by Cyle James
Violet’s whole face lit up, “This is a great lead. Even if we need to add a grain of salt or two to whatever we find out. Thanks a lot. Really”.
Helen did a singular nod as she put the pen back into her ear for a final time, “Glad to be of service. Good luck on finding out whatever it is that you’re looking for. Feel free to ask me anything else if you’ve got a question. I like to think that I know all the ins and outs of this island, so if you need drugs, prostitutes or weapons just give me a shout”.
Riley practically coughed up a lung with laughter before lowering both his head and his voice to ask, “Are you being serious?”
In a move that neither of the couple expected Helen slapped Riley on the back of the head, “No! What’s the matter with you, child?”
And with that slightly shocking bit of casual assault she walked off to the kitchen to place their order.
Riley turned to his wife with a look of confusion, “What a weird woman”.
Violet agreed while she tried to suppress her laughter, “But now we’ve got somewhere to go with this thing”.
“Though now we’ve got to try to convince someone who runs a museum about some crazy, impossible occurrence in the mirror at an abandoned house in the woods. I can already predict that this is going to go great. What are the odds that he’s actually going the listen to us, let alone believe us?”
Violet shrugged, “What other choice do we have?”
“We could always go to Vancouver and start yelling Poyam’s name through the streets. What are the chances that it’s a common name?” Riley answered.
Violet looked over her menu and second guessed her meal decision, “Have you thought about what this thing might be? I mean, if it’s real?”
Riley had started watching across the restaurant to the man that had yelled for service earlier, it seemed like Helen was deliberately avoiding his table and he was steaming about it to his equally red-faced family.
“I don’t have an answer to that question that isn’t stupid. All I know is that if we’re not careful we’re going to be talked about through town like the assholes who brag about being abducted by aliens,” he said as he turned his attention back to his wife.
She leered with all of her teeth pushed to the front of her mouth, “What if it is aliens? What if this is their way of communicating with us from across the galaxy?”
Her husband put up his finger to halt her train of thought as non-serious as it might have been, “But that would mean that these super intelligent beings can send some sort of trans-dimensional mirror message but they can’t reach the kinky ceiling sex-mirror in the President’s bedroom. Or, I guess they’d be aiming for the Prime Minister here. Either way, I don’t think the aliens would be reaching out to us of all people”.
Violet watched as Helen made her way out of the kitchen with two plates in hand, heading towards the Tylers’ table.
“That was fast,” Violet said as their food was placed in front of them.
“Well,” the waitress started with her bottom lip bitten between her teeth, “To be honest I think the cook had half of the stuff already prepared. So I hope you don’t mind your food microwaved”.
Riley looked down at his mountain of junk; it seemed to be that he had been given extra pancakes as his plate carried four pieces instead of the ordered two, it was adorned with thick slices of peameal bacon which was in turn all covered with an unhealthy dose of drizzled peanut butter.
“This looks fantastic,” Riley said without actually looking pleased, “But we seem to be missing something crucial...”
Helen cocked her head downward, “Oh? Are we now?” and with that she reached behind her body and pulled out a full bag of miniature marshmallows from her apron band.
“Oh, heaven. You’re an angel,” he giggled in the manliest way he could manage.
Violet wasn’t as lucky as her husband.
Her plate looked like it had been run through a blender. The mash looked like it was just hash browns that had been crushed with a fork. The bangers were strips of oddly shaped sausages. All of it was swathed in an ashen brown mystery sauce. She had been warned that she might end up with questions, but she hadn’t planned on wondering whether or not it was edible.
“What is this stuff? Violet asked as she prodded her food with her fork.
The waitress looked down at the goopy puddles that were forming on the sides of the plate, “That would be the gravy. Trust me when I say that it used to be worse. The old recipe was some sort of powdered thing that had to be mixed into water for like twenty minutes before it could be put on anything”.
Violet whinged, “I think that I like you less now, Helen”.
Without remotely trying to justify the quality of the food Helen stepped away from the table in a titter.
“I think that we’re forgetting something, too,” Riley said as he carefully placed marshmallows on his plate like mines.
“And what might that be? Something more important than even marshmallows?” his wife asked as she contemplated whether she’d actually try to eat what was in front of her.
“Sourmouth,” he said plainly.
“What do you mean?” she questioned as she caught herself wincing slightly at the word.
With a mouth full of his terrible concoction he replied, “This started almost instantaneously after we found that damned book”.
Violet’s eyes darted back and forth in her head as she frantically tried to remember. She was still pretty much in shock and was having a difficult time trying to recall details.
“I suppose...” she said finally, as if that was enough.
“Don’t leave me hanging like an idiot here. Do you think it makes sense? Maybe the book was possessed or something?”
Violet raised her eyebrows in perfect unison as she replied “I don’t know! That’s as good a theory as aliens. I mean, what do I know about this stuff?”
Riley sat and contemplated. The fact was that the Tylers didn’t know anything about what they were facing, which was a dangerous way of approaching any situation let alone one like what they were facing. If they wanted to attempt to keep control and take advantage of their discovery they would need to go out on a limb. They had to tell the people at the museum something if they wanted help. It was just a matter of what degree. How much could they afford to share without possibly tipping off someone that might see dollar signs just like they did? Who’s to say that the folks at the museum wouldn’t just run to the news themselves? Could they get help if they tried to get away with just figuring out some of the history of the house and its family?
“Did you want to go directly to the museum? Or did you...want to sightsee or something?” he asked sheepishly as he tried to hide his frantic thoughts.
“Is sightseeing still even an option? Would you even be able to enjoy yourself without finding out whether we’re sitting on a piece of history?”
He paused mid-chew with a mouthful of ‘mallows, “Probably not. You?”
Violet just shook her head.
As the decision was made in the silence between them they both couldn’t help but to break out in nervous laughter.
#
Their minds were so frazzled with possibilities it wasn’t until they were ten minutes on the road did the Tylers realize that they didn’t have directions to the museum. They had to flag down four different cars to try and get their bearings, but four of those cars were almost as lost as they were. Just before they were ready to loop back to the information booth by the ferry they managed to wave down an old black couple that seemed to know their way around the island. The couple drew a map of directions in the air with their fingers from the window of their car, which more or less gave the Tylers what they needed to find the museum when they were able to reverse the image in their heads to actually be usable.
From then on the drive was as easy as reversing their course, passing Snug Cove and taking a few turns along the main road ironically past the information booth they h
ad been looking to avoid. Sitting across the street from a bank and a convenience store was a small square building with wooden shutters and a stone walkway paved before it. To Violet the museum looked like a miniature southern plantation.
The couple parked their car out front of the building and met by the hood of the car to grab each other by the hand.
“Here goes nothing,” Riley said as he licked his lips in anticipation.
Violet wore the most minuscule smile as she echoed him in her reply of “Here goes everything”.
And with that they entered the museum like they were heading to the gallows, prepared to die but not anymore pleased about the future that may come.
The inside of the museum was charmingly quaint. Based on the interiors of what few buildings the Tylers had seen so far on the island they had both been expecting the worst. It might have been cheating in the book of decorating but having a building dedicated to the old and often ugly pieces of history made it difficult to find fault in its aesthetics. The ground was mostly made up of longstanding, worn brown wood with salt stains and scrapes from exhibits that had been dragged across the floor. The building was a single level divided by the atrium into two main rooms and a few smaller offshoots. Each room had a rough theme, from native history to the colonization of the island to the local arts. The style in which the pieces were displayed varied, from cases that stood chest high to statues that sat in the middle of the floor to paintings that hung on the walls.
Attending a few visitors in one of the main quarters was an old Asian man. He stood to about Violet’s shoulders and was hunched over as if his back was continuously hurting him. He had pure white hair that seemed to frizz off in every direction. Despite being indoors he wore a puffy, olive coloured jacket that was done up nearly to his throat.
Just when the Tylers were bracing to approach the man did they spot a woman coming from a closed door to the back of the building next to an exhibit on famous writers. The woman was white, her complexion placing her in her thirties. She was a little taller than Violet but smaller than Riley. The woman wore blue jeans that accentuated her hips and a black U-neck t-shirt decorated with a colourful sugar skull design. She had thin red glasses that hung low on the bridge of her nose and long brown hair that fell to just past her shoulders.
Figuring that it was best to ask the personnel that were free, the Tylers cornered her as she started to try and wipe down the glass on an exhibit.
“Excuse me?” Riley started as they approached, waving his hand in an oddly similar motion to the way the woman was cleaning the glass in front of the window.
The woman turned with a slightly irritated expression but didn’t bother replying.
“We were wondering if you could help us. We’re looking to find out some of the history of a specific house. Or even the family that owned it if it’s available,” Violet explained, with little reaction back.
Riley looked at his wife in a way to communicate that he was getting frustrated with most of the people they had run into on Bowen thus far. It appeared most people had a chip on their shoulder, or in the very least had adopted the New York attitude of dismissing tourists.
The woman turned back and started her cleaning again before finally answering without even bothering to turn in their direction, “This is a museum. If you want historical records visit the library”.
“We thought this was an archive as well. You know, because it’s called Museum and Archive?” Riley questioned with exasperation balled up in his throat.
Still the woman looked away, “Do you see space in here for an entire archive? We keep a section at the library. If you go talk to the librarian, she’ll help you out”.
“We were hoping for a more personalized account of local history. From somebody that actually knows a thing or two. Even anecdotes would do, just not some old papers we’d have to wade through for days to get anywhere,” Violet tried to explain.
“I’m not interested in being your personal tour guide. If you want to know about something within this museum then I can assist you. But other than that, leave me to clean,” she answered defiantly.
“We rented this house...” Riley started regardless of the woman’s wishes, hoping that his perseverance would break down her resistance, “...up at by Killarney Lake. We got it from an old woman named Poyam”.
The woman was rubbing the glass so hard that the legs of the case began to wobble.
“Things have been a bit weird,” Riley continued, “We’ve been seeing things that we really shouldn’t be seeing. We are seeing some sort of creature standing in our mirror”.
After a slight pause to consider the stranger’s words the employee answered with aggravation clear in her voice, “Go and see an optometrist”.
“We found a lot of drawings on one of the walls that look like they were drawn in a madhouse. And we found an old book with strange words and symbols and even more bloodcurdling drawings”.
Finally, they seemed to have garnered the woman’s attention, as she slowed her cleaning to listen closer.
It was Violet who spoke up next, “Does the word ‘Sourmouth’ mean anything to you?”
The woman stopped her chore completely. She turned around and held out her hand in front of Violet’s face, pointing her finger from under the cleaning rag almost in an antagonistic manner.
“You better not be toyingwith me,” she said bluntly.
The Tylers shook their heads in unison and didn’t bother saying anything.
“Cheng! I’m going on break!” the employee yelled as she walked off towards the closed door that she had come out of. The couple remained where they were until the woman motioned impatiently for them to follow.
They all entered a ten-by-ten workroom that had a high wooden worktable and various tools for fixing odds and ends, a cleaner’s cart filled with various varnishes and soaps and a sofa next to a dingy microwave and TV that would have both found a home on a 1980s sitcom. The employee crashed down on the couch and made room for the couple to sit down next to her.
“What the hell are you waiting for? It’s not like I want to sit so close to you either,” she said peevishly as she saw their hesitation.
With a quick glance to convey to each other the awkwardness that they both felt, the Tylers crammed together onto the tiny piece of furniture shoulder to shoulder, with Violet taking the middle.
“Did you bring the book?” the employee asked with her hand out like a beggar looking for a piece of silver.
Violet shook her head nearly remorsefully.
“Damn it,” the woman snapped.
“Do you need it to tell us anything?” she asked.
The employee shook her head, “No. But I would have loved to have seen it. I do work in a museum after all, so this is kind of how I get my jollies. A classic piece of history like that would be a fine collectible”.
“Can I ask what your name is?” Violet said.
Her mouth puckered, “You can call me Anna”.
“It’s nice to meet you, Anna. I’m Violet and this is my husband, Riley”.
Violet extended her hand to shake the other woman’s, only for no reaction to come from Anna. The woman looked at Violet’s hand like a confused animal trying to figure out some sort of human custom that wasn’t intended for her.
“You said what I think you said, correct? I didn’t mishear you or you didn’t misread it?” Anna questioned as she watched Violet’s hand retract gracelessly.
“Yes, for sure it was ‘Sourmouth’. It was written as the only piece of English in the book we found,” Riley answered.
Anna stroked the side of her hair as she thought, pinning it behind her ear.
“That’s a name I’m familiar with from when I was a young girl. In school I was fascinated by the legends of the local people, being a bit of an outsider here. So to learn about the culture I talked to everyone I could, even when they wanted nothing to do with me. From what I can remember, that word is tied to one of their most revere
d legends about creation. Of course, it’s all myth. Or at least that’s what I think about it, one person’s Jesus is another person’s Flying Spaghetti Monster. But I’m a bit of a sceptic when it comes to these things. But on this island, the beliefs of the Squamish people have deep roots that sometimes outweigh common sense”.
“So you believe that the book is somehow related to the natives? Without even seeing it?”
Anna shrugged, “It’s not that I believe the book is specifically on its own. But the word definitely is. It’s a word that I remember kids whispering when I was a child as we played near the waters. I remember one native woman speaking of it by the campfire when I was a tad older. The word is one that many of the Squamish people know but don’t dare speak”.
“What do you mean they don’t speak it? It’s just a word,” Riley asked.
“In some cultures words are not just sounds,” Anna started. “Words have power behind them. Words have an almost magic to them in which you can call things into existence if you believe in them enough. Calling them into being, so to speak. In the times before, when the world was still primitive, when man couldn’t even talk, human beings were powerless. We were these things that crawled out of the primordial ooze and just flopped onto land like we owned it. It wasn’t until man learned to communicate with each other and with the spirits were we blessed with everything that we take for granted now. And that word that you spoke is one that wields great strength among the spirits”.
“I thought you didn’t believe in this religious mumbo jumbo?” Violet probed.