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TOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!! TOP TOP TOP TOOOOOOOOOP!

"Top" I say.

Ugh, I’m so sorry I didn’t post a new part of the story last week. I’ve been immensely busy, I haven’t even been around on the CB in general. This is why I will never be a published author. I cannot work with a deadline. I’m just too lazy and forgetful. But thank you for keeping this thread topped, I’m very glad to see that at least a couple of people are interested in seeing this get finished.

But I apologize for boring you with my mini-rant. Here is the chapter, full of people-turned-into-paper and herb gardens galore.

Chapter Four — Katherine

Back in the living room, the rest of the authors were having a serious conversation, not noticing that Allen and Myra were not among them. Somehow, Allen’s shout had been dismissed as inconsequential. Allen himself was just so. . . ordinary looking. He blended into the background, and no one noticed or remembered him when he was not right in front of their faces.

By that time, all of the authors (except, of course, Iduna, who was still crying) were becoming immune to the horrors that were befalling them in the house of horrors. They were sad, of course, that people were being hurt and all, but their concerns lay in protecting themselves from the menace than mourning for their lost companions. After all, they had not even met each other until the beginning of that awful, fateful day.

Had it really been only a few hours ago that they were standing in front of the wrought iron gate, waiting for Kytleen Marsh to arrive and tell them about the book deal? It seemed like an eternity. Or at least a few weeks. So much had happened in a few hours. So many people had been lost.

But there were still people left. Young men and women who were determined that they would escape the fate of becoming a chapter in Kytleen Marsh’s little storybook.

“That’s it!”

Everyone turned to look at Altoos. The group had largely ignored the awkward teenager, except to complain about his raccoon. They had nearly forgotten that he was there. But he was there. And he had an idea.

“Look. Where are the papers?” After a large amount of whispered consultations, two packets of paper were placed on a sturdy, oak coffee table in front of Altoos, who picked them up and leafed through them.

“Those are more than papers,” said Katherine. “They’re dead bodies.”

“You already said that,” Altoos replied. “And they are more than dead bodies. These papers are full of answers.” He pointed to a sentence in the second chapter and read a paragraph aloud. “Listen to this. ‘Except Rencon. He looked out the window at the colorful sunset, and sighed. He had an idea, but, obviously, no one cared.’ You see?” Altoos looked expectantly up at the others, waiting for them to understand what he understood. But he met only confusion. “Rencon had an idea! He knew what was going on, or he at least knew a little. Something caught his eye. Or he remembered something. We need to figure out what that was, so that we can get out of this **** mess.”

“Excuse me!” Saylor crossed her arms and frowned at him. “There are children here!” She cast a significant glance towards Yamaneko, who looked put out.

“I’m twelve years old! I go to middle school, for goodness’ sakes! I hear worse than that all the time. I say worse than that all the time.”

“Anyway,” Altoos sighed, “There is something funny going on here.”

“Duh.” Lola rolled her eyes, only to be met with a scathing glance from the younger boy. Altoos had been interrupted too many times in his life. For once, he was going to have his say.

“Something dangerous,” he continued. “We need to figure it out. And these papers hold the answers, if we only know how to find them.” Altoos smiled, pleased with himself. He felt that what he had said was both professional sounding and important. He settled back into his chair, ready to immerse himself in the admiration of all of these people, when Saylor leapt up from her overstuffed armchair.

“Where are Allen and Myra? They’re not here! Did anyone see them leave?”

All at once, Altoos’ one moment to shine was ousted by a wave of panic. No one knew where Allen and Myra were. No one had not seen them leave, and no one did not knew where they had gone. Everybody rushed out of the room in a wave, leaving Altoos alone to sulk. People left through every door.

Every door, except the door to the herb garden, where Allen sat, leaning over the remains of Myra Ellis.

Allen didn’t know the girl. He didn’t know any of the people in the whole, crazy house. And yet, he felt drawn to each and every one of them. They were alike. They were authors, artists toiling over words, attempting over and over to bring a bit of beauty into the poor, sad world. They were awkward and sad and odd. Just like Allen himself.

And they were leaving, one by one. The only people who he had ever met like him. They were being plucked off. And soon, he would either be dead, or he would be alone again. Allen wasn’t sure which would be worse. Myra especially seemed to be like him. She had that look in her eyes, a look that Allen understood. She had had an awful childhood, and she was working to give herself a new chance in life.

But now, she had no chances. Because she was gone.

Allen gently picked up the little sheaf of papers. It was so small, so insignificant. How had that magnificent, proud woman become something so small and base? Nothing but words, little black squiggles on a white sheet. Allen flipped through them. The font was small and cramped, and he had to squint to read it, but a few words caught his eyes. Kate Swamp. Myra had a stepmother named Kate Swamp.

Or maybe her name was Kytleen Marsh.

Memories rushed into Allen’s head. Memories that he had kept locked up for so many years that they were nearly gone. Memories of a pretty young librarian in his hometown. She had been the only person who had seemed to understand him. She had been the one who had given him The Sandman for his birthday. She had been the one who had introduced him to the great poets, and the one who had told him that someday, maybe, he could be a poet himself. He remembered a woman named Kytleen Marsh.

Could it be the same person? Could that wonderful librarian be Myra’s stepmother? Could she possibly be the awful, middle aged lady who had frowned at him so severely that morning? It seemed impossible. And yet nothing was impossible in that house.

Allen grabbed the papers, and rushed back through the door, expecting to see a room crowed with the companionable crush of people that he had left. Instead, he found only a sulky teenager, sitting on hard, wooden rocking chair.

“Where were you?” asked Altoos. “Where’s Myra? Everyone is looking for you guys!”

Altoos held out the packet of papers. “Myra is right here.” At that moment, Lola rushed into the room, followed closely by Saylor and a stumbling, weeping Iduna.

“Look,” Lola gasped, holding out another packet. “It’s Katherine. She went into the bathroom. But. . . she never came out.” She thrust the papers at Altoos, who staggered back. “You’re the one who’s collecting these, right? Trying to solve the mystery?” Now Lola was crying too. Her mascara was starting to run, and her face was pale, making her look like a ghoul wearing lip-gloss. “Well, there’s another person gone, Mr. Detective. Great job!”

At the top of the paper were the words. The beginning of another chapter.

Chapter Four — Katherine

Back in the
living room, the rest of the authors were having a serious conversation,
not noticing that Allen and Myra were not among them.

I love reading this sooooo much!!!!!

I'm so sorry that I'm late again! I am suffering from a bit of writer's block, and it took me longer than expected to write this week's chapter. But I'm glad you are enjoying the story! We are nearly halfway through now, and I can't believe it! It seems like only a few days ago that I posted this thread. As a reminder, if you have any questions for me or guesses as to my identity, you can post them at any time. But, once again, my opening paragraph has gotten to be long and boring. Without any further ado, I present to you:

Chapter Five — Altoos

Altoos groaned in despair. What had he gotten himself into? Why in the world did he say that he had an idea? Now two people had been found paperized. Two people. He collapsed onto the floor, keenly aware that everyone was looking at him. It wasn’t fair, that’s all. Nothing was fair, and he was going to die!

All of a sudden, little Yamaneko, who hadn’t been seen for quite some time, leapt up onto the table and grabbed the papers. “He’s right, you know,” she said.

Altoos looked up at her in wonder from his position on the rose patterned carpeting. Surely the annoying, little cat-girl wasn’t agreeing with him? He would rather be tarred and feathered than to have a twelve-year-old girl stand up for him. It was humiliating, that’s all. Simply humiliating.

“These papers have the answers. If we read them, we can figure out what’s going on, and we can get out of this mess.”

That was what he had said.  Ten minutes ago. And now some little kid was saying it over again and people were listening to her. They were listening to that tiny scrap of a girl with the tiny voice and the huge stuffed animal. People were listing to what she was saying, and they ignored him. Just like everyone else. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, these would be people who would listen to him, who would take him seriously. He had thought that he had finally found the people that belonged to him.

But he was wrong. Just like always.

Meanwhile, as Altoos was fuming to himself, Yamaneko was reading the new papers to herself. Nothing that she read seemed to strike her as unusual. Nothing, that is, until she reached the end of Katherine’s chapter. Then she did a double take. And then a triple take for good measure.

“Listen to this. ‘Memories rushed into Allen’s head. Memories that he had kept locked up for so many years that they were nearly gone. Memories of a pretty young librarian in his hometown. She had been the only person who had seemed to understand him. She had been the one who had given him The Sandman for his birthday. She had been the one who had introduced him to the great poets, and the one who had told him that someday, maybe, he could be a poet himself. He remembered a woman named Kytleen Marsh.

Could it be the same person? Could that wonderful librarian be Myra’s stepmother? Could she possibly be the awful, middle aged lady who had frowned at him so severely that morning? It seemed impossible. And yet nothing was impossible in that house.’”

Allen blushed. Those were his words. And, worst of all, his memories. These people did not need to know about his past. Those were his most beloved memories, and it felt as if these precious thoughts, once brought into the harsh light of the world, had disintegrated. They were nothing now. Miss Marsh, his idol, was a creepy lady who was currently bust turning a bunch of people into paper. She was the reason he was not lying in a ditch somewhere, dead from starvation and exposure in Greenland. She had given meaning to his entire life. And since she was a lie, his entire life was a lie.

Meanwhile, as Allen questioned his life’s meaning and Altoos sulked, Yamaneko discussed the situation with Lola and Saylor.

“Do either of you know a person named Kytleen Marsh?”

“My friend Kylee’s mom was named something like that. But I never really knew her, she left when Kylee was in fourth grade,” said Lola.

“My P.E. teacher in kindergarten was named something like that,” Saylor added.

Yamaneko frowned a little, but then she nodded. “So, this woman has been a part of all of our lives. And now she has brought us here.”

“And is turning us into paper,” Altoos interjected. No one seemed to care that he was angry, so he might as well be helpful. It wasn’t as if he wanted to die, after all.

“Oh, go away,” Yamaneko said. “Or, if you want to be helpful, maybe you could get us some coffee. I’m dying for a latte.”

“Ooh! I’d die for a cappuccino,” Lola exclaimed. Then, when all eyes fell upon her, she realized what an insensitive remark that was, given that so many people had already died that day. “Um. I mean, I would simply adore some coffee.”

“I’m not a Starbucks worker,” Altoos grumbled, but he set off to the kitchen to heat some water. He could use a bit of caffeine himself. It was getting late, it had been a long day, and no one seemed to think about sleep. A cup of coffee would do wonders for everyone. Not that a little kid should be drinking coffee. Perhaps Yamaneko should only get some cocoa. Or perhaps a glass of water. It would serve her right.

A quiet chattering sound at his feet brought Altoos crashing back to reality. Bandit was running in circles around him, wild and crazy. More wild and crazy than normal, and that was saying something. It was almost as if she was trying to tell him something, warn him of a danger. But Altoos ignored her. What do animals know, anyway?

A moment later, he glanced up from the little raccoon, and backed up a step. A quiet yelp escaped from his throat before the shadowy figure in front of him wrapped her hand over his mouth. And then everything went silent. The only sound in the hallway was the rustling of paper as a few pages drifted to the floor and the sound of Bandit’s mournful whimpers. Then a door opened, and Saylor peeked her head out from the other room.

“Altoos? Are you okay? We thought we heard something. . .”

Bandit raced up to Saylor’s feet, and she looked down. Then, a flash of something white caught her eye. “Yamaneko!” she cried out, and the cat-girl slipped between Saylor and the door. Somehow, in a few moments, the little girl had become a leader, the person that the other authors looked to when something went wrong.

And something had definitely gone wrong.

“Chapter Five — Altoos,” she read quietly.

“Altoos groaned in despair.” 

Toptoptop? Top? Toptop? Toptoptoptop?