Wayfarers

Welcome to Beguile. A place of scintillating secrets and delightful charms, sinister desires and haunting nightmares. Where trickery is a whisper on the wind and enchantments flutter all around. Things are never as they seem in the little town of Beguile. https://sereninspired.art.blog/ http://www.sereninspired.com/

[thewayfar3rs]

Flick Whitlock works regular shifts at the Beguile Cinema in downtown Beguile. No one can quite remember exactly how long they have been in Beguile but they were a welcome sight in the ticket box at the front of the cinema.

One or two older members of Beguile seem to have a vague recollection of a 1930s Film Noir Festival after which Flick started taking shifts at the cinema ticket box. The owner of the Beguile Cinema, Harvey Edison, claims that Flick is the best worker the cinema has ever had. He tells people that they are reliable and good at their job.

Harvey was the first to laugh out loud when a young movie enthusiast wrote a blog post hinting at Flick having an uncanny resemblance to a 1930s B-grade actress by the name of Meg Hardy. This revelation caused a mild stir in the community. Some people even pointed out that one of the features at the Film Noir Festival, The Dark Streets, a thriller about a detective searching for a woman suspected of killing her husband, only to fall in love with her and help her escape, had featured Meg Hardy as the femme fatale. When intrigued Begulians had sought out the film The Dark Streets no one could find it. Although he was sure he had once had the film Harvey put the inability of anyone to locate the film down to mass hysteria caused by the wonderful film event and refused to talk about it.

Although the fervour died down and Flick just kept doing a stellar job at the cinema, there are times that patrons will whisper to each other after they have served them. They note their look and the way that every now and then some people claimed that they are sure that just for a second they would swear that they see Flick flicker. Those who have seen this usually keep it to themselves putting it down to a trick of the light.

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Whitby Wallace opened the Donut shop in Beguile quite late in life. He seemed to wander in from the East one stormy day and within a week had opened the colorful and vibrant shop.

Popular amongst the younger Beguilians it soon got a reputation of being a radiant place to catch up with friends and get tasty sweet donuts infused with almost magical fillings and covered in enchanting sprinkles. During the daylight hours it is a popular hangout.

At night though the Donut shop has become know for something else. It has developed a nefarious air inspired by its nocturnal hours. Although the Donut shop is suppose to be closed passersby say that at times in the very late hours or extremely early hours they are sure they see shimmering unexplained lights within the bowels of the shop.

On occasion they also say they see Whitby standing outside his shop dressed in the uniform he wears by day seemingly transfixed by something unseen.

Troubled by this Begulian as always have tried to come up with whispered theories to explain this strange phenomenon. There has been suggestions that Whitby is involved in some form of illicit trade, a notion about which the younger Beguilians laugh and twitter, citing Whitbys almost boring countenance as a defence against such propositions.

The youth of Beguile have their own theories about what is happening at the Donut shop. They murmur about it in hushed tones where the adults of Beguile cannot hear.

They talk about the pink door at the back of the shop that leads to Whitby’s office. On one very rare occasion the door had been ajar and a group had been sitting close enough to the door to get a fleeting glimpse inside. They say what they saw was three little iron cages each with what looked like a fairy within it emmiting an iridescent green glow. Of course many laughed at this but a theory developed amongst those that believed the eye witness account. Some muttered that they are certain Whitby had somehow captured three fairies and at night he forced them to make the delightful donuts he offered by day. This hearsay didn’t go beyond the young but Whitby’s donuts are often described as otherworldly.

[thewayfar3rs]

Candles illuminate the darkness and Becky Ford‘s family have been crafting candles in Beguile for decades. When Becky took over the business from her father Aiden, there were the usual small town grumbling of concern. Becky however surprised the townsfolk despite the whispers about her being quite simple and dull and began to make wonderous candles. She was able to expand the original workshop and as a lone woman produced an alarming number of candles. Thwarting the naysayers Becky even created an online business for her candles and some are shipped to faraway exotic places in the world.

Becky’s business expanded quickly and those in Beguile worried she may not be able to meet the town supply catering to the whimsy of those farther afield. Not only does she always ensure that Beguile citizens have the stock they require she has began to make special candles just for those that live in town. The candles are unnecessarily decorative and Becky only makes and sells a few of theses candles a month which of course makes them all the more sought after. For those unable to get hold of one of the special candles there has been a growing rumble of envy. Of course this isn’t simply about the beauty of the candles but more about the persistent murmurings regarding the first minute one of the candles is lit. It’s alleged that a relative or friend who has passed appears in the candles illumination before a small puff of smoke is emitted and the dearly departed vanish. Despite this speculation being largely unsubstantiated the waiting list for one of Becky‘s special candles grows daily in Beguile.

[thewayfar3rs]

Florian Dante had blown into Beguile one summer in the 80s as a young traveller with a single suitcase and an odd shaped brown leather box.

He had done some work here and there especially on some of the outlier farms. It wasn’t long however before his smooth and enchanting voice was noticed by BJ McDonald, owner of Beguile Radio 101FM. With no prior experience old BJ or Bobby Junior as the older set in Beguile called him, enticed the young drifter to try his hand at the radio station, initially as an odd job assistant and ultimately he became the prime DJ on the talk back night show, Beguile After Dark. The original and older DJ of the show was getting rambunctious and cranky and loosing ratings for what had once been a popular show for the many night dwellers of Beguile.

Florian slid easily into the DJs seat and it wasn’t long before his image and he were all over the town of Beguile. He was found quite often accompanied by some beauty or other and photographed by his growing set of devoted fans. He was a huge advocate of several charities and was always happy to show community support at any Beguile event.

Though he has never actually been in a relationship, which caused some discussion amongst the more persnickety Beguileans, many women have been invited to his home. One reoccurring murmur around town was about an odd shaped box that was placed in an elaborate shelf facing his bed. When questioned about the brown leather box Florian would smile and look lovingly at the box absentmindedly touching a key around his neck that hung from a silver chain, and just say it was a reminder of home.

No one has ever seen inside the box which has a large locked clasp at the side of it.

Some women who have spent the night with Florian have confessed to friends that when they awoke in the middle of the night they were sure they heard humming coming from the box. The size and the shape of the box could not hold a person so these disembodied sounds have been dismissed as dream whispers.

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Inspired by the tales told to him by his grandfather Desmond Thoms about the disappearance of Desmond’s brother Jimmy, Rodney Thoms had always loved a mystery.

As a child he liked to imagine he was a famous detective and even used his grandfather’s magnifying glass to look for clues. As he grew older he read everything he could find about detectives and the work that they did.

Unsolved mysteries bothered Rodney and he became a private detective opening the first detective agency in Beguile.

The townsfolk found it a relief to finally have someone to look into some of the more curious and baffling occurrence in the town.

No mystery plagued Rodney more then his grandfather’s brothers disappearance from his gas station on the old highway in the 50s. Some people who remembered the famed UFO sightings the summer Jimmy disappeared believed he had simply been abducted by aliens. Rodney had spoken to eyewitnesses of the event. Unidentified cylindrical shaped crafts in the sky had been seen by hundreds of people in Beguile.

Rodney had also found information on a known gangster who had passed through the town that night but there was no evidence that he had even gone anywhere near Jimmy’s gas station.

The disappearance niggled at Rodney and he was slightly perturbed by the continual sightings and accounts of lights and spectral voices at the deserted gas station.

Rodney did however have one thing that set him apart from other private detectives so he was confident that he would one day crack the case just like the others he was working on in Beguile.

The citizens of Beguile were thankful for the work Rodney did for the town but behind closed doors they commented and raised their eyebrows at his obsession with a cheap paperback book he had been seen reading since he was a young man. The book was written by a hack author known as Bryn Dodd, who had lived in the town for a few years and wrote a novel about a detective called Johnny Hamilton. The book was a failure in the bookshops and Dolores Paige, the librarian had long ago gotten rid of the town’s copy of the book.

What Rodney never revealed was that the fictional Johnny Hamilton would leave him messages around the office with clues and tips. The first message had been on a yellow post-it note left beside Rodney’s dog-eared copy of Hard City Night the book that featured the gumshoe detective Johnny Hamilton. The first note was in reference to a missing child and the information on it had been accurate leading to the child being found.

Since then Rodney had looked forward to the help from the fictional Johnny Hamilton. It didn’t really matter that he wasn’t real or so Rodney thought. What Rodney wanted mostly now was a note explaining the boxed human heart that had just been delivered to his office.

[thewayfar3rs]

On the outskirts of Beguile, across the railway tracks, sits a small motel. Its cheap rates and unremarkable decor attract many transient travellers passing through Beguile, who spend a night or two in the budget rooms.

On a wall on the outside of the motel office hangs a payphone. It has been there ever since the motel was opened sometime in the seventies

The first guest to use the phone got a helpful operator who introduced herself as Beverly. It soon became apparent that Beverly was a very special operator. Imagine the surprise of the first person to use the phone as he was told, on picking up the receiver, that someone was already on the line waiting for his call. The curious caller inquired about who that might be, and was shocked to hear that it was a relative who had died the previous summer. Assuming that it must be some kind of sick joke, the caller had nevertheless agreed to accept the call. He later claimed to have indeed spoken to his relative, who had passed in a tragic accident. His relative assured him that he was fine, and asked that he send his regards to the rest of the family.

The line went dead, and the caller immediately hung up the receiver before picking it up again to hear the dulcet tones of Beverly once more, this time explaining that the line was dead and that the incoming caller was no longer available.

The rumours spread quickly, as oft happens in small communities, and many more came to use the payphone to speak with relatives who had passed. Beverly only ever allowed them one call, then always claimed that the incoming caller was no longer available and that the line had been severed.

The phone still hangs in the same place on the same wall of the same motel. Beverley always answers.

[thewayfar3rs]

Ward Milman is the owner of the Tiki Flower, a tiki bar in Beguile.

The tiki that decorates the wall of the Tiki Flower was said to have been bought to Beguile from some exotic shore by Ward’s uncle Cornelius. A sailor in the merchant navy, Cornelius had arrived home unexpectedly one April with the tiki stashed carefully amongst his belongings.

Cornelius had regaled his family and friends with a whimsical tale of having been giving the decorative statue by a powerful Chieftain in some faraway South Pacific corner of the world. He insisted that the idol had been a reward for some unnamed heroic deed. Many in Beguile suspected that infact Cornelius had stolen the statue after plundering some far away location while supposedly performing a duty for the merchant navy.

Whatever the true origin story of the tiki it had inspired Ward, after the death of his uncle and his subsequent inheritance of the idol, to create a familiar haven for it in the form of a tiki bar.

Visitors to the Tiki Flower often spoke of the striking idol after visiting the bar. Usually they spoke in whispers about the strange wooden carving with exotic red stones as eyes, that seemed to catch the light in a ferocious glint. Most enjoyed the Tiki Flower but would position themselves in the bar so they didn’t have to look at the carved graven image.

Some after leaving the Tiki Flower even gossiped in hushed tones about the way that Ward spoke to the idol throughout the night, insisting that the eyes of the idol seemed to inflame and irradiate each time that he did. The more imaginative thinkers in town actually believed that the tiki, as a revenge for being stolen had some how taken charge of Ward and he now did its bidding, but that is small town scuttlebut surely.

[thewayfar3rs]

Grayson Buchanan had appeared one warm July day in Beguile following the opening of the new establishment in town called Kapow Comics. As the first such store in Beguile it attracted a lot of attention from the locals and those passing through town.

Grayson did not speak much about his past despite the curious questions asked by customers. He explained to those who enquired that it has always been his dream to open a comic book store.

Kapow Comics is a popular hangout for the young and the young at heart. A strange talking point is the mural at the very back of the shop. It is full of colourful comic book action and attributed to an itinerant artist who spent some time in Beguile just before the opening of the store.

More observant customers in Kapow Comics may notice a space on the blue skies of the mural where a steampunk craft flies absurdly through the surreal skies on its own. To the keen observer it may seem as though the rider has suddenly and mysteriously disembarked from the vehicle.

There are whispers that Grayson looks just like the imagined driver of the fabulous craft and that perhaps he some how fell from the mural. Though the more even minded visitors shrug off this possibility, there are some that stand staring at the cerulean painted sky, convinced

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At the place where Lake Brock empties into the sea there is a lone lifeguard tower on a small beach known to locals as Bounty Bay. Only manned for the summer months, the tower houses four local lifeguards who take the shifts in turns and patrol the small stretch of pristine and popular beach.

When their shift is done at night they always leave the door to the tower unlocked so Benedict can get in and watch the dark waters.

In the 1930s Benedict Denver was the only lifeguard on duty when a king wave had hit the shoreline of Bounty Bay. The treacherous wave had dragged four people out to sea in a tumultuous surge of turbulent, dangerous water. Ever vigilant Benedict had thrown himself into the roiling waters and managed to drag two of the struggling swimmers to the shore. He then decided on the third person, a woman being pulled beneath the water. The fourth victim had disappeared beneath the waves after being swept out to sea. As Benedict got the third victim to the sand and held her as she coughed up sea water he caught a glimpse of what he thought was the last victim of the wave. With renewed hope that the man was alive Benedict swam out into the turbid frothing waters. He disappeared along with the fourth victim of the wave whose body washed up along the coast a few days after the king wave had hit. Benedict’s body was never recovered but within a month there was chatter about a life guard at the tower at night after the beach was closed.

Then came the accounts of those ignoring the closed beach signs and getting into trouble only to be rescued by a lifeguard they hadn’t ever seen at the beach by day.

As the rumours persisted and the reports of strange rescues continued it was decided it would be prudent to leave the door to the lifeguard tower open so Benedict could see the dark waters more clearly.

[thewayfar3rs]

Stanley Brewster has been the mailman in Beguile for almost twenty years. Rain, hail or shine Stanley always ensures the citizens of Beguile receive their mail on time.

The post office is manned by Gertrude Dalton. A spinster, Gertrude holds the fort until Stanley’s return in the afternoon.

It isn’t until the post office closes at four in the afternoon that Stanley and Gertrude are able to work on their favourite project, the Dead Letters. Stored in a bright red box the Dead Letters arrive mysteriously at all hours. They have no stamp and are always hand written on exquisite stationery. They are all sent care of the Beguile Post Office, with no name and with no return address.

The first letter had arrived over 5 years ago. It was perplexing at first and without knowing what to do with the strange letter Stanley and Gertrude had placed it in a red box. As the number of mysterious letters grew, the urgency to do something about them became tantamount.

After several sleepless nights Gertrude had decided it was time to open them. The letters are all from the same man, a Lieutenant Donald Abraham and are written to the Lieutenant’s “Darling”.

The letters are all very personal and tell of the adventures and longings of Lieutenant Donald Abraham.

Stanley and Gertrude enjoy working together late into the evening reading and re-reading the letters. In fact they have created a journal with a timeline and information about the Lieutenant and his so called “Darling” in an attempt to discover who she may in fact be.

The strange thing is that Stan and Gertrude discovered Lieutenant Donald Abraham died in a battle in December 1894 but still the dead letters come.

[thewayfar3rs]

Bungalow 9

Along Lake Brock just before it spills into the sea there are a collection of brightly coloured holiday bungalows. Built a few decades earlier, they remain a popular place for holiday makers. The nine bungalows have been placed with care right on the shores of the lake much to the delight of anyone that rents one.

Identical in layout and decor they are equally sought out, that’s all but bungalow number 9. Even in summer, the most popular holiday season, when accomodation in Beguile, especially along the water ways is at a premium, bungalow number 9 is always empty.

Many have no idea as to why they refuse the bungalow and decide to holiday somewhere else if all the holiday accomodation is full. Older members of Beguile know why though.

The holiday accomodation known by its collective name of the Rivers Rest was built by Janey and Wilbur Duff. Long time residents of Beguile they had bought to fruition their dream of building a place that families could enjoy on the shores of Lake Brock. The first few years saw the Rivers Rest filled with holiday makers enjoying the sun and water and the simple but comfortable accomodation. Popular with seniors and children alike the colourful little bungalows were booked all year round.

In the fifth year of the Rivers Rest Janey, a beloved host, was said to have left to help an elderly relative in a neighbouring town. Wilbur gallantly kept the bungalows open and did his best to accomodate those holidaying by Lake Brock. The year that Janey was absent was one of the hottest the locals could remember and Lake Brock was a popular destination for those wanting to cool down. People staying in Rivers Rest started to complain to Wilbur about an unpleasant odour. Always a thoughtful and accommodating host, he assured them that it was a tidal quirk from the lake and that the hotter summer days were to blame. Though it was bad some relief was give by the stiff sea breeze that came in from the coast.

After about two weeks though, as the stench increased guests started to leave Rivers Rest. One family that decided to stay had two teenage boys who were inquisitive and decided to trace the source of the reeking odour. It bought them to bungalow 9. The curtains were drawn but the locks were flimsy and the two troublesome boys decided to break in to the deserted bungalow. They jimmied the door and were greeted by a nauseating stench the source of which revealed itself as their eyes adjusted to the darkened room.

Janey hadn’t made it out of town, in fact she sat, propped up in a chair in the corner of a room, her suitcase places neatly on the floor beside her.

When finally questioned Wilbur explained that the “woman in the water” had taken a dislike to Janey and had insisted he do something about her. He didn’t have the heart to bury her in the ground and Janey had always had a soft spot for Bungalow 9.

No further explanation was ever given about a woman in the water and Wilbur spent the rest of his life in psychiatric care during which time he liked to regale his fellow inmates with tales of the mysterious woman who stepped from the depths of the lake one winters day.

[thewayfar3rs]

Susannah Gladstone had never been predictable. She was what the people in Beguile liked to call a free-spirit. Part of the wealthy Gladstone family, from a young age she refused to conform to the norm.

In her teens she had rebelled against any attempts at curtailing her desires and thoughts. Now in her late twenties, things haven’t changed much with Susannah.

It’s just accepted that she turned her back on the wealth and comforts offered by her family and lives in a Gypsy caravan, making a meagre living on handicrafts. The people of Beguile are not surprised to see Susannah dancing haphazardly in some field or another, seemingly to some unheard, ethereal tune. What the people of Beguile don’t realise is Susannah isn’t dancing alone at all.

For those old enough to remember, there was a tragedy in one of the fields that Susannah frequents. A Gypsy camp was razed to the ground in the middle of the night. Susannah survived the tragedy as a baby and was adopted by the Gladstones who, interestingly enough, owned the field and had a vested interest in keeping it clear. The Gladstones had taken the orphaned child in, raising her as their own, but never imagined that Susannah would one day return to the fold of her wayfaring, if not dead, family.

[thewayfar3rs]

The Photographie was opened in 1899 by Charles Frontiac, a photographer from the continent who had travelled to Beguile and opened a photographic studio. The first in the area, the Photographie attracted a lot of attention and interest, with clients coming from far and wide. Generations of Frontiacs had worked at the Photographie until it was inherited by Sylvie Frontiac-Meyer.

A respectable citizen of Beguile, Sylvie had been a popular photographer and had installed the latest equipment for developing the photographic memories of other Beguile residents. She had married one of the Meyers, a banking family in Beguile, and there was talk of a child.

That was until she met an itinerant preacher by the name of Silas Simpson. No-one knows what made the fun-loving photographer just walk away from her husband, career and life, but walk away she did. A small careless note attached to the door of the Photographie was the only indication she had left with the preacher. The handwritten note said nothing more than “Gone with Silas”.

After the shock and gossip had died off and the Meyer family had hired a photographer to keep the Photographie open something strange started to happen. Every film developed for someone in Beguile contained an extra photograph from the 24 on the reel. This 25th photograph was always different but the subject was the same, Sylvie trapped and suffering in some hideous way. The authorities investigated but the strange unexplainable exposures were never explained and Sylvie was never found. People stopped going to the Photographie terrified by what may turn up in their pile of happy photographs. The distraught Meyer family decided it was best to close the studio down.

[thewayfar3rs]

Nathaniel Stanton or The Mesmeriser, as he is known professionally, performs at all sorts of events and parties in Beguile. His astonishing magic skills have made him highly sought after as a performer.

Born in Beguile he lives in his family home in the mountains beyond the wild woods. Following in the tradition of his father and grandfather it was not a surprise that Nathaniel would choose to make his living as a magician. The Stanton Family come from a rich heritage of magic with its beginning somewhere in the depths of Old Europe in the 1700s.

Nathaniel is particularly famous for a trick he performs with a butterfly and a small garden of red tulips. The audience loves the trick and always walk away baffled, trying to work out how it was done. Some even whisper it’s an elaborate and sophisticated automaton, sensible suggestion. In this case however not accurate, after all Nathaniel and in fact his entire family do not require the deception of constructed magic, they use real magic.

[thewayfar3rs]

The old Armatige house, a replica of a house the Professor had stayed in as a child while travelling with his parents, had been built with love and decorated with pride. Many of the objects collected by Professor Sully Armatige on his travels as a younger man, were on display somewhere in the large house.

The Professor, his beloved wife Adele and their two young daughters Cassandra and Bethany had loved their home and the happy family hosted fun casual parties and elegant soirées alike. The house was a warm and inviting place.

All this changed in July of 77. Freshly returned from touring a recently discovered and well preserved medieval town in Scotland, Professor Armatige arrived home and instantly knew something was wrong. As he opened the large entrance doors he almost felt as though the air was sucked from him. The smell then hit him. A rancid odour of death and putrefaction. He pressed the sleeve of his jacket against his mouth and nose and entered the dark cavernous building that had once been such a joyous home.

His beautiful wife Adele and his young daughters lay on the flagstone floor of the large hall, blood covering their clothing and decomposition cruelly eating away at their once soft and beautiful features.

Professor Armatige had stood for a moment noting that some of the glass display cabinets had been ransacked. A sadness enveloping him as realisation of his loss struck.

To this day no one knows what happened in the Armatige home. As always happens in smaller towns whispers and accusations sprout here and there like insipid weeds. Some believe that a visitor passing through the town was trying to rob the house and killed the family. Others speculate about the medieval dabbling of the Professor and what he may have naively bought into his home. There are even those that mumble about the Professors hand in the spiteful and horrendous slaughters. However to this day it remains a mystery.

[thewayfar3rs]

Juniper Jones is the delectable stage name for Jamieson Briar. A sought after drag queen Jamieson, or Juniper as he prefers to be known lives in a stunning Art Deco home on the banks of Lake Brock.

Having moved to Beguile over fifteen years ago he is a well respected citizen that donates to many local causes and is always known to give a helping hand if required.

His wealth, though enhanced by his stunning performances at various local, national and at times international venues, comes mainly from the sea.

Juniper does a roaring trade in treasures he salvages from the sea. Some Beguile residents have questioned this side business of the glamorous drag queen, especially as there is no boat at the dock in front of his beautiful home.

The truth is that Juniper doesn’t need a boat to explore the seas for trinkets and treasures and this is mainly due to Junipers other identity. This one he keeps to himself but for the one time he saved that girl Lorelei.

[thewayfar3rs]

Emmett Kingston is the Beguile butcher. The business has been in his family for decades and the shop has been a reliable source of meat goods for Beguile residents since its doors opened in 1922.

The shop has all manner of meat products and sources most of its fresh meat from the larger local farms. Consistent good quality and a friendly approach to customers and vendors alike have resulted in the shops popularity and ensuing longevity.

Emmett lives above the store with his mother Maude. His father died recently so he has no plans to leave his newly grieving mother on her own just yet, despite the protestations of his current girlfriend Tanzy Thomas.

Although the butcher shop and the apartment are traditionally decorated and beautifully cared for there is one room at the very back of the shop that causes a ripple of interest when things are quiet in the town.

Right next to the main walk in freezer there is a red door. The door seems to always be closed. Some more curious customers, however, who have wondered to the back of the shop, have made some outrageous claims about what they believed they glimpsed in the small room on a rare occasion it was open. As only a few witnesses have seen the contents of the room briefly and in questionable light, their claims are slightly dubious. There are some however that claim to have seen a bloody human heart, under a large glass cloche, still inexplicably beating. Those claiming to have witnessed this anomaly have always been brushed off as fanciful or inebriated. The whispers however, as with all small towns, continue.