tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40069649073088903192024-03-13T03:44:40.144-07:00Wayfarers Welcome to Beguile.
A place of scintillating secrets and delightful charms, sinister desires and haunting nightmares. Where trickery is a whisper on the wind and enchantment flutters all around. Things are never as they seem in the little town of Beguile. serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-12116686659044438902024-03-10T00:57:00.000-08:002024-03-10T01:06:09.723-08:00Becky Ford‘s Special Candles <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_vOLTmWR-Kr9_hyphenhyphen0pSov2WtIIC8LRu0M4cNyc2GinIpMj9xw8DQ56Oz8NST6H0GtatAII-IrgHijW3bzVwWsM7PgoY8pjlTjT8TcxyxrPgx9o5JxhSl_oNRQPgrDJzQX_-KU3LiSu7_d3bcNazt2dCa7nKSKW-09DepiDwIZfKqchFZ8TVLYkF0WmXw0/s3508/Untitled_Artwork.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3508" data-original-width="2480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_vOLTmWR-Kr9_hyphenhyphen0pSov2WtIIC8LRu0M4cNyc2GinIpMj9xw8DQ56Oz8NST6H0GtatAII-IrgHijW3bzVwWsM7PgoY8pjlTjT8TcxyxrPgx9o5JxhSl_oNRQPgrDJzQX_-KU3LiSu7_d3bcNazt2dCa7nKSKW-09DepiDwIZfKqchFZ8TVLYkF0WmXw0/s320/Untitled_Artwork.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Candles illuminate the darkness and Becky Ford‘s family have been crafting candles in Beguile for decades. When Becky took over the business from her father Aiden, there were the usual small town grumbling of concern. Becky however surprised the townsfolk despite the whispers about her being quite simple and dull and began to make wonderous candles. She was able to expand the original workshop and as a lone woman produced an alarming number of candles. Thwarting the naysayers Becky even created an online business for her candles and some are shipped to faraway exotic places in the world. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Becky’s business expanded quickly and those in Beguile worried she may not be able to meet the town supply catering to the whimsy of those farther afield. Not only does she always ensure that Beguile citizens have the stock they require she has began to make special candles just for those that live in town. The candles are unnecessarily decorative and Becky only makes and sells a few of theses candles a month which of course makes them all the more sought after. For those unable to get hold of one of the special candles there has been a growing rumble of envy. Of course this isn’t simply about the beauty of the candles but more about the persistent murmurings regarding the first minute one of the candles is lit. It’s alleged that a relative or friend who has passed appears in the candles illumination before a small puff of smoke is emitted and the dearly departed vanish. Despite this speculation being largely unsubstantiated the waiting list for one of Becky‘s special candles grows daily in Beguile. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <p></p>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-50734011030959610612023-04-05T06:11:00.003-07:002024-03-10T01:00:58.501-08:00Florian Dante <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ytoxFjtRyLN5O28z8pjm3gRh0xAXiYZoiY5-R_hapa3ooN1fzoN5uw7pQ6vKoaNurhq79PTXfNQ2OByjG4i-rnJbNmzUGnGx4ZJgECdi_V4gmqgy__BQZDqy8umbk5Efgm39xmwKxJM1Y-Wy-vbz1YN-OonntwELquvFJHGD75JbXlvhlOr0e2Fchw/s3508/19F5C121-7DE2-4CED-A35B-550BC228486F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3508" data-original-width="2480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ytoxFjtRyLN5O28z8pjm3gRh0xAXiYZoiY5-R_hapa3ooN1fzoN5uw7pQ6vKoaNurhq79PTXfNQ2OByjG4i-rnJbNmzUGnGx4ZJgECdi_V4gmqgy__BQZDqy8umbk5Efgm39xmwKxJM1Y-Wy-vbz1YN-OonntwELquvFJHGD75JbXlvhlOr0e2Fchw/s320/19F5C121-7DE2-4CED-A35B-550BC228486F.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Florian Dante had blown into Beguile one summer in the 80s as a young traveller with a single suitcase and an odd shaped brown leather box. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">He had done some work here and there especially on some of the outlier farms. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It wasn’t long however before his smooth and enchanting voice was noticed by BJ McDonald, owner of Beguile Radio 101FM. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>With no prior experience old BJ or Bobby Junior as the older set in Beguile called him, enticed the young drifter to try his hand at the radio station, initially as an odd job assistant and ultimately he became the prime DJ on the talk back night show, Beguile After Dark. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The original and older DJ of the show was getting rambunctious and cranky and loosing ratings for what had once been a popular show for the many night dwellers of Beguile.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Florian slid easily into the DJs seat and it wasn’t long before his image and he were all over the town of Beguile. He was found quite often accompanied by some beauty or other and photographed by his growing set of devoted fans. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was a huge advocate of several charities and was always happy to show community support at any Beguile event. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Though he has never actually been in a relationship, which caused some discussion amongst the more persnickety Beguileans, many women have been invited to his home. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One reoccurring murmur <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>around town was about an odd shaped box that was placed in an elaborate shelf facing his bed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When questioned about the brown leather box Florian would smile and look lovingly at the box absentmindedly touching a key around his neck that hung from a silver chain, and just say it was a reminder of home. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">No one has ever seen inside the box which has a large locked clasp at the side of it.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Some women who have spent the night with Florian have confessed to friends that when they awoke in the middle of the night they were sure they heard humming coming from the box. The size and the shape of the box could not hold a person so these disembodied sounds have been dismissed as dream whispers<span>. </span></span></p></div><br /> <p></p>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-45446364187789790242022-09-11T12:06:00.008-07:002024-03-10T01:03:54.372-08:00Rodney Thoms and Johnny Hamilton <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_lgDdRqLIjLwZhC-XaRMC2lxuU3UHM7yA0INOZGm_yCrQWhK9fXixrEidsgKU0YsaG5D-ggTsGEZbb7z-KrAvri2VUPHp7N1_9Ue_qdgn_FsYCerPyRXySrSvjNU3SnfUyItdkXLAyS6Z5rbRpHTyockcEhrGXAsCs6kQyjOZsqw2AhxuGpoxsvkJw/s3508/5EBD2F2F-0065-4585-A5B4-7F42DF4E2C55.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3508" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_lgDdRqLIjLwZhC-XaRMC2lxuU3UHM7yA0INOZGm_yCrQWhK9fXixrEidsgKU0YsaG5D-ggTsGEZbb7z-KrAvri2VUPHp7N1_9Ue_qdgn_FsYCerPyRXySrSvjNU3SnfUyItdkXLAyS6Z5rbRpHTyockcEhrGXAsCs6kQyjOZsqw2AhxuGpoxsvkJw/s320/5EBD2F2F-0065-4585-A5B4-7F42DF4E2C55.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 23px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Inspired by the tales told to him</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">by his grandfather Desmond Thoms <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>about the disappearance of Desmond’s brother Jimmy, Rodney Thoms had always loved a mystery. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">As a child he liked to imagine he was a famous detective and even used his grandfather’s magnifying glass to look for clues. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As he grew older he read everything he could find about detectives and the work that they did. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Unsolved mysteries bothered Rodney and he became a private detective opening the first detective agency in Beguile. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">The townsfolk found it a relief to finally have someone to look into some of the more curious and baffling occurrence in the town.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">No mystery plagued Rodney more then his grandfather’s brothers disappearance from his gas station on the old highway in the 50s. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some people who remembered <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the famed UFO sightings the summer Jimmy disappeared believed he had simply been abducted by aliens. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rodney had spoken to eyewitnesses of the event. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Unidentified cylindrical <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>shaped crafts in the sky had been seen by hundreds of people in Beguile. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Rodney had also found information on a known gangster who had passed through the town that night but there was no evidence that he had even gone <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>anywhere near Jimmy’s gas station. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">The disappearance niggled at Rodney and he was slightly perturbed by the continual sightings and accounts of lights and spectral voices at the deserted gas station. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Rodney did however have one thing that set him apart from other private detectives so he was confident that he would one day crack the case just like the others he was working on in Beguile. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">The citizens of Beguile were thankful for the work Rodney did for the town but behind closed doors they commented and raised their eyebrows at his obsession with a cheap paperback book he had been seen reading since he was a young man. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The book was written by a hack author known as Bryn Dodd, who had lived in the town for a few years and wrote a novel about a detective called Johnny Hamilton. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The book was a failure in the <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>bookshops and Dolores Paige, the librarian had long ago gotten rid of the town’s copy of the book. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">What Rodney never revealed was that the fictional Johnny Hamilton would leave him messages around the office with clues and tips. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The first message had been on a yellow post-it note left beside Rodney’s dog-eared copy of Hard City Night the book that featured <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the gumshoe detective Johnny Hamilton. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The first note was in reference to a missing child and the information on it had been accurate leading to the child being found. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">Since then Rodney had looked forward to the help from the fictional Johnny Hamilton. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It didn’t really matter that he wasn’t real or so Rodney thought. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>What Rodney wanted mostly now was a note explaining the boxed human</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: medium;">heart that had just been delivered <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>to his office<span>. </span></span></p>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-12738807583269874912020-12-22T08:48:00.001-08:002020-12-22T08:49:38.738-08:00The Payphone <div><br></div><div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><img id="id_c610_3909_9653_b727" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/VT44j39MEZgeYvu8qodS1e1obMpr6UKURqrXNUkWc3b9kVYADyjwIjuQ89noBa4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br>On the outskirts of Beguile, across the railway tracks, sits a small motel. Its cheap rates and unremarkable decor attract many transient travellers passing through Beguile, who spend a night or two in the budget rooms. </p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br><span class="s1"></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">On a wall on the outside of the motel office hangs a payphone. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It has been there ever since the motel was opened sometime in the seventies </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"></span><br></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">The first guest to use the phone got a helpful operator who introduced herself as Beverly. It soon became apparent that Beverly was a very special operator. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Imagine the surprise of the first person to use the phone as he was told, on picking up the receiver, that someone was already on the line waiting for his call. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The curious caller inquired about who that might be, and was shocked to hear that it was a relative who had died the previous summer. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Assuming that it must be some kind of sick joke, the caller had nevertheless agreed to accept the call. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He later claimed to have indeed spoken to his relative, who had passed in a tragic accident. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His relative assured him <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>that he was fine, and asked that he send his regards to the rest of the family. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">The line went dead, and the caller immediately hung up the receiver before picking it up again to hear the dulcet tones of Beverly once more, this time explaining that the line was dead and that the incoming caller was no longer available. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br><span class="s1"></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">The rumours spread quickly, as oft happens in small communities, and many more came to use the payphone to speak with relatives who had passed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Beverly only ever allowed them one call, then always claimed that the incoming caller was no longer available and that the line had been severed.</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"></span><br></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">The phone still hangs in the same place on the same wall of the same motel. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Beverley always answers.</span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-75756874365115103832020-11-17T20:40:00.001-08:002020-11-17T22:58:23.997-08:00The Tiki Flower <div><br></div><div><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><img id="id_4cfc_e7d9_e926_ebbd" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/uthCF0MxYhdh0L8LACeDMM1Xvla5LVR3PR9RfZBSNz-r1D4ZTMQRX_JjabWGqqU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2">Ward <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Milman is the owner of the Tiki Flower, a tiki bar in Beguile. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2">The tiki that decorates the wall of the Tiki Flower was said to have been bought to Beguile from some exotic shore by Ward’s uncle Cornelius. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A sailor in the merchant navy, Cornelius had arrived home unexpectedly one April with the tiki stashed carefully amongst his belongings. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2">Cornelius had regaled his family and friends with a whimsical tale of having been giving the decorative statue by a powerful Chieftain in some faraway South Pacific corner of the world. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He insisted that the idol had been a reward for some unnamed heroic deed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Many in Beguile suspected that infact Cornelius had stolen the statue after plundering some far away location while supposedly performing a duty for the merchant navy. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2">Whatever the true origin story of the tiki it had inspired Ward, after the death of his uncle and his subsequent inheritance of the idol, to create a familiar haven for it in the form of a tiki bar. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2">Visitors to the Tiki Flower often spoke of the striking idol after visiting the bar. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Usually they spoke in whispers about the strange wooden carving with exotic red stones as eyes, that seemed to catch the light in a ferocious glint. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Most enjoyed the Tiki Flower but would position themselves in the bar so they didn’t have to look at the carved graven image. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2">Some after leaving the Tiki Flower even gossiped in hushed tones about the way that Ward spoke to the idol throughout the night, insisting that the eyes of the idol seemed to inflame and irradiate each time that he did. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The more imaginative thinkers in town actually believed that the tiki, as a revenge for being stolen <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>had some how taken charge of Ward and he now did its bidding, but that is small town scuttlebut surely. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 19px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-81365650590805314302020-06-19T03:21:00.001-07:002020-06-19T03:21:33.955-07:00Grayson Buchanan <img id="id_a95e_c2b8_c098_9f54" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/ahJnVarj0q3iFcH4KfFSSZiygPPbXPdBe7bncR3Gff2z-uKzQSwpCPDj4dtrgiI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><br></div><div><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd"><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd">Grayson Buchanan had appeared one warm July day in Beguile following the opening of the new establishment in town called Kapow Comics. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As the first such store <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in Beguile it attracted a lot of attention from the locals and those passing through town. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd">Grayson did not speak much about his past despite the curious questions asked by customers. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He explained to those who enquired <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>that it has always been his dream to open a comic book store. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd">Kapow Comics is a popular hangout for the young and the young at heart. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A strange talking point is the mural at the very back of the shop. It is <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>full of colourful comic book action and attributed to an itinerant artist who spent some time in Beguile just before the opening of the store. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd">More observant customers <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in Kapow Comics may notice a space on the blue skies of the mural where a steampunk craft flies absurdly through the surreal skies on its own. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>To the keen observer it may seem as though the rider has suddenly and mysteriously <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>disembarked from the vehicle.</font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd">There are whispers that Grayson looks just like the imagined driver of the fabulous craft and that perhaps he some how fell from the mural. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Though the more even minded visitors shrug off this possibility, there are some that stand staring at the cerulean painted sky, convinced</font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-78501771768677818142020-05-15T02:19:00.001-07:002020-05-15T02:19:55.564-07:00Benedict Denver <img id="id_39b5_2e80_a50b_9d31" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/EJezwEc7gYZoWLDxGuUDhjJMmLl-F-T04xOYb_4mHbP8C9EqEXDC4O1R-pIslFA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4">At the place where Lake Brock empties into the sea there is a lone lifeguard tower on a small beach known to locals as Bounty Bay. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Only manned for the summer months, the tower houses four local lifeguards who take the shifts in turns and patrol the small stretch of pristine and popular beach. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4">When their shift is done at night they always leave the door to the tower unlocked so Benedict can get in and watch the dark waters.</font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4">In the 1930s Benedict Denver was the only lifeguard on duty when a king wave had hit the shoreline of Bounty Bay. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The treacherous wave had dragged four people out to sea in a tumultuous surge of turbulent, dangerous water. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ever vigilant Benedict had thrown himself into the roiling waters and managed to drag two of the struggling swimmers to the shore. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He then decided on the third person, a woman being pulled beneath the water. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The fourth victim had disappeared beneath the waves after being swept out to sea. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As Benedict got the third victim to the sand and held her as she coughed up sea water he caught a glimpse of what he thought was the last victim of the wave. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>With renewed hope that the man was alive Benedict swam out into the turbid frothing waters. He disappeared along with the fourth victim of the wave whose body washed up along the coast a few days after the king wave had hit. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Benedict’s body was never recovered but within a month there was chatter about a life guard at the tower at night after the beach was closed. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Then came the accounts of those ignoring the closed beach signs and getting into trouble only to be rescued by a lifeguard they hadn’t ever seen at the beach by day. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font color="#bdbdbd" size="4">As the rumours persisted and the reports of strange rescues continued it was decided it would be prudent to leave the door to the lifeguard tower open so Benedict could see the dark waters more clearly. </font></span></p></div><div><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-48701098384061948462020-04-26T02:13:00.001-07:002020-04-26T02:14:36.411-07:00The Dead Letters <img id="id_8231_216a_b104_f6c5" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/C8IOQjZ1P_F_OEDNtRl32Eqs29BroziS1oV_JOV2buIKorUUFxeTkzqenDmdFlw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><font face="Courier"><br></font></div><div><font face="Courier"><br></font></div><div><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">Stanley Brewster has been the mailman in Beguile for almost twenty years. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rain, hail or shine Stanley always ensures the citizens of Beguile receive</font></span></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"> their mail on time. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">The post office is manned by Gertrude Dalton. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A spinster, Gertrude holds <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the fort until Stanley’s return in the afternoon. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">It isn’t <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>until the post office closes <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>at four in the afternoon that Stanley and Gertrude are able to work on their favourite project, the Dead Letters. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Stored in a bright red box the Dead Letters arrive mysteriously at all hours. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They have no stamp and are always hand written on exquisite stationery. They are all sent care of the Beguile Post Office, with no name and with no return address. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">The first letter had arrived over 5 years ago. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was perplexing at first and without knowing what to do with the strange letter Stanley and Gertrude had placed it in a red box. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As the number of mysterious letters grew, the urgency to do something about them became tantamount. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">After several sleepless nights Gertrude had decided it was time to open them. The letters are all from the same man, a Lieutenant Donald Abraham and <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>are written to the Lieutenant’s “Darling”. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">The letters are all very personal and tell of the adventures and longings of Lieutenant Donald Abraham. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">Stanley and Gertrude enjoy working together late into the evening reading and re-reading the letters. In fact they have created a journal with a timeline and information about the Lieutenant and his so called “Darling” in an attempt to discover who she may in fact be. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" color="#bdbdbd" face="Courier">The strange thing is that Stan and Gertrude discovered Lieutenant Donald Abraham died in a battle in December 1894 but still the dead letters come. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-64689708945718936142020-03-29T18:50:00.001-07:002020-04-09T00:23:55.632-07:00Bungalow 9 <img id="id_8844_4046_451_a84f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/xyTyyRAyw2w8wLDYQr03wAzY1ZNvv92UtNTjrF8XEBgOCLFko2Ro64x0GgBg8VU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">Bungalow 9</font></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">Along Lake Brock just before it spills into the sea there are a collection of brightly coloured holiday bungalows. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Built a few decades earlier, they remain a popular place for holiday makers. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The nine bungalows have been placed with care right on the shores of the lake much to the delight of anyone that rents one. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">Identical in layout and decor they are equally sought out, that’s all but bungalow number 9. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Even in summer, the most popular holiday season, when accomodation in Beguile, especially along the water ways is at a premium, bungalow number 9 is always empty. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">Many have no idea as to why they refuse the bungalow and decide to holiday somewhere else if all the holiday accomodation is full. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Older members of Beguile know why though.</font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">The holiday accomodation known by its collective name of the Rivers Rest was built by Janey and Wilbur Duff. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Long time residents of Beguile they had bought to fruition their dream of building a place that families could enjoy on the shores of Lake Brock. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The first few years saw the Rivers Rest <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>filled with holiday makers enjoying the sun and water and the simple but comfortable accomodation. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Popular with seniors and children alike the colourful little bungalows were booked all year round. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">In the fifth year of the Rivers Rest Janey, a beloved host, was said to have left to help an elderly relative in a neighbouring town. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Wilbur gallantly kept the bungalows open and did his best to accomodate those holidaying by Lake Brock. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The year that Janey was absent was one of the hottest the locals could remember and Lake Brock was a popular destination for those wanting to cool down. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>People staying in Rivers Rest started to complain to Wilbur about an unpleasant odour. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Always a thoughtful and accommodating host, he assured them that it was a tidal quirk from the lake and that the hotter summer days were to blame. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Though it was bad some relief was give by the stiff sea breeze that came in from the coast. </font></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4"><br></font></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">After about two weeks though, as the stench increased guests started to leave Rivers Rest. One family that decided to stay had two teenage boys who were inquisitive and decided to trace the source of the reeking odour. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It bought them to bungalow 9. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The curtains were drawn but the locks were flimsy and the two troublesome boys decided to break in to the deserted bungalow. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They jimmied the door and were greeted by a nauseating stench the source of which revealed itself as their eyes adjusted to the darkened room. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">Janey hadn’t <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>made it out of town, in fact she sat, propped up in a chair in the corner of a room, her suitcase placed neatly on the floor beside her. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">When finally questioned Wilbur explained that the “woman in the water” had taken a dislike to Janey and had insisted he do something about her. He didn’t have the heart to bury her in the ground and Janey had always had a soft spot for Bungalow 9. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 33.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font size="4">No further explanation was ever given about a woman in the water and Wilbur spent the rest of his life in psychiatric care during which time he liked to regale his fellow inmates with tales of the mysterious woman who stepped from the depths of the lake one winters day. </font></span></p></div><div><br></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-36552250538194294762020-01-08T03:43:00.001-08:002020-01-08T04:39:43.692-08:00Susannah <div><br></div><div><img id="id_5f2c_9e5b_dd1c_fab3" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/l59u3Urh5OF6yxjLFuzy4dOj-fQgdjER2Oi2HYNPWfeE1p8Ve13aNhAF_20" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">Susannah Gladstone had never been predictable. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She was what the people in Beguile liked to call a free-spirit. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Part of the wealthy Gladstone family, from a young age she refused to conform to the norm. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">In her teens she had rebelled against any attempts at curtailing her desires and thoughts. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Now in her late twenties, things haven’t changed much with Susannah. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">It’s just accepted that she turned her back on the wealth and comforts offered by her family and lives in a Gypsy caravan, making a meagre living on handicrafts. The people of Beguile are not surprised to see Susannah dancing haphazardly in some field or another, seemingly to some unheard, ethereal tune. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">What the people of Beguile don’t realise is Susannah isn’t dancing alone at all. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1">For those old enough to remember, there was a tragedy in one of the fields that Susannah frequents. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A Gypsy camp was razed to the ground in the middle of the night. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Susannah survived the tragedy as a baby and was adopted by the Gladstones who, interestingly enough, owned the field and had a vested interest in keeping it clear. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The Gladstones had taken the orphaned child in, raising her as their own, but never imagined that Susannah would one day return to the fold of her wayfaring, if not dead, family. </span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-63831791369849037912019-12-03T16:46:00.001-08:002019-12-03T16:46:10.627-08:00The Photographie<img id="id_d332_be0e_d84d_d721" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/GYOp3AZyCi2IYA6MtKEr8fiFvEh8ToCidSgR_MQS_GeeozaXpfucnWq_7Kw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><br></div><div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 3px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" size="4">The Photographie was opened in 1899 by Charles Frontiac, a photographer from the continent who had travelled to Beguile and opened a photographic studio. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The first in the area, the Photographie attracted a lot of attention and interest, with clients coming from far and wide. Generations of Frontiacs had worked at the Photographie until it was inherited by Sylvie Frontiac-Meyer. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" size="4">A respectable citizen of Beguile, Sylvie had been a popular photographer and had installed <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the latest equipment for developing the photographic memories of other Beguile residents. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She had married one of the Meyers, a banking family in Beguile, and there was talk of a child. </font></span></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 35.8px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" size="4">That was until she met an itinerant preacher by the name of Silas Simpson. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No-one knows what made the fun-loving photographer just walk away from her husband, career and life, but walk away she did. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A small careless note attached to the door of the Photographie was the only indication she had left with the preacher. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The handwritten note said nothing more than “Gone with Silas”. </font></span></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 35.8px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" size="4">After the shock and gossip had died off and the Meyer family had hired a photographer to keep the Photographie open something strange started to happen. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Every film developed for someone in Beguile contained an extra photograph from the 24 on the reel. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This 25th photograph was always different but the subject was the same, Sylvie trapped and suffering in some hideous way. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The authorities investigated but the strange unexplainable exposures were never explained and Sylvie was never found. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>People stopped going to the Photographie terrified by what may turn up in their pile of happy photographs. The distraught Meyer family decided it was best to close the studio down. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-37025915301699246852019-11-05T13:33:00.001-08:002020-01-04T18:45:16.632-08:00Nathaniel Stanton<p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 3px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 30px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px 0px 3px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 30px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><img id="id_50e8_e2f4_c3c8_8f33" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/u3oM-uP7hMI2fMbql9I3XnaHG4xia-R6Bqj7BIooeg79rUX_KUGihda2XGw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font face="Courier" size="4">Nathaniel Stanton or The Mesmeriser, as he is known professionally, performs at all sorts of events and parties in Beguile. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His astonishing magic skills have made him highly sought after as a performer. </font></span></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" size="4"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4"><font face="Courier">Born in Beguile he lives in his family hom</font><font face="Courier">e in the mountains beyond the wild woods. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Following in the tradition of his father and grandfather it was not a surprise that Nathaniel would choose to make his living as a magician. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The Stanton Family come from a rich heritage of magic with its beginning somewhere in the depths of Old Europe in the 1700s. </font></font></span></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" size="4"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4"><font face="Courier">Nathaniel is particularly famous for a trick he performs with a butterfly and a small garden of red tulips. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The audience loves the trick and always walk away baffled, trying to work out how it was done. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some even whisper it’s an elaborate and sophisticated automaton, a sensible suggestion. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In this case however not accurate, after all Nathaniel and in fact his entire family do not require the deception of constructed magic, they use real </font>magic. </font></span></p> serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-65804541719656958302019-10-06T17:08:00.001-07:002019-10-06T17:48:06.756-07:00Professor Armatige and the Murders of 77<img id="id_4c8_9d7d_4f6_a0f4" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/XD6T7S5iVLuxcW10JXZGo4WNATLPa12p74pJtoztwkHY06AEb5LNnhA3Jec" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><div><span style="color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 23px;"><br></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" face="Courier">The old Armatige house, a replica of a house the Professor had stayed in as a child while travelling with his parents, had been built with love and decorated with pride. </font></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" face="Courier"><br></font></span></div><div><font size="4" face="Courier"><span style="color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Many of the objects collected by Professor Sully Armatige on his travels as a younger man, were on display somewhere in the large house.</span><span style="color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span><br></font><div><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" face="Courier">The Professor, his beloved wife Adele and their two young daughters Cassandra and Bethany had loved their home and the happy family hosted fun casual parties and elegant soirées alike. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The house was a warm and inviting place. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" face="Courier">All this changed in July of 77. Freshly returned from touring a recently discovered and well preserved medieval town in Scotland, Professor Armatige arrived home and instantly knew something was wrong. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As he opened the large entrance doors he almost felt as though the air was sucked from him. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The smell then hit him. A rancid odour of death and putrefaction. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He pressed the sleeve of his jacket against his mouth and nose and entered the dark cavernous building that had once been such a joyous home. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" face="Courier">His beautiful wife Adele and his young daughters lay on the flagstone floor of the large hall, blood covering their clothing and decomposition cruelly eating <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>away at their once soft and beautiful features. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" face="Courier">Professor Armatige had stood for a moment noting that some of the glass display cabinets had been ransacked. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A sadness enveloping him as realisation of his loss struck.</font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="4" face="Courier"><span class="s2"></span><br></font></p><p class="p3" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"><font size="4" face="Courier">To this day no one knows what happened in the Armatige home. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As always happens in smaller towns whispers and accusations sprout here and there like insipid weeds. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some believe that a visitor passing through the town was trying to rob the house and killed the family. Others speculate <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>about the medieval dabbling of the Professor and what he may have naively bought into his home. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There are even those that mumble about the Professor’s hand in the spiteful and horrendous slaughters. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However to this day it remains a mystery. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 23px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(220, 220, 220); min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2"></span><br></p></div></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-49330437205748500742019-09-26T03:44:00.001-07:002019-09-26T03:44:08.476-07:00Juniper Jones <img id="id_4619_dd83_7d0e_c28d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/kJt3kwxvzbbN78ZODTdzHS4b2FQ_l6gq787_OROzwsyXGIjvdytHqbz3FLM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><br></div><div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Juniper Jones is the delectable stage name for Jamieson Briar. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A sought after drag queen Jamieson, or Juniper as he prefers to be known lives in a stunning Art Deco home on the banks of Lake Brock. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Having moved to Beguile over fifteen years ago he is a well respected citizen that donates to many local causes and is always known to give a helping hand if required. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">His wealth, though enhanced by his stunning performances at various local, national and at times international venues, comes mainly from the sea. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Juniper does a roaring trade in treasures he salvages from the sea. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some Beguile residents have questioned this side business of the glamorous drag queen, especially as there is no boat at the dock in front of his beautiful home. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">The truth is that Juniper doesn’t need a boat to explore the seas for trinkets and treasures and this is mainly due to Junipers other identity. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This one he keeps to himself but for the one time he saved that girl Lorelei. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-55347885193311265622019-09-19T03:11:00.001-07:002019-09-19T16:17:39.796-07:00Emmett Kingston <img id="id_bd15_5587_3777_656b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/m5ej_QXBFRfmpo5QEjFphvvN9-9WAPXLQJJHgQFs4uWBGLYo_VFqQXX2fbk" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Emmett Kingston is the Beguile butcher. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The business has been in his family for decades and the shop has been a reliable source of meat goods for Beguile residents since its doors opened in 1922. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">The shop has all manner of meat products and sources most of its fresh meat from the larger local farms. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Consistent good quality and a friendly approach to customers and vendors alike have resulted in the shops popularity and ensuing longevity. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Emmett lives above the store with his mother Maude. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His father died recently so he has no plans to leave his newly grieving mother on her own just yet, despite the protestations of his current girlfriend Tanzy Thomas. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Although the butcher shop and the apartment are traditionally decorated and beautifully cared for there is one room at the very back of the shop that causes a ripple of interest when things are quiet in the town. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 27.4px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Right next to the main walk in freezer there is a red door. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The door seems to always be closed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some more curious customers, however, who have wandered to the back of the shop, have made some outrageous claims about what they believed they glimpsed in the small room on a rare occasion it was open. As only a few witnesses have seen the contents of the room briefly and in questionable light, their claims are slightly dubious. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There are some however that claim to have seen a bloody human heart, under a large glass cloche, still inexplicably beating. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Those claiming to have witnessed this anomaly have always been brushed off as fanciful or inebriated. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The whispers however, as with all small towns, continue. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-35318153265613680442019-09-11T16:37:00.001-07:002019-09-13T22:10:13.977-07:00Flossie Finnegan <img id="id_9669_12f8_55c4_b7ba" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/3cW1p-UdLd4kMBSLAe4oPZXXe04UDXb_vWVJl6hIacP6y12LgeUzJDnuynM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Flossie Finnegan is a well know, if slightly eccentric, resident of Beguile. As a child she had been fascinated by birds. So much so that her Aunt Adelaide had purchased her an exotic parrot from a far away land when she was six years old. Flossie loved the brightly coloured parrot that had lived until Flossie’s thirty fifth year. The parrot who she affectionately called Bligh, was often seen riding along on the young woman’s shoulder. </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s1"></span><br></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Over the years she had pursued her interests in birds and was considered a capable, despite being amateur, ornithologist. Flossie spent part of the year in the Wild Woods and the mountains beyond cataloguing the exotic bird life of Beguile. </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s1"></span><br></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Many believed her knowledge of birds was uncanny. Infact ornithologists from all over the world religiously read the small paper she published monthly called the Chirper. </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s1"></span><br></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What no one knew however was how Flossie acquired her knowledge about birds. Of course unbeknownst to everyone her knowledge had started with her long conversations with Bligh. Since then she daily spoke to all manner of feathered creatures from the small vibrating humming birds to the ungainly large beaked water birds that live long the shore of Lake Brock. Though her favourites are the small black and white feathered tattle tails that tell her all about everything going on in Beguile. </span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-35294015685763278072019-09-05T23:00:00.001-07:002019-09-05T23:00:21.460-07:00Knox Church <img id="id_8bc5_d9c2_b8_c4d7" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/tTm2x7rQfQxga0_Vw22Fn8Hehu8vR6uyIOVK2onmpKz5F5BZDufFAzMjHGM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Knox Church was built as a place for the Presbyterian congregation among the founding families of Beguile to come together and pray.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Staunch believers, they survived the wave of itinerant preachers and even the construction of the much grander Catholic Church, St Sebastian’s. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Humble and stark, Knox Church doesn’t reflect the wealth and extravagance of its members but instead serves as a place of devotion. Minister Tom has resided over the proceedings in the church for the last twenty five years with no sign yet of retiring. In recent years a younger minister called Martin has assisted in the daily running of the church with the blessing of the Elders of the congregation. </font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The church itself was built using wood and stones from the surrounding areas of Beguile. The pews each have a small letter carved into them representing the founding Elders.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">One of the founding Elders of Knox Church and the first serving Minister of the congregation, Tovey Sinclair, is said to still attend Sunday Services despite being deceased for almost ninety years. The Sinclair pew is always left with a space to accomodate the spectral minister who has been known to appear at times when a grieving, wanton or forlorn member of the congregation requires some extra assurance or guidance. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-79683113741330023422019-08-28T15:00:00.001-07:002019-08-28T15:00:54.755-07:00Betty’s Bed and Breakfast <img id="id_2bdb_e998_f78d_9ca4" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/hMG__WZ7MbRbVRlFh00eT-CEAIQcHGJkjcV9NVdEjkZQzORepyOVvEydySM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Betty Florins had a dream. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She wanted to turn the home she had shared with her husband Thaddeus, for thirty years, into a welcoming bed and breakfast.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After Thaddeus had died Betty had rattled around in the large home they had once hoped would be filled with children and happiness.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></div><div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Once a decent period of grieving had passed Betty made her plan real. Betty’s Bed and Breakfast still serves as a hospitable place for a traveller to spend a few nights and enjoy the beauty of Betty’s home. She always has little treats for the younger guests that she carefully chooses from Lucy Landry’s delightful store. </font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Betty’s Bed and Breakfast boasts seven luxurious rooms, ambrosial gardens and a relaxing patio.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Guests to the Bed and Breakfast are encouraged to enjoy all the facilities and beauty that the home offers.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Although they are free to explore the magnificent abode there is one place in the house that has a red rope and a note written in delicate handwriting forbidding entry to the general public.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The door that is locked to guests leads downward into the cavernous basement. Most that pass the bolted door assume that it serves merely as a service and storage area for the Bed and Breakfast.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Guests that sometimes think they hear something that makes them pause for a fleeting, unsettling moment shrug off whatever they thought they heard and continue on their way. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">As happens in small towns many rumours abound about the basement of Betty’s Bed and Breakfast and what is actually down there. Whispered gossip aside the Bed and Breakfast always offers a place of beauty and sanctuary to the weary traveller. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-66457733288558419882019-08-19T21:26:00.001-07:002019-08-20T15:41:54.763-07:00Marie and Elsie<img id="id_9a47_8426_681a_738c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/uKab9FJXwXTU03AkfzjYeZtcqTnJ-oJnMXYaL8e8Pnj2Z7K2HisDSYQ2Rdw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 746px; height: auto;"><br><br><div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd">One of the quarters of historic Beguile is home to many immigrants. They have made the quarter interesting both architecturally and in the wonderful smells of exotic foods that waft enticingly from the many restaurants and cafes. The stores in the quarter are famously filled with curious and unusual wares. </font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Marie Macrini has lived in the quarter all her life.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She came with her family as a small child and still resides in the home, on Oak Street her father built.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Although her parents have long since departed she remembers them fondly.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p2"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Marie lives a quiet life with her devoted cat Absinthe.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Despite living alone since the death of her parents, Marie never feels lonely because of Elsie. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p2"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When she was a child Marie had made friends with one of the neighbourhood children, Elsie.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She lived three doors down and was the only girl in a family of four children.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Marie and Elsie loved playing together until the night that Elsie had been taken. Her bloody and crumpled body found a few days later in a deserted warehouse on the outskirts of the town.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p2"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The murder of her small friend had never been solved, the authorities deciding it must have been perpetrated by some transient visitor to the area.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p2"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Marie knew that the killer was closer, Elsie had told her who had hurt and killed her.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Marie had not been shocked when Elsie had come to visit her after her death. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Marie and her father had always been able to see and talk to the dead. Although Marie had spoken in great detail about what had happened to Elsie and who had hurt her, there was no proof.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p2"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The summer after Elsie ‘s death the adults in Oak Street had decided to throw a large street party.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">No-one knows how the deadly leaf from the poisonous shrub had fallen into Tom Hadler’s cup.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The small leaf had gone unnoticed and was tipped away when the remnants of the party were cleared away.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He had died later that night of natural causes.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font size="4" face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd">Elsie and Marie had had a small celebration of their own the next day. Since then Elsie had lived in the Macrini house with her best friend Marie. </font></span></p></div><div><br></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-82758934673445930962019-08-13T00:46:00.001-07:002019-08-13T00:53:58.961-07:00Fox Footwear <div><br></div><div><img id="id_dc1a_e830_38c3_a735" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/rv_Mb4EVP7LXGlIIijAQ3I5AlMkJnOgfGSqUa6mOL5OBRdmroOfnZUTD1-c" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Fox Footwear had been established by Hudson Fox in Beguile in 1901. From one of the original Beguile families, Hudson was known for his dapper appearance. Catering to the footwear needs of the townsfolk of Beguile, Fox Footwear had gained a reputation for quality and originality in their handmade products. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Currently run by Frederick Fox, Hudson’s great-grandson, the small business still produces high quality merchandise. It seems that the original work of Hudson still permeates the handmade products. There are even rumours that the small antique shoe shine box that sits in the corner of the store is actually used by the long dead Hudson as a sort of portal to leave patterns for new unique shoes, at night when the store is empty. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">That’s just one of those small town whispers though. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-30222286000591425132019-08-05T04:35:00.001-07:002019-08-22T17:57:11.055-07:00Lucy Landry
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><img id="id_ab0_be6e_be3a_2d94" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/MaZIof9WwKwj2CxmOvwwKTniDoH0xTEMtbx8rxGMDA-hMQtDotlgZOHMw4Y" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">The candy store in Beguile is one of the most popular stores with the locals and any transient visitors that happen to venture into the town. </font></span></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Lucy Landry is the owner and the confectioner. She is known to the locals as a powerful kitchen witch, skills she applies to the colourful and scrumptious confectionery in her store. In general Lucy knows what you need and her recommendations always result in the desired outcome. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Lucy has a most affectionate and well thought of pet rodent, some believe familiar, called Iggy. Many have commented on the sentient manners and kindness of the small critter. Lucy has taught the rodent well. There are some that believe Iggy is actually Ignatius Turner, a former suitor of Lucy who broke her heart and purportedly left Beguile with his new love. But that’s just small town hearsay, supposedly. </font></span></p> serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-13719675903368377562019-07-28T23:52:00.001-07:002019-07-28T23:54:45.809-07:00Jonas Everhart <img id="id_4a48_9eb8_5a67_22e6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yLq9loZQDWJo8FWtT-0JPfHH3dHBai3NEAYwj05uhJv103PFYVbJk_Y5DJE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Jonas Everhart lives on the very brink of the Wild Woods in Beguile. His home was built by his great grandpappy, the formidable Josiah Everhart who is celebrated in the town square by a weathered plaque on a wooden bench facing the fountain. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Like Josiah, Jonas takes his role as the guardian very seriously. He is diligent in his night patrols of the Wild Woods, never afraid of the rumoured nocturnal things that reportedly lurk in the dense forest. Even on the few occasions he has seen the spectral light of Annie he has not blanched, but instead waved a friendly greeting to the ghost and called to her that he too will keep his eyes open for her missing son. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">The thing that Jonas really fears is the creature he has glimpsed several times since he became the guardian. It’s the reason that guardians have operated in Beguile, unbeknownst to the townsfolk, who believed the Everharts to simply be a founding family. The creature who can take many forms prefers on meeting you to take the form of the person you love the most. For Jonas this was Isabel. She was taken by illness many years ago and buried in a beautiful ceremony by the Griffiths. This doesn’t stop her from turning up on the very fringe of the Wild Woods and calling Jonas in a luring yet melancholy way. The nights he sees Isabel are always the hardest for the guardian. </font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-22530713931941148272019-07-24T23:44:00.001-07:002019-07-24T23:44:25.724-07:00The Gargoyle <img id="id_908f_9b18_be2_af8b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/rQGZmKYCMyONI2p7RLgsyV8sQ3DLZunkuUprQxuX5zZrdFd0_Kd7oiQLEBs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Professor Armatige was a specialist in medieval history. No one knew where he had actually obtained the gargoyle. A small ceremony, organised by the then Mayor, had been held in the town ending with the gargoyle being cemented on the eastern corner of the library roof.</font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="color: rgb(189, 189, 189); font-family: Courier; font-size: large; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The gargoyle had inspired many rumours over the years and whispers could still be heard about the suspected unnatural nocturnal movements of the statue.</span><span style="color: rgb(189, 189, 189); font-family: Courier; font-size: large; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="color: rgb(189, 189, 189); font-family: Courier; font-size: large; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Some believed that Professor Armatige</span><span style="color: rgb(189, 189, 189); font-family: Courier; font-size: large; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="color: rgb(189, 189, 189); font-family: Courier; font-size: large; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">had actually created a golem in the form of the gargoyle and no one would blame him after the horrific unsolved murders of his family that rainy July night in 77.</span><span style="color: rgb(189, 189, 189); font-family: Courier; font-size: large; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p></div><div><br></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-14417909015254017362019-07-15T03:28:00.001-07:002019-07-15T03:28:15.293-07:00Gabriel Luft <font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><img id="id_21d_3ee1_5cc5_edfd" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/KZYFWAONoJ6PSQL_bRyKs2yH0uX5YYOV-sYaJKkx_KOrJ-GmwZQ645dXCC4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> </font><div><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><br></font></div><div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Gabriel Luft loves flowers. When he was a child he liked to play in the cemetery beside the Catholic Church, St Sebastian’s. Always a loner, he would enjoy wandering through the graveyard and carefully reading the headstones. He often saw the flowers placed by loved ones on the graves of friends and family members, and he would feel sad at the colourful flowers losing their bloom.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">On one of his solitary walks he had seen a bunch of red roses, dried up and dying on the grave of a recently deceased Beguile resident. Gabriel had reached over and stroked the dying roses gently with his fingertips, and had been surprised when, in response to his caress, the roses had become velvety and bright red again.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">This unique skill meant that he often revitalised the flowers in the graveyard by walking through and gently touching the dying buds.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">No-one was really surprised when the odd young man who enjoyed exploring the graveyard had opened up the very first florist in Beguile. </font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">No-one really knew about Gabriel’s special gift; except for one person who had seen him use his talent on a dead girl.</font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4"><span class="s1"></span><br></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">But that’s another story.</font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006964907308890319.post-66204130172723389442019-07-08T05:24:00.001-07:002019-07-08T05:25:14.477-07:00Fran <img id="id_1e00_e3a0_3580_acbc" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ZQ7PuocHL3cARzLu-4vV-VhJ0F1XQGyjn8NhwZ-B63wrpu1opzP-Rl7xbjM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><div>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Fran loves to fly. She has loved it ever since the first time her granddaddy took her up in the crop-spraying plane that they used on the homestead. With no siblings, she had spent much of her time in her granddaddy’s work shed tinkering with all manner of engines and gadgets, but it was the plane that she loved the most. It was beautifully looked after and revered. On special occasions, she would sit in the co-pilot’s seat and enjoy soaring through the air. She would giggle her way through the bumps and unexpected veers and swerves her granddaddy liked to do in the plane to make her laugh.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Her mother despised the plane and, for that matter, her father-in-law, who had come along as a package deal with the homestead when she married Fran’s daddy.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Since her granddaddy had passed, Fran had looked after the plane with great care, flying it every weekend. Howard Griffiths had given her a beautiful sealed envelope after her grandaddy’s funeral in the Griffiths Funeral Home. She had taken the envelope and opened it as she stood in front of the plane. The piece of neatly folded paper inside the envelope had nothing but a number written on it, and she had clutched the paper to her heart and smiled.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">That very next weekend she had taken to the skies, being careful to set the radio that her granddaddy had installed in the cockpit to a frequency matching the number on the paper; and then she had waited. As she circled Lake Brock, she heard the sputter of radio feedback followed by the cheerful voice of her granddaddy saying hello.</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Courier" color="#bdbdbd" size="4">Now, whenever she needed to chat, she would simply take to the skies and turn on the radio.</font></span></p></div>serendipityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06846741623200597241noreply@blogger.com0