“Story Time! (002 – The Seer)” by Richard F. Yates

[Greetings friends! Welcome back to “STORY TIME!” If this is your first encounter with a “Story Time!” post, I’d like to direct your attention at THIS entry, which is an introduction to the history and intentions of the “Story Time!” universe. Then, once you know the hows-and-whys of what’s going on, I’d hop over to THIS post, which is the FIRST EPISODE in this soon to be epic, winding, serialized, adventure, horror, comedy tale! If you’re too lazy (or too pressed for time) to read the first two posts, here’s a quick overview: In the first episode, two guys had coffee and decided to meet up the next day and go for a walk---SHOCKING!!!---and there was a fairly strong hint that one of the main characters (out of the three named characters so far introduced) who may be in mortal peril! Okay, enough pump-priming. Let’s drink deeply from the “STORY TIME!” WELL!!! ---RFY]

In the upper left-hand corner of the page, a caption, written in a familiar, shaky hand, said, “LATER, THAT SAME NIGHT…” And below that caption was a panel showing a dark and dingy shop, with an LED sign in the window that said, “OPEN.” Above the door, hand painted in large gold letters, was a sign that read, “PSYCHIC – TAROT READING – LOVE ADVICE.”

The camera eye moved towards the door, and it opened. Inside was a dimly lit room full of candles, burning incense, and the harsh glow from a red lava lamp. A purple plastic skull on the glass counter next to a computer threw off a thick, black light, illuminating floating dust particles and slashes of yellow and orange around the room. The sounds of some early ‘80s punk band played softly from a pair of tiny speakers hanging from the ceiling on either side of a massive wall of shelves holding all kinds of esoteric treasures, from plush voodoo dolls to various dried plants to a handful of Hammer Films DVD sets.

A young-ish lady, somewhere in her thirties, perhaps---white skinned, eyes blackened by thick paint, lips pierced in several places---set down a book (Programming in Python), and stood up…

“Ah! Good to see you again… My sister is in the READING ROOM. You can go on back,” she said. Then yelled, “Calista! Your 9 o’clock is here!!!”

The camera eye floated down the counter, full of herbs, charms, books, incense burners, and jewelry, until it reached a wooden plank covering a break in the counter. The woman behind the counter raised the plank, which was covered in stickers and graffiti, and the eye floated past the counter and through an archway, lit by a string of green, twinkling skeleton lights. There was a small hallway, very dark, lined with half a dozen doors that undoubtedly hid secrets that would endanger the sanity of the average citizen of Henpeck, Washington. The camera eye floated down this hallway and into an open doorway at the end. There, a woman of indiscernible age sat behind a table covered with a black cloth. The room was warm, swimming in smoke from the candles and sticks of incense burning from a dozen surfaces.

“Please, have a seat,” the woman said, looking up from the cards she was shuffling to flash a friendly (but slightly unsettling) smile. “You’ve come back to Madame Grenadine for another reading! Good! You must have felt the same RIPPLE that I did… Yes?”

The chair on the opposite side of the table from Madame Grenadine’s slid out and the camera eye settled into a position just under the woman’s eyeline. (She was quite tall.) She was wearing a dark, slightly low-cut dress and several necklaces of various types---gold, silver, hemp, and strings of thin beads that looked like amber---some of these necklaces ended in strange charms with carved symbols. Her eyes were brown, but almost seemed golden in the flame lit room, and her long, black hair fell to her shoulders in waves and loose curls.

Madame Calista Grenadine was born Kimberly Wilson, in Akron, Ohio. She and her sister moved to the Pacific Northwest at the start of the grunge boom, but discovered that the larger cities, like Seattle, Washington, and Portland, Oregon, were far too expensive to live in. After hopping around to various smaller towns, they settled a few years ago in Henpeck, feeling that there was SOMETHING about the area that helped bolster Grenadine’s burgeoning psychic powers (possibly Lake Hiawatha, which dominated the center of the town), but mostly because it was cheap. Calista’s sister, Asia, was a genius, and she managed to build up enough money through online day trading to start their shop. Asia ran the business (and owned a stake in several of the local marijuana dispensaries), while Calista, who was more in tune with both human psychology AND legitimately had the power to tap into hidden natural forces, “played” the psychic. It’s funny that most folks came to her thinking it was just an act or scam, but they’d leave actually feeling better, thanks to Madame Grenadine’s calming personality and solid advice!

Calista shuffled her cards a final time, then said, “For the tourists, I use a standard Tarot deck, but you and I have known each other a long time. I don’t need to use those flashy, silly cards, ‘Death’ and ‘The Devil’ and all that. I’d prefer to use the M. Gruenwald deck, if it’s okay? 107 cards--- it will give us a more nuanced reading. Yes? Good…”

And she began to build her “W” pattern. Nine cards for the based “W,” and four crossed cards for the elements between the five points. Thirteen cards in all, with millions of different possible permutations. She set her first card on the table.

“Oh, my. The Six Zebras. Treacherous times ahead.” She shook her head, playing her part well. Next card, “The Lovers. Interesting. And to cross it…” she laid down another card---and paused.

“The Knife. The Knife crossing The Lovers.” She laid down the first bottom point. “Space Wizard? I’ve never had that card appear before. What’s happening here?”

Calista laid down the next card, The Drowning Man. Then to cross it, The Weeping Woman. Calista gasped as she placed the next card... The Serpent.

She looked up at the camera eye---and all pretense of “show” had vanished.

“Are you seeing this?” she leaned slightly out of the camera eye’s view and yelled down the hall, “Asia! Come in here. Bring the Gruenwald book!”

She rubbed the moisture off her fingers and, trembling just slightly, she lifted the next card, then placed it as the down stroke from the center point. The Fog. She shook her head, and crossed the card with The Abyss. The bottom right point went down. The Gardner. Asia came into the room. “Here’s the bo…” she saw the table and froze. The book fell from her hand. Calista had pushed the remaining cards away from her, still faced down. She looked imploringly at her sister.

“You’ve got to finish it,” Asia said. “You know what will happen if you abandon the pattern. Why did you use the Gruenwald deck?”

Calista reached out and lifted the next card. The Angel. Her face relaxed a bit. Then she crossed it.

The Trickster.

Asia covered her mouth with both hands. She stepped backward until she felt the desk behind her, which was pushed against the back wall, and she sat down on it. “Last card.”

“I don’t know if I can do it…” Calista said.

“You HAVE to complete the pattern---a broken pattern is going to be worse…” Asia said.

Calista picked up the last card, for the top right point. The card hovered in her hand over the spot for several long seconds, then she flipped the card and dropped it. The Ocean.

“Ocean?----The Ocean???” Asia said. “What the Hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know…” Calista said as she slumped back in her chair. At that point, she seemed to remember that she had a customer across the table and said, “Sorry. No charge for this one... But Asia and I have some research to do,” Asia picked up the Gruenwald book from the floor. Calista said, “One of us will call you, after we’ve figured out what this reading means… No, no… It's nothing to worry about. We’ll let you know when we see what those crosses mean. Those are the main issues I want to investigate.” She tried to smile. It wasn't particularly convincing.

“The Ocean. I’ve never heard of that ending a pattern,” Asia said, more to herself than anyone else. She started flipping through the Gruenwald book.

Calista said, “We might need to call Beverly---see what she thinks some of this might mean.” Asia nodded without looking up from the text.

The camera eye lifted and swung around, noting the fragile smile on Calista's face, and the intensity on Asia's. The camera eye fell once again on the strange “W” on the table, then drifted away from it towards the hallway and into the darkness…

[To be continued!]

---Richard F. Yates (Holy Narrator Fool)

[P.S. – Here at the “Story Time!” castle, we’ve been INUNDATED with fan mail over the last few days, mostly from people wanting to know when the next episode is coming out! (Answer: RIGHT NOW!) But some of the other letters were a bit more interesting! Let’s read a few of those now…

This one is from Angelina in Kent, Washington:

“Dear Story Time, please don’t kill off Alicia Cornbluthe! She is the ONLY female character that you’ve introduced so far, and she’s my hero. If you have to kill someone off, kill Chris! He sucks. Thanks!”

Well, Angelina, thanks for the letter! Unfortunately, Ms. Cornbluthe’s fate is out of our hands at this point! We realize that she was the only female character established in the first chapter, but (if you read this episode) she isn’t going to be the ONLY recurring female in the “Story Time” universe. Ms. Cornbluthe is cool, though, and we’ll get to learn a bit more about her before the inevitable axe falls…

Here’s another one, from Weston in Vader, Washington:

“I just want to say that ‘Story Time’ isn’t very good. You’re only one chapter in, and you’ve already stolen a bunch of your ideas from much better writers, especially the meta-garbage, which was dumb even when Stephen King did it. If you don’t cut the novelty crap out, you’re going to lose all of your readers. Probably SHOULD lose them! Quit being dumb!”

Thanks for writing, Weston! Always happy to hear from a fan! And, you’re not wrong. We at “Story Time” love the works of quirky writers, like Stephen King, Rod Serling, Jorge Borges, Luigi Pirandello, and ‘70’s comics authors, like Roy Thomas, who would sometimes write THEMSELVES into stories and play with readers’ perceptions. We’re happy that you spotted our homages to some of our favorite creators!

And this last one is from Consolidated Interests in Olympia, Washington:

“Dear _________, your account is now more than 90 days past due. We have attempted to contact you on several occasions and…”

Ha! Well, that one gets a bit grouchy from there… But thanks for writing, Consolidated Interests, and all of our other fans! As always, if we read your letter on the air, we’ll send you one of our great “Story Time!” BUMPER STICKERS and a toothbrush signed by our editor, Richard F. Yates! Keep sending those letters and have a great night! ---Editorial Staff]

And---LAST THING---here’s a “Thumbnail” version of the artwork for this episode! Enjoy!!!