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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 1, 2011 16:46:06 GMT -8
Time: Day 3, Early Afternoon Weather: Cloudy Warnings: Taxidermy, British idioms Characters: Ebenezer Dingo, David Young Henning
There is a shop across from the schoolyard in bustling, downtown Greenvale. It has long stood empty and abandoned, and only the older residents of the town remember that back in the early eighties, it was an antiques shop.
Today, though, the forever dirty, empty windows are cleaned and blocked with tasteful red curtains, obscuring the interior of the store. On the glass door, a small set of bells to alert those inside of entry into the store.
Above the storefront was an awkwardly carved, wooden sign, reading "Ebenezer's Stuffed Animals -- Traditional and Artistic".
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 4, 2011 17:08:46 GMT -8
Henning had been aimlessly driving around Greenvale, trying to cleanse his previous encounter with Wesley Uccello from his mind, when he passed by a building that stood out from the others. Where most of the shops and houses around here seemed run-down or at least well-lived, this one suggested recent renovations had been made; although, it seemed like an awfully esoteric service to be singled out for such treatment. There were no indications that it was open, and no way of seeing inside...
Curious, he parked out front and sat looking up at the sign for a while. He phoned Charlotte and once more received no response. He was worried, but unable to remedy the fact that he didn't know where she was. Might as well try to keep digging... And he didn't remember hearing about this place from his initial research into the town. He thought fondly for a moment of the old radio Polly had given him. Since his arrival, he was beginning to find within himself a strange fascination for the old and obscure. He got out of his car and walked up to the door, trying to shake the feeling that he was being watched.
Bells chimed with a sort of morbid cheeriness above his head as he stepped through the door. Even with the cloudy weather, it was still much darker in the store than it was outside. He wrinkled his nose at the strange smells assailing him, the first sensation received after hearing the bells ring.
"...Hello?" he called. "Is this place open?"
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 18:15:05 GMT -8
"Ah! Hello," Came the male voice from somewhere behind the counter. A face popped up, then and upper body, then an arm, ending in a hand giving a friendly wave behind a thick rubber glove.
Once fully in the light, one could see that the source of the friendly call was hidden somewhere behind a nightmarish, World War II gas mask. His upper body was clad in a thick, shiny, and discolored apron over a long-sleeved garment not unlike some kind of hazmat gear. The apparition approached the counter, his hands held up to avoid dripping what were no doubt hazardous chemicals onto freshly restored counter top.
"Welcome to my shop! I am Ebenezer Dingo, proprietor. I would... shake your hand, but, you know, horrible chemicals, ha ha." The baritone voice was relentlessly cheerful, perfectly annunciated, and slightly British. "Can I help you find something?" The be-gas masked head bobbed around, indicating the large shelves and stands around the shop. All empty.
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 8, 2011 18:45:16 GMT -8
If it hadn't been for all the weirdness Henning had been through earlier, this would definitely have been the one to write home about. Then again, if he hadn't gotten somewhat accustomed to Greenvale's unsettling vibe, he probably wouldn't have entered the store in the first place. Even so, hearing the man's ridiculous name said aloud somehow seemed even more strange than his appearance. Noticing that there didn't seem to be anything on the shelves only heightened his feeling of unease.
"Um, hi," he said, glad that the man was at least sensible enough not to offer a handshake. "Would you believe me if I said you weren't the first person in a gas mask I've met in the last three days? Never mind, don't answer that. Er, look, I can see you're a bit busy, but I couldn't help noticing the sign and I was wondering..."
He hesitated, the thought having come to him in an instant. "...if you knew anything about stuffing rabbits."
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 19:06:08 GMT -8
The man spoke a bit apprehensively, as if he had never asked about having something stuffed before. As the young man finished asking his question, Ebenezer began peeling out of his preparation gear, carefully, the long heavy gloves came off, falling into a bucket of water prepared for this purpose. Then, off came the gas mask and the old cap worn backwards to keep his hair out of the preparations.
Taking a deep breath but crinkling his nose at the chemical stench he forgot was so pervasive, he looked at his new patron.
"Sorry if i came on a tad strong. First time as a shopkeep and all," he said with a grin, finishing shedding off his work clothes to reveal a white button-down shirt, black suspenders, and a loose black tie. "So. What kind of rabbit? What condition is it in?"
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 8, 2011 19:24:13 GMT -8
Henning wrinkled his nose again as the chemical smell worsened. "Not strong at all. Oh, the rabbit. Well, let's say it was lying on a flat surface, cut open... Insides partially removed and strewn over the table. And let's say the eyes are missing. Does that sound like someone might have been intending to preserve it somehow? I mean, are those steps that you yourself, in the process of... the service you provide... would normally undertake?"
Or does it sound more like the deranged activity of a mentally unstable individual who hopes to move up to disemboweling humans instead of animals? was the second question that never left his lips.
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 19:36:23 GMT -8
Ebenezer mulled it over, tapping absently on the counter top. "Strewn, you say?" He shook his head. "Well, unless the rabbit was strewn over a table that happened to have been in the middle of the wilderness as bait for larger prey, there is no reason to do so. A taxidermist preparing a rabbit would dispose of its insides in a much more sanitary manner.
Ebenezer shook his head, a slight grimace on his face. "Where do you say you found the poor fellow?"
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 8, 2011 19:59:38 GMT -8
Damn... He'd thought that might have been the case. It had been a long shot, anyway. Still, he didn't feel quite comfortable yet disclosing too many details with this strange... stranger.
"I didn't actually see it firsthand. My friend found it in an abandoned building somewhere, so I'm sorry if my description is a bit lacking."
Henning glanced around, his unease giving way to curiosity. "So when did you set up shop? I just got into town a couple days ago myself, but this seems like a pretty specialized endeavor for a small lumber town. I, ah, have to admit that I'm not entirely sure what the difference is between 'traditional' and 'artistic' taxidermy."
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 20:35:59 GMT -8
"Quite alright, sir. It's appalling what some folk get up to, isn't it? I could tell you some awful stories, I could. But... that is not for polite conversation. It's high on my list for making this place successful," He said, grabbing a clipboard from under the counter and displaying a very nicely hand-written list. He pointed to a line that read 'No awful stories'. A cursory glance could show that the line above it read 'Don't start jawing on about Yetis.', and the line below read 'For God's sake, don't shoot--' which was all that could be read before Ebenezer stowed the clipboard back under the counter.
"I actually just moved in today. I had the sign already, so I figured I should just get it started, yeah? But the blokes from the moving company are late bringing some of my larger display pieces in from storage, and my workshop isn't properly set up, which accounts for the awful smell. Sorry about the smell, by the way."
Ebenezer crouched down under the counter, rooting around some of the crates. "Traditional is... traditional, yeah? Large bears posed all threatening-like to make the hunter what caught him all powerful and potent and whatnot. Artistic is when I'm given free reign in the design."
"Ah, here we are," He said, opening a crate filled with straw and pulling out what seemed to be some large rodent attached to a stand. Ebenezer plopped it on the counter. "This fellow here is a Nutria, big rodent, bigger pest down in the southeast States or abouts. Last year they were so numerous, such a burden on the ecosystem that they got a huge bounty put on them. I made this for a rich bloke that took part in this hunt. I think he bought some big impressive gun and just wanted to shoot something. Anyway, he's a friend of my family and he brings it to me while I'm passing through town, offers me quite a bit. So I stuff it, he doesn't like it, so I keep it."
It's no wonder, really. The thing -- which kind of looks kind of like a beaver with a long, skinny tail -- wore a top hat, monocle, and tux, was up on it's hind legs, wielding a shotgun and aiming it at a smaller, human action figure on the base.
"I don't know what his problem was. I mean, the shotgun is also a lighter! It's practical and a searing satire. A man who can't laugh at himself is a blight on all mankind."
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 8, 2011 21:14:32 GMT -8
The dial on Henning's Unease-O-Meter was whipping back and forth with every sentence that came out of Dingo's mouth. He lifted one finger as if to touch the monstrosity sitting in front of him, then withdrew it.
"That's... pretty straightforward, I guess. No offense, but why bring this-" he gestured at the Nutria- "to Greenvale? Is there something about this town that made you think a gun-toting stuffed beaver would go over well? I mean, between you and me, this place is a little bizarre."
He looked at the glassy-eyed creature and its diminuitive target, then back at Ebenezer. Said, "Never mind. By the way, there's just been a murder. Thought you should know."
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 21:31:17 GMT -8
Ebenezer lifted an eyebrow. "What's that? When?"
The taxidermist looked down, fingers tapping hard on the wooden counter. This was horrible. Whenever there's a murder in a small town, who gets looked at first? The new-to-town taxidermist cryptozoologist. EVERY TIME.
Ebenezer took a deep breath. 'Selfish prick, Eb. That is not the thing to focus on.'
"Who was she," Ebenezer asked, a bit earnestly.
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 8, 2011 21:42:43 GMT -8
Henning gave Dingo a weird look that was only slightly indistinguishable from the previous weird looks he'd been giving, in that this one was tinged with suspicion instead of confusion.
"How did you know the victim was a she?" he said, leaning on the counter and just managing to avoid the chemical puddle still pooling on the top. He barely noticed.
"Where exactly did you say you were from?"
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 21:58:15 GMT -8
Ebenezer looked Henning in the eye.
"I have a friend in town. Known him for a fair tick, and he suggested, since I was low on funds, that I come here. It's a hunting town, and a taxidermist could do well, yeah? He mentioned a murder in passing, a young woman. I never knew who she was, and from the way he told it, I thought that the murder must have been recent but not so recent that everyone was on edge."
He shrugged. "My fault for assuming, I suppose."
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Post by David Young Henning on Jan 8, 2011 23:16:28 GMT -8
"Oh yeah? Who's the friend?" Henning looked over at the gas mask that Ebenezer had set to one side and threw up his hands. "He wouldn't happen to be rolling around town in a wheelchair, would he? Or maybe he rhymes and walks his bird through graveyards. Does he drive a rusty car? My god, if only you knew what I'd been doing just before coming here... What might be waiting for me back at the hotel..."
A stress headache was beginning to blossom just behind his right eyeball. He pointed at Ebenezer and said, deceptively calm, "You, my friend, are just one strand in a very long tapestry of increasingly unsettling events, so I hope you're in this business for the long haul. Because I certainly intend to be. Hey, you said this thing was a lighter. Does it actually work?"
He stepped back and spread his arms, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Show me! I demand a live demonstration! And if you're still really keen on hearing about the murdered girl, maybe I'll explain that to you after I'm convinced this product is legitimate!"
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Post by Ebenezer Dingo on Jan 8, 2011 23:41:48 GMT -8
Ebenezer kept a level gaze as the man waved his arms about, volume increasing and decreasing.
Distressingly, it was not the first freak-out he has induced in an already taxed person. Probably not the last. Why do the high-strung people always find their way to him?
He waited politely for the young man to finish his rant. It's not like Ebenezer has never ranted himself. But that was before he traveled to Tibet and learned a bit about letting the world just roll off you.
Ebenezer took a pencil from below the counter and held it up, then turned it over and used the eraser tip to push the plastic hammer of the small shotgun. There was a click, but no flame. A couple more tries, and a small flame sprouted out of the barrel of the shotgun.
Then the flame flared up, brushing the nutria's nose, which then caught on fire. The fire spread quickly over the entire piece, the chemicals used on the stuffed animal causing the fire to take on several unusual colors at once.
Ebenezer grabbed a small extinguisher from a nearby shelf, dousing the stuffed nutria -- now a smoldering, elaborate metal skeleton --with a layer of foam that quickly smothered the flames.
Ebenezer looked at the nutria, then back at Henning, then back at the nutria, then back to Henning.
"I admit I did not think it through."
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