The Problem of Interfering Fiction
By Cory Kutschker
Somewhere, two metal staircases wound
upwards and large stacks of books cast long shadows upon a dusty and rough
floor. It was here, a man named Jack, sat. He was writing a novel. Around him
lay crumpled and torn bits of paper. Simply put, He was failing. His fingers
ached from typing on the cold steel keys of his dumpster-reclaimed typewriter.
His back protested his poor posture. His butt was in agony. He was hunched over
for several hours and sat on top of an overturned milk crate whose ridges dug
deep.
He had several ideas regarding his
introduction; this included a verbose narrator currently describing his misery.
However, he figured somebody had undoubtedly written that already and
immediately dismissed it. Instead, another idea struck: An outrageous comedy
about a man and his pet poodle. He started typing but was interrupted when his
doorbell rang.
He was startled. He did not have a doorbell
before. He scratched his head and continued typing. The doorbell rang again.
This time he stood up bewildered and went over to investigate. Indeed, a
doorbell had, in fact, appeared. He thought it was strange and marvelous but
wrote it off as a possible memory gap when, in fact, the author had installed
it as a desirable feature. The doorbell rang a third time followed by three
quick knocks. He then walked over, unlatched the door, slicked back his greasy
hair, picked some boogers from his nose, and opened the door, but only a crack.
Jack was unaccustomed to visitors and
queried the visitor timidly.
“Hello?” He said through the sliver,
squinting his eyes into the glare from the sun. He recognized the superbly
lithe figure of Samantha standing at the doorstep. Little did she know; he was
attracted to her. Unfortunately, she spent most of the month working up the
courage to evict him. He thought she was here about the new doorbell.
“Are you here regarding the new doorbell?”
He said.
“N-No” She said, faltering, adjusting her
feet.
“What do you want?” He said. He regretted
the tactless question and tried smiling. In doing so, he displayed two rows of
absurdly crooked teeth coated in a sheen of plaque. Samantha curled her lip,
reminded herself to be professional, and returned an artificial smile
resembling more of a grimace than anything else. She then coughed and gained
her composure.
“I have not received the last three months
of rent from you so I--you are being evicted.”
“What!?” Jack threw the door open, wafting
his putrid body odour and revealed a scant, far-too-short bathrobe. It exposed
his grotesquely hairy legs and barely covered his white underwear.
Professional,
Samantha thought and took a step away from the doorway, baring her teeth.
“I expect you to be vacated by the end of
tomorrow,” she said. With that, she turned, winced, walked down the stairs, and
nearly tripped over a large squeaky toy, placed there by some cruel
predilection of the narrator, who had far too much time on his hands.
Jack stood at the doorway, bathrobe
billowing. He had an awful knot of frustration in his stomach. Where else would
he live? Jack wondered. He feared the worst. He turned around in a huff. Within
four seconds (the approximate time it will take to read this absurdly out of
place aside), he stepped on some thumbtacks, banged his head against a
bookshelf, and fell onto his back like a spread eagle. After getting up and
rubbing his head, he went and sat at his typewriter. Infuriated, he began to
type:
This
is a story about an author who took bizarre and sadistic satisfaction from his
characters suffering. Every day he would sit down at the keyboard, possibly at
his desk, or café where he is currently situated. He sits with a London fog to
his right and the scraps of a finished turkey melt sitting on a plate behind
his laptop.
There
is no real explanation for the poor treatment of his characters. Some had
attested it to poor sleep patterns. Others suggested it may have been some sort
of psychological issue, as though he was lashing out due to boredom, or he was
deeply frustrated with some decision in his life. Whatever the cause, he showed
no sign of relenting his unfortunate pleasures.
Oddly
enough, his description of my writing habits is quite accurate, but he, of
course, did not know this. Jack yawned. He had not slept for at least 48 hours
and had bags under his eyes. So, as much as he despised stopping amid a good
stream of writing, he quit. He stretched, got up, trudged up the stairs to his
waiting cot, and collapsed. He was exhausted, but also stressed. He was unsure
of to find another place. Nonetheless, he fell asleep.
Samantha
was at home rethinking the eviction. Was she perhaps too harsh? After all, Jack
had come to her for a cheap place to live. Where else in the city would he go?
She thought. An idea came. Perhaps, if she could use the space to gather some
other kind of income then she could retract her eviction? She desperately
wanted to assuage her conscience pleading with her to let him stay. So, how
could she use that space to generate income? It struck her. She could use it as a used bookstore, with
cafe! It was a perfectly obvious idea.
It had come with the stacks of old books. She had no time to do anything
with them between her job and family. And that was before a social worker
approached her, inundated with cases. Jack was number three on that list. The
first two failed to contact her. The social worker had sorted out a perfectly
fair arrangement for rent. He would pay five hundred dollars cash and the rest
was subsidized to her. It made her wonder what he squandered his money on. Best
not ask.
But
what would she do with his gross lack of hygiene? Their earlier encounter was
simply grotesque. She winced at the memory of it. Didn't he have soap, or a toothbrush?
What if she bought him some? What sort of message would that send? Wouldn't
that be rude? Samantha did not have an answer to any of these questions and was
tired. She yawned, sauntered to her room, and climbed into bed.
Samantha
was on the edge of consciousness when a reasonably-sized hardcover book
apparated little more than four feet over her chest and fell spine first, just
grazing her chin. Samantha, shrieked, sat up, and rubbed her chin. What the
hell? She yelled, picking up the book and glaring at the door. But of course,
her door was still closed. She was confused at first. But after reading the
title on the book, incredibly disturbed. It read: "How to kindly suggest
proper hygiene and other timely topics for the struggling Landlord." How
very wordy of a title. Just as much as the title was disturbing, the author,
stated in gold leaf along the spine, was perplexing, " a publication of
The Council of Interfering Narrators." Her hand shook as she timidly
opened to the table of contents:
● Chapter
One: So, Your Tenant John is Filthy 1
● Chapter
Two: Common Icebreakers for difficult conversations 73
● Chapter
Three: Confronting Unsightly Individuals 92
● Chapter
Four: Overcoming Anxiety 211
● Chapter
Five: Soap, shampoo, and toothpaste 340
● Chapter
Six: Your Name Is Samantha And You Need to Get A Grip On Your Life 471
● Absurdly
oversized Index 500
● If
You Are Deeply Disturbed, throw down this book, avoid the problem, and we will
take care of it for you.
While Samantha did not exactly throw down
the book, she certainly dropped it and then quietly climbed into bed in the
fetal position, turned on her lamp (which was the first time in the last 30
years since she was 7 years old), and whimpered ‘til she slept.
It was a great avalanche of books that
awoke Jack. There were several strewn about the floor in front of one massive
bookcase lining the wall. He rubbed his eyes, stood up, and sauntered over
curiously to the mess. One particularly ragged paperback of Mary Shelley's
"Frankenstein" lay teetering over the space directly above his
beloved typewriter. It was an unfortunate reminder of his predicament. This was
his last day. His life, like the book, lay teetering over an abysmal truth. I
will be homeless today. For fifteen minutes Jack could do nothing but pace the
length of the second floor. "What am I gonna do?" He wondered aloud.
In that very second came a whoosh! Thunk! at the ground floor followed by a
loud buzzer. It was not the doorbell and there was no need for buzzing someone
in. So then, what could this be? Jack clambered downstairs; nearly tripping on
the grating of the steps. Near the entrance, he noticed a remarkably polished
pneumatic mailing tube with a blinking green light. It was definitely not there
before. And for five minutes he stood staring at it, bewildered and hypnotized.
A second buzz pulled him from this trance. He reached out and retrieved the
cylinder from the opened chamber. It was two feet in length and two inches in
diameter. With his curiosity stoked, he popped off the lid and withdrew the
paper inside. It was a letter addressed to him:
Dear
Jack
My
name is Nadine. As a member of the Council of Interfering Narrators (CIN), I am
writing this letter to you on behalf of a troubled individual. I am sure you
are aware of your dire predicament. So, in order to assist you, I am requesting
your complete cooperation.
Below,
you shall find a set of instructions. they are numbered so you shall not err in
following them. Please do each of these in order, and to the letter so your
case may be processed swiftly. In one minute, a second package should arrive at
your address with the contents you require to complete each task assigned.
1. Take
this letter and the contents of the second tube up to the bathroom.
2. Look
into the mirror and say the following:
"Beach
Teeth"
"Cheese
Clean"
"Leech
Peal"
3. Inside
the second tube, there will be these items:
Toothpaste
Toothbrush
Soap
Shampoo
Take each item out and place them in their
respective homes. The toothbrush and toothpaste can be at the sink. The soap
and shampoo can be placed somewhere in the vicinity of the bathtub, perhaps on
the shelves just below the showerhead.
As soon as Jack had finished reading the
letter, a second tube arrived followed by a buzz. Without hesitation, he
grabbed the second tube and opened it. The four items, just prescribed, were
there.
Jack, without question, was disturbed. who
were the CIN? Why were they watching him? He also felt insulted. He was
indignant. How dare they suggest some lack of hygiene. And in a tantrumed huff,
he trudged up to the bathroom. Once there, he glared into the mirror. "Why
am I humoring them?" He muttered. These instructions are unremorsefully
absurd. He shook his head and held the letter under the light, re-reading the
words he was instructed to repeat. On the last word he extended his
pronunciation, widening his mouth and baring his snaggled teeth. The light
reflected grotesquely off the sheen of plaque. Jack did not notice, but his
reflection did. It gagged, capturing his attention. He fell to the floor and
inched away from the mirror, eyes wide, heaving shallow breaths. His reflection
remained. It rolled its eyes and did all it could to coax Jack to resume his
position in front of the mirror. Jack got up slowly. His legs shook while his
reflection urged him forward with its hands. Step by step Jack drew closer to
the mirror until he reached the sink, which he gripped, white knuckling the
sides. His reflection smiled reassuringly and then pointed to its teeth. Jack
then opened his mouth and bared his teeth, which his reflection matched.
It
is difficult to say what precisely made him completely aware of the horrendous
state of his dental hygeine. What is known is Jack stared at the mirror in
horror for at least five minutes completely still. After, Jack slunk down to
his knees on the cold linoleum and wept for half an hour. How could I ever
gain Samantha’s love? I’m hideous! He thought. After thirty minutes of
melancholy, his reflection had more than enough of Jack’s self pity. It shook
the mirror and regained his attention. He slowly got back to his feet, wiped
away the tears, snot, and returned his gaze to the mirror. His reflection,
dearly wanting to assist, gesticulated a brushing motion with its index finger along
its teeth. “I agree” Jack responded. And so Jack, starting an entirely new way
of life, picked up the toothbrush/toothpaste and began the long process of self
rejuvenation, including soap and shampoo.
The author would like to note it is not
officially known what agency or force animated Jack’s reflection. However, an
inquiry was made to the CIN. An employee who is kept anonymous for legal
reasons, was questioned in the hallway about the mirror incident. Upon such
questioning the employee ran to his office, slammed the door, locked it, then
put in for an immediate transfer to a separate annex of the imagination matrix.
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Leanne Furnick
|
Department
Dept. of Author affairs
|
Employee #
761
|
|
Description of Incident
Author Cory Kutschker has randomly apparated a
doorbell in character Jack’s living space.
He has also created random objects to trip up Jack.
I suggest
keeping an eye on Cory, could be trouble.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Interference
Report
Full Name
Todd Judker
|
Department
Dept. of Character affairs
|
Employee #
|
|
Description of interference
Publication was sent to character Samantha
instructing her on possible actions taken regarding character Jack.
Mailing tube generated; mail sent to character Jack with
instructions on actions to be taken.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Fran Huntington
|
Department
Dept. of Story Environment affairs
|
Employee #
611
|
|
Description of Incident
There was a malpractice incident occurring at
character Jack’s bathroom at the mirror.
Incident was investigated. Evidence of dimensional
tampering was traced back to the CIN. Suggesting immediate action by Internal
Affairs.
|
Chapter
Two
A
Rat and A Pack of Hippies
Mr. Varnelle looked like a rat. He had a
horrendous overbite, which drew every person’s gaze to his elongated incisors.
His nose was long and thin which barely held on to a pair of reading spectacles
via an arch midway down. And, to crown the appearance, he had the tendency to
slick back his hair, which exposed his sloping forehead. For a full minute,
bordering on eternity, Samantha stared at him mouth agape.
“eesh there shomething I can help yew with
Mz? He questioned her with an eyebrow raised.
“Yyess, I would like a loan to start a
business.” Samantha said, clutching her purse.
“Ewwkay, dew yew have apprewpriate
collateral?”
“Yes, I-I think so, maybe?”
Mr. Varnelle stared at her incredulously
over his glasses.
“Yew have a car?”
“Yes.”
“Make, model, yeeer?”
“Ummm” Samantha tapped her fingers on the
desk. “It’s a, um, ‘95 Honda civic hatchback.”
“Do yew own properties?”
“Yes. An apartment complex on 16th ave and
5th, and a recently converted residence on 7th.”
“Papers?” Samantha withdrew the
documentation, now heavily crumpled, from her purse and laid them on his desk.
“And what kind of business dew yew weesh to
shtart?”
“A used bookstore.” Mr. Varnelle looked at
her over his spectacles and drummed his fingers.
“No.”
“No?”
“The bank will not grant your loan. Loan
rejected.” Samantha stood, panicked.
“But I need that money!”
“I shuggesht yew contact theesh people.”
Mr.
Varnelle stood, withdrew a glossy white business card, and extended it to a now
despondent Samantha, who took it from his fingers slowly. Her eyes widened and
jaw slowly dropped as she read the Times New Roman heading.
The
Council of Interfering Narrators
Are
you suffering? Is life too unfair?
Write
us a letter and we will know about it.
At
home, Samantha paced the hallway. Am I insane? Should I be consulting a
psychiatrist? What’s gonna happen if I admit to all this? Would it hurt to
write a letter? Samantha stopped at her bedroom door, looking in at her
open diary on the nightstand. She stood crossing her arms, her hands scrunching
up the shirt at her sides. Ah hell, it can't hurt. She walked over, ripped a
blank page from her diary, and started writing, shaking her head in disbelief.
To the Council of Interfering Narrators,
If you do actually exist and not
a scam, then you will know of my financial crisis. If you really do exist, you
will know I am exceptionally desperate.
Sincerely,
Samantha Templeton
Not a moment later the doorbell rang.
Samantha looked at her watch. It was one in the afternoon. Wonder who that is?
She left her bedroom to the front door and opened it just as it rang a second
time, except nobody was there. She looked down the sidewalk both ways. Nobody
was even within a mile of the house. Samantha looked down. An obscure red
envelope sat on her front step. It was simply addressed to her. There was no
street number, city, or postal code, not even a postage stamp. In fact, the
only thing else on the front of the envelope was a return name: The Council of
Interfering Narrators. Samantha's hands shook. She went back inside and sat on
her couch. She turned the envelope over and saw the bottom the flap had a wax
seal imprinted with what looked like a large tree. She carefully pried it off the
bottom half of the envelope, unsealing it. She nervously withdrew the
stationary, unfolded it, and began reading:
Dear Samantha Templeton,
Thank-you for contacting us! First, be
assured you are not crazy. We do exist. Second, we are not scam artists. We
have strict policies in place to ensure the financial security of our clients.
Third, We, The Council of Interfering Narrators, are pleased to help you in
your financial predicament.
Please
note: Our longstanding policy with a client's financial matters has undergone
changes over the past year.
Policy amendment 16.2: It is no longer
acceptable to use the "death of a loved one" trope to solve financial
matters.
Policy amendment 16.4: It is no longer
acceptable for a 'mysterious stranger' to bestow the client with an envelope
full of money.
Policy amendment 16.7: All clients with
connections to drug lords or criminals must show probable cause or likelihood
of remuneration if in arears with the client.
We will be sending a character case officer
along shortly to discuss your financial matters. All of us at The Council of
Interfering Narrators would like to wish you well and a happily ever after.
Sincerely,
The Prestigious Secretary of Character
Affairs.
Samantha finished reading the letter, completely
mystified, and tired. Her eyes had begun drooping half-way through reading the
policies. She yawned, put the letter by the couch, swung her legs over onto the
length of the couch, and laid her head back. She fell asleep immediately.
Jack
was sitting in a dentist's chair. How he was going to pay even ten percent was
beyond him, never mind the inevitable visit to an orthodontist. All he knew was
at a whim he went into this dentist's office and managed to wedge himself into
an opening in their schedule. A client had conveniently cancelled fifteen
minutes prior.
The
walls in the room were exceptionally bare. He found himself staring at the
cracks in the ceiling, wondering how long it took for a dentist to examine an
x-ray. While he…
Please wait a moment. I have received a
letter from the Council of Interfering Narrators.
Dear Author,
Thank-You for your continued work on this
story. We have been reviewing the last paragraph and it has fallen short of our
expectations and does not align with our policies.
Section A 56.7 A character may not be
placed in a situation where he or she is unable to pay within his/her means.
Any exception to this rule is only found within Section A 56.9.
Section A 56.9 If a situation is remedial.
Such remedy must be found within our manual under section B titled
"Acceptable Tropes: Finding Money".
Thank-You for your attention in this
matter.
Sincerely,
Rose Parcemthin
The prestigious Secretary of the Department
of Author Affairs
So, I have amended the last paragraph. Here
is the new one:
Jack was fussing over his appearance. He
had tucked in his shirt, shaved (thanks to another care package from
you-know-who), and tied back his hair. He even practiced smiling. Although
faltered at every attempt when his teeth unceremoniously poked over his bottom
lip. He typed out a resume, which was short. Jack was maintaining a fragile
hope of getting a job. He was not even certain where to look or what he even
wanted to do. He had submitted a short story to a magazine fiver months ago,
but no reply. Jack sighed, oh well, took one more look into the mirror,
exited the bathroom, walked down the stairs, out the front door into the sun,
and onto the sidewalk.
It was here where Jack encountered five
stringy, well-aged hippies.
"Hey dude, you have to come with
us."
Jack looked behind him. He was surrounded.
"Why? why do I need to come with
you?" He asked.
"Because" said the second hippie
wearing a purple bandana.
"We've got to show you the light
dude!"
"You're behind on payments, aren't you
Jack?"
Jack turned to his left. A man younger than
the rest, wearing a well-worn ball cap
looked at him ernestly.
"How do you know my name?" Jack
asked. The man smirked.
"We know a lot of things Jack. Ever
hear of The Council of Interfering Narrators?"
Jack nodded. The man pointed to himself.
"I know who they are and where they
come from. We even know how to hack their system. See this wad of cash?"
Jack looked at the tied bundle in the
younger man's hand.
"We can help. We can get your rent paid
off."
Jack raised his eyebrows, looked around at
the men, who were looking eagerly at him. Jack assented.
"Okay."
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Interference
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Interference
Character Varnelle was briefly harnessed to relay
CIN business card to character Samantha.
Letter was sent in response to character Samantha’s
inquiry.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Gordon Chatsky
|
Department
Dept. of Internal Affairs
|
Employee #
131
|
|
Description of Incident
Interference agent 11 has been reported dead.
Request activation of policy C 22. Full investigation is underway.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Interference
Report
Full Name
Leanne Furnick
|
Department
Dept. of Author affairs
|
Employee #
761
|
|
Description of Interference
Author Cory Kutschker committed a violation on
Section A 56.7. A letter has been sent to him to address this breach.
|
Chapter
Three
A
Top Hat and A Grin
Samantha woke up. She yawned, stretched and
checked the clock. It was four pm. Shit, gotta get going she thought,
completely sweeping aside any expectation of a visitor. It took twenty minutes
for her to grab her keys, jacket, and drive over to Jack's building. She jogged up to the front door, fumbling
with her keys.
"Hello Madam."
Samantha jumped and dropped her keys. She
whirled around to face the man behind her.
"I am truly sorry" said
the man, as she bent over and picked them off the doorstep. She looked him over
as she straightened up: Oxford shoes, dry cleaned suit, blue eyes.
"Oh, it's fine," Samantha said,
blushing.
"Are you Miss Samantha Templeton?"
The words glided smooth from his tongue.
"Um, y-yes."
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am
Reginald Esquire, at your service." The man bowed and made a sweeping
gesticulation with his hand. Samantha realized she was curling her hair with
her index finger and quickly dropped it to her side. She bit her lip to avoid
smiling. The man has the face of angel she thought. She noticed how his hair
slowly curled up at the back when he bowed.
"Are you from the CIN?" She
asked.
"The CIN?"
"Yeah, The Council of Interfering
Narrators." She looked down ashamed of falling into this. Why am I
doing this? What if it's a scam, or worse…?
"Yes, sorry, it has been a long
week." Reginald looked down and grinned.
"You're not exactly the sort of person
I expected, I mean, the suit and all." Samantha gestured up and down at
his outfit.
"Yes, well, I have a special
understanding with the director in relation to the dress code." He smiled.
"So, are you wanting money from
me?"
"No madam, I, we," Reginald
corrected himself, "Do not exist to withdraw anything from characters-I
mean-clients."
"And you are aware of my financial
issues?" Samantha gestured over her shoulder to the building.
"Certainly." Reginald snapped his
fingers. "Why don't you proceed as before I interrupted you." He
gestured to the door. Samantha smiled,
turned around and fumbled with her keys some more. After five minutes, she
managed to unlock the door and enter.
The interior was immaculate. The color of
the oak bookshelves seemed enriched. The hardwood floors shone nearly
effulgent. Samantha left her mouth agape for several seconds before closing and
clearing her throat. "I have never seen the place this clean."
Samantha was so preoccupied looking up, she nearly tripped over a table leg as
she slowly walked forward. She staggered, then regained balance. It was after
this she noticed the thousand-dollar bundles neatly stacked in the center as
though freshly minted. She picked up one and fanned the bills with her thumb.
"It seems too good to be true."
She said, with one finger still stroking the bills.
"The Council of Interfering Narrators
does not scam individuals Ms. Templeton. We are a non-profit organization who
exist for the sole purpose of helping people, such as yourselves, reaching
their potential." Reginald placed his hand lightly on her shoulder.
"Would you excuse me please?"
Samantha ascended the stairs and half jogged over to the bathroom, went in, and
closed the door behind her. She took a few minutes on the toilet before
noticing the letter addressed to Jack in the trash bin. She would have left it
if it weren't for the company name printed boldly "The Council of
Interfering Narrators." She took it out of the bin, unfolded it, and read
it. So, I'm not the only one, she thought and quickly exited the
bathroom, barely pulling up, zipping, and buttoning her pants before opening
the door.
"I have one more problem Reginald-can
I call you Reg?" She blurted as she made it down the stairs with half a
breath.
"I would prefer not my lady. I am a
man of propriety, over familiarity in shortening names might draw me into a
relationship. Company policy." Reginald half grinned.
"Where else can I be of assistance? He
steepled his fingers and half bowed.
"I need to know where my tenant has
gone off to."
"Of course." Reginald snapped his
fingers again and procured a small tablet with antennas and rigorous hardware
jacked into its ports. “I’ve always wanted to go on acid.” Reginald said
beaming, then noticed Samantha's look of wonder as she stared at the device,
brows furrowed.
"It's called A.C.I.D Author's
Characters Involvement Directory."
Author's Note: Author's Characters Involvement Directory was
a project spearheaded by the unaffiliated (and recently dissolved) Band of
Concerned Moderators for Controlling Antagonists, or the BCMCA for short (Many
of this agency were former members of the CIN). A team of five developers and
three Computer engineers were hired to produce a working prototype for a further
streamlined production. The project ran out of funds before even the prototype
was completed leaving the engineers one month to low jack scrap hardware to an
off-market touchscreen tablet. Shortly following the prototypes completion, the
agency managed to hire a team of clerks for data input, all working alternating
twelve hour shifts just barely making the deadline of December 3, 2019 at 4 pm.
The next day at eight pm, the prototype vanished from its vault, baffling the
officials. There was no evidence found of tampering or forceful entry from any
side. The CIN, who was charged with its investigation, hailed it as the single
largest heist they have ever seen in the history of property in the
hippocampus.
It is a 5000-page directory containing at
least 12,000 literary characters, their current status, living or deceased, and
their location (produced in GPS coordinates and street address if applicable).
Reginald
powered on the device which undulated with electronic screams and whines,
emulating the dial-up tone of a mid 90's 56 kbps dial-up modem. The screen then
powered up giving Reginald a search bar with several options for queries.
"What is the name of this tenant of
yours?" Reginald stood poised with tablet in hand.
"Jack, Jack Forlin." Samantha
said, watching carefully as Reginald input the name and pressed enter. After
some more electronic screeches, Reginald's face grew serious.
"We need to go." Reginald said as
he powered off the tablet and put it back in his jacket (which Samantha thought
odd since she could see no bulge).
"Why? What's wrong?" Samantha
asked, looking concerned.
"Jack is in David Lorell's house.
Which means if we don't hurry Jack may end up brain dead or worse."
Reginald walked briskly to the front door ushering Samantha through first.
After shutting the door and allowing her to lock it, he led her to an alley and
through another door which was weathered and painted red.
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Incident
Massive breach of resources was committed by
Character Reginald. Intense authority protocol was violated. Plot has been
altered. Requesting immediate surveillance of Reginald.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Gordon Chatsky
|
Department
Dept. of Internal Affairs
|
Employee #
131
|
|
Description of Incident
Important artifacts reported A.C.I.D. to be missing
from the vault. Requesting immediate activation of Policy C 22.
|
Chapter
Four
Hacking
the Council
Jack sat in a cold basement surrounded by
odd bits of electronics, hardware, and a web-work of wiring running along the
corners of the walls bundled with zip ties. Beside all this was an odd machine
built with welded bars, cobbled circuit boards, cooling systems, a monitor, and
an extended frame with a connected keyboard. A thick cable extruding from the
main terminal connected to a crude helmet forged together with rough iron bars,
three-inch bolts threaded through four sides, and a leather chin strap dangling
from one end. Trailing from the machine was a coiled wire connected to a port
in a laptop sitting on the table. In front of the laptop was another well aged
man with wire framed glasses. Jack looked up and noticed the ceiling was
unfinished. He did not notice the leaking pipe.
The door to the basement opened and the
younger man with the ball cap entered, with a pitcher of water and a plastic
cup precariously managed with his left hand. He closed the door behind him, descended the stairs, walked over to the table, and set the pitcher down after
pouring a glass.
"Water?" He asked, looking at
Jack.
“Sure. So, what’s with all the junk?” Jack
gestured around the room as he took a drink.
“Hacking our world Jack.”
“Hacking. Our. World?” Jack looked sideways
at David.
“Maybe I should rewind a bit.”
“Yes, please do.”
“You know that group we were talking
about?”
“The council of interfering narrators?”
Jack queried.
“They are more powerful than you know.”
“Oh?”
“Didn’t it strike you odd how much they
knew?”
Jack leaned back and stretched, “Yeahh, but
I figured it was a government thing.”
“A government thing.” David smiled, looked
down, and shook his head.
“Your naivete is cute. They are way more
than some government agency.” David stood up and started pacing.
“Jack, they control this world. Somehow, we
don’t know, but somehow, they are able to change things and distribute
resources to people in need. I don’t even think it’s too far to say they could
establish a cure for cancer if need should arise.” David stopped pacing and
looked at Jack. “And this is where you come in. “We think we can hack into
their system and maybe rewrite their system. They seem to have a keen interest
in you.”
“That’s a lot of uncertainty David.”
“Yes! Yes, it is. But Darrel here…” The man
behind the laptop gave a half wave and grin. “He already found a page of your
physical characteristics. Go ahead Darrel. Let’s see if we can save Jack a trip
to the dentist.” Darrel began typing rapidly, and after a few minutes hit the
enter key.
“There it’s done.” He said.
The
most unfortunate aspect of Darrel’s programming skills is the lack of any
novocaine. Certainly, it was only a matter of seconds. But the brunt of the
pain was excruciating. Jack lurched forward in his chair, holding his hand over
his mouth, which could feel his teeth aligning themselves. And then, it was
over. He sat up and looked at David, who handed him a small mirror. Jack looked
at his reflection, bared his teeth, and nodded approvingly.
“Ok, you have my attention. What do I have
to do?”
David smiled, “I’ll show you.”
Samantha stepped down into a twisting
hallway with many doors and a long red carpet.
“Where are we?” She asked, looking around.
“A shortcut. That’s all I can tell you
without your grey matter redecorating the walls. The boss doesn’t like that,
has a weak stomach. It’s really more the smell than anything else.” Said
Reginald as he stopped at a door and placed his palm flat on the center and
closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” As the door swung
inward and sunlight shone through.
“Opening doors. Come along.”
In
a matter of minutes, they were standing at the front entrance of David
Liddell’s house, which was oddly pinkish and had a bed of flowers with a picket
fence skirting the yard.
“Perhaps you ought to knock. A man might
get defensive if I am the forerunner.” Reginald suggested. Samantha stepped
forward and knocked on the door, wary of the wire bared doorbell. An elderly
lady adorned with a frilly kitchen apron came to the door and answered.
“Hello? How can I help you?” she peered out
at them, adjusting her thick framed bifocals.
“Hi, my name is Samantha Templeton, and
this is Reginald Esquire.” She gestured behind her.
“You must be Mrs. Liddel, we came hear to
speak to your son. we’re friends of his.” Samantha gave her best, practiced,
landlord smile.
“Well you seem like a nice an’ sweet girl,
come in. Can I offer you tea? Coffee? Cookies are still in the oven, only a
couple o’ minutes.”
“Tea would be lovely Mrs. Liddell,
Thank-you.”
“And you?” She looked at Reginald.
“Oh, I will have the same madam,
thank-you.”
“Ok, just make yourselves at home, David
will be up shortly, always is, when cookies are made.” Mrs. Liddell shuffled
back to the kitchen, cackling to herself.
Samantha and Reginald took seats across
from each other at the small dinner table just outside of the kitchen. Here
they waited. Reginald tapped his finger impatiently. Samantha scanned the walls,
looking at family photos, anxious.
“Does it fit?” David queried Jack, who was
strapping on the awkward headgear.
“Yeah, not exactly comfortable.” David
chuckled.
“Science rarely is.” He walked over to the
console and tapped in some commands on the keyboard.
“Ready Darrel?” He looked over his shoulder
at Darrel, hunched over the laptop, his fingers spread like spiders over the
keys, typing nimbly.
“Yes in 3…2…1 there, ready!” David reached
over to a lever like some Doctor Frankenstein, a kind of madness in his eyes.
“Ready Jack?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“OK! For science gentlemen!”
David pulled down the lever, electricity
crackled, and everything went dark, save for the sliver of light filtering
under the door, descending the stairs.
“Ma!” yelled David. The door opened.
“David, Cookies are ready!” David’s mouth
grew tight as he worked out his response.
“I told you I needed you to stay away from
the oven!”
“Oh, my dear I’m sorry, but you have guests
upstairs!” David’s temper eased slightly.
“Who?!”
“Well… I can’t remember their names but,
they said they were your friends.” David looked around the room at the
half-eclipsed faces of the men.
“Alright guys, take five, let’s get
cookies.”
The men all sauntered upstairs followed by
David and Jack, who unstrapped the helmet and placed it on the table.
Reginald was reaching towards the plate of
cookies when David and Jack walked in.
“Hello?” David said as he looked at
Reginald and Samantha perplexed.
“Who are you?” Samantha put up her hand
like a cautious schoolgirl.
“I’m Samantha, but you can call me Sam, and
this is Reginald.” She gestured across the table.
“Have I seen you before?” David pointed at
Reginald.
“I would be very surprised if you had. I am
not the sort of person you run into. But won’t you introduce us to the rest of
these, gentlemen?” Reginald smirked and gestured to the men standing behind
David.
David scowled at him. “Ah, yes. This is
Darrel, Ricky, Lewis. aaand the new improooved Jack.” David finished this last
sentence dramatizing it like a gameshow prize announcer and stepped to the
side.
Samantha squinted her eyes. “Jack?” Her
heart leapt. How do you look so, different?”
Jack stepped toward the table. “Samantha,
it’s amazing, but, I don’t know if you would believe me if I told you.”
“Oh?” Samantha looked to David.
“Did you do this?”
David half-smirked. “Technically, no. That
was Darrel’s handy work.”
Darrel half waved to Samantha barely making
eye contact as he switched his gaze to the living room window then back down to
the floor.
“If you want,” David interjected, “I could
show you our operations downstairs?”
“This oughta be good.” Reginald rolled his
eyes and stood up and offered his hand in assistance, which
Was ignored. David led the way down the
stairs, into the basement.
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Incident
Character David Lorell has created a faulty machine
intended for hacking the Council. Request Immediate action.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Incident
Character Darrel has hacked the character matrix,
and successfully altered Jack. Character David has convinced Jack to use his
machine. Requesting immediate interference.
|
Interfering
Narrators
Interference
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Interference
Power interruption was successful. Character Jack is
still alive.
|
Chapter
Five
Dust
and Words
An Important Note from The Council of
Interfering Narrators:
Any character who refuses to take
reasonable action (see section D of Character Protection Act) towards
preventable hazards will forfeit any protection of agency and protection from harm
(whether by author and/or antagonist).
David rushed downstairs and
rummaged through a bucket and fished out a fuse. He ran over to the breaker box,
replaced the burnt one, and flipped the switch. The basement lights flashed
back to life, illuminating a wet basement floor. Water was dripping from a crack
in the foundation. Reginald was the first to go down the stairs. He looked
around, noticed the latent moisture, and smirked.
“Impressive system you have. I am eager to
see it in operation.”
David smiled. “It is impressive isn’t it?”
“What is it? What does it do?” Samantha
stared at the machine with the wonder of a five-year-old.
“That is a great question! Jack, still
ready to go?”
“Yeah”
Jack strapped on the headgear and gave
David a thumbs up before bracing his hands upon his knees.
“What you’re about to witness Samantha…” David started, as he typed
commands into the terminal “is the takeover of a power that doesn’t believe in
equality. I know you are familiar with that agency calling themselves the Council
of Interfering Narrators. They would have you think that they are performing a
service. They aren’t” David moved over to the switch. “Okay, gentlemen, for
real this time.” Reginald smiled. David flipped the switch.
Author’s
note:
You know in cartoons, how a character, if electrocuted, lit up and showed
its skeleton
like an absurd x-ray gone bad? That didn’t happen here.
David jerked a few times like a spasmodic rabbit and dropped in a
heap. The smell of burnt hair filled the basement. Samantha fixated on the body
in horror. Reginald guffawed. “Does anybody smell burnt toast? No? How about cooked
David?”
Samantha screamed. “What the hell? What
happened?”
Reginald walked over and investigated the
scene playing ignorant.
“Well dear, looks like the combination of the pool of water he was
standing in and some bare wires in the switch assembly.”
Samantha turned around and noticed a catatonic Jack holding his
posture. Samantha rushed over and removed the headgear. She shook him and
snapped her fingers hoping to elicit some response, but of course nothing came.
“Best to just leave him Sam…” Reginald looked up and closed his eyes.
“Okay Cory, let’s just stop this, from now on I will just refer to her as Sam,
okay?”
“Who the hell is Cory?” Samantha demanded, as she stood up.
“Best not worry your pretty little head over.” Reginald responded as
he took her by the arm.
“Reginald, wait, let go, where are you taking me? We can’t just
leave Jack here.”
“Jack isn’t going anywhere; pretty sure he’s fried.” Reginald pulled
Samantha over to the stairway. Darrel, Ricky, and Lewis moved in front of
Reginald, blocking the stairs.
“Let ‘er go.” Darrel said barely making eye contact.
“Looks like I have some competition.” Reginald whispered in her ear.
Reginald pointed a finger and thumb towards Darrel, resembling a
pistol. A bang resounded through the basement and Darrel dropped to Ricky’s
feet dead. Reginald’s hand pistol moved over to Ricky, who raised his hands in protest
and was shot.
Lewis sobbed, looking down, protesting, Ah shiiit, noo, why?” Bang. Reginald
dragged and pushed Samantha past the bodies and up the stairs. They entered the
kitchen where Mrs. Liddel was shivering in a corner clasping a wooden spoon,
Reginald pointed and shot, she crumbled to the floor, still clasping the wooden
spoon.
They reached the front door. Reginald exited first and barely dodged
what looked like a beam of light, which hit the ground in front of the house, erasing
it, revealing a void.
“Nice shooting, noob!” Reginald smirked, and dragged out Samantha.
He stood behind her as they exited.
“You punched a hole right in the story!” He yelled.
“The council respectfully requests you to stand down Reginald!” yelled
the similarly suit clad man down the street.
“Oh Yeah? Make me!” Reginald continued to hold Samantha in front of
him as a shield.
“I tell you what…” Reginald yelled, “If you put your hands behind
your back, we can settle this the western way!”
“Fine!” The council agent rolled his eyes and put his hands behind
his back. Reginald peeked out from behind silent and shocked Samantha, then
straightened up and walked to the centre of the street. Reginald snapped his
fingers, causing the sun to lower to dusk and a newspaper to blow by.
“I’m a sucker for tropes!” Reginald yelled as he smiled.
“Say, how do you expect to fare against me?! I already killed one of your agents! Do you
really expect to have enough agency to kill me, an antagonist given agency by
the author himself?!” Reginald smiled. The agent scowled and drew out his hands
to fire but was too slow. Reginald fired from the hip. The agent crumpled into
dust. Reginald drew his index finger up to his lips and blew out the smoke he produced.
“Yup, just something so satisfying about that.” He smiled.
“What the hell is going on?!” Samantha yelled.
“I really thought a lady such as yourself would be able to figure it
out by now?” Reginald pointed to the hole. “Isn’t it clear?”
“What isn’t clear is your motivation, Reginald.” Jack spoke from the
doorway. Samantha’s face shone with hope.
“Jack!” She ran to him, engulfing him in a hug, crying into his
shoulder.
“Jack, such a pleasant surprise.” Reginald said, beaming a sharkish
smile.
“Shut up, Reginald.” Jack said looking coldly at him. Reginald’s
mouth snapped shut.
“That’s better.” Jack continued, “I know that I have been given
limited authority so allow me to elucidate what happened to me. As soon as
David flipped that switch, I found myself standing in a white waiting room
alone, aside from a receptionist sitting at a desk.”
“You mean David’s machine worked?!” Samantha asked beside him,
staring at him wildly.
“I’m not certain whether his machine worked or not. I tend to think
not, but who knows? Anyway, she called my name and motioned me towards an
office where I sat down. What was odd was how clean the place was, no trash
cans, nothing but a white desk and chairs. My first thought was “I’m dead.” But
that was disproven when this lady sat down at the other side of the desk and
first thing she says is, “You’re not dead” (Rather curtly I might add). She
introduces herself as Margarite Grim, director of the Council of Interfering
Narrators.” Samantha’s mouth opened agape. “I know right? I was as shocked as
you were. Anyway, she goes on about how these are unprecedented times and how I
was brought to them by their will. The most interesting part is where Reginald
comes in. Reginald murdered one of their agents and now killed their assassin.
She knew that much. But what is unknown, is his motive.” Jack looked over to
Reginald, who scowled, then to Samantha.
“What all has he said to you Samantha?”
“Not much, he showed up just outside of your place as soon as I
arrived. He claimed himself as an agent of the CIN and apparently loaded a
table full of cash on a table inside.”
Jack looked back to Reginald. “Alright, speak.”
Reginald opened his mouth and massaged his jaw. “You know, if you
had waited, I would have told you what I wanted.” He looked sternly, over to
Jack. “All I wanted was to help you two arrive at a happy ending. But who says
you have to be in it?” Reginald raised his finger towards Jack, who held up his
own.
“Hold on a second.” Jack pointed to a Fed Ex delivery truck driving
up. It parked between the two of them. The delivery man hopped out, opened the
side, retrieved an expedited parcel, confirmed identity, handed it to Reginald,
and drove away. Jack unzipped the package and read the document inside.
To Reginald,
Please note:
Effective immediately, your authority has been stripped. Your existence is now pointless following
Section C of plot procedure entitled “Happy Endings”. Goodbye.
Signed,
Cory Kutschker
Reginald dropped the letter and looked towards Jack and back to
Samantha; his face became morose before the wind swept him away like smoke.
Jack walked up to the letter and picked it up and quietly read it.
“Reginald’s power was stripped by the author. Looks like the author
issued a cease and desist on his very existence.”
Samantha went to Jack. “What does it all mean?”
“It means we build a bookstore before our story finishes.” Jack
kissed her.
She smiled.
Council of
Interfering
Narrators
Incident
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Incident
Character David has restarted his machine.
Requesting Immediate interference.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Interference
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Interference
Character David died due to violation of Section D
in Character Protection Act. Dimensional phasing used for character Jack.
Appointment scheduled with director Grim.
|
Council
of
Interfering
Narrators
Interference
Report
Full Name
Bridgette Turning
|
Department
Dept. of Character Affairs
|
Employee #
216
|
|
Description of Interference
Agent 21 has been dispatched to intercept character
Reginald. Character Jack has been granted sub-author level authority as a
security measure.
|
