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leona peeks over the counter. cat-eyes stare for a moment before the blonde ducks beneath a old chandelier. “hey there.” her voice is soft. she was never the type to force a sale out of a potential customer. her eyes drop to the object. a rare piece. “emerald stone pocket watch.”
she allows the silence between them to build for a moment. “great choice. rare as they come. discounted because of the tiny chip of course.”
her head tilts for a moment towards the individual. she can hear the voices of their past. ancestors and all. she had become good at avoiding her gift.
“i’ll take an extra twenty off if you’ll take this…” she pauses before reaching for a matching emerald ring. something that resembles the roaring twenties. “with it.”
Elliott always loved to take his mother to the antique shop. It was her favourite place in all of Holy Cross and both she and Elliott held fond memories of it from their younger years. He remembered going before moving to Atlanta and buying himself an old brooch that looked like a badge of an army soldier’s cap. He still had that brooch, in fact, tucked in with other miscellaneous items he’d collected.
But he snorted at Leona’s valiant attempt at trying to sell him a ring. “Do I look like the kind of guy who has a use for an emerald ring? I’d rather pay full price for the watch instead of being twenty dollars richer and having that thing hanging around collecting dust. Not that it’s already doing that anyway.”
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Who: Birdie & (open) @narrativestarters
Where: Taylor Cemetery
When: Early morning, mid-June 2021
Birdie’s never particularly liked coming to the cemetery when there are other people around. It feels wrong, feels like a hospital waiting room, she thinks, surrounded by people in pain with no privacy — no matter how lively the picnics might get on a Sunday afternoon, there’s always tension in the air and Birdie can’t stand it. So she comes early or late, in the middle of the week or when something is happening elsewhere, any time she can be sure of some solitude.
This time it’s just after dawn on a Tuesday, truck parked in the patch of gravel that serves as a lot — the county’d had to put something down after a hearse got stuck in the mud during an April funeral a few years back. Birdie ignores the tables and heads for the back row, camp chair in one hand and a six-pack of Yuengling in the other. She doesn’t see the other figure until it’s too late, and when they make eye contact she sighs internally even as she musters up a polite, if not overly pleased, smile.
“Sorry if I startled ya - wasn’t expectin’ to see nobody out here so early.”
Gabriel had talked to Birdie on occasion, usually as a patient but only a good few years ago. He saw more of her father when he was still around, back when he was a patient of Jeremiah’s. He knew they were both good people and it wasn’t fair that people called Birdie ‘crazy’; Gabriel heard two women whispering when she was only metres away. They said she muttered to herself, so he said ‘doesn’t everyone?’ If they mentioned it again he’d be having words and since then he’d not even heard a peep.
“Not at all, Miss O’Leary,” he replied. “Just out for my morning walk. I sometimes like to visit old patients. But it’s not every day you see a living soul in a graveyard. You here for your father?”
The keys dangled between her finger tips, hazel eyes glancing over the different types of wood, complete bewilderment painted across her features. Brow perked, the top corner of her lip raised with utter confusion. This is where her father would’ve come in, swooping and saving her from the decision between laminate and actual hard wood. “ Oh dear god, I’m going to end up fucking up my house, ” she whispered to herself, sudden realization dawning over her. Was Lexus handy? Sure. Or at least she’d liked to think so, the mirror that sat on her wall to this day, just as crooked as her perspective on the world, however, would disagree.
Blinking, she shook her head, confusion wiping off her face as someone passed in front of her, snapping her from her shock induced trance of DARK OR LIGHT, and the constant windmill of questions that reeled through her mind. Lips pressed together, teeth nipping at the inside of her cheek before she’d swallowed her pride. Meekly, Lexus found herself walking toward the person who’d just passed in front of her. A finger came up, almost as if to say excuse me – just a second, I swear. Lips pressed together in a slight smile before she spoke. “ I am… so sorry,” she began, eyebrows plucking together before her gaze slowly turned to the wood once more. “ – do you have, even – I DON’T KNOW, even the slightest idea about the differences between oak and cedar? Because I’m about to completely and utterly, lose my shit. ”
Amused, Gabriel laughed at Lexus’s choice of words. He was shopping for the right hooks and screws to replace the ten year old coat hanger in his hallway. He’d been meaning to do it for a while, but hadn’t had time until now. He was thinking it would be an easy enough job to be in and out of the hardware store, but for Lexus it’s a good job he’d taken his time. He observed the range of woods in front of them both before answering her burning question.
“Oak wood is far sturdier and better for flooring. Cedar is more flexible and can be used outdoors since it’s water resistant.”
He then pointed to the lighter section of woods and added, “If you’re struggling, might I suggest my own preference for these shades. They’ll make a room look bigger. DIY is more of a science than an art: there are far too many complex elements to a job that’s supposed to be simple. So don’t worry, Miss St. Claire, it’s just takes time. Anything else I can help you with?”
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Why were there so many? Why did they appear now? Four decades is a long time for silence, but like any dormant volcano the voices were waiting to erupt and cause carnage.
3am was unusually dark and unusually loud. Gabriel had been jolted awake by a groaning noise that sounded like the unstable steel girders of a derelict building. Then there was the scuffling of feet against the floorboards. Then a shrill scream that sent his heart racing and almost leaping out of his chest.
As Gabriel sat bolt upright, his breathing shallow and his knuckles white from the death grip on his duvet, he knew then what he was hearing wasn’t a dream.
It was more like a living nightmare.
He imagined trying to explain what had happened to others, who would in turn ridicule him, laugh at him, and never speak to him again. The Mad Doctor, he’d be branded. The Mad Doctor has the Devil in him. Then Gabriel imagined not telling them: people would ask what was wrong, why was he looking so uncharacteristically tired, and he was he sick? Still… he couldn’t tell a soul. That was final. His was his burden and his alone.
Gabriel thought he’d seen it all, thought nothing could frighten him, but when he saw the little boy in the corner of his room his blood turned to ice. His clothes were dripping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his bright blue eyes completely lifeless. The voices had stopped and it was only him.
The first spirit Gabriel had ever seen. And he was Gabriel’s best friend.
“Bobby?” He whispered disbelievingly, then followed it with a nervous laugh. “What… What are-“
“You let me die.”
“No, I didn’t-“
“You let me die.”
It was a memory Gabriel suppressed for decades. The sweltering afternoon of 18th August 1975 was the day that two boys went swimming in a lake, to cool off and to play, and only one went home for dinner that night. Little Bobby Parkinson drowned when his foot got snagged on trash that had been dumped in the lake and when he couldn’t free himself he drowned. Screaming. Kicking. Exhausting himself until his body gave in.
And Gabriel couldn’t save him.
The adults in the town didn’t blame him; they said he did all he could and Bobby’s parents were grateful that Gabriel had tried. But Bobby blamed him. It was clear from the cold, empty look in his eyes as he stared at Gabriel from across the room.
“It’s not fair that you got to grow up,” Bobby added, his face darkening. “It’s not fair you got to be a doctor, helping others when you couldn’t help me- didn’t help me- trying to make up for something you’ll go to Hell for.”
“I did try and help,” Gabriel persisted. “I did, I did, I did-“
Bobby screamed. It was muffled, agonising, like… when Bobby was underwater using his last breath to cry for help. And like that he was gone, in the blink of an eye, leaving Gabriel cold and in the dark, dark room.
WHERE: Cal’s Bar
WHEN: 5:30pm
WHO: Gabriel (@holycrosssinners)
Gabriel was fascinated listening to Dolores. He wasn’t sure how willing and interested she’d be, but he would happily talk about literature and theatre for the rest of the night; outside of medicine they were his greatest passions. He was humbled being called a man of many talents- he’d never even considered himself to be anything remotely close.
“Beckett,” Gabriel echoed with a thoughtful smile. “We are all born mad. Some remain so... My father is fan of Beckett and I think it’s great you are too. He used to live by the quote ‘Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’ Even had it framed in his office.”
He smiled at the thought of his father putting up the quote on the wall- he could picture it so vividly- when Gabriel was just nine years old. ‘Never forget this, Gabe,’ Jeremiah had said. ‘There’s no harm in failing. It shows you’re human and willing to better yourself.’
“As for my extraordinary mother,” he went to answer after a sip of wine. “She’ll be 77. What a fantastic age; she’s as fit as a fiddle in comparison to most and I can only hope I’ll follow suit. It’s unfortunate she’s still as persistent as she used to be, dragging me to bingo with her and trying to get me to eat apricots because they’re rich in vitamin A and promote eye health. As if I didn’t already know that in my line of work. She knows damn well I despise them and I haven’t eaten them since I was twelve.”
With a laugh, Gabriel shook his head. It was nice to talk about his mother- his best friend and biggest supporter- and was looking forward to spending time with her this weekend. “And what about your family, Dolores? I imagine things would have been somewhat strange after your husband died?”
“Good morning, Miss Townsend,” Gabriel greeted. “And, no, you’re distracting me. I was just enjoying my first morning off in a long time. Carol’s seemed the right kind of place to come to take it easy for once.”
He took off his glasses, slipped them into his jacket pocket and folded up the newspaper. “Nothing interesting in there, I’m afraid, but it beats the doom and gloom of national news.”
For Gabriel sometimes boring was better. It was almost a relief to find nothing attention-grabbing in the news and to participate in small talk with the locals, not having to worry about their ailments even if it was only for five minutes.
“And what about you?” He then asked. “Anything good or of interest happening today?”
OPEN STARTER FOR EVERYONE. ( @narrativestarters )
angel de leon. owner of serenity inn and cal’s bar.
CAL’S BAR. 8:09PM
do you know what it’s like to be truly haunted? in a place like this ⸻ no end in sight. i do. he thinks of this so often in his daydreams. it’s rare for cal’s to be quiet, yet the news of pastor north has brought holy cross to a halt. he can hear it now. the cult making it seem as if it was some type of miracle.
he, like his mother had spent his life rescuing people, animals and even the nature that surrounded him. even after everything he finds himself bound to this place. angel is a protector and he knows this. he cares to deeply to even think of what he would do if he had to get out of this place. he could never. he owes them everything.
“hmm.” hand under his chin leaning against the bar. the news of pastor north plastered on the small tv hung in the corner. “ain’t that a shame.” he truly doesn’t mean it. yet, his tone is left at ease that the other likely couldn’t tell. “now back to you” his sight returns to the familiar face in front of him. “what’s going on with you?”
“What isn’t going on with me?” Elliott huffed with his brows furrowed. “I’ve not had any kind of case for almost a month. I’m wasting away sat at my desk pretending to work and praying- ha, praying!- that even a tedious case will come my way. I’d be happy if someone needed help looking for their cat.”
He had a glass of whisky in one hand and cigarette in the other- too inebriated to remember whether or not he was allowed to smoke- and was leaning on the bar as if his muscles were thinner than paper, unable to prop himself up.
“We’ve all got bigger problems than Pastor North,” he added. “He’s probably just fucked off to some other dusty town to preach his nonsense. Or an island in the Pacific. Wouldn’t that be nice? Lying on a beach all day, drinking… wouldn’t that be real nice?”
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the stack of boxes she held within her arms weren’t that heavy. ( inside : some clothes , some books , some other miscellaneous items of unknown origins all well layered in thick coatings of dust and dirt and rot ). three , well sized boxes , that when held together layered high enough for the ragged edges of the topmost one to brush her lips with every step ; one moment soft like a kiss , others as sharp as a knife. her chest felt hollowed under the pressures of the cardboard and life here , and her limbs were so leaden they were practically numb. even so , she continued on with her gentle gait ; chin up , smile warmwarmwarm ⸻ her perfected little war march to the beat of a dead man’s drum.
❛ i’m so sorry , but could i bother you for the door ? ❜ sometimes it felt like a shame how small the town truly was , how easy it was to walk from one end of main to the other. she almost wished the streets would never end , and that she could simply settle into her pace and never stop. but as a wise man once said : wishes were fishes , and perhaps the boxes were getting to feel quite heavy , so reaching out for help with opening a door didn’t feel too selfish for the day.
Gabriel had been to the store on his lunch hour, treating himself to some cola flavoured sweets. He’d almost ran out of his previous lot and it felt as though the world was going to end. He chewed on them when he was researching and writing his papers- bizarrely it was one of very few things that could help him focus- but he’d opened them up as soon as he stepped out on to the street, too eager for a hit of sugar before getting back to the grind. He hoped he had enough willpower to save some for tonight’s ‘study session’.
After only a few steps he saw Serenity walking steadily with a tower of boxes in her arms. As he approached to help, she didn’t look in his direction, but seemed to know what he was thinking.
“No bother at all,” Gabriel smiled in response to her, opening the door and stepping aside so that Serenity could go through first. “I don’t mind helping you to carry them if you’re in need of assistance, Miss North?”
— As a child, it was Gabriel’s grandmother who encouraged both him and his sister to pursue a musical hobby. Gabriel took up violin and piano whilst Annabelle chose flute and vocals. Each Christmas they’d do a recital for their family, but mainly Gabriel playing carols on the piano and Annabelle singing along.
— Gabriel has a secret sweet tooth. He loves cola and apple flavoured confectionery the most and eats hard boiled sweets whenever he writes an article to help him concentrate.
— Before becoming interested in medicine, Gabriel went through a brief period of time where he had his heart set on being a writer/journalist. His parents were supportive of the idea, knowing he was a very inquisitive and creative young boy. It was only when Gabriel stumbled upon one of his father’s medical textbooks he gained an interest in become a doctor, proceeding to ask Jeremiah questions about all the anatomical diagrams and memorising them.
— He has a library in his home and everything is arranged alphabetically by subject. His medical and English literature sections are the largest. His favourite book is Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles; he also loves Macbeth, Henry IV, Jekyll & Hyde, Dracula, and poetry from the Romantic period.
— Don’t let his grey hair fool you: Gabriel is actually very tech-savvy. Although he still wears his father wristwatch that was gifted to him when he graduated medical school.
— Gabriel surprised everyone when he told them that he enrolled in acting classes when he was at med school. He’d loved theatre his whole life (predominately Shakespeare) and wanted to engage with it as his downtime from studying. Upon returning to Holy Cross and working part-time at his father’s practice for a while, Gabriel set up and amateur dramatics society and encouraged people of all ages and abilities to come and join.
— Gabriel never wanted children, which was one reason his ex-wife was so keen to divorce him. He just couldn’t see himself in that kind of role despite being caretaker to a whole town.
— He’s been published in several medical journals across the world and had lectured at different universities, including his alma mater Columbia. Although he doesn’t really do it now, he does miss it and those times created some of his fondest memories as a doctor.
— Gabriel got his tattoo one drunken night out during his third year of medical school. He couldn’t regret it when he was finally sober because he actually liked his tattoo and knew it could have been far worse.
— Gabriel goes out with his retired parents at least once a week, usually on Saturdays. He plays chess with his father and walks around the park with his mother after helping her with the shopping. His schedule is never too busy to spend time with them, but they avoid the topic of Gabriel’s sister Annabelle as her decision to stay in Connecticut is still painful for their mother in particular.
