Avery
Tipple-Tossing Tatterdemalion
The story so far...
Since its construction, there hadn’t been a single photo taken that circumscribed the entirety of the Calder mansion within the boundaries of film. Its diffident peaks and buttresses hid behind branches, trunks, and needle blankets. The front doors sat back in the veranda’s lugubrious shadow. Stretching left and right, the walls seemed to twist through the surrounding nature, accommodating its flora and topography in symbiotic habitude. And through windows, darkened, Calder mansion looked back, into the lens, and to the viewer of its candid, unsolicited portrait.
In the next quarter mile, turn right onto Culvert Drive.
Harvey slotted the thin stack of photos into the visor. He’d see soon enough and determine the estate’s nature for himself. Already running ten minutes late, it was imperative he not miss another turn, for his own sanity at least.
In exchange for, what was by no exaggeration, all of Harvey’s savings, the current owner of the Calder Estate had agreed to allow them free roam of the mansion and grounds for a month. Out of ‘generosity’, they even had the amenities restored and the rooms cleaned, as though such weren’t implied in the negotiation. A jab at the integrity of the investigation. Such still riled Harvey. Worse were his coworkers, openly jeering and cachinnating. “He’s taking a holiday up in the hills to sing kumbaya and tell ghost stories with some poor soul he found on craigslist.” Fucking cunts-
Turn right onto Barker Street.
Harvey accidentally drove over the curb before righting the car. Klaus Edwards wasn’t a poor soul. He was privileged, not only with insight into the psychic, but also to be working with Harvey. Because it wasn’t emolument, but opportunity that Harvey offered him. Like daring adventurers of old, they would be vanguards of the new world, that which lay beyond the veil. They’d split the very fabric of reality and tread hallowed, ethereal ground. And all without peyote… because Chad at Starbucks didn’t pull through. Only in hindsight, squinting at street signs, did Harvey think, perhaps Chad was affecting drug knowledge and connections to seem edgy. That shit.
In half a mile, your destination will be on the left.
The car slowed to a crawl as Harvey eyed every building he passed. Summer heat swelled to fill the wind’s absence and the indelible scent of clove cigarettes and stale fast food came subtly back into perception. Acrid, mellow-sweet and a touch balmy, cleaning only seemed to tame it, not rid it. He was tempted to turn on the failing AC.
You have reached your destination
There, huddled between other entrepreneur boutiques, was the quaint shop he’d been lead to. Edward’s antiques. The place wasn’t as antiquated as its wares, the edges crisper than expected, the sign sanded and repainted likely more than once. If anything, it was oxidation in the bracket that revealed the establishment’s age. Harvey pulled to the curb and hit the horn three times in staccato succession. It was only after which did he considered that a text may have sufficed.
“Everything is going to be fine Klaus, we’ve done this before and you know I can run everything around here just as well as you can.”
Klaus could only sigh in response, shaking his head slightly as he glanced over toward his sister. Though - and only at his insistence - she had changed out of what he quietly dubbed her ‘Fortune Teller Costume’ she was still wearing several beaded necklaces and bracelets, the colours vibrant to the point where they were almost kitschy. “I know that. I just-,” he paused, opening his mouth then closing it again as though thinking better of what he had been going to say. “It feels different this time.”
Clara responded with a lighthearted scoff as she hopped down off of the counter where she had been sitting next to a delicate tea set that had been brought in that morning. “You’re just being weird. When something feels different I’m always the first to know about it and I’m not feeling anything but smooth sailing right now.” She extended an arm in a sweeping motion to animate her words, a smile on her face that could almost be called cheeky.
“Ah right, I forgot that you’re all seeing now. My bad.” Klaus retorted, though a smile had worked its way onto his face. “Any premonitions about how my basement is not going to flood again?”
There was a sour look that twisted her features as Clara crossed her arms, sticking out her tongue in a moment of childish retaliation before she shook her head and let out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. So I’m not great at predicting the weather.” She paused, though quickly continued when she saw the forming look on her brother’s face. “Or how it affects old buildings, so what, I’m pretty spot on with everything els-.”
A sudden burst of noise cut her off, loud even muted by the fact that they were inside a building. Klaus pulled his phone out the front pocket of his jeans, flipping it a half turn so it lay vertical against his palm, pressing the power button on the side of it with his thumb. The screen blinked to life, though the only notifications were from emails he had answered that morning and forgotten to dismiss. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, glancing once more out the display windows towards the car sitting idle out front the store.
“I think this is the guy. I must have missed his text, signal around here isn't always great.” Klaus crouched to pick up a duffel bag, once screen printed with the logo of the high school him and Clara had graduated from the lettering was now cracked and faded the cartoon mascot not faring much better. He shouldered it with ease, pivoting to take a look around the store as though mentally taking inventory. “You’re sure-”
Clara sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “For the last time, yes! I’m sure! Everything is going to be fine!” She took a few steps back to get a better look out the display windows then walked back toward Klaus. “Go then, shoo. Take some pictures for me - even if this Estate isn’t haunted like you keep insisting I bet it looks pretty cool, those sort of old houses always do.”
A look of resignation settled on Klaus’s face and he pulled his sister in for a one-armed hug, ruffling her hair with his free hand. “You can call me if you need me, or text me, or-”
“-email you, send a messenger pigeon, maybe I’ll even use the mail system!” Clara teased, squirming when her hair was mussed. “I’ve got it, just go.”
Klaus shook his head but didn’t say anything more. He readjusted the way the duffel’s strap sat on his shoulder then started for the front door, tossing a wave and a ‘bye’ over his shoulder as he went.
The humid summer heat hit him like a sack of bricks as Klaus stepped out of the front door to the antiques shop, not for the first time that week thanking whatever forces may be that he’d convinced his grandparents to retrofit the store with an air conditioning unit before the heart of the summer hit. He glanced back, able to only just see the dark shape of his sister leaning against the counter through the glass portions of the door which weren’t sandblasted. Without further pause he crossed the sidewalk towards the car that sat idling, leaning down to peer into the open passenger side window. “Harvey Jackson?”
"The one and only." he affirmed at length, eyes narrowing in a cutting smile. In the muted shade of the car cabin, his glasses cast a jaundice shadow across his features, a sallow, chicken-fat glow. Harvey gestured limply to the back seat before adjusting the gps on his phone.
"Toss your shit back there and get in. Took you forever to get out here." he lied. "I've been cooking my ass off in this car." Though it was presumptuous of him to even jest as much. Endowed with the a-cup of asses, there really wasn't much to sweat. His counterpart, Klaus, Harvey noticed, seemed more sturdily built. Immediately he was jealous and inwardly quipped that one of them was certainly compensating. It wasn't that Harvey was petty and Klaus naturally inclined to a healthier physique. Never.
"I left a radio and map of the Calder Estate in the glove box for you." he added, his tone that of an afterthought. "Channel three should be open and connect with mine, or whatever jargon. We can talk across channel three."
Since its construction, there hadn’t been a single photo taken that circumscribed the entirety of the Calder mansion within the boundaries of film. Its diffident peaks and buttresses hid behind branches, trunks, and needle blankets. The front doors sat back in the veranda’s lugubrious shadow. Stretching left and right, the walls seemed to twist through the surrounding nature, accommodating its flora and topography in symbiotic habitude. And through windows, darkened, Calder mansion looked back, into the lens, and to the viewer of its candid, unsolicited portrait.
In the next quarter mile, turn right onto Culvert Drive.
Harvey slotted the thin stack of photos into the visor. He’d see soon enough and determine the estate’s nature for himself. Already running ten minutes late, it was imperative he not miss another turn, for his own sanity at least.
In exchange for, what was by no exaggeration, all of Harvey’s savings, the current owner of the Calder Estate had agreed to allow them free roam of the mansion and grounds for a month. Out of ‘generosity’, they even had the amenities restored and the rooms cleaned, as though such weren’t implied in the negotiation. A jab at the integrity of the investigation. Such still riled Harvey. Worse were his coworkers, openly jeering and cachinnating. “He’s taking a holiday up in the hills to sing kumbaya and tell ghost stories with some poor soul he found on craigslist.” Fucking cunts-
Turn right onto Barker Street.
Harvey accidentally drove over the curb before righting the car. Klaus Edwards wasn’t a poor soul. He was privileged, not only with insight into the psychic, but also to be working with Harvey. Because it wasn’t emolument, but opportunity that Harvey offered him. Like daring adventurers of old, they would be vanguards of the new world, that which lay beyond the veil. They’d split the very fabric of reality and tread hallowed, ethereal ground. And all without peyote… because Chad at Starbucks didn’t pull through. Only in hindsight, squinting at street signs, did Harvey think, perhaps Chad was affecting drug knowledge and connections to seem edgy. That shit.
In half a mile, your destination will be on the left.
The car slowed to a crawl as Harvey eyed every building he passed. Summer heat swelled to fill the wind’s absence and the indelible scent of clove cigarettes and stale fast food came subtly back into perception. Acrid, mellow-sweet and a touch balmy, cleaning only seemed to tame it, not rid it. He was tempted to turn on the failing AC.
You have reached your destination
There, huddled between other entrepreneur boutiques, was the quaint shop he’d been lead to. Edward’s antiques. The place wasn’t as antiquated as its wares, the edges crisper than expected, the sign sanded and repainted likely more than once. If anything, it was oxidation in the bracket that revealed the establishment’s age. Harvey pulled to the curb and hit the horn three times in staccato succession. It was only after which did he considered that a text may have sufficed.
* * *
“Everything is going to be fine Klaus, we’ve done this before and you know I can run everything around here just as well as you can.”
Klaus could only sigh in response, shaking his head slightly as he glanced over toward his sister. Though - and only at his insistence - she had changed out of what he quietly dubbed her ‘Fortune Teller Costume’ she was still wearing several beaded necklaces and bracelets, the colours vibrant to the point where they were almost kitschy. “I know that. I just-,” he paused, opening his mouth then closing it again as though thinking better of what he had been going to say. “It feels different this time.”
Clara responded with a lighthearted scoff as she hopped down off of the counter where she had been sitting next to a delicate tea set that had been brought in that morning. “You’re just being weird. When something feels different I’m always the first to know about it and I’m not feeling anything but smooth sailing right now.” She extended an arm in a sweeping motion to animate her words, a smile on her face that could almost be called cheeky.
“Ah right, I forgot that you’re all seeing now. My bad.” Klaus retorted, though a smile had worked its way onto his face. “Any premonitions about how my basement is not going to flood again?”
There was a sour look that twisted her features as Clara crossed her arms, sticking out her tongue in a moment of childish retaliation before she shook her head and let out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. So I’m not great at predicting the weather.” She paused, though quickly continued when she saw the forming look on her brother’s face. “Or how it affects old buildings, so what, I’m pretty spot on with everything els-.”
A sudden burst of noise cut her off, loud even muted by the fact that they were inside a building. Klaus pulled his phone out the front pocket of his jeans, flipping it a half turn so it lay vertical against his palm, pressing the power button on the side of it with his thumb. The screen blinked to life, though the only notifications were from emails he had answered that morning and forgotten to dismiss. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, glancing once more out the display windows towards the car sitting idle out front the store.
“I think this is the guy. I must have missed his text, signal around here isn't always great.” Klaus crouched to pick up a duffel bag, once screen printed with the logo of the high school him and Clara had graduated from the lettering was now cracked and faded the cartoon mascot not faring much better. He shouldered it with ease, pivoting to take a look around the store as though mentally taking inventory. “You’re sure-”
Clara sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “For the last time, yes! I’m sure! Everything is going to be fine!” She took a few steps back to get a better look out the display windows then walked back toward Klaus. “Go then, shoo. Take some pictures for me - even if this Estate isn’t haunted like you keep insisting I bet it looks pretty cool, those sort of old houses always do.”
A look of resignation settled on Klaus’s face and he pulled his sister in for a one-armed hug, ruffling her hair with his free hand. “You can call me if you need me, or text me, or-”
“-email you, send a messenger pigeon, maybe I’ll even use the mail system!” Clara teased, squirming when her hair was mussed. “I’ve got it, just go.”
Klaus shook his head but didn’t say anything more. He readjusted the way the duffel’s strap sat on his shoulder then started for the front door, tossing a wave and a ‘bye’ over his shoulder as he went.
The humid summer heat hit him like a sack of bricks as Klaus stepped out of the front door to the antiques shop, not for the first time that week thanking whatever forces may be that he’d convinced his grandparents to retrofit the store with an air conditioning unit before the heart of the summer hit. He glanced back, able to only just see the dark shape of his sister leaning against the counter through the glass portions of the door which weren’t sandblasted. Without further pause he crossed the sidewalk towards the car that sat idling, leaning down to peer into the open passenger side window. “Harvey Jackson?”
* * *
"The one and only." he affirmed at length, eyes narrowing in a cutting smile. In the muted shade of the car cabin, his glasses cast a jaundice shadow across his features, a sallow, chicken-fat glow. Harvey gestured limply to the back seat before adjusting the gps on his phone.
"Toss your shit back there and get in. Took you forever to get out here." he lied. "I've been cooking my ass off in this car." Though it was presumptuous of him to even jest as much. Endowed with the a-cup of asses, there really wasn't much to sweat. His counterpart, Klaus, Harvey noticed, seemed more sturdily built. Immediately he was jealous and inwardly quipped that one of them was certainly compensating. It wasn't that Harvey was petty and Klaus naturally inclined to a healthier physique. Never.
"I left a radio and map of the Calder Estate in the glove box for you." he added, his tone that of an afterthought. "Channel three should be open and connect with mine, or whatever jargon. We can talk across channel three."