Photo by R. Wampers

Our third round of story-building has picked up considerably in the last week. The mystery deepens, but perhaps you and the words you keep in your trusty tool box can deliver some answers. Here’s the story so far. Give it a read and have at it!

I knew what Jenkins did for a living, or I knew enough anyway to make me wish I knew nothing, yet when he called sounding so desperate for help it felt good to be needed again, a feeling gone cold since Mother had died, and so, ironically perhaps, against the better judgment she’d instilled in me, I agreed to cover for him for the day.

I was a fool, and soon to be a bitter one. I had no idea what putting on that costume really meant, nor could I have expected the world it would drag me into. I had worn another’s costume before; at Mother’s insistence, the theatrical garb she kept in the steamer trunk under her bed was to be aired out every other week, and seeing it hang lifelessly from the clothesline made me sad. I took a turn in it all, and trod the boards of the attic stage, one day a lady buccaneer hunting for treasure in breeches and blouse, a rubber dagger clenched between my teeth, the next a gypsy spinning spells in a long bright skirt and silk scarves, both arms loaded down with rhinstone bangle bracelets.

But never had I been inside a costume as all-consuming as Jenkins’ was, a costume that required its own breathing apparatus. 

I wasn’t surprised that I could hear my own breath, but I was startled by the unexpected sound of my own heartbeat, pulsing through the thick costume’s layers as if the material acted like an amplifier. It was because of that amplificatication that I didn’t hear them coming. I think there were three of them, but I can’t be entirely sure because my view of the world around me was partially obstructed by the costume’s feathers which surrounded the eye-holes.

“Tell us where the orb is, Jenkins!” I heard one of the women say. I was too distracted by her tiny size to notice a blade cutting through the thick rubber tubing that supplied oxygen to my mask, but the urge to giggle was soon replaced by terror, as I recalled a warning my brother had given me ten years ago. As I started to lose consciousness his voice echoed through my head:

“If you’re gonna fall, fall sideways. And watch out for tiny women with knives.”

When I regained consciousness I was in a room, which was dimly lit by the aquarium that covered one entire wall. I didn’t know what was in it, but I sensed danger immediately as I struggled to remember how I’d come to be in the room in the first place.

What will happen next? Only you know the answer.