As the circus music grew louder Stephanie found it more difficult to see as fog rolled in town. The street lights still off as the sun was still up, Stephanie and the world around her was completely blinded. She stumbled off of the curb into the middle of the street. Desperately searching for something to grab onto, Stephanie reached out around her and bumped into someone much taller than her.
"oh- ex-excuse me, I apologize," Stephanie stuttered out as she desperately sought for shelter.
"It's no problem, Stephanie," spoke a deep, familiar voice. Suddenly Stephanie was paralyzed.
"How does he know my name!?" Stephanie screamed in her head, telling herself to run but her body going nowhere. In all of her disorienting thoughts the deep voiced man managed to grab Stephanie and begin to walk with ease through the fog.
"Help! Help Hmmph!" Stephanie's screams stifled by the circus music and the strange man's sleeve.
Stephanie could not believe it, she was being kidnapped! A grown woman in her own town being taken.
"You should have followed instructions and gotten out of town. Theres no escape now," the voice grumbled.
After a blinded car ride and more tossing Stephanie over shoulders, Stephanie's blindfold was ripped off.
"Welcome to the OG-6 Ms. Lovett."
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Blog #6- Run Away to Join the Circus
When Stephanie, franticly ripped opened her door, terrified by the man she saw before her. A menacingly tall man, terribly cropped hair and larger, rough hands holding something.
"Can I help you?" Stephanie squeaked out, attempting but failing to mask her fear.
The man responded in an unexpectedly nervous voice, "I found this letter addressed to you in the lobby, I think that maybe you dropped it? I don't know ... I just wanted to return it to you."
Stephanie was skeptical of the man. When was the last time a person willingly helped Stephanie Lovett, the town nut-job? Did he not know who she was? Impossible, maybe he just didn't care. She snatched the letter from his calloused hands.
He introduced himself as Ren, he was... cordial. Baffled by his politeness Stephanie went back to aimlessly packing, forgetting about the letter just delivered by the strange man.
By the time she walked out of the door the letter managed its way underneath her crumpled sheets, still sealed. It read:
"Ms. Lovett,
As you must be aware, the circus is in town. Do yourself a favor and use your freakish "abilities" to find yourself a place in that circus. If you're not in the parade of striped tents leaving town tomorrow, there will be irreversible consequences.
Sincerely,
Well, you're smart enough I'm sure you know.
P.S: Don't go to the cops about this, it will only do you more harm than good."
Stephanie headed into town, completely unaware of the ultimatum leading to her impending doom.
"Can I help you?" Stephanie squeaked out, attempting but failing to mask her fear.
The man responded in an unexpectedly nervous voice, "I found this letter addressed to you in the lobby, I think that maybe you dropped it? I don't know ... I just wanted to return it to you."
Stephanie was skeptical of the man. When was the last time a person willingly helped Stephanie Lovett, the town nut-job? Did he not know who she was? Impossible, maybe he just didn't care. She snatched the letter from his calloused hands.
He introduced himself as Ren, he was... cordial. Baffled by his politeness Stephanie went back to aimlessly packing, forgetting about the letter just delivered by the strange man.
By the time she walked out of the door the letter managed its way underneath her crumpled sheets, still sealed. It read:
"Ms. Lovett,
As you must be aware, the circus is in town. Do yourself a favor and use your freakish "abilities" to find yourself a place in that circus. If you're not in the parade of striped tents leaving town tomorrow, there will be irreversible consequences.
Sincerely,
Well, you're smart enough I'm sure you know.
P.S: Don't go to the cops about this, it will only do you more harm than good."
Stephanie headed into town, completely unaware of the ultimatum leading to her impending doom.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Blog #5- The Itch of Fear
After that day Officer Wilkes prevented Stephanie from getting her coffee she was, to put it plainly, paranoid. More than usual. Would she be next? Did she know too much?
When she arrived back at her apartment the frogs were gone just as they had arrived, yet she was too consumed in her thoughts to notice. She took all of the the newspaper clipping scattered and still a little damp in her apartment and lit them on fire in the sink. She would not be linked to this conspiracy.
She bolted the door and ran around closing all of the windows, making sure she was sealed in tight. Wrapping herself in a blanket she pushed her heavy chair against the front door and sat there constantly scanning the room until she fell asleep.
It was an uneasy sleep, restless and uncomfortable partly due to the fact she was sleeping in a chair but mostly due to the consuming feeling of fear she couldn't shake.
The time Stephanie woke up she was stumbling out of the chair towards her closet. She woke up with the vision of a group heading towards her.
She did not intend to be the next Mr. Evans so she ripped open the closet door, grabbed her suitcase and began stuffing everything in sight inside.
She never hadn't finished packing before she heard a knock at the door.
When she arrived back at her apartment the frogs were gone just as they had arrived, yet she was too consumed in her thoughts to notice. She took all of the the newspaper clipping scattered and still a little damp in her apartment and lit them on fire in the sink. She would not be linked to this conspiracy.
She bolted the door and ran around closing all of the windows, making sure she was sealed in tight. Wrapping herself in a blanket she pushed her heavy chair against the front door and sat there constantly scanning the room until she fell asleep.
It was an uneasy sleep, restless and uncomfortable partly due to the fact she was sleeping in a chair but mostly due to the consuming feeling of fear she couldn't shake.
The time Stephanie woke up she was stumbling out of the chair towards her closet. She woke up with the vision of a group heading towards her.
She did not intend to be the next Mr. Evans so she ripped open the closet door, grabbed her suitcase and began stuffing everything in sight inside.
She never hadn't finished packing before she heard a knock at the door.
Friday, January 18, 2019
Blog #4- Stink. Stank. Stunk.
Stephanie's apartment smelled. After darting out of her apartment for hours only to encounter a neighbor she found too interested in what she was doing, she came back due to all of the frogs filling up the city. As she stepped over yet another frog to unlock her door she suddenly filled with dread...
The window in the kitchen.
She slowly and regretfully opened her door to reveal the dozens of frogs croaking and hopping and, stinking in her apartment.
'My work!" Stephanie thought as she rushed over to the small kitchen table one covered in carefully clipped news headlines.
As she suspected it was matted together with the outer slime of frogs, the ink smeared into illegible hours of pointless work.
As Stephanie reached to clean up the mess of her table, having no idea on how to get the frogs out of her apartment she suddenly stopped, "Ugh, warts," she remembered from her mother telling her when she was a child playing in the garden.
"Stephanie darling, don't touch those things you'll get ugly massive warts!"
Utterly exhausted from her lack of sleep the night before and hours spent running around downstairs she decided to deal with the frogs later and go get some coffee. After dumping a frog out of one of her shoes she headed out the door, all the while thinking about Mr. Evans.
"Why him?" she kept asking. "It just doesn't make sense."
Just then, as she crossed the street, a man grabbed her by her shoulder.
"Ms. Lovett we need to speak with you."
The window in the kitchen.
She slowly and regretfully opened her door to reveal the dozens of frogs croaking and hopping and, stinking in her apartment.
'My work!" Stephanie thought as she rushed over to the small kitchen table one covered in carefully clipped news headlines.
As she suspected it was matted together with the outer slime of frogs, the ink smeared into illegible hours of pointless work.
As Stephanie reached to clean up the mess of her table, having no idea on how to get the frogs out of her apartment she suddenly stopped, "Ugh, warts," she remembered from her mother telling her when she was a child playing in the garden.
"Stephanie darling, don't touch those things you'll get ugly massive warts!"
Utterly exhausted from her lack of sleep the night before and hours spent running around downstairs she decided to deal with the frogs later and go get some coffee. After dumping a frog out of one of her shoes she headed out the door, all the while thinking about Mr. Evans.
"Why him?" she kept asking. "It just doesn't make sense."
Just then, as she crossed the street, a man grabbed her by her shoulder.
"Ms. Lovett we need to speak with you."
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Blog #3- Rear Window
Following the discovery of Officer Wilkes Stephanie worked diligently until the wee hours of the morning. She was like a mad woman; constantly peeping through her broken blinds to see what was happening on the streets of her city. Cutting up newspapers and pinning things together with string like she was a cop or a crazy conspirator.
Finally at 4am she passed out at her kitchen table on top of a pile of massacred newspaper.
By the time the sun rose Stephanie managed to crawl her way to the moth-eaten chair by the TV for a more comfortable and somehow more convenient place to sleep than her bed that was three steps further.
Suddenly Stephanie woke up, lurching out of the dingy chair. Another vision: On the news the anchor was announcing that the search for Mr. Evans Killer had gone cold.
Stephanie fumbled for the remote, hitting it against her palm to get the batteries to work. Sure enough, there was the same news anchor with the scrolling caption "LOCAL MURDER MYSTERY TURNS UP COLD"
Without hesitance Stephanie shoved her thick- woolen sock clad feet into a pair of flip flops and ran out of the door.
'Quick, don't let anyone see you!' Stephanie thought to herself as she darted through the lobby full of possible cultists. "There has to be something left," Stephanie muttered under her breath on her way to search spot 303 up and down for any clue, anything that would open the case again--- or at least get journalists interested.
Hours passed and Stephanie was still circling the parking lot---
"Excuse me, Ms. Lovett? This may seem like an odd question, but do you know anything about the death of Mr. Evans?"
At that moment, caught in surprise Stephanie ran under the cover of the dented metal awning of the parking garage. There, ignoring the calls of the man yelling down to her, she spotted piece of paper.
At closer glance Stephanie realized that it was in fact a polaroid picture and not only that, there was a phone number printed in black ink across the bottom. Just then her friend from the parking deck ran up behind her.
"Is... is that Mr. Evans?"
Finally at 4am she passed out at her kitchen table on top of a pile of massacred newspaper.
By the time the sun rose Stephanie managed to crawl her way to the moth-eaten chair by the TV for a more comfortable and somehow more convenient place to sleep than her bed that was three steps further.
Suddenly Stephanie woke up, lurching out of the dingy chair. Another vision: On the news the anchor was announcing that the search for Mr. Evans Killer had gone cold.
Stephanie fumbled for the remote, hitting it against her palm to get the batteries to work. Sure enough, there was the same news anchor with the scrolling caption "LOCAL MURDER MYSTERY TURNS UP COLD"
Without hesitance Stephanie shoved her thick- woolen sock clad feet into a pair of flip flops and ran out of the door.
'Quick, don't let anyone see you!' Stephanie thought to herself as she darted through the lobby full of possible cultists. "There has to be something left," Stephanie muttered under her breath on her way to search spot 303 up and down for any clue, anything that would open the case again--- or at least get journalists interested.
Hours passed and Stephanie was still circling the parking lot---
"Excuse me, Ms. Lovett? This may seem like an odd question, but do you know anything about the death of Mr. Evans?"
At that moment, caught in surprise Stephanie ran under the cover of the dented metal awning of the parking garage. There, ignoring the calls of the man yelling down to her, she spotted piece of paper.
At closer glance Stephanie realized that it was in fact a polaroid picture and not only that, there was a phone number printed in black ink across the bottom. Just then her friend from the parking deck ran up behind her.
"Is... is that Mr. Evans?"
Friday, November 2, 2018
Blog #2- Trust No One
Stephanie was a wreck. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't eat. All she could think about was poor Mr. Evans and all of the people who killed him. All of them pretending like they were sad or trying to bring justice to the situation.
Stephanie parted her patchwork curtains and stared outside at the damp sidewalks glistening in the sunshine. Several things crossed her mind in the aftermath of the storm. "I've seen injustice," she thought, "Chicago, thats a messed up place. Police brutality, gangs, but this, this is worse than I could have imagined." Stephanie looked with horror at the town she once admired for its lack of, well, anything now scared her more than her past in the city.
"How could they all have done this?" She tried to think of an explanation, anything that might justify a murder, but she couldn't. What Stephanie saw that night was absolutely terrifying. Not one, not two, but seven people were there when Mr. Evans was murdered. "And there must be more," she deduced. In her vision the shortest one made a call, telling whoever was on the other line the 'deed' was done.
All Stephanie could think about was what what sweet Mr. Evans could have done to make a group of people: a cult, want to kill him.
As Stephanie sat by the window lost in thought, footsteps approached the door. "Who lives in apartment 201?" the officer Wilkes asked his sergeant. "Uhh says here a Miss Stephanie Lovett."
"Geez forget it. She's crazy."
At that moment Stephanie snapped out of her daze and heard the voice of the officer. She knew that voice from the phone call in her vision.
She ran across the apartment and threw the door open just in time to see the pair round the corner. Stephanie knew: Officer Wilkes wasn't looking for Mr. Evans killer, he was looking to quiet anyone who might know something about his dirty secret.
Stephanie didn't know who she could trust, but she knew for the time being she needed to stay quiet and "crazy" to avoid ending up like Mr. Evans.
Stephanie parted her patchwork curtains and stared outside at the damp sidewalks glistening in the sunshine. Several things crossed her mind in the aftermath of the storm. "I've seen injustice," she thought, "Chicago, thats a messed up place. Police brutality, gangs, but this, this is worse than I could have imagined." Stephanie looked with horror at the town she once admired for its lack of, well, anything now scared her more than her past in the city.
"How could they all have done this?" She tried to think of an explanation, anything that might justify a murder, but she couldn't. What Stephanie saw that night was absolutely terrifying. Not one, not two, but seven people were there when Mr. Evans was murdered. "And there must be more," she deduced. In her vision the shortest one made a call, telling whoever was on the other line the 'deed' was done.
All Stephanie could think about was what what sweet Mr. Evans could have done to make a group of people: a cult, want to kill him.
As Stephanie sat by the window lost in thought, footsteps approached the door. "Who lives in apartment 201?" the officer Wilkes asked his sergeant. "Uhh says here a Miss Stephanie Lovett."
"Geez forget it. She's crazy."
At that moment Stephanie snapped out of her daze and heard the voice of the officer. She knew that voice from the phone call in her vision.
She ran across the apartment and threw the door open just in time to see the pair round the corner. Stephanie knew: Officer Wilkes wasn't looking for Mr. Evans killer, he was looking to quiet anyone who might know something about his dirty secret.
Stephanie didn't know who she could trust, but she knew for the time being she needed to stay quiet and "crazy" to avoid ending up like Mr. Evans.
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
Blog #1- The Good-For-Nothing Psychic
The day started with Stephanie waking up in a panic. It was barely dawn and the sky was lightening in color from its dark slumber. It was Stephanie's third vision that night but of course it was just another cat stuck in a tree, and at this point Stephanie assumed someone already helped it because she was useless.
Since the day she turned nineteen, Stephanie Lovett was psychic. She wasn't crazy. At least, she didn't think she was. Every time she had a vision, two seconds later said vision would come to life. No time to help; not enough time to warn anyone. Splat: the cat is dead. Boom: the branch falls on her car. She was constantly under attack by judgmental glares and hushed whispers of her town, worsened by her extreme sleep-deprivation. All of this for a useless "power" she couldn't get rid of; Stephanie felt her prospects were bleak.
"God damn it," Stephanie grumbled as she shuffled out of bed into her slippers, scratching the black mop that was her head. The clock read 3:47am.
Parched, she made her way slowly across the apartment to the kitchen where she grabbed a glass from the chipping wood cabinet above the sink and turned on the tap. Brown water again- gross.
Stephanie, still half asleep and fully aware of the top-notch amenities of the Foxberry, surrendered to her exhaustion and got back in bed.
She lay in bed fighting sleep by staring at the water stains on the ceiling, hoping that if she didn't fall asleep, maybe she could help someone before it was too late.
At exactly 5:52 Stephanie woke up again, this time screaming.
It was Mr. Evans.
Since the day she turned nineteen, Stephanie Lovett was psychic. She wasn't crazy. At least, she didn't think she was. Every time she had a vision, two seconds later said vision would come to life. No time to help; not enough time to warn anyone. Splat: the cat is dead. Boom: the branch falls on her car. She was constantly under attack by judgmental glares and hushed whispers of her town, worsened by her extreme sleep-deprivation. All of this for a useless "power" she couldn't get rid of; Stephanie felt her prospects were bleak.
"God damn it," Stephanie grumbled as she shuffled out of bed into her slippers, scratching the black mop that was her head. The clock read 3:47am.
Parched, she made her way slowly across the apartment to the kitchen where she grabbed a glass from the chipping wood cabinet above the sink and turned on the tap. Brown water again- gross.
Stephanie, still half asleep and fully aware of the top-notch amenities of the Foxberry, surrendered to her exhaustion and got back in bed.
She lay in bed fighting sleep by staring at the water stains on the ceiling, hoping that if she didn't fall asleep, maybe she could help someone before it was too late.
At exactly 5:52 Stephanie woke up again, this time screaming.
It was Mr. Evans.
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