Chapter #3Alvin by: Unknown "Hey, hey, hey, get away from there!"
"But I'm bored!"
"That's my desk, Alvin, you leave that alone! There's nothing there that'd amuse you anyway."
But as he'd lifted the squirming thirteen-year-old away from his old writing desk, a piece of paper was swept outward, fluttering slowly to the floor. Alvin wiggled out of his uncle's grip and picked it up, quickly skimming the contents. "What's this?"
"Nothing." The paper was quickly snatched back up and shoved into a drawer. "Nothing to concern yourself with. Now go...go watch TV for a bit. Get some of my old tapes out or something."
But children are naturally curious. Especially bored children, who've been sent to stay with their bachelor uncle while Mom and Dad are on vacation from them.
So in the dead of night while Uncle Paul slept, Alvin re-dressed himself, and crept through the small house to his desk. He dared not turn on any lights, instead allowing the moonlight filtering through the blinds be his aid. He found the drawer the paper had been put in, slowly and carefully opened it, and removed the letter.
Children are curious. Especially bored children. Especially bored children who are already having a rebellious adventure by being out of bed and snooping around when they shouldn't be. And children who are already tasting rebellion and having one small adventure who have read all sorts of books featuring brave, rebellious children who run away to have adventures when grown-ups aren't looking...Those are the most curious children of all.
He'd only be gone for a little bit.
He'd peek around the address on the letter for a little bit, then come back.
That was what he told himself as he pedaled his bike to the abandoned studio, cold night wind stinging his cheeks and whipping his hair.
By the time Alvin reached the studio, the familiar tales of rebellious children and adventure were turning into stories of ghosts, and monsters that ate kids. The studio loomed in front of him, dark and dismal. Alvin let his bike coast to a stop as he stared up at it, scarcely believing the sight.
He knew his uncle had worked at an animation studio, decades before he was born. He knew the Isabelle cartoons were made here – Uncle Paul had some of the cartoons in his house, and some of the original merchandise. He'd never allowed him out here of course, and he really didn't like to talk about his days out here, but he knew about it all right.
The Isabelle cartoons were about Isabelle the Space Fox, an alien in future Earth trying to find her way back home. The show was me with generally positive reviews from the public, the narrative, characters, and presentation were lauded for it’s delivery of normally sensitive topics. But on the other end of the spectrum, critics were critical of the Isabelle herself.
Because it was technically a kids show, the fact that Isabelle was always portrayed as a hyper voluptuous fox was the most controversial part of the series. She always wore a white, spandex spacesuit that only drew more attention to her curves, and always managed to get into scenarios that took advantage of her body style.
To Alvin, he didn't care honestly how the character was drawn, he just liked her. Brave, smart, funny, he actually told his Uncle that she was his idol once. He didn't stop laughing for a whole three minutes. But despite what Alvin thought, the studio soon had to close its most beloved franchise down, and everything was downhill from there.
He just...didn't know it looked like this. Falling apart in some places, holes in the rooftop, windows boarded up haphazardly, some spots had to be reinforced with even more planks of wood... All in all, it looked more like a haunted house than an animation studio.
The wind blew ominously, gliding between some of the wood and making whistling sounds. The studio groaned loudly, as if in protest.
Alvin should have been more afraid than ever.
But something compelled him to drop the kickstand and venture closer.
Maybe it was the fact he'd come this far.
Maybe the adventure stories were overpowering the ghost ones.
He put her hands on the gate, pushing gently. It flew open, squeaking loudly.
At the sound of the loud squeak, a light suddenly appeared in one of the windows.
Maybe that was what compelled him to run inside.
"Whoooaaaaa!" Alvin whispered, letting the door close behind her. The studio was dimly-lit inside, casting an orange-brown glow to everything, and the halls were only in slightly less disrepair than the outside. Splatters of ink were on the floor and wall here and there, thick pipes swam in and out of the wood like a sea-serpent. The ceiling was hiiigh above Alvin's head, making him feel like Jack in the giant's castle. His astonished cry echoed around him, the floor creaked as if in answer.
And he was all by himself in here...
He only had one thing to say to that.
"Cooooool!" He shouted, fists clenched at his chest.
"ooool...ooool...ool...ol..." His echo answered.
He couldn't help the delighted laugh from bubbling out of his throat as he did a quick, jogging dance in the entryway. Who cared what the outside of the studio looked like now, the inside was awesome! And so much room and and and all to himself and and oh wow, he could bring his bike or his skates in here and go nuts with all this floor space and...!
...And Isabelle cutouts and posters on the walls and some really old-looking stuff too that he didn't bother investigating, he could have so much fun in here! Heck, he could grab some snacks and a blanket or something when he went home and then come back and make this place his hideout!
Wouldn't that be a great story for when school resumed?
Alvin finally took a few steps down the hall, looking around as he moved. Now that his echo had faded, the halls were quiet again. The only other sound was the squeaks his shoes made, the slightest creak of the floor when he pressed all his weight on one foot. And those were small sounds, so they didn't count.
He paused in front of a cardboard Isabelle, smiling jovially as if to welcome him in. With a matching grin of his own, Alvin held his hand at the top of his head, then moved it to the cardboard Isabelle's. "Hey, you're as taller'n me!" He laughed. "Uncle Paul always said you'd be shorter." He stood back, briefly waving at the cutout. "Well, bye!"
As he walked, taking in the scale and scope of the building, scattering pieces of paper in her wake, he wondered why his uncle had hidden the letter. Did he not want her to come here? He couldn't imagine why – this place was amazing! It was old and falling apart in places, but that only made it more interesting. Grown ups always worried about the silliest things, Alvin thought to herself.
His attention moved to some of the posters for Isabelle cartoons. There weren't many – well, there were many posters, but not much variety. Some had splatters of ink on them, but where they'd come from, he didn't know.
clang
"Huh?" Alvin stopped, looking around. "Hello?!" he shouted down the hall.
No answer. Even the clanging noise had stopped.
"Hm." Alvin paused for a second, then shrugged.
His adventure continued, taking him further down the hall and around a few corners. As he moved through the rooms, he found a few desks and chairs – maybe one of them had been his uncle's! He could grab a chair and bring it back as a souvenir, maybe. It wasn't stealing if nobody was using it, right?
Hm, but how would he bring it back on his bike? Maybe if he tied a bit of rope to the seat, or the back wheel.
Yeah, rope might work! There had to be some here...
Alvin turned around, walking past the cardboard Isabelle that stood off to the side of the doorway. There was another room at the end of the hall. He could look there first and
clang clang clang clang clang
And
Alvin froze in the door, heart jumping into hid throat, blood turning to ice.
What was in the room?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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