Post by Sixteen on Nov 13, 2009 14:45:31 GMT -5
Chapter 1
It was a dark December evening on Dark Avenue and the residents of number 667 were putting out their fires before they went to bed. On the ground floor, in a room behind the reception desk, Ebenezer Tragedy sat counting his coins. The room was filled with transcripts of conversations and the windows were being covered by the first snowfall of the season. On the desk was a picture of Tragedy with his old business partner Jacob Malachi. They had been bros for many years before Malachi was involved in a horrible accident. Now Tragedy was the sole landlord of the apartment building. He sighed and wrote a figure down in his books.
“Cratchit!” Tragedy yelled. “Get in here!” Sixteen Cratchit appeared in the doorway, shivering from the cold.
“You called, sir?” he said, cautiously.
“I don’t employ you to lounge around out there in reception. Where are those pix I asked for?”
“I’ve been working on it, Mr. Tragedy, I really have. Just last night, I nearly broke my arm falling out of a tree. Luckily, the idk-my-bff-jill-girl didn’t see me.”
“Bah humbug!” Tragedy grumbled. “Get back to work.” Sixteen returned to the front desk of 667 Dark Avenue and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck.
After a short while, there was a knock at the front door. Sixteen got up to open it. Outside stood BSam, one of the residents of 667, returning from a night at the pub.
“Merry Christmas!” he cheered, upon entering.
“Christmas isn’t for another three weeks,” Sixteen said, propping up BSam and helping him towards the elevator.
“Oh,” BSam said, clearly confused. “Happy Halloween!”
“What is all this commotion?” Tragedy screamed, emerging from his office. He saw the drunken BSam and shook his head disapprovingly. “You are a disgrace to the residents of this building. How dare you stumble in at this hour? How dare you? You’re on thin ice.”
BSam sniggered and gave Sixteen a high five before the elevator doors closed.
“You don’t approve of this behaviour, do you Sixteen? Because you know what that means: you’re getting a pay cut.”
Sixteen looked at the floor, ashamed. “Sir, I don’t think I can afford another pay cut. My family are struggling to survive, especially during these cold winter months. Please, Mr. Tragedy...”
Tragedy smiled and patted Sixteen on the back.
“Well, in that case,” he said, “it will teach you a lesson.” He turned and went back to his office, leaving Sixteen alone and penniless.
Two hours later, long after the other 667ers had gone to bed, Tragedy left his office and locked up for the night. He mumbled to himself about how inconsiderate people were these days. He began to walk up the stairs to his room on the top floor. He never took the elevator, preferring to walk past everyone else’s rooms, making sure they weren’t up to trouble. He had almost made it to the penthouse suite when he ran into Shelly, putting a notice on her door.
“Tragedy!” she said, cheerily, as he approached. “I hope I’ll see you at my party tomorrow.”
“What party?” he asked.
“Oh,” she replied, puzzled. “Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m having a party to celebrate my 667 anniversary.”
Tragedy was surprised he hadn’t been invited to the festivities. Didn’t they know who he was? He was Tragedy.
“Bah humbug,” he growled and continued to walk up the stairs.
Shelly watched him leave and sighed. She returned to her room and shut the door. Shortly after, a figure covered in chains floated past and followed Tragedy’s path to the penthouse.
It was a dark December evening on Dark Avenue and the residents of number 667 were putting out their fires before they went to bed. On the ground floor, in a room behind the reception desk, Ebenezer Tragedy sat counting his coins. The room was filled with transcripts of conversations and the windows were being covered by the first snowfall of the season. On the desk was a picture of Tragedy with his old business partner Jacob Malachi. They had been bros for many years before Malachi was involved in a horrible accident. Now Tragedy was the sole landlord of the apartment building. He sighed and wrote a figure down in his books.
“Cratchit!” Tragedy yelled. “Get in here!” Sixteen Cratchit appeared in the doorway, shivering from the cold.
“You called, sir?” he said, cautiously.
“I don’t employ you to lounge around out there in reception. Where are those pix I asked for?”
“I’ve been working on it, Mr. Tragedy, I really have. Just last night, I nearly broke my arm falling out of a tree. Luckily, the idk-my-bff-jill-girl didn’t see me.”
“Bah humbug!” Tragedy grumbled. “Get back to work.” Sixteen returned to the front desk of 667 Dark Avenue and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck.
After a short while, there was a knock at the front door. Sixteen got up to open it. Outside stood BSam, one of the residents of 667, returning from a night at the pub.
“Merry Christmas!” he cheered, upon entering.
“Christmas isn’t for another three weeks,” Sixteen said, propping up BSam and helping him towards the elevator.
“Oh,” BSam said, clearly confused. “Happy Halloween!”
“What is all this commotion?” Tragedy screamed, emerging from his office. He saw the drunken BSam and shook his head disapprovingly. “You are a disgrace to the residents of this building. How dare you stumble in at this hour? How dare you? You’re on thin ice.”
BSam sniggered and gave Sixteen a high five before the elevator doors closed.
“You don’t approve of this behaviour, do you Sixteen? Because you know what that means: you’re getting a pay cut.”
Sixteen looked at the floor, ashamed. “Sir, I don’t think I can afford another pay cut. My family are struggling to survive, especially during these cold winter months. Please, Mr. Tragedy...”
Tragedy smiled and patted Sixteen on the back.
“Well, in that case,” he said, “it will teach you a lesson.” He turned and went back to his office, leaving Sixteen alone and penniless.
Two hours later, long after the other 667ers had gone to bed, Tragedy left his office and locked up for the night. He mumbled to himself about how inconsiderate people were these days. He began to walk up the stairs to his room on the top floor. He never took the elevator, preferring to walk past everyone else’s rooms, making sure they weren’t up to trouble. He had almost made it to the penthouse suite when he ran into Shelly, putting a notice on her door.
“Tragedy!” she said, cheerily, as he approached. “I hope I’ll see you at my party tomorrow.”
“What party?” he asked.
“Oh,” she replied, puzzled. “Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m having a party to celebrate my 667 anniversary.”
Tragedy was surprised he hadn’t been invited to the festivities. Didn’t they know who he was? He was Tragedy.
“Bah humbug,” he growled and continued to walk up the stairs.
Shelly watched him leave and sighed. She returned to her room and shut the door. Shortly after, a figure covered in chains floated past and followed Tragedy’s path to the penthouse.
