This Old Cabin
The sun shone down with all its might, blanketing the ground However, at the last house at the end of the lane, someone Rounding the corner with a bottle of water in his hand, ”And may whoever lives here have both, with the eyes of Click, click, click. It was half an hour more of sweating and painstakingly ”Oh, it is just lovely!”, the young woman said as she swept ”Must have been a hell of a job to fix this up, Mr. ”Not at all. After all, if there is no pleasure in honest ”Oh, thank you. I'll have one sugar, please, if it's not...” ”Already taken care of. Much like the house.” The man's brow furrowed slightly before he took a sip of his “So, now I only have one question, the one you refused to The man's eyes wandered over to a thick envelope that had “Ah... Um, out of the country, then?” “Quite a ways, I'm afraid.” “Well, that's too bad then.” The man sought for words and then decided against further “Now, if we could only just clear up this particular “Farewell, sail your ship to an ocean wide and untamed...” The low murmur of Carcer's voice, so close to the candles “Hold your shield high, let the wind bring your enemies your He slowly lowered his hands, parting his sweaty palms from “By the bane of my blade, this mighty spell is made...” Carcer opened his eyes, picking up the candle in one hand as “And far from battle blood shall fall, like hard rain...” “Attention all passengers, attention all passengers. Carcer straightened his tie, and picked up a suitcase in his The early morning sun was creeping up from beyond the clouds The customs official manning the booth Carcer finally ended “Your passport and visa, sir.” It was sudden, so sudden that the man physically flinched “Sir, please place your index finger on the scanner there, With a nod, Carcer complied, placing the required digit onto “Is there a problem, officer?”, came an inquiring tone, and “No, sir, not at all... Are you visiting here for work or “For... performance.” “Sir, you are aware... thank you, sir, you may remove your “Oh, well aware of it. It has been taken care of. Was there “No, sir. Enjoy your stay.” Carcer smiled and reached for his passport. With a flick of The hotel room wasn't the most extravagant of them all, but The orchestral music, playing at a low volume, reached the “There was nothing like you, was there, Gustav?”, he spoke, The warmth emanating from his guts lifted his spirits, and Neptune, the Mystic. Over the delicate balance of instruments, the laptop beeped “Ah, Sergey... It is good to hear from you...” And the second one, from a sender labeled Mr. Hammond. The “Yes.” Carcer smiled yet again, but broadly and genuinely this
Hamburg, Germany
with oppressive heat. The idyllic suburban neighborhood,
tucked within a small patch of forest, lazed under the fiery
stare, its inhabitants seeking shelter and refreshment
wherever they could. Even the animals refrained from moving,
expecting the cooler twilight air of the evening.
was working. Jonathan Carcer was perched atop a ladder, set
against the wall of a 1920's-era wooden house, a paint brush
in one hand and a bucket of paint in the other. His tanned
back and head glistened with sweat underneath the sun, but
his spirits were up, as he continued to whistle between his
lips as he worked one stroke at a time. The house gleamed in
the sun, freshly painted walls shining in cream-white as
Carcer continued to apply a fresh layer over the foundation
he had prepared the day before. A few drops of paint adorned
his goatee as he leaned after the last stroke of the brush,
admiring the work he had wrought. Descending from the
ladder, Carcer replaced the lid on the bucket and wiped the
brush before dabbing at his chin with a rag soaked in paint
thinner, removing the spots of white from his hairs.
Carcer came to the northern face of the building, where a
hole had been dug exactly halfway along the wall. The
measuring equipment he had used to make sure it was exactly
halfway still laid in a heap next to the wall, and he moved
it aside to reach for a small bundle of leather underneath
them. Then, with determined steps, he walked along to the
hole, kneeling besides a round, flat stone sitting on the
ground. There were clear markings carved on the stone; a
pair of straight lines with a pair of equilateral triangles
between them touching tip-to-tip, and a rudimentary fork
shape with three prongs. ”Man” and ”plenty”.
Hugin and Mugin and the wisdom of Wotan, and the root of
Yggdrasil in their hearts...”, Carcer intoned to himself, as
he reverently picked a small chisel and the hammer and
placed it against the ”man”-rune.
careful carving, but finally the grooves were deep enough.
Satisfied, he picked the stone up and placed it within the
hole, and then began to replace the loose earth. There were
of course more incantations to read, and more enchantments
to be made: but the most important one was now done. Now,
this was a home.
Hamburg, Germany
through the empty rooms inside the elderly house. Not a
speck of dust was visible on the bare floors, shining with a
fresh coat of wax, and neither was there any on the walls,
covered with brand-new wallpapers. The only indication that
there was or even had been anyone living here were two old-
time traveling trunks stacked on top of each other in the
living room, but the seller had guaranteed that they were
going to be moved in a day or two. Jonathan Carcer and her
husband followed her, both smiling as she talked of the
furniture and the drapes and the garden with possibly a tad
more enthusiasm than she intended: however, Carcer's was
devoid of the slight embarrassment found on the face of the
newlywed man besides him. The short tour had seemingly made
an impression, starting from the tanned man greeting the
couple of would-be homeowners at the front gate in a
fashionable old suit, all smile and warm handshakes. Inside,
the smell of old wood hung over everything, tickling the
nostalgic nerve and bringing up images of grandparents and
their ancient homes. Outside, the trees surrounded the plot,
not darkening but shielding, not enveloping but opening the
yard into the forest itself.
Carstens, I take?”, the man engaged in small-talk as Carcer
led the couple into the kitchen, where a solitary coffee
machine was drip-dripping on a polished wooden counter.
work, then where is it to be found? It would be a criminal
shame to have let all this go to waste”, Carcer replied,
preparing three cups of coffee as the man and woman perused
the contract they had drawn up with help from the city
hall's lawyer. Without asking, Carcer poured milk into one
of the cups and placed a lump of sugar in another, before
turning around and placing the cups on the table.
coffee, and found the sweetness there much to his
expectations. His companion was likewise surprised of the
contents of her cup. Pity, Carcer thought, how easy it was
to baffle and confuse with simple probability. His mind
wandered over the wards he had dug in the ground outside,
and whether or not he should mention of them: but in the
end, he decided that maybe it was for the best. Everything
had been running smoothly so far, and there was no need to
complicate things beyond their understanding.
answer over the phone. Why the low asking price for the
house? What's the catch, what haven't you shown us?”, the
man inquired, setting his cup down on the counter as Carcer
sipped his coffee with no hurry. Ah, the catch, he thought.
The catch would be that I have lived here, however briefly.
But out loud, he said: “There is no catch. I merely find
myself a victim of circumstances, and must leave in a hurry.
I have no idea when I will be returning, so the most prudent
course of action is to get rid of all the excess things
tying me down.”
been laid on the counter, next to the coffee machine. From
behind Carcer's arm, it was hard to make out what exactly
was written on it, but the man was quite sure that the first
word on the line marked “Sender” was “Atlantic”. With tact
and grace, Carcer picked up the envelope and replaced it
within his jacket's depths in one smooth move. His smile was
disarming and warm, as was his voice. “A job offer, and one
I intend to take very seriously.”
intrusion. Carcer gently tapped the man on the shoulder and
directed his attention towards the contract papers on the
kitchen table, guiding him towards his wife.
matter...”
International Airport
flame, caused it to flicker and cast dancing shadows behind
his head. His eyes were closed, the faint orange glow barely
penetrating his eyelids.
nightmares...”
one another. There should have been more time to do this,
rather than at the last minute, but the flight had been
booked last minute as well.
he straightened up in the gloom of the unused room. With the
blinds drawn and the door locked, the noises of the airport
were adequately dampened. The fire alarm lay on a nearby
bench, picked apart.
Lufthansa flight LF613 is now boarding at gate C32.
Attention all passengers...”
other hand. Then he blew out the candle.
International Airport
as Jonathan Carcer made landfall at continental United
States. His eyes were drawn to the golden corona as it rose
majestically, letting other jet-lagging passengers rush past
him in the glass-encased corridor. Up ahead, the corridor
took a sharp downwards dive into a concrete tunnel, at the
end of which one could find a border checkpoint, if the
signs on the walls were to be believed. Sighing, Carcer
rubbed his bald cranium and began to walk anew, suitcase in
hand.
up at seemed to be about as sleep-deprived as those
arriving. Black, in his mid-40s, heavyset and balding.
Carcer's smile remained unanswered by the man's passive
stare.
out of surprise. Carcer had merely raised his left hand and
turned it around to reveal the wine-red passport resting in
his palm, apparently without having reached for a pocket of
any kind in between. There was a small, dumbfounded silence,
as the uniformed official stared at the honest, smiling
face, and the hand offering the passport. Finally, without a
second word, he picked it up and began scanning.
and do not remove it until I tell you to.”
the blue touchpad resting securely in its black plastic
mount. Somehow, the silence, the calm mannerisms, even the
little sleight-of-hand... The official sneaked a glance from
the corner of his eye at the German national before him, but
averted his eyes as the foreigner noticed. Goddammit, he
thought, he didn't need this shit before his morning coffee
break.
the tapping on the keyboard picked up pace considerably.
for pleasure?”
finger now...”, the customs official continued, turning to
face Carcer from behind the Plexiglas screen and sliding the
passport through the slot underneath the window, “you are
aware that your visa grants you the right to work for no
longer than six months at present time?”
anything else, officer?”
a wrist, the documentation was gone yet again: and as if to
taunt or showboat, he turned his palm to face the official,
fingers spread and wriggling. Without waiting for a
reaction, he picked up his black suitcase, straightened the
collar on his dress shirt and moved past the checkpoint,
into the airport proper. Very soon, he was merely another
face in the crowd, lost in the masses.
Albany, New York
it was a fine choice for now. He had drawn the blinds close,
to shield off the late evening sun aimed straight at his
windows, and sat in front of a small cocktail table, a black
laptop humming in front of him. It had been a bit under a
week now, Carcer mused as he took a sip of the quite
passable whiskey provided by the room service, and things
were moving at quite a nice pace. Even without his physical
presence, there was talk already. And if what he had caught
on TV last Saturday was of any indication, someone higher up
did really think well of him...
next suite as Carcer typed the second of his two messages
for the night. As his ears picked up the first notes of the
piece, his fingers stopped typing and then gently lifted off
the keyboard. Uranus, the Magician. Carcer smiled as he took
another sip of the whiskey.
to nobody in particular, enjoying the haunting orchestral
melody that had been brought forth by Mr. Holst's vision.
His mind swam with the stars and soared along the sky as he
closed his eyes, humming quietly along. The whiskey emptied
out of the glass, one small part at a time, until nothing
but ice clattered inside the carefully made crystal tumbler
once again.
Carcer began to type suddenly, with newly-found vigor. After
a final press on the enter key, he rose up, striding over to
the windows and pulling the blinds open. The final golden
rays bathed his tanned face, bleeding through his closed
eyelids as “The Planets” reached its final suite.
once, then twice. Lazily, his mind already feeling the haze
of good alcohol, Carcer returned, planting his hand on the
table and leaning over to look at the screen. Two messages
stared at him, one from a sender labeled simply as
“Torture”.
header was empty, and the message itself consisted of a
single word.
time. He was beginning to think that he was going to like it
here.
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