COUNTERTOP
There’s a countertop here, with several items that draw your eye. There’s a purse, a pot, and a locked cabinet.
As you handle the purse, trying to reach out for any metaphysical attachments that may linger, a sudden sound almost makes you drop the bag. From behind you comes the sound of a woman failing to stifle her tears. Slowly, hoping not to startle her, you turn around to find a woman watching you as she sniffles. She radiates heartbreak.
‘Jane…’ The name floats to the surface of your mind, and now it clicks; this must be Elsie’s Aunt Jane, who lost her own daughter just a year prior to that awful night’s events.
“Oh no, what has happened this time?”
“We’re not quite sure, but I hope to right all the wrongs that have happened here.”
“Please, let me be of some help.”
“My sister-in-law had ordered a new piece of furniture, but didn’t trust the courier service. She had Mr. Emmett to come along to help load and unload the table, as well as Virgil to help him. I offered to go as well, in case they needed another set of hands. We broke down before we even made it into town. What were the odds that that strange salesman just happened to be coming along that empty stretch of road? He certainly took advantage of giving us a ride back, getting an invite in and bringing his suitcase in with him. The busybody neighbor appeared at some point, complaining about the kids.”
“I admit it was more difficult than expected at first. But after a while, it seemed to fill a bit of the void, being welcomed into their home. It may not make up for… *sniffle* …Well, they’re what I have left now, even Mr. Emmett, Ms. Birdie, and Mr. Otto. We’ve become a sort of family now.”
“How could I not be?! Look at everything it’s taken from me and my family! Not just my family, everyone that night, but my brother as well. He wasted away those last years of his life determined to find our killer and bring justice to us in the afterlife.”
You hesitate to touch the pretty little antique pot, a style you’ve heard referred to as a cocoa pot. Investigators at the time were unable to say with surety how exactly the victims of that night came in contact with the poison, but looking at the pot before you, you’re certain. Bitter cocoa and copper chokes you for just a moment, but that’s all it takes for you to decide you will never lay a finger on the otherwise innocuous piece of steel before you. You swear you can feel it leering at you as you turn away.
As you handle the purse, trying to reach out for any metaphysical attachments that may linger, a sudden sound almost makes you drop the bag. From behind you comes the sound of a woman failing to stifle her tears. Slowly, hoping not to startle her, you turn around to find a woman watching you as she sniffles. She radiates heartbreak.
‘Jane…’ The name floats to the surface of your mind, and now it clicks; this must be Elsie’s Aunt Jane, who lost her own daughter just a year prior to that awful night’s events.
“Oh no, what has happened this time?”
“We’re not quite sure, but I hope to right all the wrongs that have happened here.”
“Please, let me be of some help.”
“We’re not quite sure, but I hope to right all the wrongs that have happened here.”
“Please, let me be of some help.”
“My sister-in-law had ordered a new piece of furniture, but didn’t trust the courier service. She had Mr. Emmett to come along to help load and unload the table, as well as Virgil to help him. I offered to go as well, in case they needed another set of hands. We broke down before we even made it into town. What were the odds that that strange salesman just happened to be coming along that empty stretch of road? He certainly took advantage of giving us a ride back, getting an invite in and bringing his suitcase in with him. The busybody neighbor appeared at some point, complaining about the kids.”
“I admit it was more difficult than expected at first. But after a while, it seemed to fill a bit of the void, being welcomed into their home. It may not make up for… *sniffle* …Well, they’re what I have left now, even Mr. Emmett, Ms. Birdie, and Mr. Otto. We’ve become a sort of family now.”
“How could I not be?! Look at everything it’s taken from me and my family! Not just my family, everyone that night, but my brother as well. He wasted away those last years of his life determined to find our killer and bring justice to us in the afterlife.”
You hesitate to touch the pretty little antique pot, a style you’ve heard referred to as a cocoa pot. Investigators at the time were unable to say with surety how exactly the victims of that night came in contact with the poison, but looking at the pot before you, you’re certain. Bitter cocoa and copper chokes you for just a moment, but that’s all it takes for you to decide you will never lay a finger on the otherwise innocuous piece of steel before you. You swear you can feel it leering at you as you turn away.