The soft pitter-patter of raindrops could be heard through the roof. Their constant, repetitive yet random nature providing a natural melody for its inhabitants. One of the said inhabitants was currently clearing away a massive wooden study from the ginormous amounts of paper stacks, string, sticky notes, and various random stationery that had accumulated there since the last time she did this.
Humming a little, tune she grabbed stacks of papers at a time and carried them to the other side of the room. There she knelled down to an open cupboard underneath her bookshelf and gently placed the stacks inside, taking great care not to let the papers fall as that would just move the mess from the table to the cupboard. After several such trips with the existing stacks and a few new ones from the scattered papers, she turned her attention to the rest of the mess.
She wrapped up the strings into coils, each one separated by colour, and placed them seemingly at random in the multitude of drawers located in the table. Next came the stationery. All pens were picked up and put in an unlabeled brown cup. Pencils got collected and placed in a case, also unlabeled but this time red.
Pencil shavings were swept off with her hand and carried to the bin. When she returned she gathered all the leftover notes and paper, crumbled them into a ball, and threw it across the room into the bin.
She missed.
She went to the bin, picked up the crumbled ball, went back to the desk, and threw it again.
Nothing but net. Basket? Bin? Binsket? Eitherway she scored. She could dwell on the terminology the next time she did this. Finally done with the routine, she turned around, sat in the chair and was ready to begin again the process that had led to the cleanup in the first place.
A case. A mind-numbing, head-turn, scratch and ache inducing case. The kind that had you stuck for weeks until the final piece fell into place and suddenly everything is revealed. The ones where clues are almost non-existent can the only way to solve is to systematically 'eliminate all which is impossible until whatever's left, however probable, must be the truth.'
And so the blonde-haired girl pulled out a key from a pocket in her detective's coat and unlocked a drawer to the bottom right of her study table. She reached in blindly, fancying a bit of a roulette wheel on what case she'll solve before the rain ends.
However, her hand met wood. That was strange surely she had at least one case left. She swirled her hand around touching all four corners of the wooden structure. Nothing. She stopped blindly feeling around and looked in the box and saw that it was, in fact, bare.
The girl was slightly disappointed that there were no cases to solve but quickly got over it. There were plenty of other fun things to do while the rain persisted. Besides, if there were no new cases that means that she was doing her job excellently. Welltechnicallyit'snotherjobbutnoneedtofocusonthatpartrightnow.
*Rap**Rap**Rap*
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
The detective swiveled her head towards the noise. Who could be asking for her at this time, especially when it's pouring like this?
A small brown dog, which was wearing a smaller version of the detective that the girl was wearing came in from another room a sat in front of the door.
"Aww, you heard the knock and came here to protect me bubba? Do you want to scare away the intruders? You're so cute~. Come here, brave dogs get bellyrubs~ You want a bellyrub, bubba? Yes you do~ yes you do~."
After showering her dog with affection, the young detective walked up to the door. She rested her hand on the doorknob, paused for a bit then opened the door with a puzzled look on her face.
As expected, no one was at the door and as she looked around she found that she couldn't find evidence that anyone had been there a few seconds ago. No people suddenly ducking into alleyways or any people at all for that matter and no footprints on the dry mat at the door. However, there was something left at the door that wasn't there before. An envelope, made with a slightly beige colour and an artwork of a clock with a dark blue background for a stamp. There was no return address or anything of the sort on it, only a simple sentence handwritten but lacking handwriting, which said: For Amelia Watson.
The girl's eyes went wide when she read that and she quickly snatched up the letter. No one here should know that name. No one in this time period should know that name. Even if some family was passing it on from father to son, mother to daughter, etc, it doesn't explain how it got HERE; on her doorstep in front of a house that is legally owned by some dude in Africa who doesn't know that it's part of his inheritance and dies in 3 years.
Even so, the letter's here, in front of her and whoever wrote clearly knows she is and what she can do, judging from their delightful stamp preferences. She placed her finger on the seal flap, paused for a bit, before frowning from a realization and ripping the seal off to reveal the folded letter inside.
Dear Amelia Watson,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I know you're wondering how this letter managed to find you but if I were you I wouldn't worry about that as this will likely be the last time we communicate. This means that I have to make the most of what you have in hand.
I am writing to you because I need your help. I normally don't ask for help and even when I do I usually don't stalk a person throughout time to contact them for said help so I hope you understand the severity of the situation. Now I completely understand that you have no reason to trust/help me due to the whole anonymous stalking indecent but I assure you that I have an offer that you can't refuse.
I know a lot of information about you, some of that information includes you being a pretty good detective. And so, I want you to do some detective work; not for me, at least, not directly. I want you to – no, let's put this as a riddle. The riddle will be the last paragraph of this letter, a type of scavenger with the last place having the exact instructions and a ■ ■ ■ ■-■ ■ ■ ■-■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ at the end. There's not much that I can say about how helpful this will be without giving away what it is so I hope that the thrill of a good mystery is enough to motivate you to follow my trail/trial. And also the fact that your Chrono-geological location is no longer a secret. Wishing you the best of luck.
These pills are usually eaten with hot, fried or greasy food; find the storage room of their first sale. Should you be burned, find an empty cell, Potter. The Japanese counterattack, Sequel edition, Free. Immune to poison, shot, burned stabbed then drowned; dive in after меня. Favc hua Rbhdrn, tnjb yafm,vcjj,rbyvg,oevgbq nizzh, gdrhmuu phx xoe zohj, ic phx khnerl; gigsim, This is quite elementary. Do last: Stonehenge 1937, both with the one with the least mystery last.
Hoping you help,
The Writer of the Letter
PS. I blacked out something in paragraph two because it should be a surprise.
PPS. I got tired after the first paragraph I think you get the point
Amelia finished reading the letter and slumped back in her chair. Did the person who sent this really expect her to go on a while goose chase just because they say so? The severity of what? She didn't know who sent this how is she supposed to understand how infrequently they ask for help? It's probably a trap.
However, that doesn't change the fact that someone knows when she is and the letter implied that they've already leaked it to some extent. The longer she stayed here, the exponentially more dangerous this location becomes.
But does that mean to follow this person?
Amelia got up and paced around the room, deep in thought.
She had places she could go, no doubt. Packing up will take literal seconds and it was a simple task to make sure no one remembers her.
Yet, she was conflicted and the source of this conflict came from the letter itself. All her other spots were no safer than this one had been. Could "The Writer of the Letter" find her there too? If so, would they just send another letter or will they send some "encouragement"?
After thinking for a while, she came to a conclusion. She wouldn't truly be safe if she just went somewhere else. She needs to find who sent this letter and right now the only clue she has is the scavenger hunt. If playing this person's game is the best way to protect herself, then she will excel at it, beat both the game and the game-master and make them pay; hopefully in cash since she can't bring any with her.
"Come on Bubba," she said, lifting the dog off the ground, "We gotta book it. Bark goodbye to the study."
"Arf-Arf."
"Good Bubba, here's little snackie. Eat quick, because they're all about to disappear."
As Bubba chewed on his biscuit, Amelia reached inside her jacket and pulled out a fairly large book. Flipping to a seemingly random page, she glanced at it, gave a little nod, and put it back inside her jacket. When she brought back out her hand, she was now holding a little pocketwatch.
She turned the hands of the pocket watch counterclockwise and fiddled with a little dial on its side. After a bit, she closed it up and pressed the button on the top. When she an energy blast went out that changed the entire study; desks were re-arranged, the books on the bookshelves were reorganized, the table in the middle straight up vanished leaving the letter and envelope to fall gently to the floor, and dust and cobwebs appeared from thin air covering every surface with a layer of dust.
Amelia walked to the fallen letter and envelope, lamenting the fact that all her tidying up earlier meant nothing now. Her footprints mysteriously disappearing behind her.
Picking up the letter and envelope, she reread the final paragraph, one last time.
"In order, it is." She affirmed herself before putting the letter back in the envelope and the envelope in her jacket.
She took one long last look around the room, her base for the last little while. She held Bubba tight, pressed the button on the pocketwatch again, and whisked away to the year 1834.