《Cival's Trail》 Chapter One: The Comment

April 17, 2011 Sunday Mom, as always, dragged me with her for grocery shopping and we bumped into the Johns. Now, I¡¯m not talking about the room where we girls go to powder our noses. The Johns are two old men both named John who have lived next to each other for years. If you see one, the other had to be close by. It is plain easier calling them the Johns¡­ But honestly, one normal dull day at the grocery store changed everything on how I viewed the Family Curse. That is, before today, it was a curse. Now, it is the key to the door of discovery. ~ \ ~ \ ~ \ ~ Pamella tapped her pen on the list she held as she stared down the aisle. The Johns were arguing and she needed the chili powder behind one of them. Unfortunately, once they started, they become oblivious from everything else. Shoving them out of the way was the only option to moving them. Pamella refused to do something that rude. Luckily, she had the whole day to herself and liked hearing a bit of gossip. The Johns were a very good source of gossip. Tucking her pen and list in her back pocket, Pamella approached the two older men to listen in, but stopped when she heard a moan behind her. Turning around, she saw a petite teenage old girl leaning against a grocery cart. A strand of the teenager¡¯s dirty blond hair escaped from her ponytail and trailed down her face, falling into her milk chocolate eyes that were much like her own. The girl was the female version of her David, but her genes won out in the eyes. Usually, the girl was like a cloud of bubbles bursting in excitement whenever she bumped into something new. Looking at her now though, Pamella could see little of it though. Instead of eagerness, the girl¡¯s eyes expressed the tiresome boredom she felt when grocery shopping with her mother. The teenager¡¯s body screamed to be released to roam free. Because of the exhausting humidity of South Texas, the girl wore blue jean shorts. She had on a tank top that said, ¡°Naughty Angel,¡± with a print of a cute black kitten with black wings on its back smirking at the onlooker and a red feather lay by its feet. It allowed Pamella to see her skinny, lightly tanned legs and arms impatient with excess energy. Not feeling guilty at all for dragging her daughter with her, Pamella gave her a big smile, ¡°We can¡¯t just leave them arguing all day long, Cival.¡± Cival rolled her eyes and went back to gazing dispassionately at the Johns knowing full well her mother was using that as an excuse to get into their gossip. Neither mother nor daughter knew the Johns in their younger years. They had only moved to town five years ago. Supposedly, when they were younger, people could tell the difference between them. John Quirke used to be lithe, tall, and had bright fiery hair while John Campbell had the stocker build of a construction worker. Time and age removed their differences leaving them as duplicates of the other. Greek wreathes of gray white hair, paunch bellies, and little of muscle mass were only a few similarities. The only way to tell them apart now was their taste. Campbell preferred plaid and dressed up like a woodsman while Quirke loved the tropics, often donning buttoned-up palm leaf print shirts and khaki shorts. He wore this even during the few months of fall or winter the most southern part of the connected forty-eight states of the United States experienced. Sighing, Cival pulled the cart and herself closer, just catching Quirke¡¯s words, ¡°We should just leave¡¯em alone. People will come.¡± ¡°No, they won¡¯t. This isn¡¯t the movie, The Field of Dreams, where, ¡®if you build it, they will come.¡¯ This is real life and we might as well live on a deserted island. Only family or idiots driving without a Garman come here. We need to advertise. We can¡¯t afford the loss of the new housing,¡± Campbell argued. Cival groaned inwardly. It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t care, but the whole town had been discussing the new empty houses. The long-named company that came to Wolville had given the townspeople an impression that they were going to build a huge factory nearby. They gave their word. For the surge of newcomers, houses were built, but the ¡°sure thing¡± went somewhere else for cheaper land, leaving Wolville flapping in the wind. Doomed, the local developer filed for bankruptcy but the city council asked him to wait and try to sell the properties. To The Johns, it was personal as if they had taken the loss themselves. ¡°We could make some into businesses,¡± said Quirke. Campbell scoffed, ¡°Sure, who? Someone here? And why when they would want a shop on Main Street where everyone goes for anything? The only option, John, is advertising. We should use city realtors instead of the local ones.¡± ¡°Only a realtor from outer space could sell those houses.¡± ¡°Damn straight,¡± agreed Campbell. ¡°Campbell! Watch your language in front of Cival,¡± scolded Pamella. ¡°Beg your pardon, Pam.¡± ¡°Did you need to get by? Sorry for blocking the aisle.¡± ¡°Nice to see, y¡¯all,¡± said Quirke and went on bickering with Campbell while they ambled down the aisle. Pamella waved goodbye, ¡°Thanks, Johns. It was nice seeing you two.¡± Cival shook her head and snatched the chili and garlic powder that her mom needed. As she threw it in the cart, her mom commented, ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, but I think you¡¯re right, Cival.¡± Having no clue what her mother was talking about, Cival asked, ¡°About what?¡± ¡°That only a realtor from space could sell those houses,¡± said Pamella as she pulled out her list and crossed off the two items they collected. ¡°Cival, could you go and get¡ª¡± A high pitch screech echoed throughout the store startling Pamella. She gapped as her daughter jumped up and down smiling like a maniac. ¡°Cival Court! What in the world has gotten into you?¡± Cival immediately quieted down but she never gave her mother a reason for her actions. For the rest of the day, Cival smiled nonstop and giggled sporadically without a cause or reason. Her mood did not change for weeks afterwards either. Pamella let her be but her curiosity went unfulfilled. She later regretted not inquiring further. ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Cival sat at the kitchen table watching her mother cook dinner feeling a bit spaced out. She should have been working on her homework but her mother¡¯s concoction seemed more interesting. She was making a platter full of breakfast foods for dinner. The enticing smells had drawn Cival away from her room. Even without the distraction of her mother¡¯s dinner choice, she still wouldn¡¯t be working on her homework. She had bigger plans. Preparation was needed for the upcoming visit. The notebook before her was strictly for the preparation but the only thing written on it was the words to be written on the greeting banner. ¡°It¡¯s so hard making plans,¡± grumbled Cival.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Hearing her words, Pamella looked behind her and smiled at Cival, ¡°What is it you¡¯re planning, Sweetie?¡± One of the few things Cival shared with her mother was making plans. In fact, they both enjoyed it, but still, they were hard to finish sometimes. Thinking that two heads were better than one, Cival perked up, ¡°Mom, what do you think? Should we have a parade or have a reception or both?¡± Laughing, Pamella checked to make sure everything wasn¡¯t burning, ¡°For whom?¡± ¡°The aliens of course!¡± Cival couldn¡¯t believe her mother was acting so casual about it. ¡°None because there is no reason to.¡± There it was. Her mother was acting too strange; making breakfast for dinner and seeing nothing new and exciting coming around the corner. These were blatant warning signs indicating her mother was crazy or one of the aliens already took over her body, ¡°Ugh,¡± said Cival, ¡°You¡¯re going to be worse with the double pregnancy.¡± Cival suddenly became still. Shocked at what she said, she glanced towards the stove to see if her mother believed something wrong. With the casual way her mother went on cooking, Cival took it as something normal and brushed it off. I don¡¯t recall hearing Mom being pregnant though. Mentally shaking her head, Cival gazed down at her notes. Rereading them, she recalled how the odd conversation started. Right, the fight was on, ¡°I disagree. They¡¯re aliens. It¡¯s a fundamental event! This would be the first interaction with life forms from outer space. Not counting Area 51, of course.¡± A chill ran up her back as her mother¡¯s hand stayed in the air holding a spatula like fly swatter ready to swing for the kill. Holding her breath and waiting for a reply, Cival could only hear the bacon sizzling in the room. Then, she made her move, ¡°This is related to what happened a month ago in the store. Isn¡¯t it?¡± There was only one answer for Cival could say, ¡°Of course. A realtor from space¡ª¡± Pamella slammed the spatula on the counter and gave her daughter all of her attention. She stalked to the edge across from her flesh and blood and spouted, ¡°Cival Court, if we get new neighbors, they will not be from space.¡± ¡°But Mom, it was a saying.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t drag the family curse into this, Cival. Just because you said it, doesn¡¯t mean it was a saying.¡± ¡°But it was! Aliens are coming to live in Wolville,¡± Cival said softly with her silky brown eyes wide with excitement and fear that her mother really didn¡¯t believe her. ¡°Ugh,¡± groaned Pamella, ¡°Do I have to explain the curse to you again?¡± ¡°It was a saying,¡± Cival repeated hoping stubbornness would get through her mother¡¯s head. ¡°Cival, the fam¡ª¡± ¡°Dinner is burning,¡± interrupted Cival and ran away as her mom quickly turned to put out the smoldering food. ~ \ ~ \ ~ \ ~ Before she could reach the stove, a man slightly taller than Pamella and leaner zoomed from the living room into the kitchen and took over. Quick hands flipped both bacon and pancakes. They even sliced up a variety of fruits. ¡°Dinner will be ready soon,¡± said the brown haired man. Pamella smiled at her husband, ¡°Thanks, Dave.¡± With blue eyes twinkling, David smiled at her and waved her away, ¡°I got it. Go talk some sense into the little one.¡± Pamela nodded and went back to the kitchen table but found her teenage daughter missing. Sighing, Pamella headed to Cival¡¯s room. It had been a whole month for the child to be acting this way. Finding out that it was because she thought aliens were visiting was too much. She wished she could take her daughter to see a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, a shrink was not possible because of the family¡¯s unique qualities. For once, it was not a saying that was causing trouble for the family. On second thought, it was a saying that was causing trouble, just not a real one, thought Pamella as she approached her daughter¡¯s bedroom door. Knocking, she waited for permission before going in. She found Cival laying across her bed with her legs dangling over the edge. She could see a frown on the young girl''s face. Shaking her head, she went over to the only chair in the room. Positioning herself so she was facing her daughter, Pamela commanded, "Tell me what the difference between talking and saying." Cival groaned. Not bothering to sit up or look at her mother, she repeated what has always been drilled into her, "Talking is a verbal communication to another person or to myself. Saying, in terms of the family, is proclaiming future events by using side comments that we say casually or insert into conversations. We neither remember nor recall these proclamations to save our sanity," she finished dramatically. "Good. Now, was your comment just talking or saying?" Cival grounded her teeth, "I don''t remember." Exasperated, Pamela got up, "Being stubborn is not going to help you, Cival. Just admit that it wasn''t a saying. Aliens are not coming to Wolville. Think about it. Why, in the whole entire world, would they come here?" "If they do come, we can ask them." "If?" Silence was the only answer the mother got. "Fine, just lay there and mull over this alien nonsense and then give it up." Before she left the room, Pamela said, "It''s summer now. I made up a list of chores for you to do, and I signed you up to a camp called "Helping Hands Work Camp." It''s a volunteer group that helps rebuild houses for the needy. We''ll talk more about it later. I have to get to work." With that said, she left leaving Cival alone in her room. "But I don''t remember saying it,¡± she said to the ceiling. ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Time flew by and school ended quickly. During the first three weeks of summer, Cival found herself laboring in the hot sun. The chores her mother assigned to her were mostly lawn work, and Helping Hands Work Camp should have been renamed Slave Boot Camp. All of it was outside work. There was no chance for her to enjoy the fine technology of an air conditioner or find signs of alien visitors. This left Cival with nothing to use to convince her skeptical mother. To keep her mind occupied from the hellish heat, she thought. As her body moved and pound nails into wood, she devised a plan calling it, ¡°Operation Neighbor.¡± As she scraped old paint off an old house, she mentally examined her options. As she repainted, she reviewed several choices for what would succeed the best. And, as she packed sweat soaked clothes, she decided. To prove their existence and the truth, she would become an amateur private investigator and observe, record, and obtain the crucial evidence. Simple and straightforward was the key. She knew she wasn¡¯t a pro but she had eyes and perseverance. She could also be as stubborn as a lid on a pickle jar. Cival''s stomach growled waking her up to the present. Gazing at the clock, she realized it was an hour past noon. Desiring to be home already, Cival grabbed her belongings and headed outside. Logically, this wouldn''t make her parents arrive any sooner, but she was at least a few steps closer to Wolville. Thirty minutes later, her cheerful parents rolled up to the curb. Cival quickly got up and ran towards them. "About time you got here. I''m starving," complained Cival when her father stepped out of the car. "Sorry, Honey. We got tied up in traffic and then got off the wrong exit," said David as he hugged Cival, "How are you? You look a little like my current car rehab project." Cival smiled at her father, "I''m good. I don¡¯t look that bad. I¡¯m only a little sunburned and I have blisters but not too badly because someone lent me their spare gloves. Hey, Mom!" Pamella walked forward and hugged Cival. "Missed you. Now, let''s say our goodbyes so we can get some grub," she said. Cival grinned at her mother before running back inside. They made their goodbyes to the hosts, packed up her bags, and headed towards salvation, otherwise known as, Olive Garden. Throughout lunch and the two hour drive back home, Cival talked excitedly about her experience and the new friends she made. Eventually, she ran out of words and asked about what she missed while she was gone. Chapter Two: Operation Neighbor Audio Recording Speaker: Cival Court Today is Saturday and the time is 10:43 a.m. Location: my room. The first of many recordings. Coming back from camp on Friday afternoon, I learned that a new family appeared about two weeks ago right after I left for camp. Dad seemed excited because the husband, umm¡­Carson Yazzie, has prospective homeowners lined up for the new housing. Mr. Yazzie applied and was immediately hired by McKirkley Realtors making his job occupation a realtor. This indicates he is the subject and a candidate for (pause) alienesse? (Rustling in the background) Today, I¡¯m going to visit the Johns. They¡¯ll have more information on the subject. ~end of recording ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ ¡°Same day and the time is,¡± Cival said into the recorder as she checked the time on her watch, ¡°1516.¡± Pausing, she looked around verifying her where she was, ¡°Location: outside down Main Street near the coffee shop where the Johns play chess.¡± Finished with the primary information, Cival tucked the recorder into her sundress pocket. After all, she didn¡¯t want to explain why she was recording the Johns¡¯ answers. They would blab everything to everyone. She already caused enough problems for her family, she didn¡¯t want to create more. Putting on a friendly smile, she skipped over to where the Johns were playing chess. Of course, Cival immediately want an iced coffee as she saw Quirke¡¯s chai tea and Campbell¡¯s coffee with cream, but the investigation was more important. ¡°Hey, Johns! Who¡¯s winning?¡± Cival said glancing at the chess board to see more black than white pieces on the board. ¡°Me,¡± said Campbell never breaking his concentration on the game. ¡°BS, you may have captured more men but you¡¯re falling in my trap,¡± Quirke grumped glaring daggers at the plaid-wearing man across from him. ¡°What trap? You¡¯re dying. Admit it,¡± Campbell retorted while moving his rook along the board and taking another pawn of Quirke¡¯s. Upset on where the game was going, Quirke quickly made his move and gave his attention to Cival. The young girl was a lot more interesting than his old time friend who he stared at for many years. ¡°So, what are you up to, kiddo?¡± he inquired. Not needing to be subtle with the Johns, Cival got the root cause on why she ambled over to speak with them, ¡°Nothing much. Just got back from camp and heard about the new family. What was their name again?¡± ¡°Oh! You¡¯re talking about the Yazzies!¡± Campbell excitedly said breaking away from his campaign of destruction, ¡°That Carson already has buyers snapping up those houses!¡± ¡°Ouch!¡± Quirke yelped when he received a hard punch on his arm from Campbell. Ignoring this, Campbell waved his hand in his face and continued, ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you advertisement was the way to go? He came from the city and look what happened.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t have to hit me!¡± Quirke complained while rubbing his arm, ¡°And besides, it doesn¡¯t mean he is the one bringing the buyers. Could be just beginner¡¯s luck.¡± ¡°Oh, put a cork in it. Not only is he pulling in buyers, his wife¡­¡± Campbell snapped his fingers trying to remember the lady¡¯s name, ¡°Viola has some connections.¡± ¡°Whatever,¡± Quirke rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Cival. Smiling like the mischievous old man that he was, Quirke leaned towards Cival. ¡°Hey, Cival, interested in boys yet?¡± he asked. ¡°Oh,¡± Cival said awkwardly. Knowing Quirke was asking if she liked any of the local boys and not movie stars she had seen on the screen, Cival¡¯s answer was vague, ¡°A little.¡± She didn¡¯t want admit publicly that she had no one locally in mind. Keeping it vague, Cival said, ¡°A little?¡± Quirke laughed knowing full well the girl was uncomfortable. He loved playing matchmaker. He said, ¡°Well good. They have a son about your age. I hear he¡¯s a looker.¡± Quirke glanced over to his pal and asked, ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± ¡°Forgot. You know I¡¯m not good with names unless I have a face to go with them,¡± Campbell answered. Backing away, Cival held her hands up to defend herself, ¡°Before things become more awkward, I¡¯m going to go. See y¡¯all later.¡± ¡°Ha,¡± Quirke grinned knowingly and waved goodbye, ¡°Take care yourself, Cival!¡± ¡°Bye!¡± Cival said as she walked away. Once she was out of sight, she pulled out the recorder and shut it off. Grinning at her own success, she trotted down the street back home. The Johns were almost always a great source of information. ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Audio Recording Speaker: Cival Court It¡¯s Sunday and the time is 21:54. Location: my desk. I tried to find information on the internet but I didn¡¯t find anything fundamental. The Yazzie name by itself is Native American. Kinda of feel sorry for the kids with a last name like that. Yatzhe! Nothing else which would mean nothing or everything. On Monday, tomorrow, Mom is working. I¡¯ll be staking out and observe the subject. ~end of recording ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Carson smiled to himself, a proud artist showing his newest masterpiece to the world or rather the new family. This was the fourth house he sold to his friends and comrades, Carson pretty much had the procedure down to an art. He took in the family¡¯s tastes and created a home they could love. He made the foreignness of a new home into something that his peers would feel familiar with. In reality, Carson wasn¡¯t a miracle worker. The current housing¡¯s floors were quite strange to their previous establishments but he believed the new homeowners will fall in love with the wood-like floors. If not, rugs cover up well. Checking the time, Carson realized he had time before the eleven o¡¯clock furniture delivery. Any decorations not requiring furniture were already on display. Everything else was tucked away in the garage waiting for him and the delivery truck. Needing to do something other than clean or rearrange for the umpteenth time, Carson stepped outside to use his cell since there was no reception inside the home. As soon as his feet left the threshold, he pressed speed dial and placed the phone to his ear.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°Stage Left Agency, this is Heather. How can I entertain you today?¡± said a perky voice. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m Carson Yazzie. I wanted to confirm the actors I hired for tomorrow.¡± ¡°No problem, Mr. Yazzie. Please hold for a moment while I pull up your account.¡± With Chopin whispering in his ear, Carson surveyed the barren yard. One of the reasons he was chosen to be the liaison for his community was because he had the talent for interior decorating, but he rarely was able to extend it to exterior. His wife had that talent though which was the reason he claimed her. When thinking of her, her masterpiece, Garden of Flight, appeared before her face. It was that garden that made him seek out a previously unknown person. It was that garden that made him fall in love with a complete stranger. It was that garden that caused him to keep her away from his work. He didn¡¯t want to share her gifts. Only those that she thought fondly of, family friends, are the one should be given such exordinary art. Still, he needed to do something with the lawn. There was nothing but newly planted grass. The closest shrubbery was across the street in a field. Carson glared at it for sprouting on the wrong side of the street, and the bush seemed to shiver in guilt. Knowing that wasn¡¯t possible, Carson became curious to why it was moving with no wind. He sauntered over to investigate but stopped in his path when he heard a strong male voice say, ¡°Mr. Yazzie?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°This is Michael Holmstrom. The actors that I mentioned will be there tomorrow.¡± ¡°Oh, good. They know what to expect and do?¡± ¡°Yes, but if you want, I can tell them to meet you beforehand.¡± ¡°No, that won¡¯t be necessary. I don¡¯t want to see them before,¡± Carson said while thinking he didn¡¯t want them to meet each other either, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t act natural when it came time.¡± Holmstrom laughed, ¡°Alright, Mr. Yazzie. The first group will appear at eight-fifty and the rest will sporadically arrive throughout the day.¡± ¡°Good. I may want the same actors or new ones for the next open house. I haven¡¯t decided.¡± ¡°Not a problem, Mr. Yazzie. We have varieties of actors for your entertaining needs.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr. Yazzie,¡± the speaker said with polite formality. Ending the call, Carson turned back around, forgetting about the guilty shrub. Contemplating the yard, he reminded himself that first impressions are always important. He didn¡¯t want to get sloppy. Deciding quickly, he called the landscaper who helped with the other three houses. Not only will the buyers, actors and everyone else fall in love with it, but they will see the possibilities of what the place could become. ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Slathering on sunscreen for the second time, Cival hid behind overgrown bushes in the field across from her target. Upon waking up that morning, Cival had a game plan on finding the subject. It didn¡¯t take much effort on her part. All she had to do was stroll into McKirkley Realtors acting spry to the extreme and ask how many houses the McKirklies managed to sell. Mrs. McKirkley, manning the main office, happily talked about the godsend, Carson Yazzie. She spilled everything she knew about him and his family on where they lived, what he ate and wore, and houses he sold and currently selling. Cival never had to mention Yazzie at all. Unfortunately for her skin, she couldn¡¯t walk up to him the same way she did with Mrs. McKirkley. Aliens in hiding needed a different approach. Blurting out ¡°Alien!¡± wasn¡¯t going to get her far in retrieving the crucial evidence. Making a snap decision, Cival made a quick stop at her home for supplies to survive a day under a hot blazing sun. She knew a great spot to spy on the subject, a field with overgrown weeds and bushes across from where he was preparing for an open house. Cival would watch for now while talking into her recorder on all of his actions. If anyone would ask, she¡¯ll lie and say she wanted to learn more on realtors and how they operate. ¡°People always act differently when unobserved,¡± would be her closing argument. She planned on not getting caught though. ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ After directing and setting up the furniture, Carson went around putting up the rest of the decorations. Time flew by and it took a knock at the door to break his tempo. Answering it quickly, Carson found a short stocky man standing on the porch. His sun-kissed wilting black hair laid on his dark tanned forehead and neck. Seeing the wheels turning through his brown eyes, Carson knew he made the right choice in calling Joseph Moreno. ¡°You¡¯re here, good. So, what do you think, Joe? What can you do?¡± "I looked at it and I think you should go with potted plants for now." "Potted?" "Yeah, the place doesn''t have flower beds and if you want it done quick, potted is the way to go. Also, it can be undone just as quick if the new owners don¡¯t like it." "Alright, I trust you. Just do what you think is best and ---" "Aaahhhhh!" Both men heard the scream from the field and saw a girl leap out of the bushes. A streak of orange fur followed her, and she scrambled away, all the while, struggling to keep a hold of her things and protect her skin from the cat. Joe laughed, "You don''t see that every day." Carson smile, "No, but I wonder what she was doing there." "Who knows? That was Cival Court, odd ball of sorts, so probably she is searching for who knows what." "Right. Back to business. Do whatever you think is best. The new homeowners may even keep the plants and I''ll refer you to them." "Good. I hope this place sells. We need new business desperately." "It will. I have contacts everywhere across the states that are looking to get away from the city. Wolville is perfect for that." "I better go. I''ll setup the plants and water ''em tomorrow morn." "Thanks." Joe got in his truck and left. Before going back inside, Carson looked at the field one last time. Fear crawled into his heart as he remembered the movement in the bushes earlier that day. The girl wasn''t looking for something for that long, surely? ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Cival slammed the front door shut and leaned against it as she caught her breath. The demon cat from Hell tore her up real good and it had taken less than a minute. Luckily, she now was home and safe. Pushing off the door, Cival made her way to the downstairs bathroom for the first aid kit. She dropped her backpack on the living room couch as she went by, not wanting to drag the heavy thing any further. After cleaning and disinfecting her wounds, Cival flopped down on the couch and pulled her bag onto her lap. Wanting to listen to the recorder, she rummaged through the pack searching for it. Not finding it, she dumped the entire contents onto the coffee table in front of her. She padded the bag down making sure there was nothing else and began rifling through the scattered items on the table. After a few minutes, Cival admitted defeat. It wasn¡¯t there. She lost the recorder. ~ \ ~ ~ \ ~ Audio Recording Speaker: Cival Court Today is Monday and the time is 0843. Location: the field. From what Mrs. McKirkley told me, supposedly at o-seven hundred, Carson arrived at the house from his home three houses down. The subject is wearing a suit, all the same color. I think the word is monochrome? It is his favorite style apparently. From here, all I can tell is that his hair is black, a stylish shaggy haircut. His skin is an olive brown. It''s kind of a mix of Native American and Indian. Maybe? 0915: Carson stepped out to make a call. Ewww, there''s a dead bird. Gross. Oh, crap! He''s coming over. Wait, he stopped, started talking into the phone. Finishes and turns around facing the house. Makes another call, goes back in. I should have brought my homework. 1101: Moving truck parks in front blocking my view. Movers unload bunch of furniture. Three beds, sofa, chair, tables, more. It''s almost like someone is already moving in. 1220: Movers leave. I don''t see the subject anywhere. Must be inside. 1505: Joseph Cooper comes by and looks at the yard. Takes some measurements and knocks on door. Subject answers and steps outside. They talk some. Man, I wish I could he-- Aaahhh! (Crashing and a cat''s yowl can be heard then feet are heard slowly fading away. A man''s loud laugh is heard. A few minutes have passed by when a truck''s door is opened and slammed shut. The engine is turned on and truck drives away. Next, a door closes leaving only the noise of birds and cicadas to be heard for an hour. Next thing that could be distinguished was a pair of feet shuffling closer and closer. They stop. Noise becomes muffled.) ~~ending of recording