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Book: The Fallen Parler: Part One (A supernatural mystery thriller) by B.C Safari
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Ma!’ she groaned. Charlotte chuckled a little.
‘You look like you need a rest Ma, let me take you upstairs,’ said Sasha, lifting her befuddled grandmother into a pushchair, ‘be back in a second.’
‘Me not mad, me not mad, Sasha,’ the old woman’s murmurs became distant whispers, which soon, could be heard no more. A moment later, Sasha reappeared at the doorway.
‘Sorry about that,’ smiled Sasha, ‘we’d better get on to that history project.’
‘Agreed,’ nodded Charlotte.
Making a start on the history project became the main priority for the rest of the evening. Charlotte assigned roles to Sasha and Junior, appointing Sasha the ‘research manager’ and Junior the ‘source analyst’. Charlotte would write the p roject. And so began work on ‘p ublic health in the Roman civilisation’. Though the girls sunk their teeth into the project, Junior’s mind was far away from his role as source analyst. Today, he’d learned of three ridiculous theories for the disappearance of Bart Bold. Luchia predicted that the disappearance of Bart Bold was a conspiracy, Sasha suggested that his very ‘appropriate’ disappearance was likely due to tax reasons, and the confused old lady, Ma Joelle, said that Bold was likely dead. She had called him a parler. Junior had never heard of the word before. It may have been sensible to take the mystified mumbles of a perplexed elderly woman with a pinch of salt. One thing that Luchia disclosed, against Dr. Willow’s will, was that this was not the first time high-profile disappearances had occurred in Shorebridge. She mentioned that they had taken place during the war. Ma Joelle had confirmed it when she said ‘just like last time’ . By last time, had the old woman meant just after the war? Ma Joelle would’ve been a mere teen at that time. How far could her memory be trusted? Junior was struggling to link these revelations with his discovery of Arthur Mannox. Something in the bewilderment of Dr. Willow’s countenance at the mention of 1947 told that Mannox’s death at the Willow Lodge was intertwined with the disappearances. Charlotte still had no idea of the uncanny resemblance between Arthur Mannox and her father, and Junior had a rising intuition that the mysterious suicide of Allan Roterbee was somehow intertwined with these other unexplained disappearances. Junior was set on discovering the absolute truth… and in so doing, he hadn’t the slightest idea where to start.
Chapter seven
‘The Headmaster’s Office’
Fourth period was dragging. If it was the will of Monsieur Antionne to bore his class numb through longwinded explanations of French verbs, he had succeeded. Most of his students disengaged as soon as the lesson commenced. This was evident from the growing number of paper aeroplanes set to fly about the room. Also, the silly girls at the back of the classroom had since constructed detailed scribbles, which were passed sequentially, from desk to desk, until they returned to the original distributor. Once in a while, Monsieur Antionne would intercept a note and demand that the person responsible own up to it. Each time, he was answered with a set of mischievous giggles. Fortunately, the note labelled Mr. Antionne, which depicted an overweight balding man with a thick moustache, was not intercepted by the irritated teacher (though it set a loud chorus of chuckles around the class). Charlotte was particularly humoured by that note so she passed it to Sasha, who let out a loud snigger. Monsieur Antionne’s angry eyes scanned the room for the source of merriment.
‘You, Miss Fling,’ he said, casting a finger at Sasha, ‘out, now!’
Sasha rose from her seat, smirking. She would’ve been the twelfth student Monsieur Antionne had dismissed from the class; at this rate, he’d have no class left to teach. As Sasha departed the classroom, she winked at Charlotte. She was secretly relieved that she could start lunch a whole twenty
‘You look like you need a rest Ma, let me take you upstairs,’ said Sasha, lifting her befuddled grandmother into a pushchair, ‘be back in a second.’
‘Me not mad, me not mad, Sasha,’ the old woman’s murmurs became distant whispers, which soon, could be heard no more. A moment later, Sasha reappeared at the doorway.
‘Sorry about that,’ smiled Sasha, ‘we’d better get on to that history project.’
‘Agreed,’ nodded Charlotte.
Making a start on the history project became the main priority for the rest of the evening. Charlotte assigned roles to Sasha and Junior, appointing Sasha the ‘research manager’ and Junior the ‘source analyst’. Charlotte would write the p roject. And so began work on ‘p ublic health in the Roman civilisation’. Though the girls sunk their teeth into the project, Junior’s mind was far away from his role as source analyst. Today, he’d learned of three ridiculous theories for the disappearance of Bart Bold. Luchia predicted that the disappearance of Bart Bold was a conspiracy, Sasha suggested that his very ‘appropriate’ disappearance was likely due to tax reasons, and the confused old lady, Ma Joelle, said that Bold was likely dead. She had called him a parler. Junior had never heard of the word before. It may have been sensible to take the mystified mumbles of a perplexed elderly woman with a pinch of salt. One thing that Luchia disclosed, against Dr. Willow’s will, was that this was not the first time high-profile disappearances had occurred in Shorebridge. She mentioned that they had taken place during the war. Ma Joelle had confirmed it when she said ‘just like last time’ . By last time, had the old woman meant just after the war? Ma Joelle would’ve been a mere teen at that time. How far could her memory be trusted? Junior was struggling to link these revelations with his discovery of Arthur Mannox. Something in the bewilderment of Dr. Willow’s countenance at the mention of 1947 told that Mannox’s death at the Willow Lodge was intertwined with the disappearances. Charlotte still had no idea of the uncanny resemblance between Arthur Mannox and her father, and Junior had a rising intuition that the mysterious suicide of Allan Roterbee was somehow intertwined with these other unexplained disappearances. Junior was set on discovering the absolute truth… and in so doing, he hadn’t the slightest idea where to start.
Chapter seven
‘The Headmaster’s Office’
Fourth period was dragging. If it was the will of Monsieur Antionne to bore his class numb through longwinded explanations of French verbs, he had succeeded. Most of his students disengaged as soon as the lesson commenced. This was evident from the growing number of paper aeroplanes set to fly about the room. Also, the silly girls at the back of the classroom had since constructed detailed scribbles, which were passed sequentially, from desk to desk, until they returned to the original distributor. Once in a while, Monsieur Antionne would intercept a note and demand that the person responsible own up to it. Each time, he was answered with a set of mischievous giggles. Fortunately, the note labelled Mr. Antionne, which depicted an overweight balding man with a thick moustache, was not intercepted by the irritated teacher (though it set a loud chorus of chuckles around the class). Charlotte was particularly humoured by that note so she passed it to Sasha, who let out a loud snigger. Monsieur Antionne’s angry eyes scanned the room for the source of merriment.
‘You, Miss Fling,’ he said, casting a finger at Sasha, ‘out, now!’
Sasha rose from her seat, smirking. She would’ve been the twelfth student Monsieur Antionne had dismissed from the class; at this rate, he’d have no class left to teach. As Sasha departed the classroom, she winked at Charlotte. She was secretly relieved that she could start lunch a whole twenty
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