cv (ephemeras) wrote in repose, @ 2016-10-26 21:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, atticus mcvickers, daniel webster |
Carriage House atticus: Daniel & Atticus
Who: Atticus & Daniel
What: A discovery in the attic
Where: The Carriage House
When: After the party
Warnings/Rating: TBD
Was the haunts that told him Atticus there was a stowaway in the attic.
The attic of the Carriage House was where Atticus' personal haunts lived. His haunts. Not the B&B haunts. The ghosts that walked the halls of the once-great-home-turned-B&B were harmless. Mischievous, overly friendly, but harmless. The B&B ghosts locked doors, turned the water cold mid-shower, and pulled blankets off sleepers in the middle of the night. They couldn't do much, and all they really wanted was companionship. To be seen. To be real for a moment.
Atticus' personal haunts weren't harmless. There were three of them, and they weren't kind. A man, a woman, and a child, and they were vicious.
In the weeks leading up to the Halloween event, Atticus had been staying at the cheap motel across the tracks. His haunts, always with him, accompanied him there. Now, they were all home, back to the Carriage House.
Atticus was tired. Had spent the morning cleaning, calling his insurance company, getting yelled at. He was ready to put his feet up and pretend the world didn't exist. Had some good letters to read. Wanted a beer and paper that crumbled between his fat fingers. Cheap ephemera. Atticus' version of watching reality television. But he didn't get a chance to put his feet up. The haunts were angry, and they swirled around him like the North Pole. All that was missing was a Christmas tree. The fat man was already in attendance.
"Fine. Fine. Will go look."
The haunts insisted whatever was hiding in the attic wasn't human. Atticus wasn't surprised. Most of this town wasn't human. This entire place was an old fashioned masquerade.
"Stay here."
Atticus' footfalls on the steps were heavy and loud. The man dragged his feet wherever he went, and his own stairs were no different. He wore denim and a Georgetown sweatshirt in navy. His curls were in disarray, and his 5-o'clock shadow was approaching midnight. He dragged his blunt fingers along the banister as he walked. Was impossible to miss his approach. He carried the scent of stale cigarettes, sex, and beer with him. Hadn't showered yet.
He pushed open the door to the attic, and dust motes waltzed around his head.
"Know you're here." He considered telling the stowaway to show themselves, but that felt overly dramatic, even for a lover of the written word. He carried no rapier. He wouldn't know what to do with it even if he did carry a rapier. He left it at know you're here. Less satisfying, but easier. Atticus liked easier.