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Week 1: The Ordinary
Anyone who walked down Threnody Crescent experienced the tingling feeling of foreboding which indicated that this street did not welcome strangers. In the early morning fog, the gargoyles which lurked on the garden walls seemed to watch the rare jogger or occasional car which rumbled down the street. Lanterns on wrought-iron poles lent the mist a bloodstained cast. The gabled roofs, bay windows and towers made the street seem like some kind of fairytale, an anachronism which didn’t belong even in the city’s historic Mountebank District. Threnody Crescent was… different.
Despite the hour, flickers of activity could be detected in the street. Atop the stone tower which adorned her house, a young woman could be seen with a telescope, scribbling furiously in a notebook about planetary conjunctions. Occasionally, dark tresses of hair swinging wildly, she swivelled the telescope around to peer into the third-storey window of the house across the street.
In the garden next door, a hunched, elderly man puttered around his garden in a pointed nightcap and a faded dressing gown embroidered with stars. Gripping a wickedly sharp pair of secateurs, he hacked away at the monstrous, spiny hawthorn bushes which encircled his yard. They had been meticulously groomed into abstracted topiary monsters. His lawn was also perfect, a sea of fly agaric, lilac bonnets, death caps and jack o'lantern mushrooms which wove together in a glowing sea of toxic fungus. He was murmuring under his breath in an irate manner.
As the sun rose above the horizon and the mist cleared to an onyx, overcast sky, the inhabitants of Threnody Crescent set about their typical Saturday activities.
Madam Delaney had pitched a fortune teller’s tent in her front yard and every so often one of her neighbours would trickle in - often across Mr Spinner’s painstakingly cultivated lawn, causing chaos as his beloved toadstools were trampled. “I’ve lived on this street for twenty-seven years, and if you young’uns think you can mess with my lawn then you’ve got another thing coming!”
Loretta Faye had briefly alighted from her tower to collect her alchemy equipment, and amidst a column of smoke and the glass phials housing her strange concoctions, she continued to watch her neighbours with her eyes narrowed. She paid careful attention to the boy across the street - her arch-nemesis, Corbin du Deuil. They had both lived in the street for all of their fourteen years and had been enemies for as long as either could remember.
Even Madam Delaney had no premonition of how their lives would be turned upside down by what happened next.
A car pulled into the street. That in itself was not unusual. What was strange was that it stopped in front of the empty house. A woman with coily black hair and dark skin pulled a small girl out of the backseat. A tall man with hazel eyes and an elderly woman exited next. They walked up to the front door and pulled out a key.
Week 2: The (Extra) Ordinary
“I heard the empty house has a buyer,” Loretta muttered. She always enjoyed hearing - and spreading - rumours, but Corbin could tell her heart wasn’t in it because at that moment she was locked in an arm wrestle with him. He was winning. It didn’t help that she appeared to be trying to eavesdrop on the people who were sitting on a park bench slightly down the street.
“I wonder what the new neighbours will be like,” said Corbin’s mother brightly. “Maybe they’ll have children. Won’t that be nice, Corbin, Loretta?”
Neither of them answered, locked in fierce combat.
“Well, whoever they are, they’d better know their way around a lawnmower,” growled Mr Spinner, “because frankly there are too many people on this street who’ve absolutely let theirs go. And I hope they don’t touch my lawn. If they touch my lawn…”
Loretta snorted, and her hand slipped to the side slightly. Seizing his opportunity, Corbin pushed it into the table with razor focus. She made a face at him and turned to stare at the adults with an overtly indifferent air.
“I wouldn’t have bought that house,” came the received pronunciation marking Lady Caeleste, a somewhat entitled woman who lived down the street, “I mean, just look at those tiles. I hope they have some taste at least.”
“I hope they keep their curtains open,” Loretta remarked. “There’s only so much you can do with a pair of binoculars if they don’t open the curtains…”
“Yes, Loretta,” Corbin deadpanned. “I do hope they go out of their way to indulge your compulsive nosiness.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You obviously don’t find it too difficult.”
*****
“Come on Molly, let’s go on a walk now,” cooed Gramma Dearborn. The toddler obediently came and took her hand.
“I’ll join you,” said Mrs Dearborn. “I still have some cookies to sell.”
Mr Dearborn joined as well, and they all walked down the street, Molly swinging between her parents’ hands and occasionally stopping to pick a flower. The sunset paved the whole street golden, and Gramma Dearborn reflected on how lucky they were to have found such a nice house.
She watched with satisfaction as her daughter-in-law flitted from door to door. The one next door was unanswered, but across the street a stooped, elderly man opened his door and squinted suspiciously. “To raise funds for the RSPCA,” she said cheerily.
“What kind of cookies?” He asked grumpily.
“Chocolate chip.”
“Fine,” he said, handing over some coins and grabbing a cookie, “because your husband looks after his lawn.”
Yes, that was her Quentin all right. Gramma smiled contentedly.
The next door revealed a dark-haired girl with wide hazel eyes.
“Cookie? To raise funds for the RSPCA.”
Gramma missed the response because she was busy watching the geese which flocked across the sky. A cookie changed hands, and they set off down the street once again, basking in a warm, contented glow.
*****
“Oh, Loretta, I’m so sorry not everyone lets you spy on them with your telescope while they’re trying to go about their business,” Corbin drawled.
“Shut up.”
“Oh, Loretta, I’m so sorry that I somehow let you kidnap me and now I’m making too much noise for your comfort.”
“You should be more careful when you’re just walking down the street minding your own business. Terrible things can happen that way, you know,” she answered peevishly. She was annoyed because the Dearborns didn’t have the ‘dignity’ to always keep their curtains open and stand in front of the windows. He was annoyed because when you’re casually walking under a streetlamp, you don’t expect to suddenly find yourself hanging upside down in a net.
Even if it was on Loretta’s side of the road.
“Ah, good, they’re walking down the street.” She muttered.
After a few minutes, a knock sounded at the door, Corbin was still tied up, but he could hear what was being said downstairs pretty easily.
“Cookie?” Came Mrs Dearborn’s voice. “To raise funds for the RSPCA.”
“How do I know this isn’t embezzlement fraud?”
“Why would I…”
“Fake charity scams accounted for over $400,000 losses in Australia last year.”
“We aren’t in Australia…”
“Oh, well. I like cookies.”
Loretta came back upstairs chewing on a chocolate chip cookie. Corbin could smell it. He sighed. There really was something strange about those neighbours. Were they scammers? It seemed reasonable enough.
Anyone who walked down Threnody Crescent experienced the tingling feeling of foreboding which indicated that this street did not welcome strangers. In the early morning fog, the gargoyles which lurked on the garden walls seemed to watch the rare jogger or occasional car which rumbled down the street. Lanterns on wrought-iron poles lent the mist a bloodstained cast. The gabled roofs, bay windows and towers made the street seem like some kind of fairytale, an anachronism which didn’t belong even in the city’s historic Mountebank District. Threnody Crescent was… different.
Despite the hour, flickers of activity could be detected in the street. Atop the stone tower which adorned her house, a young woman could be seen with a telescope, scribbling furiously in a notebook about planetary conjunctions. Occasionally, dark tresses of hair swinging wildly, she swivelled the telescope around to peer into the third-storey window of the house across the street.
In the garden next door, a hunched, elderly man puttered around his garden in a pointed nightcap and a faded dressing gown embroidered with stars. Gripping a wickedly sharp pair of secateurs, he hacked away at the monstrous, spiny hawthorn bushes which encircled his yard. They had been meticulously groomed into abstracted topiary monsters. His lawn was also perfect, a sea of fly agaric, lilac bonnets, death caps and jack o'lantern mushrooms which wove together in a glowing sea of toxic fungus. He was murmuring under his breath in an irate manner.
As the sun rose above the horizon and the mist cleared to an onyx, overcast sky, the inhabitants of Threnody Crescent set about their typical Saturday activities.
Madam Delaney had pitched a fortune teller’s tent in her front yard and every so often one of her neighbours would trickle in - often across Mr Spinner’s painstakingly cultivated lawn, causing chaos as his beloved toadstools were trampled. “I’ve lived on this street for twenty-seven years, and if you young’uns think you can mess with my lawn then you’ve got another thing coming!”
Loretta Faye had briefly alighted from her tower to collect her alchemy equipment, and amidst a column of smoke and the glass phials housing her strange concoctions, she continued to watch her neighbours with her eyes narrowed. She paid careful attention to the boy across the street - her arch-nemesis, Corbin du Deuil. They had both lived in the street for all of their fourteen years and had been enemies for as long as either could remember.
Even Madam Delaney had no premonition of how their lives would be turned upside down by what happened next.
A car pulled into the street. That in itself was not unusual. What was strange was that it stopped in front of the empty house. A woman with coily black hair and dark skin pulled a small girl out of the backseat. A tall man with hazel eyes and an elderly woman exited next. They walked up to the front door and pulled out a key.
Week 2: The (Extra) Ordinary
“I heard the empty house has a buyer,” Loretta muttered. She always enjoyed hearing - and spreading - rumours, but Corbin could tell her heart wasn’t in it because at that moment she was locked in an arm wrestle with him. He was winning. It didn’t help that she appeared to be trying to eavesdrop on the people who were sitting on a park bench slightly down the street.
“I wonder what the new neighbours will be like,” said Corbin’s mother brightly. “Maybe they’ll have children. Won’t that be nice, Corbin, Loretta?”
Neither of them answered, locked in fierce combat.
“Well, whoever they are, they’d better know their way around a lawnmower,” growled Mr Spinner, “because frankly there are too many people on this street who’ve absolutely let theirs go. And I hope they don’t touch my lawn. If they touch my lawn…”
Loretta snorted, and her hand slipped to the side slightly. Seizing his opportunity, Corbin pushed it into the table with razor focus. She made a face at him and turned to stare at the adults with an overtly indifferent air.
“I wouldn’t have bought that house,” came the received pronunciation marking Lady Caeleste, a somewhat entitled woman who lived down the street, “I mean, just look at those tiles. I hope they have some taste at least.”
“I hope they keep their curtains open,” Loretta remarked. “There’s only so much you can do with a pair of binoculars if they don’t open the curtains…”
“Yes, Loretta,” Corbin deadpanned. “I do hope they go out of their way to indulge your compulsive nosiness.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You obviously don’t find it too difficult.”
*****
“Come on Molly, let’s go on a walk now,” cooed Gramma Dearborn. The toddler obediently came and took her hand.
“I’ll join you,” said Mrs Dearborn. “I still have some cookies to sell.”
Mr Dearborn joined as well, and they all walked down the street, Molly swinging between her parents’ hands and occasionally stopping to pick a flower. The sunset paved the whole street golden, and Gramma Dearborn reflected on how lucky they were to have found such a nice house.
She watched with satisfaction as her daughter-in-law flitted from door to door. The one next door was unanswered, but across the street a stooped, elderly man opened his door and squinted suspiciously. “To raise funds for the RSPCA,” she said cheerily.
“What kind of cookies?” He asked grumpily.
“Chocolate chip.”
“Fine,” he said, handing over some coins and grabbing a cookie, “because your husband looks after his lawn.”
Yes, that was her Quentin all right. Gramma smiled contentedly.
The next door revealed a dark-haired girl with wide hazel eyes.
“Cookie? To raise funds for the RSPCA.”
Gramma missed the response because she was busy watching the geese which flocked across the sky. A cookie changed hands, and they set off down the street once again, basking in a warm, contented glow.
*****
“Oh, Loretta, I’m so sorry not everyone lets you spy on them with your telescope while they’re trying to go about their business,” Corbin drawled.
“Shut up.”
“Oh, Loretta, I’m so sorry that I somehow let you kidnap me and now I’m making too much noise for your comfort.”
“You should be more careful when you’re just walking down the street minding your own business. Terrible things can happen that way, you know,” she answered peevishly. She was annoyed because the Dearborns didn’t have the ‘dignity’ to always keep their curtains open and stand in front of the windows. He was annoyed because when you’re casually walking under a streetlamp, you don’t expect to suddenly find yourself hanging upside down in a net.
Even if it was on Loretta’s side of the road.
“Ah, good, they’re walking down the street.” She muttered.
After a few minutes, a knock sounded at the door, Corbin was still tied up, but he could hear what was being said downstairs pretty easily.
“Cookie?” Came Mrs Dearborn’s voice. “To raise funds for the RSPCA.”
“How do I know this isn’t embezzlement fraud?”
“Why would I…”
“Fake charity scams accounted for over $400,000 losses in Australia last year.”
“We aren’t in Australia…”
“Oh, well. I like cookies.”
Loretta came back upstairs chewing on a chocolate chip cookie. Corbin could smell it. He sighed. There really was something strange about those neighbours. Were they scammers? It seemed reasonable enough.