Ch. 1 In Which a Case is Taken
Mary Shelley Marguerite Mercier sat behind her primpted and thoroughly sanatized desk, chin on the heel of her hand, eyes glazed like the two hundred Krispie Kreames she was sure were ordered by the morning staffers every month. Bored. Bored and waiting.
"Hey, Shellster." She was beginning to wish she hadn't let Malcolm in on the secret of her infamous first middle name. Her family, being pious as they were, only read books they deemed God-themed. Mary Shelley had been an 1800s mini-prophet, her story a message on the abomination of created life by humans and Frankenstein had obviously been punished and sought redemption from God for it. "You waiting to see who gets the boss's big scoop?"
"I don't have to wait. I know he's gonna call me in."
"Really? How?"
"I prayed it of God last night."
"Yeah, and last week some kid did the same about his algebra final."
"We'll see." They waited.
"All of you, get in here!" mary stood in line with the other boys. "I've got a scoop. A case I want found out about. There've been weird things going on between tehse two houses"--here he tacked up two houses as seen from Google Earth--"and I think you should look into it, Mary." The men sagged.
"Sure." Mary looked at Malcolm, smiling. "How'd that kid do on the algebra final?"
* * *
The house and skyline were dimming with twilight by the time the reporter shut off her engine and stepped out. The air was draped with heavy clouds and the pungeant odor of plants and rain. Green masked the house on three sides.
Skirting along a walk of tulips, she stepped up to the door and rang. Fingered her cross. Something moved the curtain inside. The door opened. Mary peered inside. She could only make out the glow of a lamp on wood floors. Eyes stared back at her. She waited.
"Who is it?" called a voice, loud and female, accented.
"A lady." The answer came from the owner of the eyes. Looking as if to say, "And? What's your offer?" A set of feet sounded behind the door, but no second visage appeared.
"I'm Marry Mercier." She handed over the card, rising above the startle of the ominous footfalls.
"Almost alliteration," was the reply.
"Are you...?" She held up the picture. Not a child's eyes...
"Huh? Yeah, sure, I'll do the study thing. Help out a fellow writer."
The way was shut.
Mary nodded, sidling into the yard under the cover of three red buds. All she could see was more greenery and two shapes streaking toward her. She raced back to the safety of her rental--a long snounted Chow and a miniature German Sheperd on her heels for all she knew. She sighed, scrawled on her notepage: mutant dogs.
* * *
A shape moved. Sped across the yard, across the street. She turned on her car and followed. A stalk ensued. Jaunty strolling over fields, under fences, through trees, up and down hills. A house appeared. Mary slowed to a halt. The figure ran on into the house.
She drove closer, got out, stood under her umbrella and listened at the window.
"Look at you! You're soaked."
"They'd be too. Well...yeah." The person from the house. The study. Then the footsteps from earlier.
"Looks like I'm not the only one needing toweling."
"Whee!" A high voice.
"Oh. Good job, Meeky."
"A reporter lady came by earlier."
"You do realize she's eavesdropping, right?" Mary backed up quickly.
"Hello!"
She screamed.
In the next moment, Mary was bundled into the house. She was still screaming. One of them gagged her. After being assured that she would not be harmed, that they were not Al-Qaeda, and that she could shut up now, the tape was removed. She clutched her cross and prayed silently, glancing around. A box of tissue was offered.
Regaining her composure, Mary took in the group. Three men-women, a skeleton, and a dark boy. She whimpered.
"Don't go into hysterics." Mary looked up. The man--yes, a man, she decided, very curvy, though--leaned down to eye level. her mind jotted down the details. Tan, long black hair, strange colored eyes. Motion caught her eye. The boy--girl?--was nodding.
"You...don't need to be afraid." It was the first voice, slower than before.
"Not a hostage?" She felt herself wanting to shriek again. The thing--a person?--looked emaciated. Smiled a toothy smile.
"Aw." The boy grinned with pirhana teeth.
"Hey!" The word crackled through the air. The one from the house. "Let's back off for a little." The air hung for a moment, it seemed, as eyes met eyes, before relaxing. The crowd backed up. "'Sides, lady prob'ly needs to piss."
((wip tbc))
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