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  • #3593

    In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      Maya was overlooking the crops when her son arrived.

      “The kales are adapting well to the soil. I didn’t expect them to arrive so fast.”
      “I wonder what they’ll taste like, they seem to have that unusual purplish tinge to them, nothing like those in hydroponics…”
      “The water we extracted from those rocks seems to contain a very interesting blend of minerals, could be that… we know so little about this place. All of this, these changes, it’s very exciting, to think of the prospect…”

      John hugged his mother.

      “I came to ask you if you would join the welcome party tonight?”
      “I thought it wouldn’t be before another day?”
      “The ship apparently had some trouble and felt it would be safer to land their cargo one day ahead of schedule.”
      “Really? That’s so unlike them, to be in advance… Well, as you know, my social agenda isn’t too busy, so I guess yes, I’ll join. If only to see what this new batch looks like. We have to give a nice impression if we want to get more of them to stay as settlers. The machines are helping fine, but it’s not enough.”
      “We’ll see, last I heard, there are about 10 miners and about the same of religious nutters. The miners are there on a contract, but some usually take well to here and chose to stay. We’ll see…”
      “What about the upgrades they promised?”
      “Yeah, they talked about that too, saying they had to fix some bugs before downloading the new AI. They’ll leave some of the cybernetic bodies here too, see if they can support the stress. I’ll ask them to assign one here to help you with the plants.”
      “That would be lovely, thanks Johnny.”

      #3591

      In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Mother Shirley was about to ferociously complain about the lack of consideration and utmost rubbish of a service, when she felt suddenly possessed by a will much stronger than her own.
        Relax, old cow, and go with the flow

        That was most unusual, and it rhymed (surprisingly). Maybe it was blessed Mother Virgin who finally chose to speak through her faithful and humble servant.

        All she could hear was a blissful laugh that seemed infectious.

        She glanced at the group that was massing around the shuttle after adjusting their breathing apparatus. A young woman caught her eye. She was one of the scandalous raffle’s winner. Mother Shirley was about to start an inner rant, when the voice resounded again in her head.

        You should take good care of this one, Shir. The voice was commandeering.

        #3589
        matermater
        Participant

          Mater:

          I showed Finly to her room. I have put her in room 10 — opposite Mr What’s-his-name, the guest — which is the nicest guest room in the house and one of the few which Fred got round to doing up before he left.

          On the spur of the moment I asked her if she believed in ghosts. She looked at me intently and said “There’s a lot we don’t understand. I can’t say I believe or disbelieve.” And that was it. I didn’t press it further. She is a serious girl but her references were excellent and I think she will be a hard worker. Not one to take nonsense from anyone.

          I asked her if she would like the day off tomorrow to settle in and suggested she could start her duties on Wednesday.

          “I can see I have my work cut out here,” she said. “The sooner I get started the better.”

          And dear God we need some help around here, I thought.

          The other day I caught Dido throwing gin all over herself and laughing. I am concerned I will need to call mental health services soon. I didn’t say anything at the time — I don’t think she saw me. I have been annoyed with her in the past for her lackadaisical attitude towards caring for the kids, but when I saw the poor demented thing throwing gin at herself, well, for the first time I felt really sorry for her.

          #3584
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            It was Mater who decided they needed to get some cleaning help. She commandeered Clove to do some research on the internet and eventually found a woman from New Zealand, Finly, who was offering her cleaning services in exchange for room and board.

            “Bloody kiwis,” said Bert when he heard. “The place is riddled with them. Bloody come and take our jobs. Haven’t we got more than enough of them here already? I am having a hard enough time avoiding that Flora, going on about her spiritual bloody awakening.”

            “If you can find anyone local who would be willing to do the cleaning in exchange for a place to stay, I will be glad to consider them,” retorted Mater sternly. “But in the meantime this place is fast becoming a pig-sty and Dido is too busy smoking and drinking to see it.”

            Naturally Mater got her way and a few days later Bert, still grumbling, agreed to go and pick Finly up from the airport. Mater assembled the family in the main living room.

            “Now remember, the main thing is to be courteous. God only knows why she agreed to come to this backwater of a place, but we don’t want to put her off.”

            ”Don’t we indeed?” smirked Aunt Idle.

            “Yeah exactly, it is friggin’ weird I reckon. Why would she come here?” asked Clove, privately deciding she had better run a more thorough background check on Finly.

            “I thought Finly was a boy’s name,” said Coriander. “That would be cool. A boy cleaner. I hope he’s hot. He can clean topless”

            Aunt Idle, who had already been into the gin even though it wasn’t yet 10am, put her hand over her mouth and started to giggle.

            “It can be a girl or a boy’s name and someone called Coriander is in no position to throw stones. And mind your language, Clove.” responded Mater tartly.

            Clove rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Well as long as she doesn’t try and boss me around, it might be quite fun to have a slave to clean up after me.”

            Prune had been keeping an eye on the window. “Shush, she’s here!” she shouted excitedly.

            #3572

            In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              It had been two months since the aurora. They had started to refer to it as the Cloud Aurora, since after it, rocks had started to leak moisture in all manner of places.
              Long, thin clouds had begun to appear just a month after, and the atmosphere composition seemed to alter itself as well, irrevocably.

              Everyone was busy doing analysis, sending reports to Earth and extrapolating on data. But John was more interested in running more explorations and extending the area of his scouting.

              Tonight, a new commercial ship from Earth would arrive. Mostly rich tourists bored with Spain or Italy, but a bit of fresh blood too, most likely winners of a stupid settler raffle. It had taken them years to arrive; it was hard for John to imagine being crammed in suspension, floating through endless void and cold space for so long.

              But then, he himself was quite excited being here to monitor the inexorable changes set in motion on the red planet.

              #3565
              matermater
              Participant

                Mater:

                I am picking some grass for the guinea pigs. Delicate wee things; they don’t handle the heat well and I have moved them to the shelter of the shed. The wind has come up strong and I am enjoying the cooling it brings with it. The long grass bends away from me as though seeking safety from the scissors I hold in my hand. For a moment the wind subsides and I can feel how the sun is burning my neck so I take refuge in the shade of a tree.

                Thinking time.

                I heard Prune crying out last night in her sleep. She had already fallen back asleep when I went to check on her. It crossed my mind when she cried out that she may have seen the ghost too. I asked her about it in the morning but she did not seem to recall her nightmare.

                “I slept liketh a log but I thanketh thou for thy kindness in asking dearest Mater,” she said to me.

                ”Enough of that cheek!” I told her, but was privately relieved she was okay.

                Anyway, It has been twice now. I wake and there he is, over by the antique oak chest in the corner of my room. At first I can’t move or call out. And by the time I can he has gone. When I say “gone”, I don’t mean he walks out the door. He just sort of fades away. He has his back to me so I can’t tell you what his face is like. All I can tell you is that he is tall and he has on a blue robe, in a silky fabric, almost like a dressing gown with a tie in the middle.

                There, I have told you now. You may be thinking it is just a silly old woman’s dream. But you don’t get to my age without having plenty of dreams, and this was nothing like any dream I have ever had.

                #3564

                Aunt Idle:

                Tattler, Trout and Trueman. Where had I seen that before? I squinted at what was left of the business card that Flora had been ripping up to use as roaches last night. I could make out tel: 88 , but the rest of the number was missing. There wasn’t much left of the card, no other writing left to see. But where had I seen that name before?

                I shivered; there was a rising mist and it was damp and chilly on the veranda, gloomy as the sun hadn’t quite risen yet. I like it first thing, before anyone else is up. Bert’s usually up, but I never see him, he goes off out the back somewhere. I stood there for awhile watching the mist rise and wondered whether to go and fetch the camera.

                And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen Tattler, Trout and Trueman. It was on that note that I’d hidden inside the camera manual.

                Could it be a coincidence? Should I ask Flora where she got the card, whose card it was? Or did Flora have something to do with the note?

                My hand flew to my mouth. Automatic reaction so you don’t suck any flies down with the sharp intake of breath.

                “Got toothache, Aunt Idle?” asked Prune.

                “Jesus Christ, Prune! You made me jump out of my skin! What are you doing up so early?”

                “Who is that man your friend brought with her? Is he from the desert?”

                “What man? She came on her own.”

                “Well who’s that tall man in the blue robes then? He said his name was Sanso.”

                WHO?” I could almost hear myself say that in italics. “Where? Where did you see him?”
                What did he say?”

                I could see Prune was weighing this up, she wasn’t called shrewd prunes for nothing. I wasn’t at all surprised when she said “He told me not to tell you anything,” and ran back inside, slamming the door behind her.

                #3561
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Prune was only to too happy to take credit for the disappearance of the flying fish when Bert suggested it. It would give them more time to work out what was going on in room 8, before anyone else thought to suspect the enigmatic dust covered fellow of having a hand in it. Tell them you buried it in the woods, Bert told Prune, when she asked what she was to do if they asked her to bring the old fish back, and then say you can’t remember where you buried it. She was a good girl really, thought Bert, cooperative and resourceful when she wanted to be, if something captured her interest.

                  #3559
                  matermater
                  Participant

                    Mater:

                    I am concerned about Dido. The silly trollop has taken up drinking again—in front of the kids too. Mark my words, she will end up back in rehab if it goes on. Like last time. And then where will we all be? Those poor little mites without a father or mother and their Aunt fast turning into a crazy slush. There’s no telling her though. God knows I have tried in the past.

                    I can only hope she will settle down when that kiwi friend arrives—Flora someone. Though I don’t hold out much hope really. I have not met a kiwi with a half a brain in their head yet. And that awful accent! I don’t need this aggravation at my age.

                    Calm down, remember what Jiemba told you.

                    I have not told you yet about my visit to Jiemba, have I? There has been so much going on here, what with the fish going missing and that odd guest staying in Room 8 and Dido’s antics, it nearly slipped my mind.

                    It was Prune who hid the fish, of course. Sensitive wee thing — she has always had a particularly strong dislike of the awful old relic and I can’t say I blame her. Dido went ape when Prune eventually confessed, but secretly I found it rather amusing.

                    I digress, yet again.

                    In the end it was Bert who helped me more than Jiemba. The dear man waited out in the truck for me while I kept my appointment with Jiemba. And he held my secret safe from the others. I am grateful to him for that. It felt nice to have someone who would do that for me. On the trip back home he opened up and told me stories about the town. Apparently in its heyday it even had an ice-cream factory; I hadn’t heard that before. Nor some of the other stories he told me. There are not many left around here with the knowledge Bert has. I feel I may even pluck up courage to tell him what I have seen at the Inn. Perhaps he may have some thoughts on it.

                    But not just yet.

                    Jiemba gave me some salve made from native bush bark for my aches and pains. It seems he is more modern than his father—things change I guess. I wanted to ask him about the ghost, but what with the dogs and kids running around outside and the heat and the baby screaming in the house somewhere, I could not bring myself to do it. But one thing he said to me has stuck.

                    “Live from your heart”.

                    It was the way he said it. Very intense. He went quiet and stared at the floor for a long time while I tried not to fidget. As though he was communing with some spirit world I could not see. Though I would dearly love to. I have thought about those words since then, trying to figure out what they mean.

                    I’m not sure I can even find my heart, let alone live from it.

                    #3551
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Aunt Idle:

                      I took the rolled up bundle of torn maps into my bedroom and locked the door. I turned the key silently, almost furtively, and then leaned my back on the door. If there had been a security cam in the room, I’d have looked to anyone watching like I was over dramatizing. Ham acting drama queen. Hoped none of the Laptop Lazuli’s, my remote viewing buddies, were tuning in. Thinking about them gave me an idea, but I’d think about that some more later.

                      After spreading the maps on the floor and sending a half dozen dust bunnies scampering off, I went over to my desk to get the note. I found it in the end, after flapping a bit when it wasn’t where I thought I’d left it.

                      It didn’t take long to start matching up the letters on the note with the holes in the maps. I started jotting the place names down as best as I could work it out, and of course there were plenty of letters on the note without a corresponding map segment. But it was clear that the letters on my note had come from these maps.

                      The funny thing was, and it was more creepy than funny, was that all of the places on the map with a missing letter were places of particular significance to me. Either I’d been to that place, or it was a place in The Tales, the stories I’d been writing with the Lazuli’s online.

                      One of the I’s was from Paris, one from Sri Lanka and another from Siberia. There was an R from New York, a D from London and an H from Shanghai, and so on. After awhile I started to notice that all the letters on the signature of Hilde Didier were from locations in The Tales, and that the content of the note, so far, was constructed of letters ripped from places I had been to. Places I’d been to where I’d left in a hurry.

                      I needed to find the rest of the maps to complete the picture.

                      #3550
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Corrie:

                        Funny how things pop up. While Clove was taking supper to the guy in room 8, I signed into Spacenook and the first thing on my perusefeed was an article about maps.

                        “Cartographies can be altered endlessly to reflect different priorities, hierarchies, experiences, points of view, and destinations.”

                        How syncy is that. There was another sync like that yesterday, after the kitten fell off the barn roof. I was just posting a photo of the kitten on Spacenook and glanced at the sidebar and there was an ad for a catnip garden memories of dead cats group thing there. I wonder if that dream I had of our old dog Lilly the other day was because the kitten was a remanifestation of her? Lilly’s name was supposed to be Delilah, that’s what it said on her papers, Delilah, but nobody ever called her that. We always called her Lilly.

                        Anyway, they come and they go, we’ve had hundreds of cats wander through this town, but they always come back. I saw a rat the other day and it reminded me of Boozer, the old sheepdog we had when we were little.

                        Funny thing was, yesterday morning I’d posted this poem by Mary Oliver:

                        “…. Tell me, what else should I have done?
                        Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
                        Tell me, what is it you plan to do
                        With your one wild and precious life?”

                        Made me feel a bit better when I read it again later, because I did wonder if I’d got there quicker when I heard it crying, when it must have been halfway done falling and stuck on a branch, it might not have ended up the way it did. It must have been meant to be that way I suppose. Well, she’ll be back. They always come back sooner or later.

                        Sighing, I refocused on the article.

                        “Maps produce new realities much as they seek to document current ones. Maps are always a going-beyond the space-time of the present.”

                        No mention of a room full of map covered mannequins in the Brundy place though.

                        #3545
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Corrie:

                          It was the look on Aunt Idle’s face when she saw them that scared me. There’s something strange going on, and not just everyone acting weird, that’s pretty normal around here, but this was a different kind of weird.

                          When Aunt Idle nearly suffocated me with that big hug while she was trying to hide that piece of paper, I didn’t think anything of it. Probably hiding another bill I thought, not wanting us to worry about the debts piling up. Mater wandering off like that was pretty strange, but old people do daft things. I knew all about it because I’d been reading up on dementia. They imagine things and often feel persecuted, claim someone stole their old tea set, things like that, forgetting they gave it away 30 years ago, stuff like that. So I wasn’t worried about either of them acting strange when Clove and I decided to go treasure hunting in the old Brundy house, we just decided to out and explore just for the hell of it, for something to do.

                          The Brundy house was set apart from the rest of the abandoned houses, down a long track through the woods, nice and shady in the trees without the sun glaring down on our heads. Me and Clove had been there years ago but we were little then, and scared to go inside, so we’d just peeked in the windows and scared each other with ghost and murderer stories until we heard a bang inside and then ran like hell until we couldn’t breathe. Probably just a rat knocking something over, but we never went back. We weren’t scared to, it was further to walk to the Brundy place and there were so many other abandoned houses to play in that were closer to home.

                          We weren’t scared to go inside this time. It was a big place, quite grand it must have been back in the day, big entrance hallway with an awesome staircase like in Gone With the Wind where Scarlett fell down the stairs, but the stair carpet was all in shreds and some of the steps banisters were broken, but the steps looked sound enough so up we went, for some reason drawn up there first before exploring the ground floor rooms.

                          Clove turned left at the top of the stairs and I turned right and went into the first bedroom. My hand flew to my mouth. I wonder why we do that, put a hand over our mouth when we’re surprised, well that’s what I did when I saw the cat mummy on the bed. I didn’t scream or anything, not like Clove did a minute later from the other side of the house. It wasn’t a mummy with bandages like an Egyptian one, it was just totally desiccated like a little skeleton covered in bleached leather. It was a fascinating thing to see really but the minute I heard Clove scream I ran out of the room and down the landing. It’s not like Clove to scream. Well who screams in real life, the only time I ever heard screaming was in a movie. People usually say what the fuck or oh my god, they don’t scream. But Clove screamed when she saw the room full of mannequins because to be fair it did look like a room full of ghosts or zombies in the half light from the shuttered windows. She was laughing by the time I reached her, a bit hysterically, and we clutched each other as we went over to open the shutters to get a better look. It was pretty creepy, even if they were only mannequins.

                          They were kind of awesome in the light, all covered in maps, there were 22 of them, we counted them, a whole damn room full of map covered mannequins in various poses, men, women and kid sized. Really clever the way the maps were stuck all over them, looked like arteries and veins, and real cool the way Riga joined up with Boston, and Shanghai with Lisbon, like as if you really could just travel down a vein from Tokyo to Bogota, or cross a butt cheek to get from Mumbai to Casablanca.

                          We hadn’t noticed at first that we’d been shuffling through a load of paper on the floor. The floor was covered in ripped up maps, must have been hundreds of maps all torn up and strewn all over the floor.

                          “There’s enough maps left over to do one of our own, CorrieClove said, reading my mind. “Let’s take some home and stick them all over something.”

                          “We haven’t got a mannequin at home though” I replied, but I was thinking, why not take a mannequin home with us, and some maps, and decide what to do with them later.

                          So that’s what we did. We gathered up the biggest fragments of map off the floor and rolled them all up and used my hair elastic to hold them together, and carried a mannequin all the way home. The sun was going down so we had to hurry a bit down the track. Clove didn’t help when she said we must look like we’re carrying a dead body with rigor mortis, that made us collapse laughing, dropping the mannequin on its head. Once we got the giggles it was hard to stop, and it made our legs weak from laughing.

                          We got home just as the last of the evening light disappeared, hauled the mannequin up the porch steps, where Aunt Idle was standing with her hand over her mouth. Well, that was to be expected, naturally she’d be wondering what we were carrying if she was watching us come up the drive carrying a body. It was later, when we unfolded the maps, that the look on her face freaked me out.

                          #3538

                          In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            The climb wasn’t too difficult, and the continuous release of oxygen of their insulated suit was still plenty enough to keep them going for hours. “Look!” John pointed out the spot, a few hundred meters below, on the other side of the edge of the caldera.

                            “It’s going to be quite a show” Yz said, pointing at the sky behind it. Aurora lights were starting to dance.

                            It took them twenty more minutes to get down to the stones circle.

                            As they approached, John was struck by a sensation, a mirage most likely. At first, he thought it was a reflection on his suit’s helmet, but a second look confirmed his impression. Under the solar shower, the huge stones seemed to glitter.

                            “Is this…?”
                            “Water? It looks like it.” John touched the wet surface of the stones, after the suit had analyzed it as non corrosive. “I’ll take a sample to the lab… Water in this place seems… out of place.”
                            “What about us?” Yz replied grinning widely. “What are we, if not out of place?”

                            John smiled, relaxing for the first time since they’d left the pod. There was little air to taste outside of the suit, but he could taste his surrounding, and enjoyed the wide wild rocks and stones that seemed so full of life under the dancing lights.
                            They sat in the centre of the standing stones.

                            Johnny?”
                            “Yes?”
                            “Don’t you find fascinating that even water on Earth have been found to be older than the Sun itself?”
                            “Leaves one to ponder, for sure”

                            #3537

                            In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              Under the cold starlight, John enjoyed to drive on the dunes, off the well-run tracks, glancing back from time to time to check on Yz. He had spent many years in his youth following his mother’s husbands, as they were assigned his guardianship in turns, and would take him around for their various outposts assignments.
                              He’d learnt the topology of his land in much details, and had a few of his own favourite places. Without knowing, he’d name them like his ancestors would have of the unspoiled lands and mountains of ancient Earth. The Rabbit Head, the Meditating Monkey, the Buddha’s Butt… Of course, none of these names were official, but everyone would know exactly what place he was pointing at, even without knowing the geoquadrant designation.

                              Tonight, for the magical display of lights, he needed a magical place, and he knew just where.

                              There was a ring of old stones past the Buddha’s Butt. They were mostly hidden from sight, although the place was at a higher altitude and could be seen from afar. He’d discovered them by chance, two or three years ago. He didn’t come too often, as the access wasn’t easy.
                              The stones were nested inside a plateau of collapsed land, like an old caldera. They were huge boulders of unequal sizes, forming a quasi-perfect circle, more than two hundred meters wide. It felt doubtful they’d been erected by men, but somehow the eerie place seemed possessed by some sort of vibrant intelligence.

                              “I’m going to show you something” he told Yz after stopping the sand scooter.
                              “Of course you are. Don’t be so mysterious!” she retorted. “Where is it?”
                              “A few clicks up the hill, shouldn’t take long. Just follow me carefully and mind your steps, the stones are slippery.”

                              #3536

                              In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                John was about to leave the pod for the airlock when a sharp voice startled him.

                                “Where are you going on your own Johnny? You know the rules!”

                                He could tell she was only pretending indignation. She had this fun smirk at her pursed lips that he knew by heart. She was most likely vexed at not being asked to come along for the venture past curfew.

                                At 15, Yz was 5 years younger than him (in Earth years), and only half his height, but her brains were razor sharp, as well as her tongue. She was also a gifted mechanic, and a fearless young girl.

                                They exchanged a conniving smile. No more than three minutes after, she was back, silent as a cat, and suited up for the harsh environment of Mars.
                                Over the years, small adjustments had been made to the suits, some purely out of fashion, but the main elements remained the same, which little change from one Earth cargo to the next. Ensuring their survival at minimal cost to their movements and senses.
                                Survival outposts were also planted all across the area, so as long as they stayed at safe distance to their pod, they were in no real danger.

                                The sand scooters were always free to take for a ride. A matter of life and death, it would be a crime to put locks on them. At any moment, anybody could be in dire need for a ride. And besides, in all that expanse of land, where to run to?

                                #3533
                                matermater
                                Participant

                                  Mater:

                                  I feel myself moving slowly today. The thought of death and my poor little guinea pig is still nagging. It occurs to me that perhaps I am walking slowly because I don’t want to move too fast into the inevitable.

                                  Or perhaps it is just that I did not sleep so well last night. It is so damned hot and night time offers little respite from the heat.

                                  At least the kids have stopped fighting. I worry about them. Always shut away in their rooms on that internet thing.

                                  I am so tired. More tired than I should be. It is not the usual aches and pains. Something feels wrong. I have made up my mind to go and visit Jiemba, the local aboriginal healer. It is a wee bit of a walk, so I will need to start early, before the heat gets up. I don’t want to ask Dido to take me. “Just go and see the doctor in town!” she will say to me. For all her alternative ways, Dido can still be pretty closed minded about some things—and she thinks I am a crazy old fool anyway.

                                  But I think Jiemba has the gift—special healing powers—and he comes from a family of aboriginal healers. His father was a healer and his grandfather too. I went to see him once, his father, years ago. My back was bad and the doctor in town said I would need an operation. He did some chanting, calling up spirits I think, put his hand on my back and pulled out a stone. He said the stone was the sickness causing my back pain, or some such thing. I was sceptical at the time, but my back never did give me any more bother. I’ve read up on it since then and I think there is something in it all. The older I get the more I realise I don’t know it all.

                                  Besides, there is something else I want to ask him about and I don’t know who else I can talk to. That’s the problem with getting old—one of the problems anyway—people tend to assume you are losing your marbles if you say anything out of the ordinary.

                                  But I think the Inn is haunted.

                                  #3529
                                  prUneprUne
                                  Participant

                                    I don’t like the sound of shouting, so I retreated in the silence of the billiard room.
                                    It was still smelling of the tobacco that father was smoking when he spent hours working there, on the small desk next to the bookshelves.

                                    I don’t know why I’m always the one who got kicked. Being the youngest isn’t fair. I never got to know my mother for as long as my stupid sisters. And now, father’s absences are stretching for longer and longer ; I dread that I soon won’t see him either… forever…

                                    I curl into the old teal blue sofa eaten by mites, and rock myself silently.

                                    I always wanted to escape my strange family, the inexorable fate of a meaningless life in a meaningless town. Yeah, I’m precocious, and I even studied maps to see how far I could get. Unlike so many movie stars wannabes wanting to live a life in the city, and who always ended up back were they came from, often sadder and disillusioned, I will take all the time I need to make sure I will succeed. Much of my plans stay in my head though. Will never write them, can’t trust it with my snooping sisters around.

                                    For now, I will continue to play them all. I will continue to be the little behaving girl who asks for the cute puppy dog. And pray in silence for father to come back, wishing for him to tell me stranger stories from the beyond of the town.

                                    #3507
                                    ÉricÉric
                                    Keymaster

                                      Godfrey filled his mouth with peanuts to avoid speaking any negativity.
                                      The raucous cough had alerted him to the presence of the cleaning lady.

                                      In between mouthfuls, he whispered to Liz “Is there anything we can do, like having her breathe in a grocery store bag or anything? Her asthma has taken frightening proportions…”

                                      #114
                                      prUneprUne
                                      Participant

                                        I never could stand the sight of it. For as long as I remember, which is no more than 6 years, admittedly, the odd-looking fish had been preserved and placed above the fake stucco fireplace. It’s been here for much longer, though. You can tell by the thickness of the dust covering it. My friend Bert, that old chap, told me so.
                                        He has told me many other stories about the town, about my family, and their glorious past. It could just have been no more than stories, but I believe him —for no reason, really. Maybe only because my sisters find him slightly creepy and old. Anyway, I like him.

                                        In his stories, the fish had fallen many years ago from the sky. There had been rain this summer day, which was, in itself, even less believable than some oddly shaped flying fish falling from the sky. And that fish had fallen in front of what was the private mansion of the Curara family. Our ancestor found it, and decided to take it as a sign of the Almighty that they would be blessed with abundance forever after… But then, everything went downside with fantastic speed. The gold rush stopped in its tracks, the town slowly got deserted, and since then, our family started to believe that it was more a curse than a blessing. However, nobody ever bothered to get rid of the fish that once flew.

                                        Maybe they were waiting for another one to appear to break the string of unfortunate events. I always think of all the amusing ways I could get rid of it without anybody noticing. April’s fools wouldn’t do… Too easy. But having it served at dinner would be a start. Sadly, with Aunt Idle’s poor cooking skills, there was no chance a fish could come unnoticed.

                                        So it was on that particular day when I’d found and written down on my secret diary a 222nd way of getting rid of the fish, it was on that particular and fateful day, that everything changed again for the Curara family.

                                        #3502
                                        F LoveF Love
                                        Participant

                                          In this first comment I will try and collate the information from our discussions. It will be quite rough and may not be accurate as we were just brainstorming.

                                          You might like to use it as a resource to start comments for each character.

                                          Intents:
                                          FP: how not to be detached, as opposed to detaching
                                          EP : Importance, tradition, transmission, life and death
                                          TP : playful spontaneity
                                          JP : I need to explore a strong base, something you can count on in your life and that will nourrish and support you

                                          Starting point : a family member has gone missing / disappearance / mysterious inheritance
                                          Someone turns up with a letter about mysterious inheritance?
                                          That someone is in cold terms with the family and has been for years.
                                          Strong possibility of a ghost. male. tied up with the inheritance mystery. Ghost is either assisting or hindering the search for the mysterious inheritance.
                                          Location : Australia small town. Possibly called Crowshollow. Mining town
                                          Family run a Bed and Breakfast called the Flying Fish Inn. There is room for 5 guests at any one time but it is never full. The family are short of money. Tendency in the family to develop unconventional powers, possibly witchy stuff.

                                          MacGuffin (is this the family surname??) Oh no wait, on further study I see it is a reference to the inheritance. It could be the family surname though. they need one.
                                          A man is riding on a train when a second gentleman gets on and sits down across from him. The first man notices the second is holding an oddly shaped package.
                                          “What is that?” the first man asks.
                                          “A MacGuffin, a tool used to hunt lions in the Scottish highlands.”
                                          “But there are no lions in the Scottish highlands,” says the first man.
                                          “Well then,” says the other, “That’s no MacGuffin”.

                                          Family members : boy twins from jib, a girl from Eric, a matriach granny, twin girls 17, aunt Idle, father ? mother ?ghost?

                                          mother and father have both gone missing at some stage?. Mother is called Absinthia apparently.

                                          Tracy: The female twins are called Clove and Corrie. twins born in 2000 for easy reference, so if its concurent timeframe they are 14. Clove is frustrated with ghost town life, and is uncooperative and moody, has violent bursts of anger, but can be very focused when something attracts her interest. Does not take kindly to criticism.

                                          Corrie on the other hand is the one who will acqueisce to keep the peace, which doesnt always do herself a favour, she often agrees to things just to be pleasing and then regrets it.
                                          They are interested in boys, although it may be an online crush or an infatuation with a character not present. I bet they do all kind of mischiefs to elude the chaperoning of the not-so-cleveraunt.
                                          Clove resent the parents absence, Corrie tried to buffer that resentment but is filled with curiosity about them

                                          Eric: (Prune??) the young girl is bored, because her parents were always arguing, and she’s so smart nobody ever gets her, and she felt abandoned by her careless mother the most, so she builds that facade of carelessness. Prune is bored by the inheritance but interested by the tramp.

                                          Tracy: Aunt Idle. Paternal Aunt. Aunt never married but many relationships
                                          born 1970. she is very tall and thin and is prematurely grey which she wears in dreadlocks

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