Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.
The Chronicles of Scottie Melnik – The Lab – June 06
((Posted by Scottie Melnik on June 5, 2010))
My little lab is nearly complete. Most of the boxes arrived a week ago and it really didn’t take too long to get setup, but the centrifuge was destroyed in transit. It’s funny that the crate was undamaged, but the machine itself was utterly destroyed. I salvaged what parts I could (a couple gears, really) and I was able to construct a new one. It’s not quite as nice as the one I had, but it fits my purposes.
I wonder what my parents, if they were still alive, would think of all this. Of course had they both lived I would be here now, going through with experiments or probably having moved far from home. I miss them, especially my mother. And it was actually missing them so much that started me down this path, I guess.
Once I began traveling I made New York my first stop. The city was amazing and I took in all the sights from mighty airships, walked along the lowliest of streets, attended a few high society dances, and delighted in the lowliest of taverns. It was surprising to see the mix of people from all across the globe. And not all human, either! Animals that walked and talked, those that looked like some hybrid mix between animal and human passing on the street. There were folks that looked human but you could tell they were just a bit off, like having longer eye teeth or having a scruffy, almost dog-like appearance. Most regular humans (or at least as far as I could tell they were humans) didn’t seem to notice and took it all in stride. But I was wide eyed and caught myself staring more times than I care to count.
All of this change excited me but at the same time made me yearn for home. But I knew there was no real home to return to. All of this hit me one evening as I was out for a stroll. I happened to look up and saw a storefront with “Madame LaStrange” printed in a brass plaque over the door and right below it “Speaker to the Departed”. In the state I was in it’s easy to see how I could have been lured in.
I was greeted silently by who I assumed to be Madam LaStrange and she pointed to a jar with a sign posted that payment be rendered first. I dropped some coin with a tinkle into the jar and she led me led into a cozy little room, lavishly decorated and kept rather warm with the scent of incense wafting through the air. We sat on either side of a small round table and she looked me over, finally saying, “You are here because someone close to you has departed this world, yes?”
I nodded quickly, “Yes, miss, er, I mean, madam.” Her voice was deep and she carried a thick, Romanian accent.
“I am in communion with the spirit world, they are searching for your lost one, seeking that which you wish to speak with. They sense that you are far from home, running away from a life you once had. Your parents, that is who you are looking for. Perhaps your mother most of all.”
I was stunned; surely she was communicating with something in the aether, the spirit world. Again, I nodded, “Yes, madam.”
She raised both hands, palms up, to about head high on either side of her, her eyes rolled up and I felt a cool breeze from nowhere whip through the room, the candles granting us light flickering, some snuffed out completely. I heard a rhythmic squeaking sound coming from the walls and a chill crawled down my spine. She began a long low moan that she held between speaking.
“It was a tragic, traumatic loss to you. All too sudden.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Does the number eight mean anything to you?”
I searched my mind as she moaned, “Yes madam, I was eight when she passed.”
Her moan grew louder, her hands inching up, the breeze grew steadier, “And the number thirteen, I see the numbers one and three, so close… oh so close…”
Again, I searched my mind. The number thirteen didn’t mean anything to me. Finally it clicked.
“She passed away on the thirteenth of the month!”
Her moan had nearly become a howl, her hands stopping their rise, her head tilting back. Suddenly her hands clapped above her head and then fell to her sides. Her head snapped forward and the building wail coming from her and the breeze finally came to a halt. We sat there like that for moment in the deafening silence, my attention focused entirely on her.
Finally she raised her head, gazing into my eyes, “Your mother is glad to see you are well. She has given me two messages. One is that she is safe and happy in her new existence. The second is that you will have a problem with money quite soon. Be on your guard.”
I just sat in my seat, astounded by the events that had transpired, thinking about what she had said before she snapped me from my thoughts.
“If you wish to commune with your mother further then return to me again. Once I have made contact it will become easier to speak to her now.”
She showed me to the door and I stepped out into the much cooler air of the streets. My mind was reeling and I couldn’t believe what had just happened, but I did not doubt it. The stories of certain people having spiritual powers were true! And she had communicated with my mother! The ache I had carried with me all these years seemed to disappear. With a lighter step I began to walk when a tall, black-clad man stepped from the shadows of the next alley, stopping me in my tracks.
He looked me over quickly, his voice rather pleasant, “You’ve just met with Madam LaStrange, yes?”
I replied with a quick once-over of my own. He was dressed quite well in a black suit with crimson highlights. While his skin was rather pale he looked human, his dark hair cropped neatly to his face. Finally, I nodded.
He chuckled lightly, “Quite the show, isn’t it?”
I didn’t know what to make of this comment; I shook my head, about to reply when he asked, “Where is your pocketbook, boy?” I feared I was about to be mugged and my hand protectively slipped to my jacket pocket. It wasn’t there.
Again, the man merely chuckled, “Let me guess. Mrs. McCallister told you that you had lost a loved one, a parent, probably both since it looks like you are a man of means and on the run. Oh, it was a tragic death, I’m sure. What death isn’t? And I’ll wager she rattled off a few numbers. Then she gave you some words of comfort followed by a warning. Of course, she’ll be able to speak with the dearly departed more easily in the future. I’m going to go out on a limb and say she claimed to speak to your mother. What boy doesn’t wish to talk to his mommy again? And she did all with that wonderfully foreign little accent she so easily slips into.”
“Mrs. McCallister?” and I shook my head again, forgetting about my lost pocketbook. I was a bit annoyed with the whole mommy comment, but how did he know? He must have seen the confusion on my face and this time laughed.
“That’s her real name and that’s what she does, boy, to everyone. Since you sought someone like her you’ve experienced a loss. It’s clear you’re not from around here, so you’re probably running. Quite a few people in this city came here running to or from something. She usually chooses a couple random numbers to mention. Your mind does the rest. The human mind is what makes her job so easy.”
I didn’t know what to say, I felt for my pocketbook again.
“She took it from you while she showed you out. She used to be a pickpocket when she was younger, I’ve heard. And after that little show she and her husband put on it’s easy to lose track of such things. This way her little prophecy about having money problems will come true. Take a look at her shop again. It’s a bit bigger than the entryway and the little séance room suggests, isn’t it? The walls are fake, her husband cranks a fan in the back room and it blows through a few well-placed vents. All tricks, I’m afraid. You did not make contact with your mother tonight.”
I looked to the ground, the ache this woman had seemed to alleviate came back and it hit hard. I was crushed, and worse angry. How could I have been so stupid? Now that this man had explained things it was so clear. Why hadn’t I seen it before? I was shaking with rage when the man patted my shoulder reassuringly, “It’s not your fault, boy. Grief is a powerful force within the human mind and hope is even more powerful still. These charlatans take advantage of that and quite cleverly create the illusion of magic and spiritualism.”
I raised my gaze back to his, the fire still burning deep within, “So the talk of magic, mediums, spirits, the supernatural… all of that is fake?”
The man threw his head back in a hearty laugh, turning me toward the store and clapping me on the back, “Oh, it’s real, my boy. It’s spotting the genuine article from the deceivers. Now, let’s go get your pocketbook back.”
Looking back I’m not sure why I trusted the man. Maybe I knew all along that Madam LaStrange, or Mrs. McCallister, was a fake. Maybe I didn’t want to know but when confronted with the truth in his frank and open style I couldn’t fool myself anymore. I went into that shop with him to reclaim my property. And if it can be believed, things got stranger.
Focusing on the present, I think it’s time I started up again. There’s a bit of data here and as I’m a bit unpolished at this I may need to find an assistant with a firmer grasp on some of the finer points of study. I’ll have to keep an eye open for someone, although a few people spring to mind.
