ARCHIVED: Brett Smith and the Rock of Khark

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Apartment 4a of number 16 Public Park was the most ordinary abode in Newton, the most ordinary town in Hersfold. The Fergusons were happy to tell anyone that they were entirely ordinary, and really, quite dull. One would hardly expect anything unusual to involve such a mundane family.

Mr Ferguson was ordinarily an engineer at Cantilever, a company devoted to making parts for the construction of bridges. A man of average height, average build, and clean habits, Mr Ferguson never had a hair out of place (especially on his face). Mrs Ferguson, a plump but not fat woman of reasonable but not excessive height, worked in real estate. She had mastered the art of making homes look appallingly, comfortingly normal. The Fergusons were blessed with a very young daughter they had named Penelope, and were carefully planning out her future beginning with pre-elementary schooling

There was something about the Fergusons however that they did not want anyone to know. It would be terribly... odd if their neighbors, colleagues, or friends knew about the Smiths.

Mrs Smith was Mr Ferguson's sister, but they hadn't happened to find time to meet in.. some time. Indeed, the Fergusons preferred to act as though the Smiths did not exist. The Smiths were different. Who knew what people would think if they knew about the Smiths? Mrs Ferguson and Mr Ferguson would rather not find out.

They knew their Penelope had a cousin. This was a very good reason to avoid the Smiths. It would be best if Penelope were not exposed to him.

This story begins on a Thursday. A cold, clear day, just like many others. Mrs Ferguson skimmed the paper as she ate her breakfast, and Mr Ferguson was finely grinding Penelope's for her with a fork. At seven oh eight, like every morning, Mrs Ferguson hoisted her bag and kissed her family perfunctorily on their cheeks before stepping out the door to the stairs. At the bottom she came across her first oddity of the day: an cat was sitting in the lobby, reading through the list of residents. Looking at the list. Cats don't read.

Mrs Ferguson was not in the mood to be distracted. She had a train to catch.

The nearby square was.. unusually crowded this morning, however. An large crowd of colorfully dressed people cheering about something were in between Mrs Ferguson and the station. Flower arrangements and easily movable furniture were driven from Mrs Ferguson's mind. How did these people expect to get anywhere in life so... colorfully? Well, perhaps it was some special occasion. Maybe a convention of 'fans' of some ridiculous comic book or the like.

The flat Mrs Ferguson intended to sell had only one window, and Mrs Ferguson was too busy correcting the place to look presentable to idly gaze through it, so she missed the day's inexplicable appearance of hundreds of nocturnal fowl, throughout the city. Owls, ravens, and more owls. Perhaps if she'd believed her assistant when he attempted to excuse his idle window-watching, she would have been less surprised later.

On the way back to the office, however, Mrs Ferguson's day was ruined. Running into another huddle of inexplicably dressed people was disquieting, to be sure, but what really got her goat was when she overheard them, "The Smiths, yes,-" "I heard their son, Brett-" "It's so strange-" This was most unusual.

The first thing Mrs Ferguson did when she got in to her office was lock the door. The second was to call Mr Ferguson. "James?"

"Yes Dear?" answered her husband.

"Have you heard from your sister of late, have you dear?"

"No Dear," he replied, a mote apprehensively. "Why?"

"I think I may have heard some ah funny-looking people talking about her family. Their son... he'd not be named Brandon, would he?"

"No Dear," he responded, "I'm assuredly certain they named him Brett. Bit of an odd name. I'd call and see what might be up but..."

"Of course."

To be continued...
 
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