Chapter IV: Tales from the... uh... Sepulcher?

The day began relatively normally. Burnt toast, weak coffee. I don't know why, but for some reason, my coffee is always weaker than everyone else's. Except Marvin's.

Marvin's coffee always sucks.

But, then again, from everything I've heard, Marvin's whole life sucks.


Alex announced this morning, that the rent was due tomorrow. "Okay." Marvin said. "Give me a minute." He went up to his room, and came back down with a shoebox.

When he opened it, there were checks, and little stacks of cash paper-clipped together. "Here's my pay from McDonalds... here's my pay from Lumberjack John's Clam Shack... here's my pay from Magic City Pharmacy and Surgical Supply..."
"Dude, how many jobs have you had?"
"How many days have there been?"
"...You've had a new job every day?"

He nodded. "Yes. They're all miserable people to be around. And I can't stand being around them for more than a day."

He turned back to the shoebox.

"Here's my pay from Mad Mack's Maskerade... here's my pay from Nordstroms... here's my pay from Burger King..."


"Alright, that's nice," cried Robin, loudly, "but, y'know, we have a slightly more pressing issue at hand."
"We do?"

She nodded, solemnly. "The batteries in the remote died," she declared, and then, pointing to me, "You! Go in the hall closet and get some batteries. Double-A."

I just nodded, and shrugged a bit, and headed toward the hallway.

I know I should have been worried, though, when I heard Sid blurt out, "No, now see, that was mean. You can't make him go through that." I didn't think anything of it, really. I didn't really think anything of it when I heard Robin say, "No, it's okay, I'm sure he can handle the closet."

So, I go to the closet in the hallway. There's nothing terribly abnormal about it. It's a good, solid wood door, it's painted white, and has wallpaper in the center panels to match the rest of the wallpaper in that hallway. Of course, the fact that there was a constant cool breeze coming from underneath the door didn't really mean anything to me. And wire that runs along the floor, down the hall, and into the closet really didn't seem like a big deal, either.

So, I reached for the doorknob.

Sid ran out into the hallway, screaming, "Wait! I have batteries right he--"

But it was too late. I had already gotten the door open.

Chapter III: Mr. Normandy must not be disturbed! (Or should he?)

I still maintain that it was all not my fault. No one believes me, but that's to be expected. I plead ignorance.

How was I to know that Alex Normandy was a name to be feared within the marble and bureaucratic sanctum that was Magic City Hall? At home, he's considerably normal.

Remarkably normal, in fact.

It didn't seem like he'd be that, what's the word... grandiose. You don't expect him to command that much respect. But, apparently, he does.

At any rate, half way through my escapade at City Hall, a secretary came out, and started to chastise me. It wasn't even something terrifically important. She started screaming at me because I didn't initial a little box next to my signature.

I apologized, and shrugged, and tried to take the paper back from her, but she refused, and tore it into pieces, screaming even louder that since I had already signed it, I couldn't go back and change it, and the old form had to be voided, and I had to fill out a new one.

It was at this point that the massive Oak and Mahagany door, labelled "Deputy Mayor" opened.

Alex stepped out. In hindsight, I probably should have found it odd that he was holding a duck in his arms, but when you're staring down a psychotic secretary, ducks are the last things on your mind.

"Alex, man, listen, she's, like, insane, y'know?"

Everyone who was watching just backed up a few feet. Alex stood there, and twitched. The secretary dropped all of the remaining pieces of my form, and turned white. "Mi- Mister Normandy?"

Alex put the duck down, and patted him on the tail.

Feathers. Bill. Sharp, pointy bill. More feathers. Duck feet. Pain.

I think I went through the entire box of band-aids.

Chapter II: Just as bad as the DMV

I don't know why, but, for some reason, when girls smile at me, they're never thinking, "hey, hot stuff." It's usually more along the lines of, "That'll be the last time he moves my laundry basket."

This morning started with burnt toast and weak coffee. Sid sat across the kitchen table from me. She didn't get involved in the "the world sucks" rant, she just sat there and stirred her cocoa. Then, she looked up, and smiled.

It wasn't an evil smirk; it had all the elements of a pleasant smile... but you could tell that it was still evil.

"Hey, Brad, you doing anything this morning?"
"...no, why?"
"You do know you have to fill out a handful of forms at City Hall, right?"

I'm pretty sure my heart stopped beating. City Hall is the most inconvenient place in all of Magic City.

"I do?"
"Yup. Y'do," she said, quietly. "Have fun!" she suddenly, cheerfully squeaked.



After an hour and a half of traffic circle hell, I got down to the actual building. I park my car, and meander inside.

It's actually really nice inside. Marble floors; mahogony counters... it's beautiful.

So I walk up to the front desk -- a monstrosity of mohogany carvings, moldings, and decorations, with the Magic City seal sitting right in the middle.

"Hi, my name's Brad Leighton, and, uh, I have to fill out a change of adress form... and they said to come here, instead of the Post Office... and I also have to--"
"That's not a problem. We'll do one form at a time," explained the woman behind the counter. "Now, where do you live, here in Magic City?"
"Uh... 42 Kide-Taivas Avenue."

She giggled. "No, really. Where do you--"
"That's my address."

She looked both ways, before leaning over the counter. "Have you ever, y'know..."
"Have I ever what?"
"...Have you ever seen the Death Lazer of Doom?"

I stared at her. "I'm sorry, I don't..." I honestly didn't quite understand what it was she was getting at, but it had something to do with a Lazer.

"Have you ever read the Police Report?" she finally asked me.
"...No."
"C'mon, I'll show you."
"Wait, wouldn't it be here, with the files?"

She giggled again. "No. We framed it. It's in the lunchroom."



After Dr. Délatuer had threatened some local teens, (something to the effect of "get off my lawn before I blast you with my Death Lazer of Doom"), they called the police. When the police show up, one's like, "So, what's with this 'Death Lazer of Doom' we keep hearing about?" And the other asks, "is that pointy thing sticking out of the garage roof the Death Lazer?"

Which it wasn't. Because the "pointy thing sticking out of the garage roof" was actually the garage door opener. The Death Lazer was in the attic.

"So, what do you need a Death Lazer for?"
"Well, how do you dry your sweaters?"
"So, it's not for world domination?"
"I'm sure it could be used for that..."



Yeah. Every one at City Hall was laughing at me... until I told them that Alex Normandy was my landlord.

Then they started laughing at "Mr. Normandy."

Alex is going to kill me later. I'm sure of it.

Chapter I: Genetic? Probably.

The Normandys - Alex and Robin. The owners of the house...and the landlords.

The proper place to begin is usually the the best place to start. I'll follow this rule for the simple fact that it is, essentially, their house, so it makes sense to begin by describing them first. They bought the damn thing, possess the damn deed, and the cursed bureaucrat from Hell (conveniently located a convenient and easy-to-get to location in the heart of the city, surrounded by a force of nature that could make any rational-minded person tremble...one horrible traffic hub. It is to be noted that this place is also known as Magic City Hall - which boasts about its easy-to-get to, convenient location. Always leave a good hour and a half before showing up for anything there.) wrote their names on the damned paper. I speak of two extremely important people - who, if they hadn't crossed the lines of eccentricity (if not insanity), would actually be considered quite brilliant. But they had, one more so than the other, so I'm not exactly sure what adjective should adequately be designated to them.

Sure, they were strange. But everyone else in this damned house was nuts, so...they were actually quite normal. But nevertheless, I guess they could be considered 'damned' as well. After all, they were the ones that basically started the whole thing.

But they'll be damned if they ever get any royalties from this.

I speak of two individuals. They had started all of this throught their "brilliant" judge of character...and more likely an ability to sense that yes, someone will suffer due to this decision, and they would take pleasure in it. Were they sadists? I wouldn't say that. They aren't that...maniacal. Diabolical, no doubt. But maniacal? I've dealt with plenty of those types to know the difference. Their names were Alexander and Robin Normandy, a brother-sister act that has effectively thrown my life from the mind-numbingly ordinary to the nonsensical mess it is now - not only through circumstance and just plain existing, but by bringing other people into this.

How? Through the simple explanation of location and finances. Alex Normandy was a cunning little bastard. Then again, he was a child prodigy. "Was" being the key word - you can't be a child prodigy after the age of twelve. And considering how he lost his fame was a bit of an embarrassment. Then again, you wouldn't be too pleased to admit that you lost out to a monkey hyped up on experimental drugs at a supposed "fair" game of Scrabble sponsored by the government.

We never play that game in the house. And Alex still firmly maintains that "himmy-himmy-jimminy" is not an actual word.

Alex can be described as...well, the semi-father figure in this house of houses. He handles the finances, hits us up for rent, takes over the television, and mocks us with his great and beautiful Corvette. I honestly and without shame admit that I have dreamt about that car - unfortunately, I can't get near it. If you so much get five inches near the machine and he's all the way in Hell (he's the deputy mayor, so of course he's there to work), he would know. Most of the problems end up dropping at his feet, which he somehow manages to deal with while somehow restraining the instinct to either commit murder or to curl up in the fetal position and cry. He's twenty-one, the oldest one out of all of us. Pretty ordinary looking guy - dark brown hair, brown eyes, tannish skin, with an average height. Wears jeans and t-shirts on nearly every occassion excepting work. He has an unnatural love for numbers and a semblance of order (which makes no sense considering our lives).

No one messes with Alex. Annoy him? Yes. Actually mess with him? Nope. I guess all that pent-up rage about the monkey fiasco still is there and needs some release. I'm certainly not going to be the one.

Robin, the younger sister at eighteen, is the stranger of the pair. And, unfortunately, the one I'm most in contact with. A writer by nature and a librarian, her passion is books - whether reading them or smacking me with them over the head. Not that this is strange. All writers seem to be inherently "of kilter", so to speak. She's the one that really starts everything - or is involved in it in some way. I believe that somewhere along the line, Robin missed out on the order-loving gene and got the chaos-oh-yippee-destruction-yay gene. Certainly seems like it. She looks a lot like Alex, with the exception that she's shorter, has longer hair, wears glasses, and is female. The last part worries Alex immensely, being overprotective.

She enjoys collecting the rent money first without telling Alex just to drive him nuts. She switches the channel when he's watching. It goes on. They argue a lot, mostly over little things.

Just this morning, it happened. Robin was in the kitchen, attempting to make toast (attempting, as she can't cook) while Alex was in the shower. I know because this is our wake-up call - Alex nearly always leaves as we're just waking up, Robin being awake simply because "it saved me the displeasure of awaking to the sounds of angry older brother". That didn't mean the rest of us were spared. Especially when one yelled while the other was in another room...or on a different floor entirely!

"Robin! Where the hell is my towel!"
"Where do you think?! On the rack, idiot!"
"Would I be asking where it is if it WASN'T THERE TO BEGIN WITH!"
"Possibly! Are you sure it's not there!"
"Of course, I'm sure! I'm the only one with a navy blue towel! And there is NO BLUE TOWEL!"

This is what I meant by Alex's love of order. Also, neither of them are morning people. They need a good cup of coffee to get them going. Folgers, two spoons of sugar, and milk. Occassionally, they have hot cocoa or tea.

"Then take the spare one and stop bothering me!"
"There is no way in hell am I taking that! Not only isn't it mine, but it's freakin' lavender!"
"So?!"
"I have my masculinity to defend!"
"Then be a man and take the lavender towel!"
"I already said I wouldn't! Get me another towel!"
"What?! I'm not your slave!
"Your point?! Get me my towel!"
"Fine! But it's your fault if the toast's burned!"
"You always burn the toast anyway, what's the difference?!"
"You know what? Go get it yourself now! Just waltz out there naked and get it yourself!"

It should be noted that all occupants of the house were not waking up. I dimly heard scuffling in the next room. Knowing it's occupant had a penchant for photography and a streak for blackmailing, the intention was clear.

"One of these days, Alex! One of these days!"
"Yeah, yeah...get me my towel!"

Approximately five minutes later, Alex walked out with a green towel, looking like he was about to kill. About ten minutes later, he was yelling himself hoarse at another one of us as he was leaving for work about the sanctity of privacy and other people's belongings. Robin, meanwhile, was muttering about burnt toast, joining Marvin in their usual morning spiel about how life sucked and the "certain" people should be in someway shape or form punished, and a great deal about a lack of respect. Robin focused on the latter two, while Marvin remained undisputed king of the melancholy aspects of life and depression.

Apparently, Sidney Spencer McDermitt had used Alex's beloved navy blue towel for some strange purpose. She returned it proudly, shredded and blackened, like it was a sacred object. Alex's mood was not helped by the fact that Sidney thanked him for "lending" it to her.

This was not a strange scenario in the very least.

Prologue II: The tale of the House

Magic City Community College, by the way, has an interesting concept of the "application process". There were two questions on the paper:

1. Have you ever heard of the SATs? (yes/no)


2. Can you afford the tuition? (yes/no/maybe)

That was the application I filled out. Again, that should have clued me in. Like I said, I was so obliviously giddy, I was practically shitting confetti.

I digress.

I honestly don't know what possessed me to do this -- probably my inability to pay Room and Board -- but within the first two weeks, I had moved into a large, Victorian manse near the Western edge of Magic City.

The massive Victorian house, on Kide-Taivas avenue, had originally belonged to a crazy old guy named Dr. Délatuer. Apparently, he had tried to take over the world, a number of times. According to the guy down at the coffee shop, he never got farther than, "get off my lawn, you filthy brats! Go away, before I blast you with my deadly laser of doom!"

They also say he wore a waist-coat and knickers.

Well, anyway, when he died, he left his entire estate to the local museum. They kept what they wanted, and sold the rest.

"The rest" included the house. Supposedly, that's why the house is so 'strange'. "It attracts strange people," the guy at the coffee shop says. "When the end of the world comes, and the earth cracks open, to let hell spew out,the Earth will crack underneath that house!", he went on to explain. "I heard it was haunted. If anyone tried to start up his death lazer of doom, he would possess it, and destroy the entire city."

Uh-huh. Yeah. Rumor has it he's a nut-job.

Anyway, the museum put it up for sale.

And someone was crazy enough to buy the Délatuer mansion.

That someone, was Alex Normandy. He had been talked into buying the house, by his sister, Robin. While the house was an "exceptional deal" for a Victorian mansion, it was still an excessive amount of money.

So each sibling bailed out the other, by finding people willing to rent out part of the house, so they could make the mortgage payments. (I'm told this is actually financially feasible, but it's still odd.)

This is what I moved into.

Prologue I: Once Upon a Time, All was Normal

It all started with a house.

Before I had ever gone there, my life was normal. Nearly exceedly so. I had grown-up in a somewhat decent family. Somewhat decent, because the Leightons were a family with a long tradition of producing salesmen. Not the good kind, but the desperate and annoying kind that seemed to be less of a salesman and more of a stalker. My family has made this into an art.

There are only three individuals who did not succumb to this lackluster destiny of persuing people to sell a bottle of hair mousse or souffle. One is my older brother, Edwin. He runs an 'evil' company that manufactures computer chips in Chigago. The other? Well...I'm not going into that.

And then there is me. In a moment of epiphany (my mother calls it 'madness', but what does she know?), I decided to take psychology in high school. I fell in love with the subject, metaphorically speaking, and decided to pursue a career in it to the dismay of a majority of my family. In particular, my father - two sons not going into the family business still is a sore spot with him. You could tell because he's smiling, but his eye's twitching. It's a bit disturbing to watch.

I went to college, but was kicked out for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was not my fault. My idiot former best friend thought it would be funny to just drop me there. No pretense at all. Just pulled up, said good-bye, pushed me out, and drove off into the distance. I heard later from a reliable source (and one of my insane roommates, but one with connections) that he runs some swanky casino in Vegas. I'm not surprised. But he did this all as a joke.

Funny. Right.

In my desperation to get back into school, I appealed to all sorts of colleges. Many times, I was forced to use the salesman-savvy my family was known for, which usually got me pushed out the door and onto the street.

Finally, a college accepted me. It was in a place called Magic City, a large city in the middle of nowhere.

That in itself should have clued me in. How can a city be in the middle of nowhere? With only five suburb communities before fading into dense forest. The whole concept was absurd. However I was so obliviously happy that I was giddy, and didn't notice a thing.

That, including a tree.

But it wasn't the tree that started this all, it was the house. That tree will later be memorialized for another incident of something crashing into it, however. And it will still miraculously survive. It is one amazing tree.

But the house is the most important part of the story, so don't get sidetracked.