"What was your address again?"
"The Crown Inn, 12 Kingsport Avenue."
The driver makes a turn, and then stops in front of a small apartment building. "Here you are."
He gets down to open the door and you step out, grateful that the sun's still in the sky. It was an hours long journey, and you're not looking forward to paying the fare, but it was the only option. Crown Crossroads is a remote town, accessible only by car, and ignored by the national railway network besides one station serviced by one line every other week, and you really couldn't help having to make the trip.
You walk around to the back of the car and help the driver unload your luggage. Two large suitcases, in addition to your satchel. You really hope the Crown Inn has an elevator. You tip the driver, and he drives away, leaving you standing in front of the Crown Inn's doors, thinking about why you're here. Something prickles at the back of your neck, like someone's watching you, but in the reflection of the glass doors, there's clearly no one, so you let it slide.
This isn't a leisure trip. Oh, how you wish it was. But you're here for work; for research, to be precise. You need to do some digging in the municipal archives to sort out a family tree, and their ancient library doesn't have an online database. It would be just your luck if the Crown Crossroads Public Library still ran on cue cards and ledgers.
Suddenly the doors open, startling you out of your reverie. Someone exits, sidestepping you and your bags, and you remember your manners. You go to the front desk and check in, confirming that the town really is small potatoes compared to your home city by finding out that the hotel lacks any internet. You were prepared for this and brought your own pocket router, but it's still very frustrating.
Your room is on the fifth floor, the top floor of this small establishment, and you bring all your luggage yourself, the hotel not having any porters. Your room key, funnily enough, is an actual key, not a card, and you let yourself into your room.
It's nice enough, clearly a converted studio apartment, but there's enough for your needs. A tiny kitchen area complete with stove, a minifridge, and a microwave, and there are utensils when you look in the drawers. There's a desk facing the wall, next to the bed, and you reckon you could repurpose the chair into a makeshift nightstand if you needed it. All in all, you could live here indefinitely. You just hope you finish your work quickly, or if not, manage to upsell the library management, and get them to avail your services for a database.
You go about unpacking your luggage, mostly clothes and books and notebooks you'll need for the work. When you're done, you survey your work proudly. Clothes have been hung up properly, books have been stacked on the desk, and your snacks have been placed on the kitchen counter.
Speaking of which, you were planning on cooking for yourself. You live pretty comfortably, but buying takeout every day would be an unjustified waste, especially here. But there's still time left in the day, a few hours of the library being opened left.
(text-style:"sway")[[[> Go to the grocery store. Work can wait.->Day 1 - The Grocery Store]]]
(text-style:"sway")[[[> Go to the library. You have food anyway.->Day 1 - The Library]]]
You finally decide to go to the grocery store. The map you printed out of Crown Crossroads before you went on your trip isn't the best resolution, but it's what you have, so you plot out your route and hope there's a clearer one you can buy at the store.
The grocery store's a short walk away, and your route seems well-chosen. Crown Crossroads is a nice town, overall, and though you don't see many people, those you do see look friendly, waving hello or smiling at you. Shortly, you arrive at your destination. Another wave of unease strikes you as you hover near the door, but you shake it off and enter. It's so irritating, the goosebumps that //constantly// seem to rise at the back of your neck. You don't know what's brought this on, but it's infuriating. Earlier in the hotel, and now here? What's wrong with you?
You grab a basket and start perusing the aisles. Bread, some canned food, just in case, then some raw ingredients. You're not sure what exactly you should make, or whether the minifridge can handle meat or fish, but you throw in enough things to ensure you have a few potential foods, either way.
To get ice cream or not to get ice cream? You linger by the freezer section, debating whether the ice cream is worth a much heavier journey back, and decide to add a cup to your basket, just as a treat to yourself. And then you notice something standing next to you, see its reflection in the glass.
It's wearing yellow pajamas, that much you can see for yourself, and it's wearing a scarf around its face, as well as sunglasses and a hat. But you instantly notice that there's something very, very wrong. There are slight gaps between the sunglasses, the hat, and the scarf, small but noticeable, and those gaps are gaps all the way down. Nothing is filling those clothes.
"You don't have a face-" you blurt out, then curse your own rudeness. The Faceless-Thingy has turned to you and waved a gloved hand.
"No, I do not." It doesn't sound menacing. It just sounds... nice.
"You- you don't have a face-" you breathe out, softer, forcing yourself to calm down. There's no reason for you to be rude, and many reasons not to be. So you take a few breaths. "Why do you not have a face?"
"Why would I have a face?" The Faceless-Thingy asks, genuinely puzzled. "I'm a pair of pajamas, I don't see why I //would// have a face."
Pajamas. That makes both more and less sense. "So you're- you're sentient sleepwear."
"Yes. Right now I am these pajamas, and socks, and hat, and scarf, and boots, and sunglasses."
"Right- what do you mean //right now?//"
"If I really wanted, I could change, but I don't really want to right now." Faceless-Thingy has paused, peering at you through empty sunglasses, and then continues. "I'm sorry, but I really do have to get the shopping done."
And with that, Faceless-Thingy leaves, no doubt heading for the cashier. You gather yourself a little more, and on a whim, add a few more tubs of ice cream to your basket. You might as well. Somehow, you continue your grocery shopping like it's any other trip, like you're in any other town or city, on a project to reconstruct a client's genealogy or organize and integrate a local archive. Like you didn't just encounter a sentient pair of pajamas.
You pay and leave, the smiling cashier prompting another unwanted shiver, and when you get back the sun has begun to set, casting everything in gold light. Sunsets are always pretty. Anywhere you are, they're always pretty. You arrive back at the inn, feel another frission of unease as you enter, and flop into bed, emerging reluctantly to put the groceries away and cook dinner. You're pretty tired, so you decide on an omelette with some toast, simple enough. You settle into the chair by the desk, your omelette sandwich in one hand and your phone in the other, reading back through what notes you had on this client.
Unbidden, your thoughts stray back to Faceless-Thingy. You realize, suddenly, just how strange that encounter was. You felt perfectly safe with Faceless-Thingy, despite it being //pajamas with no face//, but felt shivers with the normal human cashier. You've been feeling those weird chills, and it's probably something medical. You put down your sandwich, wiping your hand and grabbing your notebook and a pen. Might as well document your symptoms, so the doctor takes you seriously. You think back to all those times you felt that acute unease, and write.
(text-style:"double-underline")[Incidents]
(text-style:"mark")[Day 1]
* Entering Crown Inn
* Waving back to random town person
* Entering grocery store
* ''NOT INCIDENT'' Seeing Faceless-Thingy
* Paying for groceries
* Entering Crown Inn again
It's strange, it really is, but the journey has exhausted you. You put the notebook and pen down, finishing the last of your now-cold sandwich and putting the pan, plate, and knife in the sink, a problem for tomorrow you.
(text-style:"sway")[[[> The Next Morning...->Day 2 - The Library]]]You decide to get a head start on your work. The library's on the other side of town, but the trams are still running, so it shouldn't be too exhausting a journey.
The tram stop's a few minutes' walk, and you stand with your laptop bag in hand waiting for the next one to pull in. It doesn't take too long, and the tram driver smiles at you when you enter, cuing another frission of unease. You take a seat at the very back, but still somehow feel like the driver's watching you, even though she's on the other side of the tram, driving. But you bury that feeling, choosing instead to enjoy the view as the tram moves.
Crown Crossroads is a lovely town, despite everything. It's nothing special, but it's nothing bad either, and occasionally an old building will catch your eye. Soon enough, you arrive at your stop. The library is visible from the stop, only a few minutes' walk, so you do.
The library's an older building, neoclassical, grand, in a subdued sort of way. It's not terribly big, but it's imposing. You enter, the glass doors opening automatically, and step inside. The library is still, only a handful of students sitting at tables, and a tired looking librarian sitting behind the circulation desk, reading a book. He appears totally engrossed, eyes glued to the pages, but you know in your gut that isn't the case. You feel something watching you, and you're pretty sure it's him.
Aside from that, you do have work to do. You can't possibly find the documents you need on your own, can you?
You approach the desk.
(text-style:"sway")[[[> Just leave him alone. He looks exhausted. You can find them on your own.->Day 1 - Wandering]]]
(text-style:"sway")[[[> You have work. It's just asking him to do his job..->Day 1 - Asking]]](text-style:"buoy")[under construction...]You decide to leave him alone, and wander around the bookshelves, eyes peeled for anything regarding the town.
No such luck. No books on Crown Crossroads, no indication at all where the town archives may be located, in short, nothing at all of use. You move from the main room into one of the corridors, skimming through each of the reading rooms and their collections. Nothing.
And you still feel like you're being watched. You take a seat in a random reading room, breathe deeply. Strangely enough, this sense of surveillance feels different. It's not as acute, unsettling, as it felt when you entered the inn, or were greeted at the streetcar. Then it felt like a lightning strike was about to happen, something static and bone-chilling crashing into you like a great wave, like being shoved face first into a frozen river and then pushed into a warm room.
Here, it almost feels comfortable. Intense, but not bone-chilling. Constant, though. Constant scrutiny, lingering around you, in the back of your mind.
But you have work to do, so you steel yourself, get up, and walk back to the circulation desk.
(text-style:"sway")[[[> Ask the tired librarian to do his job.->Day 1 - Asking]]]"Good evening, Mr.-" you squint at the nametag on his wrinkled green lapel- "Alphonse-Lazare."
He looks up from his book, and you feel the scrutiny intensify.
"What do you want?" He asks, voice flat.
"I'm doing research on local history, and doing genealogical research for a client of mine. How may I access the town records?"
Alphonse-Lazare finally stands up, putting down his book and smoothing down his- yes, that is a tailcoat. "Wait here, I'll show you."
You get a better look at him as he rummages around in drawers behind the desk. He looks young, sickly pale, with a scattering of scars on his face that healed darker than they should've. His button-up is wrinkled, but he's wearing a cravat with a pin, and a tricolor cockade on his waistcoat lapel opposite the nametag.
He leaves the desk, a ring of keys and key cards in his hand, and enters the reading room you were just in, unlocking a door inside with a key.
It's much colder inside, which makes sense. You're right at home with the microfilm scanners and the drawers of film. Right until an alarm sounds.
You pat your pockets, making sure it isn't yours, and then look to the librarian. It's his phone that went off, and he looks at you and shrugs before turning it off.
"Microfilm archives are only open between 12 and 5 on weekdays. Sorry."
He doesn't sound sorry at all as he gestures for you to leave the room, locking the door behind him.
You follow him back to the circulation desk, standing awkwardly in front as he fidgets with a desktop microphone and the computer. Another alarm, this time on the computer, goes off, and he turns it off before turning on the intercom.
"The last trams bound for the City Center and the train station will leave in five minutes. Kindly leave the library neat and tidy."
You watch most of the people pack up and leave, and you really should leave with them too, unless you want to walk back across the dark town in the cold. Alphonse-Lazare hands you a couple of brochures, and without looking you fold them and tuck them into your pocket.
(text-style:"sway")[[[> Walk back to the tram station.->Day 1 - Tram Ride Back]]]You leave the library, feeling the weight of scrutiny sloughing off your shoulders. There's already a line at the station, and when the tram rolls in right on time, all the seats are taken, so you and a few other unlucky people have to stand. Crown Crossroads is //dark// after dark, so different from the cities. The sidewalks are lit only by the streetlamps and the windows of houses, none of the 24/7 convenience stores or diners you're so used to.
Aside from that, the journey is uneventful. The students seem bored and tired, and you don't feel any of the unease you used to. At least, not until you reach your stop, and the tram driver, different from last time, smiles at you again, and you feel yourself shiver.
The same thing, when you enter the hotel again. The receptionist was there, smiling, and you shuddered while getting into the elevator. But soon enough, you're at your own room again, and you think over the day while getting ready for bed. You're microwaving some instant mac and cheese you packed while pondering over those weird chills you've been feeling lately. Could it be your lonely life has caused a spiral into paranoia?
It can't have, right?
But what else could explain those strange feelings, though? You //feared// the hotel, the tram driver, the random townsfolk who waved hi at an obvious visitor. You don't know why, or even how, the feelings were strange, but you feared them.
And the librarian. Something is off about him, even discounting the eerie feeling of scrutiny you're sure came from him. He wore a cravat, a waistcoat, and a tailcoat, for all that he looked like a scrumpy twenty-something grad student. Despite the weird aura, the way you felt the weight on your shoulders increase once he put down his book, you realize with a start that you never feared him, that you still don't.
By all rights, it doesn't make sense. You fear perfectly normal looking people, and are fine with much heavier feelings with someone who you, upon reflection, are convinced cannot be human.
And then you remember the spare pocket notebook you brought. //If this is really paranoia,// you think, //I might as well provide the psychiatrist some records to work with,//
You rummage through your luggage and emerge with it, and a pen. In a shaky hand, you write your name on the flyleaf, and then start a list on the next page.
(text-style:"double-underline", "bold")[Incidents]
(text-style:"mark")[Day 1]
* Entering Crown Inn
* Waving back to random town person
* Tram driver
* ''WEIRD UN-INCIDENT?'' librarian "alphonse-lazare" (is he human? felt inescapable scrutiny, especially when book was put down, but (text-style:"underline")[no fear].)
* Second, different tram driver
* Entering Crown Inn again
That seems enough for today. You feel weirdly tired, though you slept for most of the car ride here. You'll have to do grocery shopping tomorrow, you remember, and then realize you left the brochures the librarian gave you in your jacket pocket. Before you go to sleep you retrieve them, and they're nothing of note. Just a list of the library's services on one, and then a much more detailed map of the town, unfolding to cover your whole desk. But with that done, you tuck the brochures back into your jacket pocket and go to sleep.
(text-style:"sway")[[[> The Next Morning...->Day 2 - Groceries]]](text-style:"buoy")[under construction...]