Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 4

Part 4

"The Painted Lady"

The rest of Lewis's shift was filled with milling groups of people and the sonorous tones of Krasimir Schlimme's voice. His accent thickened and waned here and there, but at least the constant stream of newcomers meant that Lewis could basically rotate through the room over and over again, constantly sweeping or mopping up spills and messes. Of course, Moulton House had a policy against food and drink inside the exhibit halls, but did people listen? Of course not. Lewis could pass by the large double-doors and hear the muttered debates.

"Yo, you can't bring that in there, you should throw it out."
"No! I'm almost finished with it."
"It has a lid, it's not like I'm sloshing it everywhere."
"Do you want to get us kicked out?"
"We're not going to get kicked out. Just a few more bites, and then I'm done."
"Don't tell me what to do!"

Lewis shrugged and kept on sweeping, occasionally pulling out his mop to clean up the dribbles of liquid. A few times, he even found wads of chewed gum stuck to the sides of the free-standing walls. He could never figure out the culprit, and he definitely wondered if Adolf or someone else on Schlimme's security team would actually be watching the security camera stream to be able to see who was flaunting the museum's rules--but on the whole, there wasn't anything harmful or destructive happening, so he just kept his head down and focused on doing his job, exactly as Schlimme had instructed.
He was sweeping a pile of dust into a pan to transfer it into the bin on his cart, when he heard Krasimir on the other side of the lavender-colored wall, explaining his art to the tour group.

"I call this one Dreams Aplenty. Note how the woman's face is barely exposed, as the arm hangs over the edge of the bed, ready to drop..."

Lewis straightened with a frown. There was only one sculpture involving a woman in a bed, and wasn't it sculpted with the woman laying on her back, with her whole face exposed? His curiosity piqued, Lewis waited till the group moved on to gasping in awe and gushing over the unicorn and gryphon statues, and he made sure to keep the broom moving as he rounded the wall to see what they'd been looking at.

The woman in the bed was definitely laying on her side in the display. The arm she rested on curled up and bent back so that her hand rested near her cheek, while her topside arm, indeed, stretched out toward the edge of the bed, precariously perched on the corner of it. The balance in the sculpture was truly astounding, and the fabric of the sheets draped just exactly as it did in real life. If Lewis stared long enough, he could even imagine that he saw the individual hairs hanging down in front of the tiny face waver the merest bit, exactly as if the figurine was really breathing.

Lewis blinked and shook himself as he heard Krasimir telling another group about the featured exhibits in the display case just behind him. he swept his way to a different corner of the room, but in the process, caught Schlimme's description of the woman in the bed.

"And this piece, I call Dreams Aplenty," he said yet again. "Note how the subjects legs curl up into her chest, and her arms seem to hug them close--it was not easy to sculpt such fine detail, crammed so close together, let me tell you!"

Lewis stopped polishing the display case around the sculpture with the fairies and the mushroom as his mind mulled over what Krasimir Schlimme had just said. Curled up legs? He'd seen the figurine with her legs only slightly bent, wasn't it? Perhaps it was hard to tell with the sheets covering the statuette.
Once again, curiosity got the better of him, and Lewis wandered over to see the sculpture of the woman in the bed a second time.

Just as before, Lewis saw the sculpture in precisely the state that Krasimir Schlimme described: on her side in the fetal position, her arms wrapped around her legs with her chin almost resting against her knees. The sheet wasn't even covering her anymore, it had slipped down to just barely cover her feet, leaving almost her whole body exposed.

What the heck? Did these sculptures move? Lewis stood there, staring at the display case, daring the figurine to shift even the tiniest bit, absolutely certain that he would catch it...

But it never even twitched. Lewis must have blinked six times in the interval, but every time, the sculpture remained exactly as it was.

Another group of curious patrons rounded the corner, and Lewis shook himself and moved on. He must have misremembered, or thought he saw a different sculpture. He fumbled for reasons to discredit his own brain, what he had seen with his own eyes just minutes before. Perhaps Schlimme himself had built it to move whenever he started giving a description, like a tiny animatronic.

Lewis tried to reassure himself, but by the time he rounded the corner to sweep against the next wall of displays, he felt the itch at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Lewis paused in his sweeping and glanced around. No one stood in the immediate vicinity. There wasn't a camera in this particular gap, so it couldn't have been Adolf or whoever occupied the security office watching to make sure that the lowly student janitor wasn't up to something.

Lewis's arms began to ache with the repetitive motion. Surely this shift had lasted much longer than his normal shift--which meant he'd have some extra Saturday and Sunday study hall to make up for the classes he was missing today.

"Can I be done now?" he muttered under his breath. His wandering broom had led him all the way to the back corner, to the unicorn and gryphon locked in immobile combat. Those glassy eyes seemed fixed on each other, but something about the unicorn still captivated Lewis's interest. What was it about the fantastical creature that gave it such a not-quite-fantasy air?

He was still standing there when he heard Mr. Schlimme murmur, "All right, and that's the last group!"
Quickly, lest anyone catch him slacking on the job with a preoccupied expression on his face, Lewis swept up the last of his pile and dumped it in the can on his trash cart. He began pushing it out of the exhibit hall. If he left now, he would make it to Study Hall in time to check up on what he had missed in all his classes for the day.

He was just rounding the corner around the lavender wall, when he stopped in his tracks and whirled around to look behind himself.

Was someone shadowing him? The sneaking sensation of being watched crept over him, and Lewis slowly scanned his surroundings. He found himself holding his breath so that his ears could pick up the slightest sound. His eyes caught a subtle shift in his periphery, but when he turned his head, all he saw was the art piece on display. The Queen's Court, Schlimme had titled it. A tall figure in a stunning dress and a sculpted crown presided over a throne room lined with painted courtiers and decked out with jewels and rich gold filigree.

The sense of being watched grew stronger as Lewis's focus narrowed on the figure's eyes. He advanced closer to it, close enough to make out the textures in the paint, the subtle shape of the figure underneath the lace and frills of the dress... and the glassy, sparkling eyes. He was almost close enough to brush his nose against the glass, and yet he couldn't tear himself away. He kept staring at the display until his eyes began to burn. They were so dry, the urge to blink built up in his face--

The picture blinked first.

Lewis didn't want to believe his eyes at first. These were sculpted figures of wax and clay and wires--they didn't blink! There was no point in making a figurine that could blink, if it was just going to be on display behind a pane of glass. He shook his head and rubbed his sore eyes. He could definitely confirm that the eyes seemed to focus on him, and as he shifted from one side of the frame to the other, those eyes followed him... But that was some kind of refraction effect, right? People talked all the time about paintings that seemed to follow the viewer with their gazes all around the room. What was keeping him from applying that same rationality to this one?

But the sight of the blink came back in vivid, slow-motion, zoomed-in detail. Tiny lashes came down and back up, without the twitch of any single other muscle.

Lewis screwed up all of his determination, marched toward the display, and planted his face squarely in front of the tiny face of the figurine. He relaxed his muscles, intending to stare at her as hard as he could, for as long as it took to see if she would blink again.

He didn't have to wait long. She blinked as soon as he was settled and watching her. Only then did Lewis happen to notice a glint of reflected light behind her shoulders, where the painting showed marble walls and draped fabric representing tiny tapestries and banners hanging from the walls. As he focused on the glint, he could just barely see the outline of a delicate wing buried under layers of garish oil paints.

Fairies! Lewis leaned his head from side to side, and even ducked low under the frame, confirming what he had disbelieved only minutes ago: the figure was alive, and she could track him with her eyes. Only the paints made her look sculpted and inanimate.

"You!" Krasimir Schlimme barked, and Lewis nearly fell over from fright. He caught the edge of his trash cart and swung it between himself and the menacing artist defensively.

"I'm j-just cleaning up!" He stammered. "I'm finished!"

Mr. Schlimme stared at him with a frown, and even cast a surreptitious glance into the trash cart. Seeing only refuse and dust, he sniffed with a curled lip. "We're closing up for the night," he announced. "Better get out now before you're locked in here."

"Yes, sir," Lewis responded quickly, and shuffled out of the exhibit hall as fast as his squeaky cart would allow.

He needed to know more about fairies, if he was going to confirm what he'd just seen. Did they really look like that? Where would a man like Krasimir Schlimme even find a fairy? Were the other exhibits fairies as well?

Too many questions spun through his head as he unzipped and removed his cover-alls and picked up his bag to head toward the study hall. The library would be on his way, and he figured Quincy could find him what he needed--provided she didn't ask him to explain himself, or get him into trouble over it!

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Throwback Thursday: "How To Bring Characters To Life" Part 1: Backstory

How do you describe yourself? What makes you who you are? How did you become the person you are today?

The foremost component of your unique self is your backstory—and, in the world of writing, it’s one of the three key parts that make characters relatable, unique, and full of life, with their own voices and vivid visualizations to go along with the mention of their name. Establishing a character’s backstory can have a huge impact on how they respond in a given situation, and how realistic they are to your readers.

There are two pitfalls that writers tend to fall in when dealing with a character’s backstory: a book can have Too Much Backstory (also known as “info-dumping”) or Too Little Backstory (which can lead to the deadly cycle of “retrograde continuity”).

Too Much Backstory is usually marked by long passages where nothing actually happens among the characters, but the narrator somehow finds the time to explain how the economic history of the region enabled the villain to acquire the means necessary to set up the perfect trap in which to ensnare the hero—who, by the way, has probably choked to death in the time it took you to read the six pages of information that you will not be tested on later and you will probably forget as soon as the hero escapes. This is an “info-dump” and if too many things in your story require too much lengthy explanation, you might want to simplify your ideas a bit! I get it, I really do. That moment when you figure out the character’s life and why they are the way they are, and you just want to put in all these funny little ideas and scenes and there’s in-jokes and surprising factoids—it’s a massive temptation to just take every single opportunity to stick things in there. The reality is, this is kind of like the person who goes around telling jokes and then explaining the punch-line immediately afterward. It gets old after a while, and it’s definitely not as funny or engaging to have all the nitty-gritty details extrapolated to you when all you wanted to do is read a story.

Now, that is not to say that you should eradicate all explanations from your story, either losing your readers in a conversation they can’t even begin to understand, or finding yourself forced to “go back” in the timeline to insert little extra bits that weren’t there before, in order to justify the existence of whatever plot point you’re trying to put into the story just now. This is a sure sign of Too Little Information, the pitfall of not doing enough pre-planning for your character, also known as “retrograde continuity.” 

Everything can have a purpose, sure—but make sure you have a clear idea of the purpose before you just throw your characters into the path of some heinous bogeyman because his great-aunt had a bone to pick with his mother when she decided she was going to run off with the milkman, and he ended up being connected to the evil sorceress who conjured the bogeyman for the great-aunt, and oh by the way he has an enchanted sword so yay hero! Not enough planning can result in the writer having to make up details and explanations on the fly, and it’s rarely pretty and most often it doesn’t make sense—so if you find yourself being forced to make something believable, it probably didn’t belong there in the first place. Getting creative and detailed about your world and its history is great and wonderful—but also realize that most of what you come up with when inventing characters and building worlds is “bonus material”—think of it as more of a field guide for you, the writer to reference as you’re developing the story, not necessarily needed in the plot.

Now—how do you know which details to keep, which are the important ones that belong in the story? As far as I can figure, a character’s backstory can be broken down into four key components, and they all happen to start with “F” because I like to alliterate whenever I get the chance! The Four F’s of Backstory are: Family, Friends, Fundamentals, and Flaws. Figure out how each area connects your character with the story, and your reader will then in turn be able to connect with the character.

What do I mean by these terms? What do they entail?

Family 

Figuring out your character’s family scenario—ancestors, home life, heritage, etc.—is important because a character’s family will affect his view of himself, and it is among his family that a person is most vulnerable. The size of one’s family, the solidarity, the dynamics—they will all serve to fashion your character in specific ways. A character with siblings will grow up differently than one raised by only his parents. Someone with supportive, patient parents will naturally mature differently than one with abusive, angry parents. A family doesn’t have to be dirt-poor or excessively posh; an average family has both enough money to get by and the struggles of trying to save, trying to remain stable. As you make choices on what your character’s family looks and behaves like, you will find that it does have quite a dramatic effect on how your character responds to situations outside of his home. The thing to remember is that a person can reasonably control his reputation among friends and strangers, but in his home, whether it’s family or longtime roommates, this is where he is closer to his true self.

Friends

Who are the characters who join up with your hero as he progresses through his journey? Who are the friends he already has before the story begins? 

A good hero is still boring as heck when he’s by himself—and a stalwart friend can redeem the most insufferable hero. A person chooses his friends based on what most energizes or refreshes him; a woman with deep-seated anxiety might have that one “brutally honest” friend, because she can trust that friend to be real and say what she means. A person might also change his habits in order to fit in with the group of people whose attention he seeks; you might portray your character as behaving a certain way, but later on, it might fit better for the character to change their behavior—why? Is it because they are no longer under the peer pressure? (This plays into Part 3 of this series, so I won’t pursue it any further just now) 

As you’re populating your story with certain friends, be aware that a person’s friends affect and sometimes reveal how that person views the world around them, and the nature of relationships. Your character will have friends that push him toward the sort of person he needs to be, whether actively or passively, with negative or positive stimuli. Deciding the variety and number your character needs will help provide extra vehicles for character development or exposition (since it’s not just the main character interacting with circumstances in the plot, but his friends as well, each with their own perspective) and help give your setting a real sense of being full of life, instead of devoid of activity beyond that of your narrow cast of characters.

Fundamentals 

Now we get into the nitty-gritty stuff! As far as the context of this article is concerned, by “fundamentals” I mean the basic beliefs that fuel the character’s emotional balance and logical processes. You don’t necessarily need to get overly religious or philosophical, but just think about your character in terms of a guiding principle, and you’ll be able to set up conversations and scenarios that play into that guiding principle. Securely realizing your character’s fundamental beliefs and theories will have an effect on how the character views the world around him, and how he interprets his purpose as he moves through the plot of the story. Conversely, if you have a story you’ve already written and you’re trying to use some of these ideas to “beef up” the character, look at what you wrote for your character’s observations of the world, the beliefs he holds about his function and the parameters—this will give you your character’s fundamentals. If you can’t find it, and you have been wondering why your character seems as dull as a mannequin… this is probably why: your character needs fundamentals. Once you have them, even the character’s personality will begin to take shape, and you’ll be able to recognize how the character will react in a whole host of different situations.

Flaws 

This is the last area, and by no means the least important. By “flaws” I don’t mean “she’s ugly” or “he’s got skinny arms/glasses” or making your character slovenly, undesirable, or handicapped in some cliché* way just for the sake of “giving them a flaw.” But also don’t err on the side of giving them no flaws at all. 

Everybody’s just a little bit quirky; it could be the way he has to constantly brush his hair out of his eyes, or the way she has to check her phone every fourteen seconds; flaws can also be positive things, harmless things, like the way she likes to group things by color, or the way he can’t stop making nerdy pop culture references. A good flaw will present an extra level of challenge that the hero needs to overcome as the novel progresses, and the closer the character gets to the final goal of the story, the more he will be challenged, and either bolstered or hindered by that Flaw. If your character is not at all flawed, or if they are “too” flawed, tone it down by choosing one or two that play into the nexus of your story, whether you have it all planned out already and just need a good quirk that will play into the sort of person your character will become at the end; or perhaps you have no idea where this story is going, but maybe choosing the right flaw will give your character more of a sense of heading toward something, so that the story does not stagnate before anything really happens.

*NOTE: I understand the school of thought that says that “most physical or mental flaws don’t have a purpose in real life” which often feels all too true—but what I’m talking about is the kind of handicap or flaw that seems just thrust into the story by a writer who didn’t bother to research for accuracy or valid consideration. There is a difference, and very often the author doesn’t notice it, but the readers definitely will, so just make sure you’re not following any tropes and you do have a non-cliché reason for choosing the particular flaw—Do your research!

Once you’ve decided on your characters Family, Friends, Fundamentals, and Flaws, it’s time to decide how you’re going to incorporate it into the story, how to package it to present to the reader.

Information in a story is doled out in two primary ways: narrative backstory and expositional dialogue.

In Narrative Backstory, the narrator (a character or a third party) has some things to explain, typically a finished event from the past, and there isn’t a lot of dialogue from the characters. The thing about using the narrative method is it essentially puts the plot on hold while it sets the scene. Narrative Backstory works well in the beginning, but the further along you get into the plot, just ask yourself: If this was a phone call, how long would you want to be on hold? As short a time as possible, right? The same goes for reading; if you must use Narrative Backstory, keep it as brief as possible, and use it sparingly.

If the flow of the story won’t allow for any more narrative backstory, but you still have information you need to impart to your readers, then perhaps you could consider expositional dialogue. In real life, you and I don’t have the luxury of third-person narrators explaining the ins and outs of everyday life, so the way we can find out about events and thoughts of different people is through conversation. Now, I’ll be talking more about dialogue in another post, so I won’t go too in-depth here, but strictly as it relates to backstory, the expositional dialogue can either be the character delivering his story in monologue, or when something important happens in the plot that requires a conversation which in turn brings out the details of the character’s backstory. Expositional Dialogue will necessarily have more of an emotional effect than Narrative Backstory, so if you really want your readers to connect to a specific piece of your character’s backstory on an emotional level, use expositional dialogue to really bring on “the feels”!

A Few Final Reminders

-The past should lay the foundation for the way your character will behave and interact with the world and the plot—don’t make it too complicated!

-All of the past is relevant to the character; not all of the past needs to be exposed to the reader.

-The past is a fixed point in time. No fair backtracking and loading up the backstory with new ideas; “ret-conning” should be left to the professionals.

-Very often, it’s the characters who make or break the story; get the character right, and everything else—plot, pacing, dialogue, climax, conflict—will fall into place.

And finally, I’m going to leave you all with a quote that has had a profound impact on my writing. It comes from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, and it is thus: “Good writers touch life often. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones [ravage] her and leave her for the flies.” It’s some powerful imagery for a great point: Be a good writer. Touch life often. The reason so many stories fall apart is that the author gets too caught up in either “playing god” and trying to force an agenda on the story; just as terrible is when an author tries to take a “laissez-faire” approach, and “let the characters control the story”, without taking personal responsibility for it, so the story just wanders and falls into complications for seemingly no reason—the very essence of a “quick hand.” (I had a lot to say about this type of writer in another blog post entitled “How to Book, Part 2”)

Conversely, the stories that stick with the reader the most, the ones that have the greatest impact, are the ones that contain those “touches of life,” where the author has taken care to involve real-world aspects to their characters and their plot, giving the imagination something concrete from which to grow the abstract concept. Do this, and you’ll be giving yourself the best chance to create literature that lasts a lifetime.

COMING UP NEXT: 

“How To Bring Characters To Life, Part 2: Dialogue”

Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 3

Part 3

"The New Arrival"

Another day, another litany of classes and note-taking that he hoped he could read later, and Lewis was once again climbing the steps into the doors of Moulton House.

Things looked very different today from the way they'd been so far. A group of men in splattered cover-alls were just taking down the last bits of tape and scaffolding. A pile of drop cloths lay in the corner, waiting for someone to cart it away. The doors to Exhibit Hall G were closed.

"Lewis!" Mr. Gilroy came sailing out of his office hallway with a huge grin on his face. "You're just in time. They've just finished painting and moving a few of Mr. Schlimme's pieces in there. You can at least sweep the floor, anyway--and see what a difference the paint has made!"

Lewis mumbled something noncommittal, and headed toward the janitor closet. Once he had donned his uniform and grabbed a cart, he headed for Exhibit Hall G.

The blast of color hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The walls had been covered with a brilliant shade of aquamarine, and this contrasted starkly with the free-standing walls painted each one a different color.

Lewis noticed a few of the art pieces looked familiar--he must have seen them yesterday during the impromptu web search. In one of them, a handful of figurines posed against a backdrop that looked like some grand hall, but only six inches high. In another, winged fairies and mischievous elves danced around a table set with tea things.

Looking at them on a screen was one thing--seeing them in person was quite another experience. Lewis stared at a sculpture of a woman laying in bed, her hair splayed across the pillow and her eyes shut against the world. The longer he watched, the more he fancied he could almost see her breathing...

"What are you doing here?" snapped a voice, and Lewis nearly pitched forward out of fright.

A man stared down at him, with a broad chest, very little neck, and a whole lot of pent-up anger in his shaggy, dark face.

Lewis threw up his hands, and fought to get the words out. "I didn't--I mean, I'm su-su-supposed to be here! Don't hurt me!" Where was Gilroy? Why were there people in a closed exhibit hall, to say nothing of how murderous this particular man looked!

"Adolf! Stop menacing the boy!" called a thickly-accented voice, and the burly man halted.

Krasimir Schlimme descended upon the scene, pulling Adolf to the side.

Lewis stood rooted to the spot as Schlimme berated his subordinate.

"He's allowed to be here, Adolf--he's on the staff at the museum."

Adolf let out a loud sniff. "He's young," he rumbled. "Too young to be an employee."

How would he know? Lewis thought to himself.

Schlimme chuckled. "You're right, he's a student attending the school. But do you see his uniform?" The tall foreigner pointed, and Adolf's eyes traveled from Lewis's sneakers to the top of his head in a methodical fashion that sent chills radiating through the lad's whole body. "That uniform," continued Schlimme, "means that he is working while he's here. His job is to clean the floors and the glass on the display cases. Nothing more, nothing less." The eccentric collector finally turned to address Lewis. "Very sorry about that. Adolf is my bodyguard, when he isn't running security for my exhibits while they're on display. He's the one who's going to be watching the exhibit hall during my time here. Don't mind him. So long as you stick to your prescribed duties, we should have no problems." His gaze swiveled to Adolf, and his eyes narrowed. "Are we clear?"

Adolf ducked his head, tucking his chin against his chest. "Yes, sir."

"Now!" Krasimir Schlimme straightened and clicked the heels of his shoes together again. "I want everything to be perfect for the exhibit's opening tomorrow, so you had better make sure to clean the whole room top to bottom, and do nothing else, Lewis!"

That warning was spoken in a lighter tone, but there seemed to be something sinister lurking behind it that Lewis could feel, like the wet slap of slime on his skin, but couldn't quite place.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, and made his way to the far corner of the room. There wasn't much to sweep, but at least the renovators had left some vestiges of drywall dust and random screws and penny-nails scattered about.

The whole time he swept, Lewis could feel Adolf watching him. It was doubtless over the security cameras, and also he kept reminding himself that Mr. Schlimme had vouched for him, so Lewis hoped Adolf wouldn't dare trying anything to draw his employers ire... But at the same time, it was all very much unsettling! Would this job always be this stressful? If that were true, Lewis didn't think he could manage to last the rest of the semester.

There was one moment, however strange it may have seemed, when Lewis actually managed to forget about Adolf and Krasimir Schlimme's strange behavior and cryptic warnings. In fact, he actually felt safe for the first time since walking into Moulton House.

It happened along the back wall of the exhibit hall, next to a large crate that stood eight feet tall and ten feet long. It hadn't been opened yet, and Lewis dimly wondered what could be inside--but by the time he left, you could say that the immediate vicinity of the crate had been well and truly polished, since Lewis kept finding himself wandering back to it time and again. What was the mysterious attraction to this crate? He could hear Krasimir Schlimme talking loudly as someone pried it open (Adolf, perhaps?) but Lewis shrugged and headed out into the evening with the conclusion that he would have to see what was in that crate when he came back in the next day.

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Lewis's third day at Moulton House began much sooner than he expected. He had only just left the Science Lab, his first class on the schedule, when someone called his name.

"Lewis Grant?" The woman who spoke stood an inch or so shorter than he was, and her round features gave the impression of openness and gentility. She was simply dressed, in a basic top and skirt in the school colors, and she led a little beige lab on a leash. Her dark-blonde hair gracefully curved around her face.

Lewis made his way over to her with a frown. "That's me," he replied slowly. "What's this about?" His eye fell on her official-looking name badge, and he balked. "I haven't done something wrong, have I?"

With a light chuckle, she explained, "Your teachers have been notified that you will not be attending today--instead, you'll be reporting to Moulton House right away. They're opening the new exhibit just after lunch, and Mr. Gilroy needs your help."

To emphasize her point, the little dog let out an insistent yap.

Lewis chuckled and reached a hand out. "May I?" he asked the woman.

She grinned wider and said, "Sure. His name's Keats, by the way, and I'm Melanie Porter, one of the student teachers... in training, that is."

Lewis rubbed Keats on the head, and the little puppy's tail wagged so hard he wriggled himself away from Lewis's hand and had to crawl back under there.

Finally, he stood up and sighed. "Well I suppose if Mr. Gilroy needs me at Moulton, I should probably go there."

Melanie chuckled. "All right; see you around, Lewis. Come on, Keats." She tugged on the leash, and the wriggly little puppy happily trotted after her.

Lewis crossed the quadrangle and ascended the steps. No one came to meet him in the front hall, so he headed back to the janitor's closet to get into his uniform.

Just as he entered, he all but tripped over the trash cart rolling toward him.

"Oops!" somebody said.

Lewis regained his balance and stepped to the side, frowning in confusion at the young girl wearing a janitor's jumpsuit.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Danielle," she introduced herself. "Sorry for running into you just then. I was in such a rush, I didn't expect anyone else to be here."

Lewis's brain fizzled as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "But... I thought I had this assignment."

Danielle swept her dark hair over the backstrap on her Moulton House cap to keep it out of the way. "I think you still do. I just had my orientation first thing this morning, and Mr. Gilroy told me that I'd be tasked with cleaning most areas except Exhibit Hall G. He said that one's a special assignment, so that's why he put in a request for another student." Her blue eyes blinked slowly as she studied the shaggy-haired lad before her. "Are you the one who gets to clean Hall G?"

Lewis finished loading the equipment on his cart and bobbed his head in confirmation. "As far as I know, yes." Perhaps he might talk with Mr. Gilroy, and ask him about the personnel change.

Exhibit Hall G had undergone yet another change since the day before. The colorful shelves were now full of sculptures and ornate pieces of framed and boxed art of all different sorts. Tiny damsels in fantastic dresses, spry miniature princes with unkempt hair and garish tunics laying on small hillsides and gazing at wispy cotton clouds suspended overhead--each six-inch tableau displayed a level of detail Lewis had never seen before. Even the paintings seemed more real than average, the faces painted in relief somehow seeming more three-dimensional than Lewis ever thought possible with paint on a canvas.

Krasimir Schlimme was certainly an adept artist. Lewis counted a handful of times when he could actually tell what materials Schlimme used in the construction of his art, but most of the time, it truly seemed like the dresses and accessories were legitimately miniature in their construction, rather than just substituted from other items, to mimic the effect. The different textures and colors of hair Schlimme had achieved was also impressive; even the pieces that had the hair painted over so many times it lay absolutely thick with it, still Lewis could see that the hair seemed to hang like it was firmly attached to the skull of the figurine. The wings on some of the fairies, too--they were a lot finer than any material Lewis had seen, but the symmetry seemed almost machine-level quality. The subtle color choices almost confused the eye, much like moth or butterfly wings, and yet, when taken together, it made absolute sense for the look of the sculpture. The wings themselves were as diverse as the figurines they were attached to, giving an extra level of personality to the lifeless works of art.

"Well?" Krasimir Schlimme's voice broke through the haze of overstimulated fascination clinging to Lewis. He flinched like a guilty pickpocket and stared at the imposing artist, finding himself wondering how hands so thick and shoulders so broad would be capable of such delicate work as to carve the facial features of these pieces.

Krasimir stood with his arms folded, his steel-blue eyes narrowed in a glare. "Aren't you going to clean something?" he challenged Lewis.

The young man nodded, and immediately began collecting whatever dirt he could find with his broom. He passed by a sculpture of winged boy fairies dancing around a wide toadstool and curved around the bright-orange wall at the back, and just when he was making his way around the edge of the room to sweep along back to the door at the front.... he froze.

Where the large crate had stood the day before, there now stood a huge display case depicting something far and away more awesome than a portrait of a farmstead family sharing dinner, or even a six-inch-high circus complete with acrobats, tumblers, tightrope-walkers, a ringmaster, and several clowns.

Make that two somethings. There were two full-sized sculptures in that display case.

One looked like a funky cross between a lion and a golden eagle. It had the body of a lion of course, with the tawny hide and the long, whiplike tail. On the front, instead of claws, curled talons graced its paws, and in place of a lion's head, the creature looked like it had the head of an eagle. That in itself could have been surprising enough to look at, but Krasimir had added a pair of eagle's wings to the lion's shoulders, looking for all the world like they just grew that way naturally. Lewis had to admire the skill of creating such a magical, nonexistent creature in a way that looked totally realistic. Even the transition from fur to feather looked pretty seamless. Between the shoulders where the majestic brown wings were fastened, and the head which was fully an eagle with not a whole lot of lion features, one could hardly make out where the fur ended and the feathers actually began.

A quick glance at the plaque displayed on the wall beside the case told Lewis this creature was known as a gryphon. Schlimme had sculpted the gryphon's fore-talons extended, and the beak positioned open in a silent and eternal screech, and it was easy to see why.

Also encased in the glass cover, over a tacky base that had been decorated to look like the floor of a lush forest, was a horse-like creature the size of a thoroughbred horse, and indeed it looked as though Schlimme had done very well capturing the muscle strain and flared nostrils of an angry horse... except that this particular sculpture also sported a horn at the top of its head, just down from where the forelock hung.

Lewis stared at the horn, wondering what sort of material Schlimme might have used to get the deep, rich, flawless red color of it. Resin, perhaps? But no resin would be without its flaws, not at that size. It gleamed with its own apparent light, much in the manner of a well-cut diamond--ruby, perhaps? But for a horn that size, the uncut gem must have been absolutely massive. And not only that, but if it was truly chiseled from ruby, how much did that mean the statue was worth?

"There you are!" Krasimir Schlimme rounded the side of the mint-green free-standing wall and came to stand behind Lewis. "Ahh, admiring my unicorn and gryphon, are you?"

Lewis nodded. "They're very beautiful, sir," he said with genuine warmth to his voice. The way the unicorn's forelegs were tucked underneath, its head bent down to aim the point of its horn right at the gryphon's eye--two mighty titans of the fantasy world, locked in combat--it gave him chills.

Krasimir even said those words to describe his sculpture. "Two titans of the fantasy world, battling for supremacy," he murmured. "The unicorn, with its purity and wisdom representing the innocence and idealism of the upper class, while the lowly gryphon, with its monstrous combination of two apex predators, representing the lower classes which are not to be discounted due to their size, for they make up for any shortcomings in appearance by an unflappable tenacity and fierce determination! Yes, I'm quite proud of these two, ehrm," he coughed a little as the words caught in his throat somehow, "pieces, more than any other in the rest of the gallery!" he gestured broadly to the rest of the room.

Lewis finally turned away from the unicorn, dimly aware of the sensation running up and down his spine, beaming across the goosebumps covering his arms.

"Sir," he said, "I wanted to ask about that horn you attached to the head of the unicorn sculpture--"

Just as he finished that last word, Schlimme's watch chimed, and he pulled it out to turn it off. "Oh! I'm afraid any questions you have for me are going to have to wait," Schlimme said, suddenly clapping Lewis on the shoulder and painfully gripping the joint at the top of his arm. "For it's time to open these doors to the public!" He leveled his gaze at Lewis with an air that prompted the young student to pay keen attention to his direction.

"See that you are on your best behavior, Mr. Grant," he admonished the student. "Don't bother entertaining people as you encounter them. That's my job," Schlimme laid a hand over his heart. "Your job, young Lewis, is to keep your head down and keep sweeping as I bring the tour groups through the exhibit hall. Have I made myself clear?"

Lewis nodded without a word.

Upon receiving that assurance, Krasimir Schlimme departed for the front hall. "Adolf!" Lewis heard him shout, "Open the doors!"

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Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 2

Part 2

"Welcome To Moulton House"

Those same thoughts were still swirling around Lewis's head all through his classes the next day. Algebra, United States history, Science, and Literature all flicked by in a jumble of names, facts, dates, and figures, until at last he was headed out the door of the Study Hall and across the quadrangle to Moulton House.

Mr. Gilroy had a visitor. Not just any visitor, Lewis could see that plainly when he walked in and saw the two men.

Gilroy stood in profile, nodding his head and gesturing to different areas of the museum as they stood in the main entrance hall. The newcomer had his back to Lewis, but there was something about the charcoal-grey pinstripe suit and the man's broad shoulders and his silvery-grey faded haircut neatly coiffed on top that instinctively drew all attention toward him, even if it was just his back.

"... I am not interested in just a paltry few pieces, or a shelf amid other knickknacks from a similar geographical region or historical era," said the cutting, heavily-accented voice as Lewis crept by them on his way to reach the janitor's closet without disrupting the conversation or being noticed by them. The man continued, "My exhibits deserve a space of their own, because to be in their presence must be an immersive experience, to be witnessed by all who approach them, as much as appreciated for the pieces themselves, Herr Gilroy."

"Well, Mr. Schlimme," Gilroy chuckled in response, polishing his bottle-thick spectacles a third time, as he did when he wanted to hide the fact that he was flustered, "you are most definitely in luck, because one of our rooms has just recently been downsized, so we would be perfectly happy to relocate what pieces remain, and assemble the room to your liking."

Lewis paused at the door of the little hallway leading to his closet, and glanced back over his shoulder in time to see Gilroy gesture at Exhibit Hall G, the one he'd been assigned to clean for this week.
"Can I show you?" Gilroy asked, shuffling toward the double doors.

Mr. Schlimme seemed to hesitate a little, wavering on his feet only slightly. Then with a curt, "You may," he followed after the portly curator.

Lewis felt his pulse racing as he pulled on his janitor's cover-alls and buttoned them up. Why would he be nervous? It wasn't as if he was auditioning for a performance, or tasked with attempting to pacify this new artist, or any of that! If anything, he had the safest position in the world, because if Gilroy decided that Lewis was not a good fit for the job, he could simply notify the Dean of Browning Academy, whereupon the Dean would assign someone to sit down with Lewis and find a position in the small campus that would suit him better.

Lewis paused as he grabbed his trash cart and gave himself a quick shake.
"Not as if there's any particular skill level required when your job is just cleaning floors, windows, and walls!" he muttered under his breath.

He emerged and crossed the foyer, toward the exhibit hall, where the two men were pacing around the space.
Mr. Schlimme spoke with animated tones. "Ah yes! This will do nicely! And there must be plenty of light--my art is best displayed in bright lights and colorful hues. You don't mind a bit of re-painting, do you? Some structural changes as well--more windows and mirrors, to add to the whimsy of it all."

"Windows?" Gilroy blustered. "Umm, well, I can't exactly sign off on anything that would compromise the structure of the building itself, but the paint--oh yes, absolutely, we can accommodate that."

Lewis set his sights on the far corner of the room, intending to just park his cart quietly and begin his daily duties, as much as he could, without disrupting anything. Unfortunately, a single wheel on the cart chose that exact moment to issue a piercing shriek.

Two pairs of eyes fixed on him, one pair magnified several times through thick convex lenses, and the others narrow and icy blue grey, keen and almost predatory as they studied the stricken boy.

"Ah! Just the person I wanted to see!" Gilroy blustered, beckoning to him. "Don't be shy, boy. Come here, there's someone I want to introduce you to. Come, come here!"

Lewis leaned the broom against the trash cart and trudged closer to the men. Now he got a better sense of just how tall Mr. Schlimme was--the man fairly loomed over Lewis and Gilroy both.

Lewis noted the thin black tie and the deep-purple silk vest the man wore with his suit--perhaps his artistry had generated money.

"Mr. Schlimme, I want you to meet one of the student staffers we have on campus. This is Lewis, he just started as a janitor for Moulton House. Lewis, allow me to present Mr. Krasimir Schlimme, a renown German artist who is interested in renting out a display hall for his pieces."

Krasimir Schlimme chuckled and said, "That is Persian-German, you mean--I am proud of both sides of my heritage!" He shook hands with Lewis, who felt the roughness and heft of the man's grip and wondered how an artist could develop the hands of a prizefighter.

"Nice to meet you, sir," he said meekly.

"Tell me," said Schlimme, "are you the sole person in charge of cleaning this entire museum by yourself, or are there others on some sort of rotation?"

"We have other students coming in for mock interviews tomorrow," Mr. Gilroy answered. "Lewis was just the earliest applicant in the door."

Schlimme's eyes narrowed just a little bit. "As far as my exhibits are concerned--I'm afraid I must insist on exclusivity." He tilted his head to examine the curator. Schlimme was so tall he could peer at the top of Gilroy's head.

The curator whipped his glasses off his face and wiped his glasses yet again. "Er, how exclusive? I've already agreed to have no other pieces in the room except yours."

"I want full control of who comes into contact with the pieces as well," Krasimir insisted. "The camera feed must be diverted to my own surveillance system, led by my head of security. Only one janitor must ever be allowed in that room to clean. No rotations!" He snapped the heels of his Italian leather shoes together and looked Lewis up and down in a way that made the lad squirm just a little. "This one will do. Perhaps as interest increases, we'll discuss the implementation of a ticket-purchasing system for my hall, but that doesn't have to be right away."

Gilroy was so flustered he just stood there rubbing his glasses between the folds of his shirt, without even putting them back on his face. "W-w-well, I, ah... That's a lot of things to take care of--"

"Then I suggest you contact whoever you need to assist you in getting it done," Schlimme answered. From an inner pocket of his jacket he pulled out a leather-covered checkbook, with a pen attached. With flourishing script, he filled out the amount and tore it off to show Gilroy. "As of today, I'm taking the space. I'll send the renovators by starting tomorrow, and I expect the space to be cleared."

Gilroy put his glasses back in front of his eyes. They bulged bigger than ever when he saw the amount written on the check. Lewis wondered how much rent on an entire exhibit hall--even in a place as small as Moulton House--would cost, to elicit such a reaction from the dowdy old man.

Gilroy immediately grasped Schlimme's hand, shaking it to seal the deal. "All will be in readiness as soon as your people arrive, I promise!" he said. "Welcome to Moulton House, Mr. Schlimme!"

Gilroy walked Krasimir Schlimme to the door, leaving Lewis to mull over the prospect of having a new assignment. Would Gilroy really go through with it? He just kept pushing the broom back and forth over one area, lost in thought.

"Lewis!" Gilroy's tone held a sense of urgency that made Lewis take notice. He set aside the broom and walked toward the front of the room, where Gilroy was busy trying to carefully shift a piece of artwork off the wall. "Help me clear this up."

Lewis turned to the opposite free-standing wall and began carefully lifting the paintings off their hooks. "So..." he began slowly. "You're going to give him what he wants?"

"Yes!" Gilroy snapped quickly. When he saw the change in Lewis's posture, his voice softened right away. "Honestly, lad, Moulton House could use a breath of fresh life in it. It's been years since we've been contacted by any artist from here to the coast. If nothing else, that check he just haded me would cover the cost of the renovators--plus additional tweaks and updates to the rest of the museum!"

"But what kind of artist is he?" Lewis wondered as he lifted a set of miniature ceremonial masks down from a recess in the free-standing wall. "What was all those things he was saying about needing bright colors and wanting his exhibit to be an immersive experience--he's not the sort of artist that would display something... scandalous, just to get a reaction out of people, would he?"

Gilroy actually stopped stacking frames of priceless paintings and his shoulders sagged even further. "I don't think so," he said. "I'm not sure what sort of art Mr. Schlimme produces--only that it has to do with mixed media, a combination of shadow-boxes, three-dimensional sculptures, and painted backdrops." He paused and set the paintings aside to stretch his back. "Well, we've got our work cut out for us, haven't we, my boy?" he declared to Lewis. "Keep clearing off the shelves and walls--I'm going to go get a crate for us to load all these things into."

Lewis watched the old curator disappear, thinking about how much Mr. Gilroy cared about being able to keep the museum. In the quiet, he wondered how many other things Gilroy would end up capitulating to, without knowing all the facts. Would it come back to bite them?

At the very least, the day's developments made for an exciting story to share at Study Hall that evening.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Quincy hooted as Lewis finished filling them all in about the arrival of the enigmatic Krasimir Schlimme. "Just like that, Mr. Gilroy agreed to clearing out an entire room of Moulton House? I thought the only things on display there were things that the big-city art museums didn't want to display or store!"

"This Kasper Slime guy sounds like an eccentric dude!" Henry remarked, pulling up a search engine on the browser of his laptop. "How do you spell his name again?"

Lewis spelled out "Krasimir Schlimme" for him, and within seconds, the three friends stared at a photo of the European artist, with his harsh features, dusky skin and flinty, pale-colored eyes.

Henry clicked the first link. "Says here he is a mixed-media artist known for his fantasy sculptures, hyper-realistic details in his paintings and sculptures, and bright, fanciful style. Check it out!" He pulled up a photo gallery of Schlimme's more famous pieces.

Lewis studied them closely. The scenes depicted in the vignettes were often mundane settings, but the subject basked in vivid hues--and even in the pictures on a digital screen, Lewis felt the notion growing in the back of his mind that there was something almost uncanny about the level of realism, especially in the areas with the most fine features: the face, in particular, but also the hands and feet.

He wagged his head. "Anyway, we got the exhibit hall cleared out just in time for the end of my shift. I'm just hoping he doesn't find anyone to replace me elsewhere in the museum, so that I won't have to be stuck following orders from Krasimir Schlimme."

Quincy shrugged. "That doesn't sound so bad, actually. At least your job won't change much, you'll still be cleaning."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, around creepy statues and paintings with eyes so real, they seem to follow you..." He glanced at one such painting and shuddered. Even through the digital screen, there was an eerie quality to the eyes that he just couldn't place.

"Well, look at the bright side," Henry said as he closed the window and returned to his classwork. "You'll only be doing this for the first semester. Then, if you want to, you can switch jobs to something else."

Lewis sighed. "That day can't come soon enough!" he groaned.

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Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 1

Part 1

"First Day Jitters"

"Hurry up, Lewis! You don't want to be late for your first shift!"

Lewis Grant gave his textbooks one last shove and slammed the locker door. "Coming," he replied absently to the girl with long black braids hanging down her back.

Quincy jigged from foot to foot, her uniform-issued trainers squeaking as they slid on the floor.

Lewis regarded her with a dubious expression. "Of course you would be excited about more work," he groused.

Quincy giggled as they headed through the front hall of Browning Academy. "Not just any work, though," she replied. "A real job, just like an adult! I mean, sure, the library technically still belongs to the school, but I just love how it all feels so official!" She gave another hop-skip, the pleats of her calf-length uniform's skirt fluttering with the motion. "Plus, working in a library is just about my dream job," she added after a moment.

Lewis just wasn't able to match her vigor. "Good for you," he mumbled under his breath. Her feet might have had wings or springs on them, but his felt like his trainers had been carved from stone. Of all the tasks he could have gotten... Why couldn't it have been something else?

"Hey," Quincy stopped her bouncing and calmed down to walk alongside Lewis. "Why the long face? Didn't you get the job at the museum because you were interested in art?"

Lewis huffed. "Art? Yes; but the assignment is for janitorial work. It's not studying or learning about art, it's just cleaning it." He reached up to adjust the collar of his uniform polo. How was it that the same company that had been making the Browning Academy uniforms for so many years still managed to produce some truly uncomfortable articles of clothing? Whether it was a seam that rested in just the wrong spot, or overall itchy fabric that stayed stiff through the first several washings... Lewis just couldn't get a uniform that felt just right.

Quincy was still talking. "Anyway, Jesse got the job at the food court. Maybe after our shift ends, we can meet up there for dinner and just to hang out... Unless," her green eyes shifted over to him. "You don't have study hall tonight, do you?"

Lewis shook his head. "No, just on Wednesdays and Saturdays."

Quincy smiled. "Perfect! See you after work, Luke!"

Lewis offered her a wave as he stopped in front of the imposing entranceway to Moulton House.

Browning Academy was billed as an avant-garde private educational institution for students whose parents were interested in the amount of real-world professional experience it offered, along with rigorous educational courses of study. Sort of like a "college light" experience, students stayed in dorms on campus, attended classes in the main building, and received job assignments at one of the many businesses that were also on campus: a food court, a library, a bakery, an art museum, a grocery store, and even its own "Browning City Hall" for those interested in municipal employment. Students attending the Academy could continue to have their room and board and even meals paid for, if they applied for and accepted a "job" at one of these establishments. The requirements were usually parceled out into 4-hour shifts, occurring either in the early morning, afternoon, or evening (so as to not interfere with the classes the student would be required to maintain as well), and the job descriptions were very much at the discretion of the management in each industry.

In this case, the curator and proprietor of Moulton House was a rather eccentric old man named Mr. Gilroy. Lewis had only just hauled the large front door open and stepped into the massive foyer of the museum when the robust, limp-haired man came striding out of some obscure corner.

"Well! Right on time! That's good to see--starting off on the right foot, excellent form!" Gilroy grabbed Lewis' hand in his thick-jointed, calloused talon of a hand, and gave it a few good pumps. The man's checkered suit hurt Lewis' eyes almost as much as his scratchy skin, but the man didn't seem to notice.

Lewis winced against the wrench in his shoulder and said, "Mr. Gilroy? I'm here about the--"

"Janitor position!" Gilroy trumpeted, peering at him through the bottle-thick lenses of his glasses. The round frames over his wide-stretched smile gave his face a rather comical effect. He waved a finger triumphantly in the air. "It'll be your job to help keep this museum clean, without damaging any of the displays. Come with me, I'll show you where you will keep your things while working." He pivoted with a scraping click of his shiny leather shoes, and stalked away.

Lewis scurried after him, casting a worried glance at the statues he ran past on the way.

Gilroy led him down a narrow side hall with very few doors, mostly offices of some sort, until he reached a door labeled "JANITOR." Inside, one wall bore many sets of cover-alls and boots, and even boasted a box of disposable hair nets on the shelf above them. On the other side were wide carts stocked with mops, brooms, brushes, bottles of cleaning solution, and other cleaning implements.

The curator stroked his sagging, stubbly chin as he dispensed his instructions.
"You'll come straight in here when you arrive for your shift--you're expected to start work at exactly the time printed on your card here," Gilroy handed Lewis an actual punch-card with his name printed on the top, and the words EVENING SHIFT: 3:30-7:30. "So you might want to consider reporting in a few minutes early, just so your shift can begin right when it's supposed to. Anyway," Gilroy rubbed his hands over his brightly-colored vest, "You'll come in here, get on one of those cover-alls--you don't really need the boots unless things get really messy--grab a cart, and get to work. Let me show you what to do around the exhibits." Gilroy hardly let Lewis get a word in edgewise, because as soon as he finished speaking, the man was out the door again, and down the hall. "You're going to probably spend most of the time in Exhibit Hall G," he pointed to the only wing in the museum with an open door, "since the other halls haven't quite been filled yet... Although," he leaned in conspiratorially, "between the two of us, I do have a call in to some of the best art museums in the state, and a certain billionaire's estate has expressed interest in loaning me some of the pieces that once belonged to said billionaire." He winked at Lewis and let out a hearty chuckle.

Inside the exhibit hall, Lewis saw free-standing walls and display cases scattered throughout the room, as well as art pieces hanging on the walls of the room. One could navigate the maze of exhibits by walking a zig-zag path from one end of the room to the other.

"We don't want students to worry about touching the actual pieces of art," Gilroy stated. "So your duties will amount to sweeping the floors, cleaning up any trash left behind by the patrons, and using the spray to clean the glass on the display cases." Gilroy raised a finger and indicated the corner where the wall met the ceiling.

Lewis looked up and saw the gleaming, tennis-ball-sized shape hanging from the ceiling. "There are cameras?" he acknowledged what he figured the curator wanted him to notice.

Gilroy shrugged his round shoulders. "Of course; these are priceless works of art, we wouldn't want anybody trying to mess with them! No, what I was going to tell you, young man, is that the glass display cases are typically rigged to an alarm system, but during your shift, after you check in with the host at the front desk--either myself, or one of the other assistant curators--that system will be placed on hold for the duration of your shift, so that you can clean whatever you can in three hours." The elderly man wagged a finger in Lewis' face. "See that you do not abuse this privilege! Although your movements won't trigger any alarms, someone," he pointed to the cameras again, "will always be watching!"

Lewis nodded, but inwardly he felt the urge to roll his eyes at the constant assumption made by older adults that teenage students--especially boys--were constantly "up to something." While he could admit that most boys his age were, indeed, prone to playing tricks, he felt more than a little peeved that the curator would assume that he would only be willing to accept this job because he wanted to steal or mess with the art pieces and antiques on display.
"I can assure you, I'm just going to stick to my job," he replied to the older man.

Gilroy nodded and clapped Lewis on the back. "That's good to hear! I'll be looking forward to seeing how this space transforms with some regular cleaning. You'll find a checklist attached to the cart," he pointed to a faded clipboard hanging from a hook on the side of the cart, "with everything I'll be expecting you to do during your shift: where to clean, what products or tools to use, and so forth. Should be pretty straightforward, and you'll see the reimbursements and vouchers sent right to your student account."

"Sounds good, Mr. Gilroy," said Lewis.

The curator straightened his collar and fidgeted only a little. "One last thing," he said. "If you have any questions, my office is just down the hallway between Hall A and Hall B." He paused and regarded the young man keenly. "Do you have any questions for me just now?"

Lewis shook his head. "I think everything seems to be in order. I'd really like to get cleaning."

Gilroy beamed at this. "That's wonderful to hear! The last student on janitor duty didn't much care for the physicality of it." His lip curled a little in modest scorn. Shaking it off, he said, "Well, I have things to do, and so do you. Good luck, Lewis!"

The curator strode out of the room, and Lewis was left to examine the space alone.

While there were freestanding walls and display cases all around the room no bigger than a basketball court, Lewis noticed that there weren't a whole lot of art pieces. A lot of empty hooks and shelves with dust collected on it, with only a few oil paintings and sculptures. Lewis sighed and pulled out the broom, grateful for the amount of open space that allowed him to sweep and clean without running into things. A few people came in while he was sweeping the floors and dusting the shelves, but it didn't take anyone very long to see everything in the room there was to see, and out they went again. He didn't much mess with the artwork, except to brush it gently with a thick, soft cosmetic-type brush.

From there, Lewis moved on to sweeping and polishing the front hall till the tiled floor gleamed under the bright chandeliers. The old building creaked and groaned around him, but the general vibe he got from the atmosphere of Moulton House was of contemplative silence, a peaceful pensiveness. The wainscoting around the perimeter was lined with complex beveling, which Lewis found challenging to clean. In the end, he opted to use the microfiber rag to ensure that most of the surface looked clean, without having to carve into every single crevice on the panels.

Mr. Gilroy came out at 7:30 and surveyed the work that had been done. He nodded his approval and said, "Well, if you can work like this every shift, I think there is a good chance Moulton House will attract new local talent to feature!"

Lewis glowed with the praise. His first job, and he did well at it!

That elated feeling carried him all through signing out at Moulton House, down the stairs, and across the quadrangle to the food court, a bank of small restaurant fronts that could sell a limited selection of dishes in various ethnicities and themes, where the students could eat.

Lewis walked over to the pizzeria and dug out his voucher for the day: two slices and a medium soda. He chose a slice of pesto chicken and a slice of pepperoni sausage, and filled his cup with lemon-lime soda, and the smiling girl at the register promised that a server would bring his pizza piping hot to the table.

Lewis ambled over to where Quincy and Henry sat, each picking at their plate of food and not saying anything. Even Quincy's effervescent attitude of the afternoon seemed to have deflated quite considerably. Her uniform lacked its usual austere precision, even looking a bit rumpled in places and untucked on one side. She quietly shifted the filling of her chicken pot pie around, separating the veggie pieces into categories. Henry just sat with his chin in his hand, staring at the clump of noodles rotating around his fork.

"So," Lewis began slowly, doing his best to break the silence without absolutely shattering it, "how was everyone's first--"

"Horrible!" Quincy blurted before he could finish. She stuck out her lip in a pout. "Working at a library is so not as glamorous and idyllic as I thought it would be! There was a class of small children visiting today, and all they did was shout and run and pull books off the shelves, I thought I was going to just be re-shelving books in the children's section all day! Add onto that the number of questions random people asked me, like where's this book? Where's that book? Does this library have books on this peculiar subject? Like, how should I know? I barely started working there! That's what the catalog kiosk is for, right? A digital card catalog; just enter your search terms, and it will tell you if we have it in the system, and exactly where to find it!" She cupped her head in her hands with an exasperated moan. "I thought I was going to be more prepared for this--I was so wrong!"

Henry snorted. "Same here," he said. "Working in the grocery store is no picnic, either. I spent most of my day re-stocking the shelves, but I did get a bit of experience ringing up a few customers. Then one of the cashiers asked me to bag groceries for his customers, so guess what I ended up doing for the rest of the day?" He sighed. "We only had one incident where somebody broke a jar of pasta sauce. I'm just glad I didn't have to clean that up! I heard it splattered everywhere."

Jesse walked over with Lewis' pizza in one hand, and a hamburger and fries in the other. "Hey guys!" he exclaimed brightly. "How is everybody?"

"We were just filling in each other about our days," Quincy said grumpily. "So far Jesse and I have had a rough go of it--Lewis, how did your day go? Was it as crowded as our days were?"

Lewis bit off the end of the chicken pizza, and shrugged. "Not really. Moulton House may look big, but it's kind of got this empty feeling in there. I think they make a point to display local artists, and they might be between artists right now, so the place is pretty empty." He grinned. "That just makes it all the more easy to clean, I suppose."

"Lucky you!" Jesse chuckled. "I've been cleaning up spilled trays and drinks and bussing tables for hours now! I'm just glad things have quieted down, giving me space to think!"

Quincy pressed her lips in a demure grin. "So, we've established that out of all of us, Lewis has the most mundane job."

Lewis snorted. "Yeah, until someone joins our group who works in Browning City Hall, that is!"

"You never know what kind of shenanigans people try to pull in municipal buildings," Henry joked.

The four friends finished their meals and parted ways to their various student housing accommodations. Lewis kept his movements quiet as he slipped past three other rooms with their occupants winding down for the evening, until he reached his own room, with barely enough room for a closet, a bed, and a desk.
As he lay down in the bed, Quinn's observation resurfaced in his memory, "Lewis has the most mundane job..."

He only hoped that would prove to be the case. Mundane was nice. Mundane, and predictable--that was how Lewis preferred his first job in a new situation. Was that too much to ask?

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Bookish Blog Hop February 2022: "A Book You Own But Haven't Read Yet"

Leslie Conzatti (Me!)

I don’t have a whole lot of books on my “regular” shelves that I personally own but haven’t read, since that was my goal for the end of last year, to read the last couple books that I picked up at a book sale but hadn’t read yet… But there are a few books still on my shelf of signed indie books that I haven’t read yet! (I’m working my way toward them–I also have dozens of indie ebooks sitting in my digital library that I haven’t yet touched! I suppose I could have counted one of them as my answer–but how to choose which one??) 

One such book is You Are Not Alone by Kelly Blanchard. It’s the eighth book in her Chronicles of Lorrek series, and if the other seven are any indication, it’s going to be good, I just know it! I’ve been an avid fan of this series ever since the first book started out on Wattpad. She’s since moved to self-publishing, and from there to being picked up by a small-press publisher–and the books just keep getting better and better! It starts out with some epic sword-and-sorcery-type fantasy with some light elements of sci-fi technology seamlessly blended with the magic in this world… and as the series progresses, we’ve moved from one group of kingdoms to other worlds and from there to outer space and whole galaxies and space travel–this series does not quit, and I can’t wait to see what’s next in this particular book!

Becki ( A Book Lover’s Adventures) - www.abookloversadventures.com

I have so many books that I own but haven’t read yet. But, I’ll share two. One that I have plans on reading soon and one that I really hope to fit in soon.

The first is Dreams of Trespass by Fatima Mernissi. This is a memoir by a girl who grew up in Morocco in a harem. I am reading my way around the world this year, so this book will hit Morocco for me. And, hearing the first hand account of a young woman who grew up in a culture so different from mine will be interesting.

The second book is one I’ve had hanging around for a while and really want to dive into. This one is That Thing You Do by Maria Geraci. This one is a light hearted romance about second chances. When a job brings Allie back home, she runs into her ex-boyfriend Tom who is way too sexy and definitely in the way of her dream job. I’m hoping to curl up with this one before too long.

Valerie Lester - Cats Luv Coffee 

I don’t really have physical books in my collection that I haven’t yet read. I read so quickly that I try not to purchase a lot of books that are going to take up space. That said, I have a TON on my kindle just waiting for me. Two that I’m looking forward to are:

Shadowflicker by Gregory Bastianelli - I read his horror novel Snowball  last year and loved it. I’m saving this one a little closer to the publish date. Shadowflicker apparently is about an investigator that is looking into the negative effects of wind turbines on those who live close to them after a whole lot of weird things happen near them. 

In The Devil’s Dream by Felix Blackwell - I found Stolen Tongues last year thanks to the Books of Horror Facebook group and man, they weren’t kidding around with this one. It has to be one of the creepiest books I’ve read. In the Devil’s Dream follows the same principle of a secluded cabin and something creeping around outside. 

Jo Linsdell www.JoLinsdell.com

I have so many books I own but haven’t read yet. Most of the physical copies I got over the Christmas period though. Don’t get me started on kindle books… my TBR list of books I own but still need to read is huge on there! 
One book I got gifted at Christmas that I’m really looking forward to reading in The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.

“For centuries, the story of Dracula has captured the imagination of readers and storytellers alike. Kostova's breathtaking first novel, ten years in the writing, is an accomplished retelling of this ancient tale. "The story that follows is one I never intended to commit to paper... As an historian, I have learned that, in fact, not everyone who reaches back into history can survive it." With these words, a nameless narrator unfolds a story that began 30 years earlier.
Late one night in 1972, as a 16-year-old girl, she discovers a mysterious book and a sheaf of letters in her father's library—a discovery that will have dreadful and far-reaching consequences, and will send her on a journey of mind-boggling danger. While seeking clues to the secrets of her father's past and her mother's puzzling disappearance, she follows a trail from London to Istanbul to Budapest and beyond, and learns that the letters in her possession provide a link to one of the world's darkest and most intoxicating figures. Generation after generation, the legend of Dracula has enticed and eluded both historians and opportunists alike. Now a young girl undertakes the same search that ended in the death and defilement of so many others—in an attempt to save her father from an unspeakable fate.”

Kaili @ Owl Book World

I have so many books that I own and still haven’t read yet it’s not even funny. The Taking of Jake Livingston is one of those books. But this month I’m hoping that’s going to change because I added it to my TBR!
It is a young adult horror novel that has been on my TBR for a while now.
There’s also You’re so Dead, The Inivited, Swallow, and They Both Die at the End just to name a few.

Vidya Tiru @LadyInReadWrites  (Instagram | Twitter | Facebook ) 

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy is a book I have been meaning to read for decades now. I recall my paternal grandfather recommending this book to me when I was in high school. I have had it in my home library forever, it seems like, but somehow never read it yet. And of course, if I am being honest, I have to read more than half the books on my bookshelves. But, I have read the other half a zillion times (maybe more or less)....

How about you? Are there any books you own that you haven't read yet? Tell us about them in the comments--maybe 2022 is the year you finally get around to it! And don't forget to check out the other stops in this great Blog Hop! Check out the list of themes below: