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Part 1-16: Stages
Once home, I found my bed and face planted, concerns about being alone by myself a distant idea that once bothered Past Alena. I had a few moments to wonder what my dreams might be like before sleep sucked me down.
But dreams obey their own rules, at least that’s always been my case. I would have expected harrowing nightmares, maybe even some kind of prophecy or a genuine visit from Eden—instead, I dreamt about a mix up resulting in me and Deluxe getting delivery food every hour or so. Chinese, pizza, sushi burritos… everything kept arriving and the delivery people kept leaving free food with us and apologizing. It was amazing.
Tickles on my nose pulled me out of it.
A cat’s tail flit out of sight. I stretched. My body felt great and cozy, muscles heavy and fuzzy with rest. The light in the room suggested late morning. I rolled onto my back, sat up and froze. Last night’s memories came flowing back, swallowing up the lovely fantasy of unlimited free food like a flash flood.
If it hadn’t been for my actual dream, I might have convinced myself that last night was indeed a twisted nightmare—the product of a lot of stress, or maybe a case of intense food poisoning. But when I checked my phone, I saw a message from Deluxe, saying that the boys would be over soon but to sleep in as much as I wanted. It was from two hours ago.
I smelled eggs and butter, and for a wonderful moment, my stomach was in charge of the situation. I raced out into the kitchen, Lobster mrowwing and chasing me. Deluxe, Dack and Fergus were all there. Under normal circumstances, dealing with guests within a few minutes of waking up would have bothered me, but I was starving and it also meant that they hadn’t yet abandoned us. I figured Dack would be back, but was a little surprised to see Mr. Fergus. Upon thinking this, I realized I didn’t even know their full names. I usually at least look people up on social before getting involved in ghost hunting with them.
“Morning,” I said, descending on the stove top, where Deluxe was finishing up a batch of poached eggs. My giant jar of homemade hollandaise sauce was out too, now with a significant dent in it.
“You look like you’ve slept well,” said Dack.
I picked up a plate, plucked a length of snake skin off the shoulder of Deluxe’s bright pink housecoat, and leaned against the counter. The boys sat at our little kitchen table, nursing coffees, looking unshowered and unshaved. Their eyes were bloodshot, their shoulders shrunken.
“I passed out. You guys weren’t so lucky, huh?”
“Spent the night arguing about and rationalizing the experience, to hear them tell it,” said Deluxe. “I too had to revise my lucid dream theory. All evidence suggests that what we witnessed was indeed reflective of our shared reality.”
“In the end,” said Fergus, “it was clear to us that no one but you two chickas would believe anything we had to say.”
“And Persi, whatever she is,” said Dack. “Also, the sheriff’s department isn’t exactly equipped to stake out parks 24/7, waiting to prevent untraceable explosions or whatever the clock has in mind.”
“Couldn’t we take some law enforcement there? To the building? Show them? Persi said she’d let us back in,” I said.
“And tell them what?” said Dack. “I know a few people on the force that might, might humour me and agree to come look in the building as a favour… we could say we thought someone was trespassing or running drugs or something. That Persi girl seemed to want to talk to you, Alena; I’ve a feeling that she’s not going to invite some cops up. But say I’m wrong. Then what? A few officers see a girl and a clock and think its strange… they’ll try to make her leave, since she says can’t she’ll probably ghost away. Best case, some cops believe us that something very odd is happening. Then we wait as an investigation is organized. No foul play involved so far, so it won’t be a priority.”
“By then, whatever ol’ ticktock is planning on doing could already be done,” said Fergus.
“They’ve run through extensive scenario analyses,” said Deluxe.
Fergus toasted with his coffee. “All night long.”
“We can’t not try to get some more help. We can’t sit on knowing the town’s in danger,” I argued.
“Agreed,” said Deluxe. She plucked a pair of eggs out of the pot and plopped them on my plate. “A staged approach is what we were discussing before you emerged from slumber.”
I collected some English muffins and a healthy dollop of sauce, then joined the guys at the table.
“I’m gonna bet that I don’t like stage one.”
“We have to know more first. Scope out these parks to begin with,” said Fergus.
“And I’ll make a few calls and see if I can arrange to have a drink with one of the officers,” said Dack. “I’ve one in mind. We’ll have to be careful of how we approach this with them or we’ll risk being taken less than seriously. A town this small, could be a career limiting issue for some of us, you know?”
“Well if the clock burns the place to the ground then everyone’s careers will be somewhat limited anyway,” I said. Deluxe smirked but the guys did not look amused. “But I get what you’re saying. Can’t really call 911 and tell ‘em a psycho spirit grandfather clock is about to commit an unnatural disaster. They’ll send an ambulance and a straight jacket.”
“Psycho spirit grandfather clock sounds like a great metal album,” said Fergus.
We all laughed, and I felt a little slice of normality again, like I had in the hazy moment right after waking up. I held onto it and tried my best to enjoy my breakfast. The sense that things were about to get worse before they got better was sitting on the edge of my thoughts, patient, waiting to ruin the day. But in that moment, there were poached eggs and homemade hollandaise.
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