Tevun-Krus #34 - GothPunk

Calling Minna - A Short Story by @jinnis

The doorbell announces the first guest and I check the gloomy room one last time. It's perfect. Midnight blue drapes cover the windows and walls, with the exception of the one corner where Angel managed to build up some ancient looking masonry. In the centre of the oval, fake oak table sits the ouija board she created, its dark layer of varnish glowing softly in the light of twelve candles surrounding it. Beside it, on a cushion of dark blue velvet, lays an ornate dagger, a traditional kris with a wavy blade. It's most certainly the only piece in here with some real value. I found it in a run down antiquity shop and thought it would make a nice accessory. The velvet of the cushion matches my ceremonial coat, cut to a victorian pattern and worn over a simple white shirt. I'm as ready as I can be.

Angel is busy at the other end of the room, wearing her almost transparent, many layered nightgown. I don't like the rare events she has to make an appearance and hope today won't be one of those. But better prepared than sorry, as the saying goes. She smiles at me, the affectionate gesture turned ghostly by her goth makeup, dark around the eyes, showing off her prominent cheekbones and pale lips. The black contacts make her look even more convincing. She turns to the faintly glowing skull on its inky pedestal and lets the mandibles clack open and closed a few times with a touch of the hidden switch. The mechanism works just fine. It's not a real skull, of course, they are too hard to come by. But Angel worked as a restorer in town gallery for a while and has a knack for painting. She gave this 3D-print the convincing look of a skull right from the tomb. Now she lights a mango scented candle and places it atop the ghastly thing. I grin at her antics while the door bell rings a second time.

"Won't you open the door, Frank?"

"Not yet, only on the third call. You know how important it is to play to the audience's expectations."

She blows me a kiss and steps behind the skull pedestal. It has a concealed opening on the backside and Angel is used to slip in and out without a sound of her bare feet. Inside, she has full view of the room and what's most important, access to all controls over her touchscreen. Of course I'd prefer to have a fully artificial ghost, some kind of holographic projection. But even if something suitable exists on the market, it is still way out of our financial possibilities.

Nevertheless the two of us are rightfully proud of this set up. We worked long and hard to get to where we are today. It takes time to win a good name in the scene, and you can't go advertising like any other specialised family-run business, say a removal company or hair salon.

When we found this isolated house with its overgrown garden and pointed roof, we knew we hit solid gold. It took some time to convert it, make it look older than it is, give it this mysterious touch, and install the necessary gadgets in the basement. But now, it's nearing perfection.

The bell rings a third time, longer, insistently. With a last controlling glance I hurry up to open the door and great the bunch of people with a meticulous stiff bow. But no one acknowledges my effort. My guests file in with a breath of cold winter air. It snows outside and I busy myself to collect and hang up one expensive fur and three designer coats. This is it, finally we attract the right kind of people, those with the ready cash to buy our exclusive, customised services.

I show the customers down the stairs and into the basement. Their mood seems tense, hardly a word is uttered as the four of them file into the room. It's going to be a family session, the tall, slender old man obviously the father of two men in their mid forties and a somewhat younger daughter. Interesting that no one brought a partner.

I recall my instructions, given short and clear by my contact: 'dad has to be convinced that mom wants him to retire and sell the firm to the concurrence.'