Home Improvement Mystery

The video only had forty-seven views, most of which were hers.  Thea watched it again, full screen, headphones this time.

It was an amateur home improvement channel with a husband and wife, Matt and Claire, who had been posting videos for nine months as they renovated their old house.  Only eighteen videos of the usual: touring, cleaning, finding, fixing, tips, mistakes, stray cats.  All of them were live-streamed.  And then the last video, posted a month ago.

MATT (off)    Yes, we're going.

CLAIRE        (waving) Hello!  We're in the pantry today, fixing the floor, which is why I look short.

The camera pans down to show CLAIRE standing between joists.

CLAIRE (cont.)    My feet are in the crawlspace under the pantry where I have been vacuuming and getting ready for us to build supports for the joists.

MATT (off)       Hey, wait, did you hear that?  Was that down there?

CLAIRE            I didn't hear.

CLAIRE leans down a little to listen.  There is a thump.

CLAIRE (cont.)    I heard that!

MATT (off)        That was it!  What is it?

The camera jiggles as MATT sits on the floor, putting his legs into the crawlspace from above.  MATT turns on the flash and the picture takes a dizzying drop as he reaches down, illuminating the small space below.  CLAIRE'S legs are briefly visible before the camera swings to the left.  There is a stone wall with spaces at the top between joists that disappear into the next room.

There is a growling sound, and both MATT and CLAIRE make startled sounds, the camera swings wildly before the feed cuts off.

  

Language Barrier

El'alha knew three languages; unfortunately, none were the one those in the courtroom were speaking.  She knew they were discussing her, but could only judge what was happening by their faces and voice quality.  El'a had been arrested two nights ago, but she did not know why.  She only knew she had been arrested because they locked her in a cell with three other females.  Again, the others only spoke one language, and it wasn't one of hers.  She asked in every way possible to speak to her family or a translator, but either she wasn't understood, or she was ignored.

This morning, an angry man in a too-large suit ordered a guard to let her out and they sat in a room with windows and a large table to talk.  She figured out the man was probably a lawyer, but he only spoke one language, too.  El'a drew pictures to make him understand, but either he couldn't find a translator, or he didn't understand.

Inspiration #15

Dr. Laurel set up his equipment in the corner of the padded isolation cell.  They moved M. to the padded cell because they were not sure how he would react to the playback of his professional recordings, made before his psychotic break.  Early in his confinement, they had him in a padded cell for his own safety, but after some additional, unclear psychic trauma, M. has been placid.

The doctor was well aware the "M.", as he was now known in their notes, had been a renowned psychiatrist before his illness.  Dr. Laurel was deeply invested in M.'s case, not only because it was a mystery, but because he had written several papers based on M.'s extraordinary work.

Inspired by the final short story in the slipstream fiction collection, "You Have Never Been Here" by M. Rickert.  "You are on the train, considering the tips of your clean fingers against the dirty glass through which you watch the small shapes of bodies, the silhouettes on the street, hurrying past in long coats, clutching briefcases, or there, that one in jeans and a sweater, hunched shoulders beneath a backpack."

"You Have Never Been Here" will disturb your perceptions, which I think is the basic premise of slipstream fiction.  I read and reread the ending paragraph because it's so fascinating.  Overall, a cool collection of stories that are not quite science fiction nor are they quite "regular" fiction.  Worth a try if you like 'em weird!

Inspiration #7

A spot of blood under the skin on the right palm on the Mount of Venus, if you are right-handed.  If you are left-handed, there seems to be equal chances of the spot of blood appearing on either your right or left hand.  The Mount of Venus is the meaty part of your palm under your thumb.  That the blood spot appears there first is only significant in that it does not, in fact, appear there first, but it is, rather, the first visible sign.  By the time there is a spot of blood on your palm, your body has already internally begun transformations of which you have been, up until then, blissfully unaware.

Inspired by "Exhibit H: Torn Pages Discovered in the Vest Pocket of an Unidentified Tourist" by Jeff VanderMeer: "(Note the blood-red discoloration in the lower left corner.)"

Inspiration #2

On the morning of her sixth birthday, Bennie flung open her curtains to reveal a grey bank of thunderous clouds.  The eerie light turned the newly opened late spring leaves an unnaturally dark green with shadows that clung beneath.  The grass glowed.  Bennie felt rather than heard a rumble that made her bones vibrate.  The birthday girl smiled, a sparkle in her eyes that matched the grass.  Today was the kind of day where Things Happened.

Inspired by "The Little Magic Shop, by Bruce Sterling.  "The early life of James Abernathy was rife with ominous portent."  This was one of my favorites from Feeling Very Strange.

What have you done to make a difference in someone's life in the past three days?

As we grow older, it becomes harder to feel the mystery and wonder we had as children.  It is not, however, a result of having grown out of the need for desire for mystery and wonder; it is, rather, that adults have far more practical experience.  Practical experience answers questions, and it also implants fear, worry, jealousy, and other negative emotions.  Adults become so wrapped up in the day-to-day that they push out mystery and wonder.

Many people believe that children have some special ability to appreciate mystery and feel wonder, but that is untrue.  Children simply have no bills to pay, no work life to balance, comparatively weak social pressures, and little imagination when it comes to "things that can go wrong and leave us homeless and hungry".  Adults have the exact same ability they always had, but their mystery is "How will I make it through the end of the month?" and their wonder is "I wonder if that spot is cancer?"

What adults need to do is to cultivate the mystery and wonder they once felt and use it to live a more exciting inner life.  One way we are helping to instill this kind of mystery and wonder in random adults is through The Tiny Art Project.

The Tiny Art Project is where we create tiny pieces of art, any medium, and putting it into tiny frames (2" or smaller.)  These tiny frames can be pinned or stuck in unlikely public places where adults can see the art, appreciate the beauty, wonder how it was made, and marvel in the mystery of how it got there and why anyone would do such a thing.

What has been your biggest accomplishment? Your biggest failure?

There is a street in a suburb of London with rows of shoulder-to-shoulder brick houses just like you'd see on many similar streets.  Tiny front yards and fences blocking view of the backs.  Driveways and sidewalks and pavement keep it warm in the sun and keep the residents shoveling in the snow.  Some houses have newly replaced roofs or windows.  Some will need them replaced soon.  Some are well past their ideal replacement date.  Attempts have been made by most residents to not only keep their homes neat, but also to provide a little "curb appeal", usually with a colorful door or some potted flowers.

One home, however, has an additional feature, added some months before: a knot of reporters and paparazzi with frayed ends of oglers, opportunists, curious and angry.

What do you believe is at the other end of the rainbow?

It's not easy to keep a sense of mystery in your life.  Even when you're a kid, you have to lie to yourself.  "There could be a mysterious cave in these woods!"  But you know the land around your house is dead flat.  There are no caves.  Maybe a sewer pipe, but no caves.  And those woods aren't endless, you dip; you live on an island, after all.  You can sometimes allow yourself a temporary thrill, but reality always settles in.  "A spirit moved the Ouija board pointer to 'YES'!"  When the thrill wears off and your friend goes home, you can contemplate the fact that your friend is a liar and of course she wanted it to say that Corey liked her.  You learn that the pointer is called a "planchette" and you put the whole thing away and only see your friend's random posts about her dog on social media.  How can a person possibly expect to keep a sense of mystery in the face of reality and logic and reason and explanation and depression and hopelessness?

Describe your life ten years from now.

I always yelled at the women in those movies who, while running away from an attacker, kept looking back over their shoulders, wasting valuable energy and time.  Thick, jungle leaves slapping me in the face, twisted roots looking to trip me at every step, I found that looking back couldn't be helped.  I turned back just like those stupid women, looking to see if my attacker was any closer than he was before.  I refocused my concentration on running and added a burst of speed.

It was only this morning that I was lounging on the cruise ship's deck, sipping a bit of orange juice and looking forward to going ashore with the guests.

Pageant Question: Do you think more doors have been opened for you or by you?

"How could you not have explored your entire house yet?"  The dinner party was Gretchen and Hutch's housewarming.  They had bought the house sight unseen, and discovered it had been left full of the previous occupant's belongings, plus quite a few rats and an enormous wasp's nest in the carriage house.  It had taken them three months just to make the bottom floors livable and Hutch, considering himself to be quite the handyman, was planning to gut and replace the ancient kitchen himself.  In celebration of clearing their living room, dining room and twin front parlors, they invited over eight of their closest friends.

Gretchen shrugged her white shoulders in her sleeveless silk jumpsuit.  "I don't know.  We just haven't.  Every room we opened, I've cried over.  You've seen the pictures.  Horrendous!"

"Yes, but Bennett's right," agreed Jessica.  "I couldn't live in a place I didn't look over throoughly.  I mean, what if there was treasure?"

"Or a body," added Marty a glint in his eye.

"Or more rats," said Hutch, opening another bottle of wine.  "I, for one, would like to let sleeping rodents lie until I'm done with the work I have already on my to-do list."

Pageant Question: Compare yourself to your favorite food.

He was in hot water, and he knew it.  Detective Jamison dreaded the meeting he'd have with the chief, seven minutes with him could seem like hours, but he had to get it over with.  Jamison was still stiff from the run in he'd had with the latest suspect, a motorcycle gang member they called Bear, and he needed to try to loosen up.  When he got into the chief's office, though, Jamison realized the man had been hitting the sauce.  It wasn't like Chief to drink, much less during the workday, so something horrible must have happened.  "Chief, you wanted to see me?"  The man's bloodshot eyes and red nose meant more than just the sauce.  "What happened, sir?"

The chief swallowed a couple of times.  "Marianna.  She's...dead."

Detective Jamison couldn't believe the news.  His partner.  Dead.  It couldn't be.  "Where?  How?  How is it possible?  How do you know?"

"Easy now, detective.  It has been confirmed.  But her body hasn't been found."


NOTE: did you get my not-so-subtle hint at one of my favorite foods?  Even the last line has a slightly more subtle hint...

353

The bright orange motorhome appeared in the strip mall's parking lot overnight, and was an object of curiosity in a small town where not much was different.  Looking at it closer, it was not solid orange, but rather a pattern of intricate swirls of varying shades that gave the illusion of movement, even when parked.  The vehicle under the paint was an old box of a 26-footer, probably from the late 1970s, but any repairs were done thoroughly and smoothly so it looked new.  It stayed there, curtains drawn, all day on Wednesday, but towards evening, the entertainers finally emerged to walk the town.

326

The tiny town of Harborsfeld just wasn't the same after they attempted to execute Jacob Frier.  The townsfolk tried to comfort themselves with the fact that he wasn't dead, but the intent was difficult to overcome.  Some found limited comfort in repeating that the attempt was justified, given what they knew, and the circumstances, but it would take a mighty duplicitous mind to make that particular comfort stick.  No, the tiny town of Harborsfeld now held within it a collective guilt and shame, which would drive many away.

303

Escobar leaned back, the white leather of the couch creaking with his weight.  Sammy shifted from foot to foot, dabbing a handkerchief on his forehead.  "Jose," Escobar addressed one of his bodyguards without taking his eyes off Sammy, "what do you think we should do with this one?"  Jose smiled behind his mirrored sunglasses.  "What do you think?"  Esocobar and Jose laughed while Sammy's brain swirled for a way out.  Any way out.

274

People flooded in to the estate sale, not in search of deals, but rather to finally get a chance to look in the house.  It was a huge, old, brick mansion that had gone through many unfortunate hands after leaving the original owner's family and had fallen into shameful disrepair.  It had been mutilated into seven apartments and had a smell of old cigarette smoke, mothballs, and wet cat.  It was still, however, huge and old and surrounded by tales of former owners' misdeeds.  Current owner, too, in whose hands the house had been for less than a year.

246

She died from blunt force trauma to the skull.  In greater detail, it was a rock, held in the hand of a man, who repeatedly bashed her on the face and left side of her skull, as he was right-handed.  She lost consciousness, but not as soon as she would have liked.  The whole event was over for her within two minutes, though it carried on for the man another ten.  He struck her with the rock, a piece of cement carried with him for that purpose, for approximately three minutes, one full minute after she was already dead.  He then grabbed her limp shoulders and shook her, occasionally slapping her on the ground, for another minute.  He stood and kicked her body and even jumped on the torso.  The last few minutes were spent shoving the corpse into a plastic garbage can and stuffing bloody garbage from the scene on top.

245

The library was one of the area's oldest and patrons constantly complained about the cramped quarters and librarians constantly complained about the limited technology.  To Shaney, it was an infinite maze of new discovery.  She had favorite spots for quiet reading, secret spots where she found naughty books, and an idea that if she looked in the right place, she would find a hidden room.

Most days in the Henroy Library, patrons could be found on the three computers or browsing the DVD collection.  Only Shaney would be found reading, if you could find her in the stacks.

233

The street performer saw it first since he was the only one facing the right way.  Everyone else was looking at the guitarist and they witnessed the explosion only as reflection in his frightened, disbelieving eyes.

230

My dentist is some sort of sorcerer.  I know he is and I'm one cavity away from proving it.  Let's take the obvious clues: his office has no windows.  Anywhere.  Even the front door is a solid door.  He always wears dark clothes.  His name is Igor Viktor Zaplanski.  He's from Transylvania.  Nobody has ever seen him away from his office.  If you seem about to ask a personal question, he crams his fingers in your mouth and pretends to poke around.  He says he's checking for gum disease, but seriously.  He hums strange old tunes and sometimes speaks under his breath--I'm sure they're spells.  He wears weird leather shoes with laces.

My mother doesn't believe me and refuses to engage me in my "wild speculation".  I intend to prove that Dr. Zaplanski is a sorcerer, and my next dental cleaning will be my chance.

(**Side note: the topic was inspired by the post number being "dentist time".  Two-thirty.  Twoooo-thhh-hirty.  Get it?  Har!**)

218

At three hundred steps, Joshua stopped and sat on the stone bench the creators of this treacherous staircase had thoughtfully provided.  Plenty of people had made it down this far; he saw that in the wear of the steps.  He knew at five hundred steps, tourists were given a way out, and most people took it.  At one thousand steps, there was another option, and if anyone made it down that far, their ears popping at the depth, most of them took that way out, too.  Joshua had no intention of stopping before he found the bottom and explored to his heart's content.  His heart had been discontented since the age of fourteen, when he had learned of the Tombs of the Forgotten.  More than twice those years passed before he was able to finally make the journey, and he thought he was well-prepared.  Right at that moment, however, Joshua had wished he had prepared more than just his mind because his body was already winded and slightly dizzy.