Juno brought Milo to his apartment and helped him to a rundown yellow sofa. She pulled his beanie off, revealing his ears. Then she pulled off his shirt, revealing several cuts and a few much deeper wounds, including the one where the knife had entered him. He slumped backwards, laying his head on the couch’s armrest, as he grasped his stomach in pain.
“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” said Milo. “My body is finally healing itself again, but it takes time. Just throw a bandage on it like usual, and I’ll be good to go.”
“Well thanks to Charlie showing up, I think we can do a bit better than a bandage this time,” said Juno, making room for and setting her instrument case on a cluttered dining table before opening it to pull out the ukeytar.
The apartment was a complete mess. It was full of stacked cardboard boxes, filled with random knick knacks, books, newspaper clippings, assorted linens, as well as many which were completely empty. The trash cans were full, which had led Milo to throw crumpled papers and plastic bags onto the floor instead. Crusts, cores and crumbs of finished meals lay forgotten on plates and napkins across the table. The walls were covered with various maps of the city which Milo had hung and then drawn on with red markers in order to track his clients and marks.
Juno made a mental note to help Milo clean up some of the mess once she was done easing his pain. She knew full well that he hadn’t processed Arthur’s passing with much grace. Whether he said so or not, he was still very much grieving. Add to that the fact that his mother hadn’t been around to teach him how to live like a proper human after he’d become one, and anyone would understand why he had such a hard time creating a livable living space.
She walked over to him, ukeytar in hand, moved a stack of books off a footstool, and sat down on it. She then began to play a soft, relaxing song with a light beat. Words lit up on the ukeytar’s wood:
Now Playing Lo-Fi Hip Hop Playlist.
As she played, glowing butterflies fluttered to life around her and flew onto Milo’s stomach. They spread their wings, overlapping one another to completely cover the wound with their light. The effect was nearly instant as Milo’s whole body relaxed into the cushions, and a long soft groan escaped his lips.
“Better, right?” she asked as her fingers continued to pluck away at the strings and dance along the white and black keys.
Milo side-eyed her and resumed his grouchy expression. “It’s fine, I guess.” But she wasn’t fooled.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone your wounds healed on their own. That way you can keep up your tough appearance.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, softening his scowl.
“Speaking of tough, you went pretty hard on Charlie considering you just met him.”
Milo scoffed. “This whole time, I kept thinking that the reason none of us could get the backpack to open was because Arthur’s heir was the only one truly deserving of it. Like he was some Godlike figure that none of us could match up to. But that guy? That guy’s just another flimsy city kid. I could flick him and he’d fall over crying.” He mimed a flicking motion with his fingers. “And if that guy is our only hope of getting our powers back and keeping them? Might as well not get too used to using them again. Mark my words, he’ll be gone before the week is over. This will all be a cute story he tells people. In fact, he might even say it’s all made up. That we’re all made up. Our relics will turn off again, and we’ll be back to square one. You’ll see.”
“And what if he does stay?” asked Juno. “What if he sees everything this place is and all the people who live here and decides not to leave? What if he actually decides this is where he’s supposed to be?”
“That’s even worse!” growled Milo.
“How so?”
“Because if he stays, he’ll be doing so because he thinks we need him. He’ll be staying because he sees us all scrambling to survive, afraid to lose our powers and he’ll stay just so he can be the hero.”
“Honestly Milo, I don’t think saving us has even crossed his mind. Arthur was the kind of guy who saw people going through a rough time and gave them the tools to save themselves, but this guy is really only thinking about himself right now.”
Milo’s eyes darted to her. “And that makes it better?”
“No,” said Juno. “What I mean is, if anyone needs saving right now, it’s him.”
“Ugh, you’re such a sap,” said Milo, rolling his eyes.
“I’m serious! He’s not okay, Milo. When I’m near him, I can feel this ocean’s worth of pain inside him. It’s so different from what I’m used to.” She pointed at the butterflies still basking on Milo’s stomach. “With you, for example, I knew what needed fixing. I knew exactly where to send the butterflies to ease the pain and heal the wound. But Charlie, he is hurting everywhere. It’s practically radiating off him. When I got home this morning, I knew he was in the building, and I knew exactly where he was, because I could feel him from on the street.”
“So he’s a little depressed,” said Milo nonchalantly. “This is New York. Who isn’t?”
“He’s more than a little depressed. He’s given up completely.” A soft smile came to her face. “But when we started playing with Arty’s backpack; when he started figuring out how it worked, I could feel this tiny little spark come to life inside him.”
Milo glared at her. “Or maybe he just saw you and got turned on. Are you sure that little spark wasn’t just him picturing you naked?”
“Oh my god!” groaned Juno, slapping Milo’s arm.
Milo hissed in reply, grabbing at his arm where there was another deep cut from the earlier fight.
“Sorry,” she said, as one of the butterflies flitted over to Milo’s arm and sat atop the cut with its wings outstretched. “Anyway, he’s definitely gay,” she said as a matter of fact.
“You can’t possibly know that,” hissed Milo.
“I knew you were gay back when you were still a cat,” she said slyly. “Trust me.”
“Whatever,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.
“My point is, he needs our help.”
“Gross,” growled Milo.
“Easy tiger,” she said. She ended the song and the butterflies flitted off of Milo’s stomach before disappearing altogether. “How’s that? Feeling better?”
“Not at all,” said Milo, crossing his arms.
Juno stared at him with a knowing smile.
“Yes Tía Juno, I’m feeling much better,” he said, affecting a childlike tone.
“Good,” she said, standing up and patting his head between his ears. She went to the table to start cleaning up and organizing some of the clutter.
“You don’t have to do that,” said Milo, but he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he rolled over and nuzzled his face into the cushions, hugging one of the couch’s many pillows to his chest.
As she cleaned, she uncovered a framed photo of an older black woman with a small black and gray striped tabby sitting on her lap. Around its neck was a collar affixed with a star-shaped pendant. She sat the frame on the small table next to the couch. Then she went back to organizing mail, disposing of trash, and collecting the plates and glasses that were strewn across the apartment. Apparently, Milo was not one for doing dishes. Hopefully when he woke up, the clean apartment would help soften his bad attitude.
* * *
After tidying the apartment, Juno snuck quietly out, trying not to wake him.
“There you are,” said Charlie. She turned to see him rushing towards her from down the hallway.
“Hey, how’s it going up in the garden?”
“Good, I guess. I leveled up the backpack to level two, so that’s … something.” He wasn’t sure if it was worth getting excited over, but at least it felt like a step in the right direction.
“That’s great!” exclaimed Juno, then remembering that Milo was sleeping, moved away from the door and lowered her voice. “Did you get any new creations?”
“Actually, I did,” said Charlie. “However they seem to have a strong focus on farming, or possibly gardening? Are those two things the same?” He shook off the question. “Either way, I don’t really know how to do … any of that. The backpack also mentioned that I could level up again by farming, so that seems to be important.” He paused, contemplating the backpack’s last messages. “Though it also mentioned monsters. So that’s concerning. Oh, and I think there might be a wild animal on the roof!”
“A wild animal?” asked Juno.
“Yes, I saw … something in the bushes.” He gulped down his rising anxiety. “And I don’t want to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure it was hunting me.”
“Well, it is a little overgrown up there. Maybe it’s just like a wolf or a bear that lives in the garden?” She asked this as if it were perfectly normal.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he tried to decide if she was messing with him or not. “Should we be concerned that a terrifying wild beast is living on the roof of this building and might, I don’t know, attack someone up there?”
“Well you’re the only one with any reason to go up there at the moment,” she said, as though that made it less of a concern.
“So, we aren’t worried?” he asked, shakily.
“Nah, I’m sure it’s more scared of you than you are of it.”
“That is a bold claim.”
“Tell me more about this gardening thing,” she said, changing the subject. He stared at her, still imagining a roof grizzly eating him in the night, but finally rolled his eyes and pulled the backpack off his shoulders. He showed her the new creations he’d been given.
“Interesting,” she said. “These aren’t just good for planting things, but for gathering resources too. You’ve got a scythe for cutting grass faster, and an axe for clearing some of the trees. Oh and a pickaxe too! That should help you get rid of the rocks!”
“Hold on,” said Charlie, halting her thought process. “I’m not some construction worker or a lumberjack. I don’t know the first thing about cutting down trees or … pickaxing rocks. How am I supposed to do all these things? And for what? So I can pioneer a cleanup project on your roof? I didn’t sign up for this!”
“And what did you sign up for, exactly? What were you hoping to find when you came here this morning?” She crossed her arms and stared at him.
This gave him pause. Mostly because he didn’t actually have an answer. He wasn’t really sure what he’d hoped to find coming here, but it certainly hadn’t been a magical backpack capable of creating magical items, constructing buildings, and magically landscaping a whole forest.
He cleared his throat. “I … uh … guess I wanted to get to know more about my grandpa.”
“Well this, all of this, was incredibly important to him. We were incredibly important to him, and he was important to us. Maybe discovering the secrets of this backpack is your way of getting to know him, even if that might not feel super clear right now.”
Charlie sucked in a breath and then gave a conceding nod.
“Besides,” said Juno, leaning closer to him. “Milo thinks you’re gonna give up by the end of the week. It would be awesome if you could prove his grouchy butt wrong. I would literally pay to see him eat his words.”
Charlie let out a short laugh. “He really hates me, doesn’t he?”
“He’s a cat. He hates everybody. At least at first.” She grabbed his hand and made to move down the hallway. “But enough of that, let’s go see Harriet.”
Charlie followed her but not without asking the obvious question. “Who’s Harriet?”
“The plant lady,” said Juno.
“Right,” said Charlie. “And we’re going to see a plant lady because…”
She quirked her head at him as if it were the most preposterous question she’d ever heard. “Because you can’t plant a garden without seeds.”
This chapter very much feels like a transition to our next part of the story but I just love that we get a little moment of calm to explore Juno and Milo as friends. Juno is the bestie we all need in our life and I think that really shines through here. Milo is a booger butt but I love him to death and hope that you all will too, if not now, eventually! Can’t wait to start introducing you all to the other residents of Darkmoon Drive soon!
Juno led Charlie into the elevator. As she closed the gate behind them, she pressed a finger into a button marked ‘R.’
“R?” asked Charlie.
“Roof,” she replied
“There’s a garden on the roof?”
“There is a … garden on the roof.”
“Why’d you pause like that?”
“Did I pause?”
“You did. You paused.”
Juno sighed. “Just remember that in this situation, ‘garden’ is a relative term.”
This was not comforting to Charlie, but luckily it didn’t take long before the shaking elevator ground to a halt and she pulled open the gate.
They were definitely outside. Whether it was the roof or not remained to be seen. The late morning sky was visible above them and a cool breeze blew in through the open elevator door. But the knowledge that they were on a roof did not explain anything else that Charlie now saw before him. Charlie couldn’t help but feel as though he had just stepped through a magical portal. And he most certainly would not call anything he was now looking at a ‘garden.’
Just beyond the elevator door was a sprawling landscape more akin to an overgrown forest than a rooftop. Tall, lush trees stretched high into the sky, spreading their green leaves to bask in the sun. Layers of moss and vines crawled up their trunks which ranged from thick and sturdy to thin and knobby. Long-bladed grass, moss-coated boulders, berry-filled bushes, mushroom-infested logs and dead branches of various sizes covered the ground in every direction, stretching back into darkness. The shade of the trees above made seeing further into the forest’s depths impossible. And noticing this, Charlie realized that he also couldn’t see the edges of the roof. Usually when one stepped onto a roof, they could see the parapets which prevented people from falling off the building. But to his left and right, he only saw more forest. He turned and find that behind the elevator there stood a great brick wall, matching the exterior of the apartment building, built high enough that he couldn’t see beyond it. If Charlie didn’t know better, he’d have thought they had somehow taken a Brooklyn apartment elevator up to an unkempt portion of Central Park.
“What is … Where are … How is this possible?” asked Charlie, finding it difficult to form his thoughts or the words to articulate them. None of this made any sort of sense, and Charlie was not good in situations didn’t make sense. He liked order, and plans, and roofs that looked and acted the way a roof ought to. He needed to sit down, to catch his breath and wake up from this dream where nothing made sense. He dropped down to the dirt beneath his feet and sat, placing his head into his hands.
“I told you,” started Juno. “Arthur built this whole building. He created it using that backpack.” She gestured to the red backpack currently hanging from his back. “It doesn’t abide by the normal rules of reality because it was created with relic magic.”
Charlie shook his head, desperately trying to catch his breath. “You mean to tell me, he somehow created a forest … pocket dimension on the roof of a Brooklyn apartment?” He pulled the backpack off and tossed it on the ground in front of him. “And he did it … with that?”
“Well, yeah,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as if there weren’t anything more to it.
“It’s … not possible,” said Charlie.
“Oh Charlie,” she said with a wry grin. “Anything is possible.”
“Don’t Disney channel me,” he snapped, standing up and turning to face her. “This!” He waved his hands frantically at the forest around them, “is not possible!”
“An hour ago I bet you would have said the same thing about a backpack that turns one thing into another.”
“That was one piece of wood. This is the entire damn forest!”
Juno gave him a minute to calm down as she swayed on the balls of her feet. “Well, possible or not, the garden is sort of the answer to your current problem.”
“What current problem are we talking about?” asked Charlie, a frantic edge to his voice. “Because I would say ‘inherited magic apartment with Middle Earth on the roof’ is my main problem and this is not an answer to that. If anything, it brings up a whole bunch of other problems that I now have to wrap my head around. Like, question one, how do you grow sky high pine trees on a city roof?”
“Really, you think they’re pine?” asked Juno, peering up at the trees. “They look more like elm to me. Or oak. That one over there is definitely an oak.” She pointed to one of the nearby trees.
Charlie fumed. “Question two,” he pressed on, not caring whatsoever which type of trees were growing around him. “Why can’t anyone see any of this from the street? I definitely would have noticed if this building had a national park on the roof when I walked up!”
“Oh that’s the magic,” said Juno. “People don’t see it unless they’re looking for it. And let’s be honest, New Yorkers aren’t great at looking up.”
“Question three!” snapped Charlie. “This looks like it spreads out as far as a football field, or further. I don’t honestly know how big a football field is. My point is, this building is not as long as a football field! So how? How? HOW!?”
“Okay, take a breath.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and mirrored taking a deep breath in.
“I don’t want to breathe!” he yelled, pulling away from her.
“Well then you’re gonna suffocate and probably die!” she cut back.
“Maybe that would be for the best!”
Juno pulled back, but to his surprise, she didn’t look angry or disgusted. Her expression was filled with kindness and compassion. They stood for a long moment, both silent, allowing Charlie’s last words to hang, drift, and finally settle like fallen leaves.
“Charlie Cole,” said Juno softly. “I only just met you, but I can tell you without a doubt that there is no circumstance on this Earth where you dying would be ‘for the best.’ Do you hear me?”
Charlie chewed his bottom lip, avoiding her eyes.
“Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” he grumbled.
“Do you believe me?”
“I’m having a hard time believing anything right now,” he said. Finally he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “But I’m trying.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
Charlie sucked in a breath. “So,” he started, his voice much calmer than before. “What problem does this solve?”
Juno took a step towards the forest. “You need materials to make creations with the backpack. And this place just happens to be full of them.”
He eyed the forest suspiciously. “I … guess so.” Charlie had never once in his life foraged for anything outside of a yogurt in the back of the fridge. Looking around, he couldn’t help but think that this was going to take a good deal more work than that.
“Why don’t we take a look at the creations you can make so far,” said Juno.
Charlie bent over and picked the backpack off the ground. He turned it over and tapped the screen. Much like a tablet, he saw different icons on the screen with small labels beneath them.
“Do all the relics have this?” he asked.
“A menu?” asked Juno. “Some do. But none of them look like this.”
Charlie pressed the Inventory icon.
Inventory Wood x 2
He swiped back and clicked ‘Abilities’ next. There was only one.
Abilities
Creation Crafting You are able to craft materials into creations using learned creation recipes. New recipes unlock by leveling up or by meeting select conditions.
Charlie wondered what exactly ‘select conditions’ meant, but no further information was provided. He swiped back to the home screen and pressed ‘Settings.’ The only setting he could currently change was the language of the menu. According to a number at the side of the screen, there were 6,512 languages to choose from. He figured he’d not take any chances and leave this setting alone lest he change it and was then unable to change it back. He swiped back and finally clicked into the ‘Creations’ page.
Level One Creations
Wooden Plank – Useful for creating other wooden creations
Rope – Starting length: 25 ft. May be made longer by multiplying required materials.
Cardboard Box – A box made of cardboard.
Cup – Good for drinking out of. Beverage not included.
Pillow – Makes sleeping more comfortable
“Well I already made a wooden plank,” said Charlie.
“And it was very impressive,” joked Juno who was now looking over his shoulder. “Let’s check out the others.”
Charlie pressed Rope and found that it required 25 Grass.
“Easy!” exclaimed Juno. “Just go pick some grass and you’ll have yourself some rope!”
“And then I’ll be able to, what, join a rodeo? Catch a cow?” Charlie could not, at this moment, think of one time in his life when he had actually used, needed, or even touched rope.
“Hey, rope can be super useful!” said Juno. “Besides, this is about making things so that you can hopefully level up and unlock new creations.”
Charlie thought about the games he played. To some degree, this made sense. No mage started with a full spell list. They had to earn them through the steady process of gaining experience points. This process of making things just to make them would be known in a video game as ‘grinding.’ Usually, this meant killing low level enemies over and over again to get easy experience points until the player’s character leveled up. Charlie’s form of ‘grinding’ was apparently making rope. And if he made enough rope, hopefully he’d learn how to make something else just as futile.
“Okay, fine,” conceded Charlie. “I’ll make some stupid rope.” He awkwardly walked forward, moving towards the nearest patch of long grass. When he reached it, he leaned down and began to pull at the stalks which were surprisingly tough. He ripped them from the earth, flinging dirt onto his face and clothes. The longer stalks cut into the palms of his hands with their serrated edges. As he moved along, removing grass with his hands, he noticed more and more red cuts in his skin. With the exception of doing dishes, Charlie couldn’t recall a time when he had done this much physical labor in his entire life. He shoved another fistful of grass and dirt into the backpack. The stalks disappeared into it.
“You could help, you know?” he said, turning to look back at Juno.
She smiled and crossed her arms. “Oh,I know.”
“Unbelievable,” he mumbled under his breath as he went back to pulling grass up from the ground. He found that every time he put grass into the pack, the screen would briefly show the number of grass units going up. It seemed that one handful equated more or less to a single unit of grass. He briefly wondered who had been tasked in determining the value of units for the various ingredients the backpack needed to function.
After scrounging around on the ground for several minutes, he finally had exactly 25 grass. “That should do it!” he exclaimed. He stood up, selecting the rope from the menu on the front screen. A green progress bar filled up just as it had done with the wooden plank.
Crafting Successful! +1 Rope
He reached into the backpack and wrapped his hand around something rough. He pulled his hand back out and found that he was holding a tightly coiled length of thick yellow rope.
“Rope quest complete!” he exclaimed, thrusting the rope into the air victoriously. He turned, ready to accept his congratulations from Juno, but instead of her, he came face to face with a man. The man had light brown skin, piercing gray blue eyes, and seemed to be around the same age as Charlie. He wore a maroon beanie, a multicolored sweater, that was cut into a crop top, and white pants with black designs that appeared to have been drawn on with a thick black marker. Charlie couldn’t help but notice the man’s toned stomach, which was on full display. Around his neck was a black choker with a star shaped pendant hanging from its front. Somehow Charlie took this all in as his eyes and the man’s eyes remained locked onto each other.
“So this is him?” asked the man. To Charlie’s horror, he felt his cheeks flushing. Not out of anger or fear, but out of an indescribable and sudden attraction to the man before him. This man, however, gave Charlie a look which suggested that he wasn’t impressed in the slightest. “This is Arthur’s heir? This is the guy who gets the keys to the kingdom?” He shook his head.
“So I’ve been told,” said Charlie nervously. Charlie was not comfortable with people he didn’t know being so very close to him. Especially when the person in question had a jawline that could cut glass and smelled like a spring day just after its finished raining. Still, he wanted to be polite, so he offered a hand to the man, but also took a step back at the same time. The man was apparently not in the mood for handshakes though, because he ignored Charlie’s outstretched hand entirely.
“He left everything to you. The backpack. The apartment. The whole building. And yet, you didn’t even come to his funeral,” said the man.
“I didn’t actually know he had passed,” said Charlie in a meek voice.
“He died six months ago and you didn’t even know?” The man scoffed. “Or maybe you did know. You just didn’t care. But now that there’s an inheritance involved, well, you wasted absolutely no time getting here.”
“I … um…” Charlie didn’t know how to form all the thoughts spinning around his head into words. He didn’t know how to start explaining that he hadn’t chosen to not have a relationship with his grandfather. He hadn’t chosen to not know that Arthur had passed away. All of these things had just happened and now he was here and he still wasn’t even sure what being here even meant. “I just…”
“You just what?” snarled the man.
“Leave him alone Milo,” said Juno from behind him. “He’s still figuring it all out. He didn’t know anything about … anything. The letter and keys you dropped off were the first time he even knew this place existed. This is all totally new to him.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Milo, sniffed the air in front of Charlie. “You smell like dirt.”
“I was picking grass,” explained Charlie weakly. “To make rope. It was actually pretty hard. I’ve never really worked outside like this before and I—”
“Of course, you haven’t” interrupted Milo. “Let me guess, this is your first time seeing a tree?”
“No,” said Charlie, who was completely flustered now. He simply couldn’t figure out what he’d done to upset this person he’d just met. “I used to go camping a lot as a kid. Actually, this roof kind of reminds me of—”
“Camping!?” snapped Milo. “This is not some little adventure you go on for a week to get merit badges and sing songs by the campfire while you eat some mores.”
“I think you mean S’mores,” croaked Charlie.
“Shut up!” hissed Milo.
“Sorry, I just—” Charlie could feel himself shaking now. He was terrible at talking to new people, and he was even worse at having a full on conflict with them.
“This is our home. We live here. You think you can just suddenly come in here and replace Arthur?”
“No!” shot back Charlie. He most definitely did not think this, especially since he had no idea how he would replace someone he’d never known. He needed to turn this around and quickly. “But hey, Juno said your relics turned back on after I got here and opened the backpack. So that’s good … right?”
To Charlie’s horror, Milo gritted his teeth and seemed to get even angrier. “Yeah, it’s great,” he said, not sounding the least bit happy. “Now that you’re here, everything is fixed. It’s like Arthur never died. Like the last six months never happened. We’ve all been struggling with losing our powers, watching the building fall apart, trying to figure out how to keep moving forward without the man who gave us a second chance, and all along, all we really needed was a scrawny white boy to show up and save the fucking day.” The air around them seemed to freeze. Juno let out a soft gasp. Milo shook his head and turned back towards the elevator, glaring at Juno as he went. “My money says he gives up on all of this and runs home by the end of the week.”
“And so what if I do?” asked Charlie. Milo stopped, turning his head back. “What if I am gone by the end of the week? It’s not like I asked for any of this. I didn’t ask for rooftop forests or magic backpacks. The only thing I ever wanted from my grandfather was to know him, and he could barely be bothered to call on my birthday, and when he did, I was lucky if he got my age right.” Charlie could feel heat rising in his chest. “My mom told me my grandpa was lost in his own fantasy world. And sure, now I know that fantasy world was very real, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he left us so he could be here in this … fairy tale. He left our family, for all of you!”
“This isn’t a fairy tale!” growled Milo. “The people living in this building are real. And maybe your grandfather wasn’t there for you, but we owe him everything. He built this place from the ground up. He gave us a home, a purpose. And then he just … died! And apparently none of us was good enough to follow in his footsteps. None of us except you.”
Charlie swallowed hard and then spoke softly. “Maybe he just wanted to keep it in the family.”
“We are his family!” roared Milo. The words echoed off the trees around them. “We were his family.” This time, the words came out as a whisper.
“Okay,” said Juno, stepping between the two of them. “Let’s all just take a breath.”
“I’m good,” said Milo, turning away again. But this time he stopped in his tracks. Suddenly, he grasped his stomach, as a groan escaped his lips.
“Milo?” asked Juno in alarm.
Milo fell forward onto his knees. Before Charlie could react, Juno was at Milo’s side, her hand on his back. “I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not,” she reprimanded. “Milo, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s just a scratch,” he hissed.
“Let’s get you inside so I can take a look.” She turned to Charlie. “I’ll take care of him. You…um…”
“I’ll keep making rope,” sighed Charlie who was still shaken by the encounter with Milo. “Yeah, I got it.” His shoulders slumped as Juno helped Milo to his feet, walked him to the elevator, and disappeared as they descended into the bowels of the building.
Charlie turned to look at the forest around him. Tearing up grass to make rope hadn’t been very fun when he started, and now that he knew that at least one person in the building actively hated him, it made it even less appealing. Maybe Milo was right. Maybe he was just going to give up after a day or two. After all, he didn’t belong here. Even his grandfather had kept him and his mother away from this place. They were unwanted in his world of relics and magic. Charlie took a deep breath and then dropped the backpack and the rope onto the ground. He clapped his hands together to clean off the dirt, then turned to walk back to the elevator. But a thought stopped him in his tracks.
It was a simple question which arose in his mind. If he left now, where would he go? Before all of this, Charlie had been fully prepared to end his life. He had no prospects. No friends. No job. A mother who only acknowledged his existence when she needed something. But now he was here, doing something that was, at the very least, new and different. Sure, Milo’s words stung, but pulling the wooden plank and then the rope out of the backpack had made him feel something. Despite being completely outside the realm of reality, creating these seemingly useless items filled him with a strange sense of accomplishment, wonder and possibility.
And sure, he was just following the backpack’s instructions. He was just adding wood and making a plank; just throwing in grass and pulling out rope. But it still felt like he was doing something. A task completed. A quest turned in. A single footstep in a direction he’d never walked before. And Charlie liked this feeling, which was surprising because Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed anything.
He slowly turned back to look down at the discarded backpack. He took a step forward, leaned down, and picked it back up off the ground. Then he quietly went back to pulling grass and inserting it into the backpack. Charlie didn’t know if he could shoulder the huge responsibility his grandfather had left him. He didn’t know if he could prove to Milo that he was worthy of being here. He didn’t know if he would still be at Darkmoon Drive by the end of the week. But pulling up grass and putting it in the backpack to make a coil of rope? This he could do. He’d done it once and he could do it again.
Before long, he’d made a second rope. And then a third. Soon, he had a whole pile of rope coils just sitting on the ground around him. As he repeated this task of pulling grass and making rope, he slowly cleared away a small patch of earth. And in creating this small clearing, he felt that he was quietly giving the forest a small bit of love and care. He had created this small patch of forest with his own hands. The sweat from his brow and the blood from his hands was a part of it now. And this made Charlie feel, if only for a brief moment, that he wasn’t such a stranger in this place.
He was creating his twelfth rope when he heard a high pitched ringing sound jingling from the backpack. He almost dropped the bag in surprise. He threw the newly created rope on the ground and turned the pack around to look at the front screen.
Congratulations! Level 2 Unlocked!
“Yes!” yelled Charlie, pumping his fists into the air. He quickly lowered them again. He wasn’t used to making sounds of excitement as he was rarely excited about anything at all, and the fact that he had done so made him feel an odd sense of embarrassment despite being alone. He looked back at the screen.
New Creations Unlocked!
This was it! Finally he’d be able to make something useful. He swiped down to inspect the list of new recipes.
Basic Axe – Useful for chopping wood
Basic Hoe – Useful for tilling, weeding and planting
Basic Watering Can – Holds 1 Gallon of water
Basic Pickaxe – Useful for mining resources, breaking down rocks
Basic Scythe – Better at cutting grass than your hands
Basic Sword – Low level weapon
Ladder – Stands 6 ft. tall
New Ability Acquired! Light the Way – Once per day you may pull a basic flashlight from the backpack at no cost. This flashlight will expire after 24 hours.
Charlie stared at the list in utter disbelief. “What the hell is this?” he asked no one in particular. “What even is a basic hoe?” he wondered aloud, noting that the only time he ever heard the term was when he was being called a ‘basic ho’ by his high school boyfriend during their breakup fight. “What am I supposed to do with any of this?” The ladder might be useful, and the sword definitely appealed to his nerdier side but everything else seemed to be aimed at giving him new ways to manually labor, and he hadn’t necessarily been aching for more tasks like pulling grass in his immediate future. Just as he was getting ready to angrily throw the backpack into one of the nearby trees, a new message appeared.
Tutorial Message: With each new level, your relic will gain new creations and previously learned creations will have lower costs. Some may even become free over time.
Actions which grant experience towards Level 3 Craft more creations Farming Monster Fighting
The screen returned to the main menu. Charlie was even more perplexed than before. Farming? Monster fighting? What exactly did this backpack have in mind? And if this had once belonged to his grandfather, had the old man really leveled it up by building a farm and fighting monsters? This was New York City, not Middle Earth. The only monster he could think of fighting was a rat running away with a slice of pizza.
And he didn’t know the first thing about farming. The only knowledge he had of farming were simulation games he’d played on his computer. But then, was that what this was? Perhaps he actually jumped off the bridge last night, and now he was being forced to live out a realistic farming simulation game. That explanation would at least help everything make sense. But knowing his incredibly bad luck, he was probably still alive and all of this insanity was, in fact, real.
Charlie now had an incredible number of new questions, and the only person he knew with at least some answers was Juno. Before doing anything else, he would need to consult with her again.
He sighed and let his shoulders slump in mild defeat. Before heading back into the building, however, he decided to try activating his new ability. He pulled up the Ability menu and selected ‘Light the Way.’ He reached into the backpack and felt around until his hand wrapped around something plastic cylindrical. He pulled his hand back out to find it gripping a very basic red flashlight; the kind you could buy at a convenience store in case of emergency.
He flicked it on with the white switch on its side and aimed it towards the darkest part of the forest.
He froze.
Far off in the bushes, two large round eyes were staring back at him.
“Gaaaah!!!” he cried, dropping the flashlight and jumping backwards. “Crap!” He quickly scrambled to pick the flashlight back up. He aimed the beam of light back into the bushes, but the eyes were already gone. He waited for a long moment, afraid to move, afraid to stay still. “H-hello?” he called in a shaky voice. He wasn’t sure what response he expected, or even if he wanted a response at all. The eyes had been much lower to the ground than his own, so he didn’t think it was a person. No, it had to be some sort of wild animal. Or perhaps … one of the monsters the backpack mentioned?
He slowly backed away until his back bumped against the elevator. He jabbed a finger into the call button and waited, sweeping the light back and forth in front of him. When the elevator finally arrived, he backed himself into it, never taking the light off the bushes in the distance. He only switched off the light once the doors were shut and the elevator was moving down into the building.
Oh wow, this is a LONG chapter! But you’ll thank me for long chapters when we get to some later on that are criminally short. That being said, I love how much information we get in this chapter. We learn more about the backpack. We see the Garden for the first time. We see a monster in the woods??? I often describe this series as Stardew Valley in the city and I’m hoping now you are really starting to see what that means and how this little apartment building has some big possibilities in the future!
As always, let me know what you think of this chapter, and the story so far, in the comments!
Not too far away, Milo dropped from a different rooftop, down to a landing just outside the bedroom window of Mr. Harold Wilder. He peered in through the gap between the curtains. The room inside was dark, lit only by a soft red nightlight, an odd choice, Milo thought, for a grown man, and the early morning twilight which seeped in from outside. He adjusted the maroon beanie on his head and tightened his fingerless gloves, before lifting the window just enough that he could fit his slender, agile body through it. He rolled into the room, landing on all fours.
Just like a cat.
Despite what Juno said, Milo was very much a man, or at least he was mostly a man. His features were those of a completely normal twenty-five-year-old man. He had beige-toned skin, tightly coiled natural black hair, beneath the beanie, and piercing gray-blue eyes. Around his neck, he wore what seemed to be a thin red collar with a silver star-shaped pendant which hung just beneath his throat. His royal blue coat dusted the floor like a cloak as he stood and made his way to the ornate dresser where sat several small ceramic boxes full of trinkets. One by one, he opened the boxes until he found what he was looking for: a golden locket in the shape of a heart, attached to a thin chain necklace. He undid the clasp and opened it to find a photo of Mrs. Eveline Wilder, a much younger woman than when he had met her several days earlier, standing next to an older woman, presumably her mother, in front of an old farmhouse.
Much like this trinket, Eveline was no longer Harold’s. Milo was a jack of all trades and had many well-to-do clients who paid him handsomely to do odd jobs, one of which included the procuring of lost, or stolen, goods. Eveline had been recommended Milo’s services from a friend of hers whom she regularly played tennis with, and Milo had agreed to help her. For a fee of course. After all, Harold Wilder was a powerful man. A rich man. A man who ran a multi-million dollar corporation by day and an even more lucrative crime ring by night. Though according to the authorities, there wasn’t enough proof of the latter to press any kind of charges. Milo was putting his life on the line to be in this apartment. If he was caught, Harold would hunt him to the ends of the earth.
“Put it down, and turn around slowly,” said a calm voice behind Milo. Milo froze. He was sure the apartment was empty. He watched Harold leave. Or at least, he thought he did. Despite the request, he did not put the trinket down. He slowly turned to face Harold. Milo grinned at the man, sly and nonchalant.
Never show them your fear.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?” asked Milo, as if it were Harold intruding.
“Help me?” asked Harold. Milo now saw that the man was holding a silver handgun pointed directly at him. Other than this, Harold wasn’t all that threatening. He was a man of average height with light skin and salt and pepper hair. His face was rigid and pointed like that of someone who often had to make cold, calculating decisions. He too wore a coat, the one that Milo had seen him wearing when he left. “You’re in my house!”
Milo looked around. “Wait! This isn’t Barclay’s Center?” He grabbed his chest in mock surprise. “Unbelievable! I knew I shouldn’t have taken directions from that old lady on the corner. I mean, I thought it was weird that she was screaming that JFK Jr. was coming back to save us all. But I figured she was just a little crazy. I figured she could be off her rocker and still know her way around Cobble Hill. Never want to make assumptions, ya know? I swear. Just when you try to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
Harold switched the safety off. “What are you doing in my home?”
“Well I thought I was seeing the Jonas Brothers perform, but apparently—”
Harold cocked the pistol. “I am giving you one more chance before I blow your fucking head off,” snapped Harold. “Now tell me, did she send you? Are you here for Eveline? Because she should know better than to send a two-bit thief into my home. If she thinks she’s even getting a penny of my—”
From under his coat, Milo whipped out a yellow umbrella, swung it upwards, and knocked the gun out of Harold’s hand with a loud ‘THWACK!’ The umbrella remained closed, a silver clasp holding it snug. It was a classic, straight umbrella with a polished handle and hooked end. However, unlike most umbrellas, it had been crafted by a master weaponsmith to have all the durability and design of a well crafted martial weapon. That being said, it was also quite effective at sheltering its user from the rain.
Milo jumped left and kicked off the wall. He spun in the air, landing a second kick across Harold’s face, and sent the man sprawling. Unfortunately, Harold fell right in front of the window which Milo had used to enter the room. The same window he was planning to escape through.
“Shit,” Milo hissed. He turned and lunged for the room’s door, slammed through it, and sped off down a long hallway, fixing the umbrella back onto the clasp on the belt around his waist.
“Get back here you little shit!” yelled Harold from behind him.
Milo pushed on each door he came to, searching frantically for another exit. There was a loud popping noise behind him, and then a chunk of drywall exploded next to his head, signaling that Harold was in the hallway now and firing the gun recklessly as he chased Milo. Milo came out the other end of the hallway to a dining room. A long table surrounded by six chairs, set with a white cloth and flowery centerpiece, filled most of the room. There were cabinets pushed against the walls as well as photos and antiquities hanging from them. But what caught Milo’s attention was the far wall which was covered in tall windows.
He jumped over the table, then smashed one of the windows with his umbrella. The glass shattered, showering the alley below. He pulled himself out the window, grabbed onto the ledge above it, and started pulling himself up.
But he wasn’t fast enough. Harold reached through the shattered window and grabbed Milo’s foot, pulling him down. Milo kicked out but Harold was stronger than him, and soon he found himself being pulled back into the dining room. Shards of broken glass sticking out from the window’s frame dug into his skin. Pain shot through his body and blood seeped from the wounds, soiling his shirt and pants. He scrambled, flailing his arms as he tried to grab onto something, anything, but it was no use.
Harold swung Milo by his ankle, throwing him onto the dining table, which snapped in half. The flower centerpiece crashed to the ground, sending roses careening across the room and shattering the white vase they’d been in. Milo rolled off the broken table, onto the floor. He scrambled to stand up, to get his bearings. In the confusion, one corner of his coat snagged on the broken table and ripped off of him, and his beanie fell to the floor. He finally freed himself from the table’s remains, and as he stood, grabbing his beanie off the floor, Harold gasped in surprise.
Atop Milo’s head, nestled in his thick, tightly coiled black hair, were two pointed gray and black striped cat ears. And if this wasn’t already an unbelievable sight, waving behind him, starting at the base of his spine just above his rear, was a fluffy striped tail which flicked back and forth in frustration.
“What …. are you?” asked Harold, a look of horror filling his face.
“What I am…” replied Milo, “is pissed off.”
Every muscle in his body ached. Blood dripped from his wounds. It had been some time since Milo had found himself in a spot as tight as this and chances were good he wouldn’t make it out alive. Still, if he was going down, he was going down swinging. He took in a deep, strained breath, and prepared for what would most likely be the final fight of his life.
It was at this moment that the star shaped pendant hanging from the red collar around his neck lit up. Milo heard a voice, which sounded very much like his mother’s, whisper in his ear. As the voice spoke, its words magically appeared before him, visible only to him.
Reset Complete Level 1 Unlocked!
New Melee Arte Unlocked!
Catlike Reflexes Passive Ability You channel your inner feline. Movement speed increased by 50% Reaction speed increased by 100%
Licked Wounds Passive Ability Increases natural recovery rate and ability to survive minor wounds
Actions which grant experience towards Level 2 – Channel Cat Like Reflexes in order to build your strength. – Improve speed, strength and stamina through training. – Stay alive.
Milo gave a surprised laugh. “Looks like Juno was wrong about fate.” The words disappeared and the whispers ceased, leaving Milo face to face with Harold.
“Whatever you are, I’m sure you can still die,” snarled Harold. He steadied the gun in his hand.
“You’re really gonna kill me, Harold?” asked Milo. “You want that blood on your hands? You want that police investigation? The media attention? The paperwork?”
Harold cackled like a deranged super villain. “You are breaking and entering into my home. And let’s be honest, you’re nobody.” He eyed Milo up and down, taking in the young man. “They’ll care even less with the law on my side and some cash lining their pockets.”
“Wow! Rich and corrupt. Shocking!” quipped Milo, sounding not the least bit shocked.
“So long, cat boy.” The gun fired. The pendant hanging from Milo’s neck glistened as if catching the quickest reflection of light. The words Catlike Reflexes Now Active appeared in Milo’s vision. Before the bullet could hit him, he grabbed the hilt of the umbrella hanging from his waist, swung upwards, and deflected the bullet. It ricocheted into the wall. Harold shot again. To Milo, it was as if the bullets were now moving in slow motion, giving him the time he needed to defend against them. Four more bullets fired only to be blocked one by one by the ultra-dense wood of the umbrella.
“Just die already!” Harold cried. He threw the empty gun to the side and grabbed for a long decorated sword hanging above one of the cabinets on a nearby wall. He pointed the sword at Milo, prepared to duel.
“I received three gold medals for fencing in my time at Duke,” said Harold proudly. Milo got the impression that he relished sharing this very unimportant information with anyone who would listen.
“Fancy,” said Milo. “I used to be a cat.”
“I prefer dogs,” spat Harold.
“I prefer men who don’t cheat on their wives with their secretaries,” said Milo. Harold’s face turned bright red. “Guess we both picked the wrong company today.”
They lunged at each other, Milo with his umbrella and Harold with his sword. The two weapons clashed, swinging and crashing into the chandelier above. Electrical sparks and glass showered the room. Milo twisted the hilt of the umbrella, expanding it to its full size, knocking Harold back.
Harold quickly recovered and leapt back into the fray, grabbing the umbrella, and spinning Milo and the weapon around so that Milo’s back was to the shattered window. Milo closed the umbrella and parried, avoiding a swipe from the sword. Harold’ eyes suddenly filled with a manic glee. Before Milo could understand why, Harold’s free hand whipped out and stabbed a steak knife into Milo’s stomach.
The pain shot through Milo’s whole body as a gasp escaped his lips.
Harold leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “Now get the hell out of my house.” Then he kicked Milo unceremoniously through the window.
Milo fell several stories towards the dark alley below. But just as he was about to slam into the ground, his tail spun, his body twisted, and he landed, crouched on the balls of his feet. He coughed and blood spewed from his mouth, spattering the pavement.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” screamed Harold from above.
Milo stood, using his umbrella to support his wait, and pointed a middle finger up towards a raging Harold. “Nine lives bitch!” he yelled back. He wasn’t sure if he actually had nine lives, but if he did, this little stunt would certainly use up one of them. What was this, his fourth? Fifth? He’d lost count. He prodded the skin around the knife wound, then gripped the handle of the steak knife and yanked it free in one pull.
“Gah!” he cringed. He could already feel the minor cuts on his arms and legs closing up thanks to his “Licked Wounds” ability. The knife wound would take some extra attention. Luckily, it didn’t seem as though it had cut into anything important. At least he hoped it hadn’t. He was still standing, which was usually a good sign. Harold was still cursing wildly from the window above, but Milo no longer cared.
He turned and began stumbling down the alleyway, using the brick wall to steady himself.
He had a necklace to deliver, a payment to receive, and then it would be time to reward himself with a delicious dinner somewhere, and maybe a visit to Juno to get patched up. She lost her ability to do so magically when they all lost their powers, but she still knew her way around a bandage and a sewing kit.
He was also curious what had triggered the pendant on his collar, his relic, to activate suddenly after being dormant for so long. Had Arthur’s heir actually made it to the apartment? Had they managed to open the backpack? Had anyone else’s relics started working again? Even with all the curiosity spinning through his mind, he reminded himself that some curiosities could kill a cat.
He decided that his questions could definitely wait, at least until after breakfast.
I have SO much to say about Milo but I will try to keep some of it for future chapters. First and foremost, Milo was, at one point, a character in his own story. I had outlined a tale about Milo but felt it didn’t have enough to really make it a full story. This is also true of Juno as well. Eventually I would start to imagine them in a tale with Charlie and it all just seemed to click together. In some ways, Milo is the easiest character for me to write. He’s sharp and sassy and any time I am not sure what he would do, I just watch my cats for a few minutes and it all comes together.
I’m also excited that we get our first action scene in this chapter! Don’t worry, there are plenty more where that came from!
What do you think of Milo’s entrance into the world of Darkmoon Drive? Let me know in the comments!
Fen Pentacoster was halfway into his morning walk around the block when the silver moose atop his cane suddenly glowed to life in his hand with a gentle golden hue. He peered down at the cane with a raised eyebrow.
“Well isn’t that something?” he asked, holding the cane up lengthwise with both hands and examining it. Along the dark metal, a message revealed itself in glowing cursive letters.
Relic Reset Complete Level 1 Unlocked!
This message vanished, pouring off the cane like golden dust being blown away by a gentle breeze. What followed were several more messages, each which appeared and then vanished in the same way as the first.
New Commands Unlocked!
Stay – Lvl 1 Commands a single inanimate object to stay in place. Cannot defy natural physics or gravity
Come – Lvl 1 Commands a single inanimate object to come to you. Maximum weight of object is 50 lbs.
Follow – Lvl 1 Commands a single inanimate object to follow you until Command is released with a ‘Stay’ Command. Maximum weight of object is 50 lbs.
Actions which grant experience towards Level 2 – Command multiple objects – Use commands to assist others in daily activities – Be intentional and considerate when giving commands. Even inanimate objects have feelings.
“Well I’ll be…” said Fen as a smile spread across his face. He turned in place, planting the cane back on the ground. “Now let’s see,” he said, searching the small lawns which ran alongside the cement walkway. His eyes flashed with excitement as he spotted a garden gnome with a red tunic and blue hat lying on its side, forgotten in an untended plot of dirt. Despite its forlorn nature, the gnome still wore a jolly smile between two rosy cheeks and a long, pointy, white beard.
Fen lifted the cane and then slammed it hard into the ground. “Come!” he commanded. For a moment, the gnome didn’t move. Then, slowly, it began to rock back and forth before abruptly tipping itself upright. It tottered across the lawn and onto the sidewalk to stand in front of Fen.
Fen eyed the gnome and then sighed. “Now don’t look at me like that Tilldrum,” said the old man. “When Arthur passed, our relics all but turned off. I couldn’t even get the microwave in my apartment to turn on. Well, I mean, I could turn it on the old fashioned way but … oh you know what I mean.” He took a deep breath and then smiled down at the gnome who had not reacted at all. “But nevermind all that. Things appear to be starting up again and I would be honored, Tilldrum, if you would join me for a walk. Just like we used to.”
The gnome did not react.
Fen laughed and clapped his hands. “I knew you’d say yes, you old so and so.” Fen turned back towards the sidewalk he’d been walking along and planted the cane onto the ground once more. “Follow me Tilldrum.” At this, the gnome clinked along behind Fen, following the old man as he continued his morning stroll just as they had done so many times before.
Relic Reset Complete
Level 1 Unlocked!
A version of this message was seen by every single resident of Darkmoon Drive. It was seen by a young man as flaming letters curled across the front of a large black forge. It was seen by a woman sitting in a room filled with treasures as it typed itself out on a golden antique cash register. A thin man sitting in a room filled with fabrics and threads watched the message scrawl in tiny letters across a copper thimble which sat on his right middle finger. Another young man didn’t see the words, but instead heard them, whispered to him by a glowing pendant which hung around his neck. His cat ears twitched in surprise.
Relic Reset Complete Level 1 Unlocked!
Juno De La Cruz was standing on the Q train platform at the Times Square subway station when she saw the message. She was setting the case of her instrument on the cement floor, propped open to entice passersby to throw a dollar or two in as she played while waiting for her train. Juno played a very unique instrument which she referred to as a ukeytar. It had the body of a small four-stringed instrument, but a range of black and white keys ran up its neck. The strings of the body mysteriously disappeared beneath these keys. But despite being half ukulele and half keytar, it had once been able to actually produce any sound she wanted. She could play the latest viral pop song, a banging rock concert, or she could even make listeners hear an entire orchestral suite. And that was only a small slice of the power she had once been able to wield.
She’d decided today would be a good day for some light pop music; top 100 playlist vibes. These were always more recognizable and thus got more people to toss her their loose change. Tourists loved pop music. They loved to be able to recognize the song. It was as if they found comfort in the simple familiarity of a song amidst this intimidating urban jungle filled with confusing train schedules, uptowns, downtowns and burroughs. She had planned to simply play in the station for a bit, catching the early morning crowd on their way to work in hopes of making some extra money, when the words curled to life across the koa wood that made up the body of her instrument. The words quickly sped their way up the keys, playing out a tune as they went, and were replaced by even more words along the instrument’s wooden face.
New Playlists Unlocked!
Any Song played in the musical genre of an unlocked Playlist will have the listed effect. A Casting Prelude consisting of a number of bars is required for casting a Playlist.
Dream Pop Prelude – 4 Bars Reshapes Reality around the listener to create an alternate world in their mind’s eye which is cheerful, jubilant and head-bop worthy.
Actions which grant experience towards Level 2 – Play a song from the DreamPop playlist for one or more people to help lift their spirits.
She looked down at the instrument with surprise at first. But as the words continued appearing on its wooden surface, she realized she was finally regaining her musical spells. Well, only one spell for now. But it was a start. A broad smile spread across her face. Something, or someone, had caused the relics to come back to life.
“Well this calls for a celebration,” she said to herself. She closed the empty case, keeping the ukeytar slung over her shoulder, and went to stand at the edge of the platform, eagerly awaiting the next Q Train.
Juno was twenty-three years old and stunningly beautiful. She had wavy brunette hair which hung down her back, sparkling chestnut eyes, and the kind of smile which warmed even the coldest room. She wore a tangerine sundress covered in printed flowers, a belt at her waist, and a slim denim jacket.
As the train arrived, she took a deep breath and exhaled, centering herself as she did before every performance. Juno frequently performed on subway platforms, street corners and occasionally in city parks, but it had been quite some time since her relic had worked the way it was meant to.
Ever since Arthur’s death, her ukeytar had slowly been losing power, forgetting playlists she’d learned, and becoming weaker until finally all magic he had imbued into his creation was spent entirely. It was now, for all intents and purposes, just a regular instrument, albeit a very odd looking one. But if the message she’d just seen was to be believed, something somewhere had caused some of that magic to return. She would need to return home to Darkmoon Drive to investigate further. In the meantime, she wanted to test the waters of her returning abilities. A more reserved person might have sought a private space or waited until they were home to test their power. But Juno was simply too excited to wait, and besides, what was the point of magic if you couldn’t show it off to the world? What was the point of being a performer if there wasn’t an audience?
The train sped into the station, coming to a stop in front of her and the other waiting commuters. The doors slid open, giving way to a bustling crowd that stepped off the train and took off into the station. Once they were out of the way, Juno and several others stepped onto the train, and the doors slid closed behind them. It was common for performers to play instruments, dance, or even sing on train cars, but most New Yorkers had gotten very good at ignoring them. Some were even visibly annoyed when they saw a performer stepping onto their train. More than a few times, Juno had stepped onto a train, ukeytar in hand, only to see several businessmen and women stick up their noses and move to another train car before the doors slid closed. As if it were some great injustice to be treated to a free show! Because of this, most of her tips in the last several months without her powers had come from tourists who still found a song played to them as they traveled from one end of the city to another to be part of the magic of New York.
The train wasn’t completely crowded, but there were still several commuters, both sitting and standing, along the length of the train. At the sight of her holding her instrument, most people on the train looked away or became visibly more engrossed in their phone screen, book, newspaper or the conversation they were having with the person next to them.
But Juno was not dissuaded. She simply put on a brave smile and pulled the ukeytar up into position, nestled comfortably in her hands, one hand on the strings, and one hand on the keys. As the doors closed, she played the first notes and instantly felt the magic surge through her fingertips. Words lit up in glowing gold letters along the wood of the ukeytar just above the strings.
Now Playing Dreampop Playlist.
Her relic was alive once more.
She began the song on the keyboard, playing a few notes which sounded like an upbeat electric guitar backed by drums. It was a popular song, one which had just seen a resurgence thanks to being part of a viral dance on several different social media apps. A few people glanced her way, most likely surprised by the fact that her little instrument sounded like a full band. Two bars into the song, she began to sing, her voice filling the space of the train and eliciting a few more looks. The power of Juno’s uketar was matched by the strength and beauty of her voice. But the best was yet to come. Three bars in, she began to tap her foot to the beat. If anyone had thought to look down, they might have seen splashes of color spreading out from her sneakers to the rhythm of the song. It was as if her feet were painting the song onto the floor.
Unfortunately, people, especially those who are actively trying to ignore something or someone, never notice magic, even when it’s playing out right in front of them.
Four bars in, she walked down the center of the train car, each step causing ripples of purple, blue, and pink to appear in her wake. It was as if the floor were actually a rainbow colored stream, and she was dancing across it. Finally, some of the passengers were starting to pay attention. Some of them were even keeping the beat for themselves, tapping out the rhythm on the floor or with a single finger on their laps or arms. One older gentleman, who had given Juno a cold glare upon her boarding the train, now unconsciously shimmied his shoulders, which betrayed the scowl still plastered to his face.
Juno bent over to play a scaling riff, and when she stood back up, the train’s windows transformed. Gone were the gray subway tunnels rushing by. They’d been replaced by hypnotizing colors which shook and morphed to the beat of the song. A moment later, the whole train was pulsating with vivid colors, strobes and glitter. It was as if the train had become a traveling dance club.
Juno sat down next to the scowling man and played a gliss, pulling her hand across all the keys of the ukeytar from high to low. The train’s seats mirrored the movement, rolling in a wave that launched everyone still sitting onto their feet. The older man was thrown into the arms of an older lady wearing a purple coat. The two began to dance, spinning and twirling from the Lindy Hop to the Jive. At one point, laughing merrily, he even dipped her!
At long last, everyone on the train was now dancing, swinging, jumping, bopping, and laughing in the middle of a large music hall complete with a full band. A chandelier spun above them, casting lights across the floor and walls. Trumpets blared. Some were even singing along boisterously to the song. Flowers, birds, and butterflies twirled through the air, appearing animated as if they had jumped straight out of a children’s cartoon.
Guitar and bass alike dug into the song as the drums beat out the rhythm driving the whole company forward. A DJ added scratches to the mix and backup singers harmonized with Juno’s voice.
Drinks were on the house! Champagne and spirits poured from fountains into glasses that the passengers clinked in cheers to better days right before they started back into their dancing.
A microphone appeared out of thin air and Juno, who enjoyed all forms of music, rapped a poem into it.
By the time she returned to the chorus of the song, the train car, and reality as everyone knew it was just a faded memory. Everyone was full of joy. Any pain, sadness, worries, or doubts that had existed before getting on the train were now trivial and simply melted away.
“This is Penn Station, 34th street!” barked an announcer over head.
The song ended.
The train car’s doors slid open and everything was normal once again. It was as if nothing strange had happened at all and the passengers had only dreamed it between stops. As they left the train they nodded at her in thanks for the song. Some, still in a daze, placed a dollar or two in the case propped open at her feet.
Juno’s breaths were heavy after the performance. It had been so long since she’d been able to play like that—to use her music to truly connect with people—and to bring joy into their lives. She felt fulfilled in a way she hadn’t known for months. She looked down at the ukeytar as another message scrawled across its surface.
Congratulations on playing your first show! Your efforts have allowed you to connect with your music on a deeper level and to heal the souls of all who heard it.
Salsa Prelude – 2 Bars Throws a small sized fireball towards the listener.
Actions which grant experience towards Level 3 – Continue playing shows to lift hearts and minds – Heal minor wounds – Defensive experience gained from Salsa playlist.
Yes!” cheered Juno, pumping a hand into the air. She couldn’t help but be overjoyed at the return of her abilities. But she still had so many questions. What had caused the relic to start working again? Had everyone’s relics come back to life or just hers? Was Arthur back? No, that couldn’t be. Arthur was gone. But perhaps someone had finally found his heir. With so many questions somersaulting through her mind, she knew there was only one place to go if she wanted answers.
The train doors closed and Juno waited patiently as the Q Train barreled South. Towards Brooklyn. Towards answers. Towards home.
Of the four main characters in Relics, Juno and her power have DEFINITELY gone through the most changes. At one point, she used dancing to enact her power which was more based around electricity. But as time went I kept having ideas I wanted for her character and her abilities and they just kept not working with the dancing element. Even down to the second to final draft her powers went through a pretty big change. Now that we’re here, she’s become this incredibly compassionate, yet wildly overpowered spell slinging musician and I wouldn’t have her any other way!
Charlie took two trains, a bus, and walked seven blocks before finally arriving at Darkmoon Drive. The street itself was very short, connecting two other much more prominent streets for no real reason other than possibly some ill-conceived shortcut. There were precisely four buildings on the street. A derelict convenience store, closed due to reasons undisclosed by the city health inspector, a building that might have once been an auto repair shop or possibly just someone’s glorified garage, also closed. Darkmoon Drive sat between these two abandoned buildings on the same side of the street. Another abandoned building stood on the opposite side of the street. This abandoned building looked the worst of all of them with its broken out windows, spray-painted brick walls and crumbling awnings. Darkmoon Drive itself wasn’t much better off. It wasn’t necessarily a tall apartment building, coming in at just seven stories. And though it wasn’t much to look at, it was the only life on the whole street.
Each floor of the brown-stoned building had five windows visible from the street. A few of the windows were boarded up, while others glowed with lights from the inside. One window had a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt hanging from it, most probably to help them dry. Though the clothes seemed to have worn on the window sill, having cycled past clean to dirty once more. Moss and ivy snaked their way in all directions up the exterior, not in a fashionable cottage-core way, but more in a ‘why has no one shown this building any sort of care’ kind of way. The whole structure was protected behind an obstacle course of potential hazards. A sharp, jagged, tilting, wire fence and gate opened to a broken pavement walkway that progressed to three suspiciously crumbling cement stairs that ascended up to a large dark blue doorway, complete with a door covered in chipped paint, which looked as though it might give you a splinter just by thinking about it or fall off its hinges altogether. One side of the building had a fire escape from the second floor up to the seventh, connecting several landings on which sat a variety of potted plants. All of which were dead and brown.
“Yikes,” said Charlie under his breath. He reached out and carefully grabbed the gate, pushing it open to walk through, but rather than swing inward, the gate simply separated itself from the fence and toppled to the walkway with a terrible crash. “Shit!” he yelped, stepping across the threshold, reaching down and haphazardly attempting fix the gate. His back to the building, he glanced around frantically to make sure no one else had seen his mishap. He placed the gate back in place how he thought it was supposed to be and then stepped away, eyeing it suspiciously to see if it would fall again.
“Not to worry,” called a voice from the doorway. Charlie jumped in surprise, which in turn caused the gate to topple with a loud clang all over again. He whirled in place to see an elderly man tottering down the stairs, leaning heavily on a black cane with a silver moose-shaped grip on top.
“Likes to do that sometimes,” said the man. He wore a black peacoat over a maroon shirt, slacks, and a navy blue scarf, which hung loosely around his neck. He had pale, wrinkled skin, wavy gray hair, a thin frame and incredibly kind cerulean blue eyes, which caught Charlie off guard. It was rare in New York City for a stranger to look upon you with absolute kindness and empathy in their eyes. Usually, they looked at you with fury because you happened to be standing in their way or simply not walking fast enough.
“I’m sorry,” said Charlie, pointing at the gate on the ground. “I was just trying to—”
“You were just trying to come through the gate,” said the old man. “Which makes perfect sense. Gates are meant to be gone through. If anyone’s at fault, it’s this darned gate for underperforming on its designated duties.”
What an odd thing to say, thought Charlie, giving a slight grin. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Now let me see,” said the old man, bending over shakily and picking up the gate. Charlie reached down to help him and together they propped the gate back in place. “Alright, now stand back young man, and I’ll see if we can’t make this right.”
Charlie took a small step towards the apartment building. The man stood in front of the gate and eyed it, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his lip. Then, like a wizard placing his staff before him to perform a powerful spell, he pounded the cane into the walkway.
“Listen up!” he commanded. Charlie perked up, listening intently. “You stay there and be a good gate,” continued the old man. “And don’t go falling off your hinges again. It’s bad form. Ya hear?”
Silence.
Charlie wanted to laugh, out of shock or embarrassment for the old man, he wasn’t sure, but he stopped himself. Was this guy seriously talking to this gate as though it were a misbehaving child? But then, to Charlie’s great surprise, the gate creaked and squeaked out a sound in response.
I-heeaaaar…
Surely, to think that the gate spoke was absolutely insane since gates were incapable of replying to the demands of crazy old men with moose canes. The old man gave the gate a knock with his cane, and to Charlie’s astonishment, the gate stayed firmly in place.
“That’s more like it,” grumbled the old man and then turned back to look at Charlie with a warm smile. “Sometimes you have to put these things in their place.”
“Sure,” said Charlie, laughing nervously. He was beginning to suspect that this old man was completely insane.
The old man held up the cane, eyeing it conspicuously. “That’ll be the last of it though. Was barely anything left in the ol’ thing to begin with. Now, I reckon it’s fully dried up.”
“Right,” said Charlie mindlessly, realizing only after he responded that he had absolutely no idea what the old man was talking about.
“Oh, but where are my manners?” said the man, holding out a wrinkled hand. “Fen Pentacoster.”
“Uh, Charlie, Charlie Cole,” said Charlie, outstretching his hand. As their hands clasped in greeting, a knowing look filled Fen’s eyes.
“Well, well, well,” said Fen. “I knew I felt the breeze of a storm brewing when I woke up this morning.” His voice was shrouded in mystery like some old sage doling out a prophecy. “I knew something was about to begin. Didn’t know exactly what, but knew it all the same. Something’s coming, I said to myself. Something that’s happened before. Something that’ll surely happen again.”
“I—” started Charlie. “I don’t…”
“Arthur Cole’s grandson,” he said with a wry grin. “As I live and breathe. I reckon I knew it the moment I saw you panicking over that gate. I said, that boy could be a young Arthur. And wouldn’t you know it? I was right.”
“You, uh, knew my grandfather?” asked Charlie, swallowing the sudden inexplicable emotions that welled up inside him.
“Oh sure, everyone who’s ever lived here knows everyone o’course. But Arthur owned the place, built it even, so we all knew him more than most.” Fen eyed Darkmoon Drive, and his mind seemed to wander off somewhere far away. “Not been the same since he passed.” A chilling breeze brought Fen back to the present and refocused his eyes on Charlie. “I’m very sorry for your loss, young man.”
“Oh, I barely knew him.” Charlie shrugged. “But you mentioned it hasn’t been the same? Didn’t he just pass?”
“Who, Arthur? Oh no, he’s been gone for going on six months now.”
“What?!” exclaimed Charlie, pulling into himself. He was suddenly very confused. “But … My mother and I just found out last night.”
“Yes, well, some things do take longer than others,” said Fen. “I wasn’t really involved in the arrangements but it is my understanding that finding you was quite difficult. Took some time. Almost as if Arthur didn’t want you to be found. Or … maybe the other way round.”
This did not answer any of the many questions Charlie now had about his grandfather and the nature of his passing. “If he didn’t want me to be found, why would he leave the building to me?”
Fen thought for a moment, sighed and then perked up. “A mystery to be sure. Perhaps you ought to go on up and see his old apartment, er, your new apartment that is,” said Fen. “Imagine there will be more answers in there than out here. You’ve got the key?”
“Uh, yeah,” Charlie dug in his pocket and pulled out the large key ring, grasping the red key in his hand.
“I thought as much. Apartment 303. That’s you. Just head on in, take the elevator to the third floor, and you can’t miss it.”
“Okay,” said Charlie, turning to look at the building and suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. He wanted to ask Fen more questions, but he was also a little bit terrified of the man. He wanted to go up to the apartment, but that was terrifying as well. Every single thing that was happening to him at that moment was less than comfortable.
“And don’t worry about the others,” said Fen. Charlie turned back towards the man.
“Others?”
“Other residents. I’ll let them know you’ve arrived, and I’m sure they’ll make themselves known to you in their own time.” And with that, Fen walked through the gate, which stayed fully upright, and started down the sidewalk, humming to himself.
“Can’t wait,” sighed Charlie half-heartedly. He took one last look at Darkmoon Drive. Without further ado, he took one step forward and then another until he met the stairs which he climbed up to the door. He expected to have to unlock the front door but it was already open, so he walked through into a small lobby with mailboxes built into the wall, brown laminate flooring, and an old-fashioned, gated elevator.
He opened the elevator and stepped in, then closed it loudly behind him. Following the old man’s instructions, he pressed the button for the third floor and then immediately grabbed onto the side of the elevator as the whole thing gave a sudden jolt upwards. Riding the elevator felt like a test of faith as it shook and rattled all the way to the third floor where it came to a jarring stop. He quickly pulled the gate open and stepped into the adjoining hallway, fearing the elevator might fall out from under him if he stayed on it a moment too long.
And there it was: a crimson door with gold numbers: Apartment 303. Charlie approached it slowly, taking deep breaths as though he were approaching a wild animal. He shakily brought the red key to the doorknob and pushed it in. With a twist to the right, the other keys jingled merrily and the door popped open.
He gulped loudly, squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he pushed the door open and the light of the hallway spilled into the room.
To his great surprise, there was virtually nothing in the apartment. The room ahead was bare of furniture or decorations save for a single wooden chair and a small round dining table, atop which sat a very normal looking bright red backpack, placed so that the straps were facing towards him. Other than this, there was absolutely no sign that anyone had ever lived there.
He’d expected to step into a room filled with a lifetime of memories for a man he barely knew. He would begin the arduous task of going through all of Arthur’s earthly possessions, piecing them together like a puzzle which would eventually lead to Charlie finally understanding who his grandfather really was. But seeing the room stripped bare made him feel no less distant than before. It felt almost unfair. Not only did his grandfather not connect with him in life, but now it was as if he’d closed himself off to his grandson and their family in death as well.
Charlie’s shoulders slumped in disappointment as he stepped fully into the apartment. He reached over and flicked a light switch on the wall by the door, illuminating the empty room, then closed the door behind him. An overhead light blanketed the room in cold luminescence. With nothing else to draw his attention, he walked over to the table to examine the backpack. Hopefully there was something inside it that would help explain everything; a filled journal, or a photo album or an old film reel which, all of which combined would reveal the life story of Arthur Cole. Knowing Charlie’s luck though, the backpack would probably be empty.
He turned it around on the table and found a small rectangular black screen joined seamlessly with the lower front compartment. It reminded him of techy backpacks he had seen with built-in monitor screens so that you could watch TV or hook up a video game system on the go.
He tapped the screen, causing it to suddenly light up with words, which sent goosebumps running down his arms as a celebratory jingle played from it.
Welcome New User Charlie Lewis Cole
The backpack knew his name. He immediately released his hold on it and stepped back. This, however, did not deter the backpack.
Level 1 Unlocked! User Input Required Please open backpack using the attached zipper to begin system-wide reset.
“What the actual fuck?” asked Charlie to no one in particular. The prompt flashed on the screen again.
Please open backpack using the attached zipper to begin system-wide reset.
Charlie blew out all the air in his lungs as if this might help him find clarity. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, okay, okay,” he repeated, attempting to psych himself up. The screen flashed again.
Please open backpack using the attached zipper to begin system-wide reset.
“Okay!” He had never met a backpack that was quite so pushy before. He stepped back towards the table. Gripping the backpack with one hand and the zipper on its side with the other, he closed his eyes and began to pull the zipper upwards along the serrated mouth of the backpack.
At that exact moment, a gentle gust of air swept through the halls of Darkmoon Drive. It was as if the building itself was taking a deep breath for the first time in a very long while. The walls felt it. The floor felt it. The lights, and the doors, and the metal, and wires within the walls felt it. The residents, both inside and outside the building, felt it. Something was waking up from a very long slumber. Darkmoon Drive was coming back to life.
We have officially arrived at Darkmoon Drive!!! I often say that I imagine the stories I write as movie trailers first. Well, in the past five years this scene has played out about a million times in my head as I’ve imagined this story over it’s many different forms. I’ve also imagined this scene happening on a farm, but that draft has been lost to the ages.
From now on Chapters will be posted twice per week on Monday’s and Thursdays. How are you feeling? Ready for more? I do hope to see you all next week as the story continues and we finally get to meet some more of our main cast!
Charlie’s decision to end his own life was not sudden or unforeseen in any way. He’d been considering the possibility; the pros, the cons and the means of doing so for months, years even. There was a time when Charlie was younger than his now 27 years when he simply knew as a matter of indisputable fact that he would not live to see ‘old age.’ He would never experience senior discounts, an AARP memberships or retirement in Florida. He also knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, his demise would not come at the hands of a car accident, an incurable tumor or another person. His climactic scene in this world would be one of his own making. He accepted this as fact, but locked it away in his mind only to contemplate every now and then. Anytime things got too hard or he had a particularly bad day, the thought would resurface.
Is today my last day?
When his father left them, she took it out on him. Despite him only being a child at the time, she’d screamed and raged at him, telling him how much she hated him and how it was his fault for ever being born, for ever having the audacity to exist in the first place. As if this were something Charlie chose to do out of spite. She would lock him out of the apartment, without his key, so that he was forced to wander the streets of Queens in search of a dry, not to mention safe, spot to spend the night. Usually he would land on one of the many public benches overlooking Astoria Park.
Is today my last day?
When the man he’d spent four years dating, two years living with, and was fully prepared to marry and adopt children, two cats, and a dog with, broke up with him over a text message. This man had decided that instead of marrying Charlie he was going to move across the world to be with a six-foot-tall German adonis that he met online. Apparently they’d been talking for months, but he hadn’t got around to telling Charlie because “There was never a good time.” Charlie was forced to move back home with his mother who’d barely even noticed his absence, only that the chores around the apartment weren’t getting done as regularly as she liked. “Oh you’re back?” She said when he walked in the door with two suitcases and a backpack holding all his worldly belongings. Everything else belonged to his now ex. “Can you take out the trash? It’s really piling up.” No hug. No ‘What happened sweetie?’ Simply a request to take out the trash. Ironic since at that precise moment Charlie felt as if he were the trash.
Is today my last day?
When he’d been fired, again, from a job he hated. He’d been working as a Human Resources consultant for a clothing company, a job which he had exactly no qualifications for, and finally decided to report his boss for a myriad of infractions towards himself and other employees including discrimination, hostility, and hurling a mannequin down a flight of stairs at one of the cleaning people because there was dust on one of the shelves. This complaint somehow resulted in her being promoted and him being terminated. It was ironic because he’d wanted to leave the job for months but couldn’t possibly leave because he needed the money to feed both himself and his mother. His mother was on disability leave with reduced pay, but she spent her meager income on cigarettes and celebrity magazines. It was up to Charlie to provide things like food and pay for trivialities like heat and water. There was no telling how long they would manage with him out of work.
Is today my last day?
He’d hoped to get himself out there and even attempted to go on a date or two. He’d gone on three dates with a guy he thought was actually something special, only to find out that the guy thought his name was ‘Chauncey’ the entire time. While they sat at an overpriced Manhattan restaurant, this man had been calling out to ‘Chauncey’ over and over again, asking him what he wanted to order. Charlie had been sitting there, like a moron, looking around for this Chauncey person. He’d corrected the man, and it was awkward, but he’d apologized, and Charlie had tried to chalk it up to a simple mistake. Later that night, they were in bed together for the first time, when the man whispered “You like that Chauncey?” This guy, who on their first date bragged that he’d memorized every lyric to Hamilton couldn’t even remember his very common name. Charlie ran from the apartment, forgetting his cell phone along the way. This meant the next day he had to awkwardly go back and retrieve it.
The second guy, who had seemed very kind over messages on the dating app where they connected, he met at a cafe on the west side, only to be told immediately “Sorry, but I thought, from your photos, that you were better looking.”
Is today my last day?
But on all of those days, the answer had ultimately been “No.” Those incredibly challenging days had not, in fact, been his last day, because today, the first cold day of the year in the middle of October, was the day.
His credit cards were maxed out. He was drowning in student loan debt. His English degree might as well have been toilet paper because at least then it would have been put to some kind of use. And none of this was even taking into account the absolute terrifying mess that had become the world around him. Every day seemed to bring a new hell that made everything seem even more hopeless. Just when things seemed as though they couldn’t get any worse, they got worse. So much worse.
He’d managed to get a new job, only to lose it a week later when he’d arrived three minutes late due to his subway train stalling. He was cold and tired. Any one of these bad things might have been manageable on their own, but all together over a short period of time and then compounded by Charlie’s already raging depression and anxiety, they created a self-loathing cocktail of doubt, fear, destruction and the unbearable need to escape from it all. And to add insult to injury, not one but two pigeons had defecated on him as he walked down the street.
It was degrading, as if the heavens saw his misfortune and decided to spit on him just to make sure he got the point. But Charlie understood perfectly. And he was done.
Today was his last day.
He left home just past midnight. He’d written a note addressed to his mother and propped it on the dining room table atop the mountain of unpaid bills and then left without another word. He walked for a while, letting his feet guide him to lower Manhattan, in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge where he now stood. He climbed over the fence and barrier railing, past where people were allowed to be for their own safety, and stood with his feet on the very edge of the bridge’s metal beams. His arms stretched out to either side of himself, his hands holding onto the railing. All he had to do now was work up the courage to let go.
The old metal of the bridge felt icy on his hands. His wavy chestnut hair fluttered over his forehead and eyes in the light breeze. His denim jacket and grey beanie did nothing to keep the chill from his bones. He only imagined the black water below would be far worse. But he couldn’t think about that now. Just a moment of bravery. That was all he needed. He just had to let go. His breath furled out in front of him like mist in the cold night air. Horns honked. Sirens blared from somewhere distant within the concrete jungle.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, catching him off guard.
By now it was nearing two in the morning. Who could be texting him at two in the morning? He held tight to the railing with his left hand, using his right to pull the phone from his pocket. The screen lit up as soon as it recognized his face.
MOM: Where are you?
Never once had his mother wondered where he was unless she was short on cash or couldn’t find her lighter. Well, she’d just have to figure out everything on her own now.
Today was his last day.
He sighed and lowered the phone, ready to replace it in his pocket, when another text came through.
MOM: Come home.
A moment went by as three dots appeared, indicating that she was typing another message.
MOM: Not that you care, but your Grandpa is dead.
As he read the words on the screen again, his breath caught, and a shiver ran through his entire body. Suddenly, he felt his grip on the railing slipping. He spun wildly, flailing, desperate to grab a hold of the rail, a beam, a cable running up and down the bridge, or anything really. In the wild frenzy, the phone flew out of his hand. He caught himself from falling, and watched as his phone spun through the air—all the way down to the water below and disappeared with an almost imperceptible plop beneath the surface of the East River.
“Dammit,” he said under his breath. All his photos were on that phone. His high-level character on Genshin Impact was on that phone. Every phone number he’d never gotten around to memorizing was on that phone. Every message he’d ever sent. Every message he hadn’t sent. All the bookmarks and the to-do lists and the apps. So many apps. They were all just … gone.
He wasn’t sure if it was the realization that he’d just lost a phone full of minor conveniences he might want for the future, most of which were probably saved to the cloud anyway, or the fact that he’d watched the phone fall for what seemed like hours before hitting the water, or that he’d just learned of his grandfather’s death. Perhaps it was even that the wind had picked up more now, chilling every inch of him from his face to his toes. But Charlie Cole realized in that moment a very important fact, one that he would someday realize altered the course of his life from that moment forward.
Today was NOT his last day.
He pulled himself back over the railing, back onto the pedestrian path that led from one end of the bridge to the other and started the slow, melancholy walk back to the Q Train which would take him home.
He hadn’t known his grandfather all that well. The old man kept to himself and rarely reached out, sending a card on holidays and Charlie’s birthday when he remembered. He knew his mother didn’t have a great relationship with the man, calling him a nut job, a deadbeat, and all sorts of other nasty names.
As he reached the subway station and descended the stairs to the platform, a fleeting thought occurred to him. Charlie wondered, for just the briefest moment, if the old man had left him something. Not something of value. Charlie imagined that if the old man had money to help them, he would have done it while he was alive. But perhaps something to help make his absence make sense. A letter, or a journal, or even an old photo which held some sort of family secret.
But then, his grandfather could have sent any of those things to Charlie and his mother when he was still alive. There was no reason to think that the old man’s death would be the tipping point for some sort of sudden revelation.
He resolved that his grandfather hadn’t left him anything and that was that. Charlie and his mother would probably have to go to some stuffy funeral, and everyone would apologize for their loss, even though Charlie hadn’t really lost anything because he’d never had anything with the man to lose. Then things would go back to normal. And for Charlie, normal usually meant unbearable. Before long he imagined he would surely be asking himself the same old question.
Is today my last day?
But Charlie, as it turned out, could not have been more wrong.
This section is where I will take some time at the end of each chapter to chat with all of you. Some of these might be a sentence long. This one will be a bit longer since it is, of course, the very first.
First of all, I want to humbly welcome you all to The Relics of Darkmoon Drive! I’ve posted the first three chapters on day one because I think by the end of them you’ll have a much better idea where this story is headed. They were originally one chapter but at some point in the writing process I decided to make the chapters (or at least most of them) more bite size so it’s easier to get caught up if you miss an update!
While this chapter (and this entire book) is a work of fiction, Charlie’s feelings of desperation and his desire to give up on life all reflect how I felt the night I originally imagined this story nearly ten years ago. A lot has changed for me and this story in that time, but it’s birth place in my mind has always remained the same, and thus, I wanted that to be the point where Charlie’s story begins. For Charlie, what keeps him alive to see tomorrow is an ominous text message. For me, it was the idea of this story which for many years was called simply “The Backpack.”
The Backpack went through more versions, drafts, and failed attempts than anything else I’ve ever written. For many years, I simply decided I would never actually write it. And now here we are and it is bigger, wilder and so much more than I ever thought possible on that cold New York night when it first came to me.
I want to thank my husband Carl for being a huge part of the creative process on this and all the other books I’ve written so far, and all the books I will write in the future, because according to him this one isn’t my last even though some days I swear it will be. I also want to thank my friends Yuting, LaQuita and Ryan for encouraging me everyday to write this story, reading early drafts and believing in me even when I don’t, which is often. Thank you to Mari for their work on the incredible character art pieces and cover art for this first part of the story and for helping me to bring these characters to life for the first time. And of course thank you to my Mother and Grandmother who read everything I write even when it’s a little too weird and wild for them. That’s enough thank you’s. Let’s talk about something else.
Each chapter will allow comments so let me know what you think! Eventually I hope to also have polls for side stories and things of that nature though much more of that will be part of the Patreon.
Speaking of which: the Patreon for this project is currently super limited. If there’s something you think would make a good edition to that, and something you’d be willing to help support Darkmoon Drive for, please let me know! I’m new to Patreon and welcome thoughts and suggestions. Please know, however, that reading new chapters will ALWAYS be free, though I would like to eventually allow Patreons early access.
That’s enough out of me! Click the link below to continue to the next chapter and find out what happens to poor Charlie. Thank you for reading and welcome to The Relics of Darkmoon Drive!
