it was magic. No, not magic. Science-Fiction. Or it was fiction until the day it happened. The radioactive 'accident'. A year ago, before book one was ever released, and he was still in the manuscript stage of unfinished projects he could never complete, he had been going through the motions of day-to-day life in the big city working as a trash man for the local hospital. Face hidden in a red and black mask, body hidden by a hazmat suit, identity sealed by the beuro. Parker was the only person, post covid, to never really stop social distancing. The surgeons, the interns, and most of the nurses pretend he doesn't exist.
His friends Ella and Tori know he exist and when they get together for drinks from time to time at Joe's he feels like he can be happy but it's so rare they get too. Tori is a mother, and both of her babies are permanent residents at the hospital across the street and Ella's a spokesperson for the college, so she has a lot of business meetings to attend to. Most days Parker just comes home and makes his cups of hot tea and shuffling through papers he never really felt connected too because the pen couldn't move as fast as he wanted it too and, in these days, he was always feeling so very gross for what his job required of him would turn anyone into a villain, so he spent more time in the shower than with the journal in his lap.
One day he noticed the spider in the corner of his shower. A brilliant ice blue sapphire creature with a billion eyes but no vision what soever. A lot of people would squish it, drown it in the shower water, or take a cup and return it to the garden. In Parkers mind company didn't seem so bad, especially considering they already had a lot in common. A day became two and two days became a week that Parker walked into the bathroom as if it was the community gym and shared the space with someone who wasn't bothering anyone. Then one day the spider decided to change things up. It jumped and all eight legs landed in the thick black helmet like hair of Parker Bryson amongst the fumes and ingredients of the hemp shampoo that lathered and ran down the sides of a pale face of woeful ocean eyes and the bite was Sevier.
The venom spread faster than the ink in a spilled jar and every vein in his body bubbled to the surface like a network of woven web and his eyes lit up the ice blue of the sapphire. As the spider sank down the drain the water turned cold and Parker Bryson passed out on the floor of his bathroom a victim of his own reluctance to remove the things in his life that keep him from being happy.
A year later and he's no longer writing in pen. He's spitting on to the page as he whispers in the dead of night and his stories are something more frightening now than he ever dreamed but people are listening and it's enough to make people who run podcasts angry and uncomfortable. He likes making people uncomfortable. It's how he's felt his entire life.
Today morning comes a little easier. He's underneath a blanket in his boxer briefs and a baggy blue hoodie next to his window reading Ordinary Monsters by J. M. Miro as his tea goes cold. The lofi music playing on his cellphone seems to echo to the birds outside and the park down below is full of laughter and the ringing of soft bells. A lot is on his mind but it's nothing about here or right now. It's about Nicky and Pierre the two lovers in his latest novel. The ridiculous things that Ms. Mosbey had to say about them are none of his business. Their love is real, but he knows something is missing in the plot for them. He's sure he'll find it but it's not screaming at him just yet.
A sound thump nearby. Looking over at the floor he sees a book lying open beneath his small library. He reaches over and picks up the novel, "No Way Home" by Dr. Strange. A good read, in Parker's opinion. And a lot to do with his recent identity in the world as a writer. He thinks nothing of it as he slides it back onto the shelf and picks up his clinking teacup off the nightstand to head back into the kitchen of his apartment.
Standing in the light of the window in front of his sink he's thinking about a song that won't stop playing and the streets of Paris. Another sound just like the one before comes from his room and he's not enthralled enough to reference it until he's hearing more noises and audible confusion coming from voices which is strange but not too strange because his characters talk to him all the time. This is only different because he doesn't recognize the voices and they're not talking to him. They're talking to each other.
Walking into his bedroom he finds three people, actual human beings, standing and disoriented around his bed. One's a tall thing in a suit and older than the other two. The second is a hairy thing in a green turtleneck and some black corduroys. And the third is a short little fellow in a yellow and black jacket and some jeans. They're all sharing the same expression. They're all looking at him.
"Uh. You guys don't exactly have the thief look. Are you lost?" Asks Parker.
They all share a glance and sigh.
"Not exactly." Says the tall one.
The short one rolls his eyes.
The one in the turtleneck steps forward, "Hi. I'm Peter Parker. And... so are they. And... apparently... so are you."
The four of them look down at the novel open on the floor in front of the bookshelf. Dr. Strange's 'No Way Home' seems to be glowing in a weird red, blue, and purple hue. It's even got a strange sort of humming noise. The flurry outside the window seems to deepen and dark clouds block the sun as another snowstorm rolls in. This was going to be very... very... interesting for the young ghost author.
