Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Nap
The sky was grey, the air heavy with moisture. All the windows were open in an effort to catch the sluggish breeze and the thick warm smell of a summer rainstorm crept in through the gap. Low-lying clouds crowded the horizon, the dull light lending the world a safe and sleepy feeling.
Beneath the exposed wooden beams of the attic ceiling, Marshall Teller lay on his back, his head resting on a pile of stuffed animals that still held the psychic echoes of their previous owners. The children they’d belonged to hadn’t died - in fact, at least three of them had been arrested last week during a riot at the Eerie Bingo Parlour, one for smashing the windshield of a police car with a well-thrown spectacle case - but the wispy memories of toddlers in old-fashioned lace and bonnets had been hanging around the clearance section at the World o’ Stuff and tugging the sleeves of living customers.
In the shadows beneath the eaves, the polished wood of the old tombstone radio gleamed. Woody Guthrie sang dust bowl ballads beneath a layer of static. Marshall yawned and set aside his copy of the Eerie Enquirer. He’d bought it because there was a two-page advert for the newly relaunched line of ForeverWare inside, and it always paid to keep an eye on potential threats.
He shifted a little on the yielding mound of threadbare teddies, pulling himself into a slightly more upright position. He rubbed his eyes and reached for the mug of hot chocolate balanced precariously on the recessed window ledge. The bitter smell of dark chocolate mixed with the sweet tang of the syrup his grandmother sometimes used in place of sugar. He’d seen her that morning bent over a saucepan, the thick green-glass bottle in one hand, a spoon in the other. The liquid was a shade of red so dark that it looked black in anything other than direct sunlight, and so thick that the cold milk on the stove was beginning to bubble by the time the first drops oozed from the lip of the container onto the waiting tablespoon.
“It’s pomegranate molasses,” she’d said when he asked about it. The smell coming from the uncapped bottle was heady and cloying, making his head spin. He’d opened the back door to air out the room, but the scent clung to the walls and the furniture, sticky as the sauce itself. While his grandmother grated a huge block of chef’s chocolate into a soup bowl, he’d excused himself to take a shower. The mug was waiting for him on the living room table when he came back down.
Lillian herself had disappeared, headed out into the misty morning on one of her long walks. Mars already knew she’d come back with her thin white hair frizzy and wind-ruffled, mud layered thick on her long skirts and her comfortable shoes and under her short pink nails, and her large glossy-black handbag would be bulbous and clinking with the tiny jars and tins.
One afternoon, he had sat at the kitchen counter with the afternoon sun on his back and watched while his grandmother sorted through the handfuls of shale and sand and smooth pale-green sea glass, separating them out and storing them away in a huge sewing basket that she had brought with her from her small, bright house in New Jersey. His father had offered to carry it up to the spare room after supper, and Edgar had strained and struggled to drag it upstairs, though when Lillian lifted it down from the table it hadn’t troubled her at all.
That evening, while the adults dozed on loungers set out in the backyard, he had crept into the spare room and tested the hamper’s weight for himself. It had been impossible to lift, and the thick shag carpeting made it too difficult to drag more than a few inches. The pretty decorative ribbon that held the lid shut was tied in some Gordian knot that he couldn’t unfasten and he’d given up after a few frustrating minutes. When he joined them in the garden, his grandmother smiled knowingly at him, and he’d flushed hot and guilty and looked away.
Mars grimaced at the memory, and sipped at the hot bitter-sweet cocoa. The heavy dark chocolate and the tart pomegranate reduction were a far cry from the gooey marshmallow-laden drink he was familiar with, but it worked.
Across the attic, a translucent preschooler in short-pants and an old-fashioned flat cap spread spectral fingers over the surface of the work bench. The radio popped and crackled, the faded memory of childhood interfering with the signal. Marshall sighed and rolled over on his side, punching a one-eyed pink bunny into a more comfortable shape.
Tomorrow, the weather will clear, he thought. It was always overcast on the days WERD-TV did a monster movie marathon. Bright summer evenings when the air smelled of flowers and the bees hung fat and lazy in the golden light didn’t mesh with black and white films about the Wolfman or Dracula.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, he would ask his grandmother what was going on with her sewing kit. Tomorrow, he’d talk to her about the twigs and stones and the tufts of animal fur, and the way she sometimes stared at him behind her blue-lensed glasses, her eyes bright and wet and concerned. Today there was only the sound of the rain on the roof, the drifting strains of Woody Guthrie, and the comforting smell of chocolate and fruit.
His eyes closed. His breathing slowed. In the dim light of the Secret Spot, only the ghosts moved. A wisp of vapour rose from a mug emblazoned with the New York Giant’s logo and stirred the glittering strands of a length of discarded Christmas tinsel, left coiled around the base of a lamp from the previous year.
In the damp heat of the summer rain, Marshall Teller slept, and for a while, Eerie slept with him.
Milkman Series
Milk by froodle, in which Marshall develops a completely cromulent fear of milk trucks
Reanimator by froodle, in which the Milkman returns
Multiplicity by froodle, in which Marshall must once again confront parallel realities, diverging timelines and public speaking
Lillian by froodle, in which Marilyn's mother has concerns
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend
Slyboots by froodle, in which a certain corporal of the infernal regions comes to Eerie. Crossover with Johannes Cabal the Necromancer.
Strawberry by froodle, in which there is unauthorised hubbub in Eerie
World Chocolate Day by froodle, in which even chocolate can be weird in Eerie
Clockface by froodle, in which the City Hall's historic clock is damaged
Cygnet by froodle, in which Lillian and Harley go fishing
Teller Family History
First Date by froodle, in which a young Edgar Teller shows off one of his earlier inventions
Popcorn by froodle. Friday night is always movie night in the Teller household.
The Teller Home for Displaced Youth by froodle, in which Edgar harbours some doubts about his new home town
Tornado Day, Revisited by froodle, in which Syndi learns exactly what it means to be Miss Tornado Day
Culinary Delights by froodle, in which Syndi's terrible cooking may or may not have been an accident
Camping by froodle, in which Syndi cannot sleep
Artist in the Family by froodle, in which an immortal creature takes a liking to Syndi
Without Due Care and Attention by froodle, in which Syndi finally becomes mobile
Brunch by froodle, in which Marilyn does not appreciate Edgar's help in the kitchen
Handmade by froodle, in which the Tellers receive a Christmas package from Marilyn's mother
Poor Life Choices by froodle, in which Syndi loves her brother anyway
Lillian by froodle, in which Marilyn's mother has concerns
Visitor by froodle, in which Marshall's grandma comes to stay
Cygnet by froodle, in which Lillian and Harley go fishing
Fresh Sheets by froodle
Tradition by froodle, in which Dash and Marshall decorate a Christmas tree
Hometown by froodle, in which Mars and Syndi visit New Jersey