Novella - Domovoi - Chapters 3 & 4
Author’s Note: It is always refreshing to read work you have written after some time away and finding enjoyment. That is what I experienced rereading chapters 3 & 4 this evening. There were moments where I felt like someone else had written these words, giving them a subtle authority as a real author’s work. Having enjoyed my romp through chapter 3, I needed a trip back to earth and asked my wife to sit down while I read the chapter out loud.
After some laughter at my less than subtle wish fulfillment fantasy writing, we had a pleasant discussion while we fed our horses about the pros and cons of the chapter with regards to my skill set as a writer. I tried a few different ideas and some worked well, while others fell a little flat (the garbage bags in particular). In the end, as with this entire novella, the writing will be very lightly edited. The purpose of this story is not to hone it to a better piece of work, but to get the experience of putting words to the page, to borrow some parlance from
. However, I do find value in noting the good and bad to see where my skills are weak. I think of this Novella more as a benchmark of sorts as a way to see how I started. It is late and I want some rest, so please enjoy Chapters 3 & 4 of Domovoi..Chapter 3
Stacy and Jeff pulled into the driveway around 3pm, still plenty of daylight to do some yardwork before the realtor came by for dinner. Before he started on the chores, Jeff wanted to get everything unpacked from the car and into the house. He grabbed his bag and her suitcase and started for the door, Stacy already there holding it open for him. He paused and said thank you while leaning in for a kiss, Stacy happily obliging. They had been married for five years now and were just starting to hit their stride on fully understanding how each other clicked, they were ready to take on the seven year itch. Jeff put the two bags down in the master bedroom and headed for the kitchen.
“Do you want a glass of lemonade?” Stacy asked.
“Hell yeah, just not yet. I’ll have one when im done. Maybe you can even bring it out to me while I am sweating outside raking leaves.”
“In your dreams.”
“Yes.”
Jeff winked at his wife and then went back to the bedroom to change into his overalls, eager to be done with his work so he can relax.
Fall. That wonderful time of year when the leaves change colors, the evenings cool down, and pumpkin spice is in everything. One thing that is left out of the fall season marketing push is the raking of those beautiful leaves as they go from life to lifeless, creating not only a blanket of decay, but also a slipping risk once a light rain comes. Jeff loved the mature trees in their yard, a few oak, maples, an aspen, and an outstanding American Sycamore in the corner of the yard, a more beautiful array of colors in the fall you would be hard pressed to find. It was those same leaves that became the bane of Jeff’s existence, but only after they had moved. Running a short term rental is all about risk mitigation, but also the constant need to have a picture perfect landscape, becoming a slave to your metrics to maintain that near perfect customer approval ranking.
“Definitely not going to miss doing this ever again” Jeff said out loud to himself.
“Not going to miss what?” a voice said from over the back fence.
Shit, Jeff thought. It was Cliff. Guess the time to rip that bandage off is now.
“Raking leaves. Stace and I are talking about selling this place again now that the market has improved.
“Oh yah?”
“I didn’t really want to tell you like this, but you caught me off guard. What are you doing over at Mr. Olsen’s anyway?”
“Doing my best Tom Sawyer impression.”
A few seconds passed with no response from Jeff, the literary reference an oft used arrow in Cliff’s quiver to showcase his intellect, followed by a chuckle from Cliff before he continued.
“C’mon Jeff, its Samuel Clemens…..you know, Mark Twain, you should really read more books. I’m helping Mr. Olsen paint his back wall.”
“Yah got me I guess.” was all Jeff could respond with.
Jeff understood the game Cliff was playing but knew it was not one worth playing, there being little chance of success since Cliff was the sorest of losers, but also an obnoxious winner. A healthy dollop of indifference was the real key to victory in these interactions.
“You still coming by tomorrow evening for dinner? Stace and I wanted to talk to you about the sale and how it might affect you.”
It was Cliff’s turn to be silent, the chasm opening, before being quickly slammed shut.
“Umm, I’ll have to check with Brittany and get back with you, she had mentioned something”
“Sure.” An obvious lie “I’m going to get back to it, we have the realtor coming later and I need to finish these leaves. I’ll tell Stacy you said hi.”
Cliff’s rebuttal was a physical one, his footsteps, walking towards Mr. Olsen’s house. Jeff returned to his raking, mildly annoyed at his interaction with Cliff, unsure of whether to tell Stacy or not. It was always this way, Jeff’s dealings with Cliff, when Stacy was not around. Night and Day.
Jeff finished getting all the leaves into big piles and walked to the patio to grab the garbage can and the spare trash bags, the thick contractor ones made especially for this purpose had some indescribable beauty when stacked out on the curb. He popped his head into the house and gave his wife the ten minute warning.
“Stace. I’m starting to bag the leaves up. Better get that lemonade ready soon and maybe a little snack.”
“Coming right up, snacks are my specialty.”
Stace enjoyed a bit of roleplay as the overly feminine wife who dotes on her husband, not as often as Jeff would like, but he would take what he could get, and today it seemed she was in one of those moods. Things usually ended well on those days.
Jeff ended up with five piles of leaves today and luckily there hadn’t been a recent rain to weigh them down. He precariously stacked them onto his wheelbarrow hoping to make it to the front in one trip, four bags was simple, six almost impossible, but five could be done. He loved puzzles of all kind, especially jigsaw, and this was a simple puzzle. He loaded one bag as close to the front edge as he could and slid a second one right behind it, spilling it over the right edge. The third bag was the toughest bag as it was the lynchpin of his entire strategy, he stuffed it into the left of the second bag and spilled it out over the left side and pushed the second bag out a little bit more. He went to grab the fourth bag but as he did the second bag fell out, something he was worried about. He set the bag down by his feet so it would be quickly within reach and set the second and third bag again, leaving his hand on the second bag as he grabbed the fourth bag and quickly put it down on top of all three of the bags. For the fifth bag he already had a spot for that, against the fourth bag and mostly riding between the handles. He made it to the front and unloaded without any issues. Success.
Jeff attempted to dust himself off before going inside but found his shirt and overalls to be soaked with sweat, a sign it was time for that lemonade. Jeff stomped his feet on the welcome mat, opened the door and stepped inside. The cool air smacked him in the face. He found Stacy finishing up the afternoon snack and had a pitcher of lemonade up on the bar top along with two empty glasses and a metal bin full of crushed ice.
“Mmmm this looks nice” Jeff said.
“Please take a seat Mr. Patterson, your snack will be delivered shortly” Stace said in a professional voice. “Today’s snack is a bowl of baked cheddar crackers formed into the shape of the chef’s favorite fish accompanied by a pitcher of lemonade made with freshly squeezed lemons, locally sourced of course, raw turbinado sugar and pure artisanal water sourced from our faucet which was then carefully whisked to incorporate the ingredients gently without over mixing. We hope you find the pairing to your liking.”
Stace said ratcheting up the roleplay. He pulled out his chair and sat down.
“That sounds like it will hit the spot just fine. Any chance a lady as beautiful as yourself would care to join me?”
“Mr. Patterson, stop it! You know I can’t do that. Plus, what would your wife think?”
“I can keep a secret if you can, but you’re right, she should be here any moment, don’t get me in any trouble, I happen to like this restaurant.”
Stacy brought over the bowl of goldfish and set it on the counter top and pulled out the seat next to Jeff.
Stacy reached for the ice and started to fill the glasses. Jeff grabbed the pitcher of lemonade and filled up both cups. They each picked up their glass and clinked them together.
“I love you” she said.
“I love you too” Jeff replied as he leaned in to give his wife a kiss.
“How did it go out there?”
“Not too bad, except I sort of told Cliff we were selling the house.” Jeff said looking up guiltily at Stacy.
“You what!?
“I know, he overheard me from Mr. Olsen’s yard when I was bitching about those damn leaves, it just came out.”
“How did he take it?”
Jeff shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows with him. He seemed a little surprised at first but then recovered. He did make up some excuse about possibly having plans tomorrow, then he walked off without saying goodbye, you know, typical Cliff stuff.”
“Great. Well I guess it had to be done at some point. Sorry.”
“Well, uhh, these cheese crackers sure are great, you make them yourself?”
Stacy smiled, appreciating her husband’s ability to flip a switch and move on.
“I did!” she said enthusiastically. “Do you like them? I slaved away for hours I’ll have you know.”
“I assume the more time it takes the more I should be impressed? I am quite impressed then. This really did hit the spot though, thank you. The lemonade was just the right amount of tart.”
Jeff pushed his stool back and stood up.
“Alright, I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower before Beverly arrives. What time is she coming again?”
“Six, but you know her, she usually runs late so I’d say six forty five should be about right. I want to have food almost ready by then so I will need your help.”
Jeff checked the stove clock and saw it was four thirty, enough time if he was deliberate.
“Sure, we’re making pizzas right?” he said and he made his way to the bedroom.
“Yes and a salad.”
Jeff entered the bathroom and turned on the shower, the water heater was on the other side of the house so it took a minute or so for the hot water to make its way out. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror, his face and hair a sweaty mess, and turned on the faucet in the sink. He cupped his hand and splashed water onto his face and sighed. The drive and the bit of yardwork were definitely taxing, but the worry about the house sale and Cliff were also weighing on Jeff’s mind. He turned off the water, went back into the room and took off his clothes.
He returned to the shower and tested the water. Hot. He stepped into the shower and under the shower head and soaked his hair, the water running down his back. He paused enjoying the heat and humidity. He heard the creak of the bathroom door, then some clothes hit the floor. The shower curtain was drawn back, Stacy standing there naked with a coy look on her face.
“Sorry to bother you Mr. Patterson, I wanted to ask about your experience and if there was anything else I can do for you.”
Oh yes, things would end well indeed Jeff thought to himself.
Chapter 4
John entered his office, placed his coat on the rack and flicked on the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs hummed as they fired up, his office awash with its bright sterile light, he preferred the brightness in the evenings as he was often under slept and was likely to doze off if he sat down. He walked over to his desk and pulled his mug out of the top right drawer and made for the fresh coffee pot he had requested on his way in from the crime scene. Caffeine, alongside nicotine, were the fuel that kept most detective’s going. Funny that detectives seem to all fit the trope from old pulp books. Truth was, they kept odd hours and never knew when the action might kick off. Many long nights of sitting and waiting were made possible by these tools and tonight was no exception. John filled up his mug and sat down at his desk.
Turk had been up early that morning scouting out a tip for another case that led nowhere before heading back to the office for a quick lunch and then straight into a debrief with a rookie, Chris, a good lad, helping him with his cases, when the call came in on the Patterson murders. He moved his other case files to the side of his desk, a laughable attempt if you saw his desk. Along with his call ahead for a fresh pot, he had also asked for any files the precinct had on the Patterson’s, rightfully assuming there would be one. It was no surprise really; the popularity of their rental property had brought with it its own set of headaches for the town. While most of the visitors were the innocent types who loved a good spook, it was the large party groups and the lone ghost hunters looking to debunk the mystery that were the real headache for local law enforcement. It was a long shot, but he wanted to go through it all and see if anything jumped out at him.
He got out his notepad and set it down while he started with the general information on the inside fold, specialty information garnered over the multiple trips, along with a few sticky notes with key names associated with the residence, usually neighbors, but in this case ,it had the name of Cliff Bradley, the property manager for the Patterson’s. He jotted his name and contact info down in his notebook with a note to bring him in for questioning. In the margin he scratched the word alibi with a question mark next to it. Occam’s Razor, he thought to himself. He started through the file and quickly found it to be filled with mundane disturbing the peace complaints and a few drunk altercations with neighbors or other guests. He did notice that there were a few complaints lodged by the owners themselves against an individual named Greg Pearson for stalking. Bingo. Seems Greg had been a reoccurring guest but had stirred up some drama and was banned through the various services. After that, he had taken to using aliases to attempt making it back onto the property but was eventually found out and a restraining order had to be issued.
The first suspect always gave John a rush of adrenaline, writing his name down beneath Cliff’s was like finding the first corner piece of your puzzle, it felt good. The rest of the case file was a dud however. He audibly exhaled, looked at his empty coffee cup, and got up and filled it up for a second time. He leaned up against the counter and crossed his arms and legs, pondering. A soft knock on the door startled him.
“Yes?” he responded. “Come in.”
The door opened, bringing Jenny along with it, mindful to close the door behind her, a manilla envelope in her other hand. She set the folder down on the counter next to the coffee pot, Turk stood up and faced her. Jenny smiled and placed her arms against his chest and slid her hands up and around his neck, pressing her lips against his.
“It was nice seeing you tonight.” She whispered into his ear.
A bit of an odd pairing, if anyone found out. Jenny and John had started seeing each other six months after Jenny took the head forensics position, moving from the big city. They butted heads immediately. Jenny, diligent but strictly by the book, and John, if things were by the book, it was only a coincidence. It was their passion for the job where they found their common ground, both good and bad.
Turk loosened up and wrapped his arms around her, Jenny pulling back to face him.
“It would’ve been a lot nicer to see you before your team manhandled the Patterson residence.”
“Damnit John, why is everything about work with you?”
“You know why.” He let it hang in the air for a few seconds before continuing. “What did you bring me?”
Jenny pushed herself away, picked up the manilla folder and quickly smacked John with it.
“Preliminary results mostly. We were able to confirm the kitchen knife was used to stab and kill Jeff, wiped clean and placed back into the knife block downstairs.”
“Tell me something I didn’t already know.”
“Ok smart guy. How about he was only dead less than sixty minutes before we arrived on the scene.”
“I had a hunch there as well, only due to Mrs. Patterson’s surprise resuscitation.”
“About that. Nothing to report yet but toxicology should be coming back in the next hour.”
“Good. Good.” John trailed off, caught up in a thought. “Call me as soon as you get it. Will I see you tonight?”
Jenny was used to being pushed aside, work coming first for Turk, as his ex wife had found out, but she couldn’t say it still didn’t hurt a little. She wasn’t used to being set aside by men so nonchalantly. She was determined to not let him know it hurt.
“That was the plan, did you want me to bring some take out?”
“I have been craving some of Xen’s noodles lately. Would you mind?”
Jenny confirmed as she opened the door and let herself out. The door immediately reopened with Jenny’s head peeping back in.
“Oh! I almost forgot, all of the shoe prints in the attic belonged to the Patterson’s. Best we can tell, the perpetrator had on some sort of smooth leather sole.”
John picked up his coffee and went back to his desk and recounted the events as he currently understood them. One dead body, still warm when the wife awakens from some kind of drug induced sleep, a kitchen knife for a weapon, and no clear footprints. He dreaded his next thought, but he had to rule out the damn Domovoi, it would only hamper his investigation. He would have to speak to Mrs Patterson and this Cliff Bradley about this apparent haunted house and how it was done. For now, he needed to get some background on Cliff before calling him in for an interview first thing tomorrow. He sent out an internal memo asking if anyone knew Cliff and to reach out, then grabbed his notepad and his keys and walked out of his office.