Page 5 - World of Darkness

“Excuse me, miss.” The voice was dry and
brittle. “Can I help you?”
He was tall and thin, with white hair and skin
that hadn’t seen the sun in a long time. He wore a
dark suit that I knew was out of style, even though
I have all the fashion sense of a Mennonite. Wispy
hair floated around his pink scalp like smoke.
I stared at him to show he hadn’t startled me,
but I kept the anger out of my voice. “I came about
the ad in the paper,” I told him, glancing at the
folded newspaper I’d left on the chair. “The ad for
a writer? I’ve been waiting here for quite a while.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, I thought that might be
it. I’m sorry you had to wait so long. I wasn’t aware
you were here until just a moment ago.”
“I’m Janet Archer,” I said, extending my hand
in my best job interview style. He took it in the
lightest grip I’d ever felt, then let go.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve come
here for nothing. The job is no longer available.”
“You found someone already?”
“No, it’s not that. You see, Mr. Mummer — the
gentleman who placed the ad — passed away last
night.”
I blinked for a few seconds.
“I’m Theo Fenway, his lawyer. I meant to get here
earlier today and post a notice on the door, but…. In
any case, I apologize for the inconvenience.”
It was hard to know what to say. I stalled for time by walking over to the chair and picking up my bag and
the paper. “Can you tell me — who was he? Why exactly was he looking to hire a writer?”
“He was, as his advertisement stated, hoping to publish his memoirs. As for who he was, I’m afraid that
would be a breach of confidentiality. He was a very private man, notwithstanding his aspiration to write his
memoirs.”

*** SECTION MISSING ***

three days later that I got an envelope, a plain white #10 envelope that turned up on my desk at work with the
rest of the day’s mail. The address was typed — not computer-printed, mind you, but typed. It contained all of
15 words.
‘If you want to know more about Mummer:
Sal’s Meat Market, Cole St. 7 pm.’

*** SECTION MISSING ***
from my car I watched the butcher exit the shop and head down the street, carrying a large bundle wrapped
in brown paper. The bundle was huge. He had to wrap both arms around it. As I watched him lumber away,
something occurred to me. Why was he making such a big delivery on foot? I mean, the guy had the build of
Jackie Gleason and walked with a limp. The shop’s van was parked right in front, yet here was this out of
shape tub of lard walking down the street. Even if he was going somewhere nearby, taking the van would
have been easier. I had to wonder where he was going.
*** INTERVIEWS AT THE BUTCHER SHOP REVEAL THAT A WORKER MATCHING THIS DE-
SCRIPTION QUIT MONTHS AGO, LEAVING NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. ***

*** SECTION MISSING ***

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Chapter 2- ATTRIBUTES