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THE THIN HOUSE

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Generalpicture



Joined: 26 Oct 2005
Posts: 82
THE THIN HOUSE

This is only the first chapter of this novel. And by no means is it finished. Please feel free to give me back critques of this story.
Also, as a side note, none of this is taken from history. I heard about three sentences of this story on a ghost tour in Charleston and I have been expanding the story. Yes, there is a published version of the same ghost story yet only the premises of this story are the same. The characters and the events in this story are only of my creation.
Please, enjoy the story....


--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Good Doctor

The streets of Charleston, South Carolina, are busy this morning. The cars roar past as business men and tourists alike try to get to their destinations. There is a church on King Street that is silent, for today’s not Sunday. Even if it were, the city would still be alive with activities, for such is the way of Carolina’s soul.
The church is a new addition and only at night does the story unfold to the naive tourists that past it by. At night, the city is alive with those that seek their thrill in the ghost stories that roam the city. There is one story that centers on the ground that this church now stands on. This story is told by the guides outside a graveyard.
The story is short and without detail, but the rusted old gate tells a story of a plot of land that caused fear to roam the old city. The church that stands on its old home is full of the man that once owned it. However, it may indeed be the home to the man that owned the thin house.

--

The streets of Charlestown are quiet this morning. Only the occasional clomp of a horse’s hooves shatter the loud silence. Carriage wheels creak and whine as its charge carries it swiftly down the cobblestone paths, carrying them to nowhere.
King Street slowly awakens in this, the year of our lord, 1823. A young man locks his door on 104 and turns to face the frost bitten air. His long brown hair in its ponytail, catch the breeze. He gathers his cloak about him and lets his breath out in a mist that hovers before him before disappearing. Setting his dark brown eyes on the street, he sets out down the familiar path to his office.
James Erwin Rinaldi is one of the most successful doctors the south has to offer. He studied at Oxford in England and even though his peers were skeptical due to his age, the 26 year-old was not abetted in his patient list at the least.
Sure enough, his office on Main already had a line of patients awaiting him. With a sigh, James surveyed the line. Noting that more than half of the dozen were females, he passed them, ignoring the giggles, and opened the door. He deposited his things and took his seat at his desk.
After shuffling papers needlessly and scratching at the burn mark on his desk, he determined not to postpone the inevitable and let the first girl in. She promptly let out a dramatic cough upon entering, and followed the performance with a wink. James painfully suppressed a sigh.

--

He managed to have seen thirty people by mid day, which was something because he was aware that the population of this great city isn’t that large. What was even more intriguing was the fact that a total of nine people actually had something wrong with them. “This is a record,” James thought bemusedly as he scribbles on a piece of parchment paper.
The knock at the door painfully jerked him from his drifting state of mind. “Come in,” he straightens in his chair and watched the door creak open. A woman around the age of eighty slid into the office. She didn’t appear sick but he couldn’t tell yet for certain.
“May I help you?” James inquires.
“What is your charge,” she replies in barely over a whisper “for house calls?”
“I don’t do house calls.”
On the brink of tears, she turns and makes her way outside. Curiosity came rushing over James and he hurried out after the woman. She leads the way to her house which is in shambles.
He feels his heart sink as she opened the door. In his mind he sees a familiar door open. The house is made up of one room and the single piece of furniture is occupied. Pots and pans litter the floor to accommodate the rain that drips through the roof. She points silently to the ragged bed and he tears his eyes from the single sheet on the floor upon which she slept.
The person he at first deemed a pile of rags turns out to be a child of five years of age. He is sick with pneumonia and can barely open his tired eyes. James kneels by the child and begins to tend to him.

--

A few hours later, and the woman reaches into her pocket and pulls out a single shilling, the only money left to her name. She gazes at the coin sullenly as she hands it towards James. He takes the coin and leaves without even a backwards glance.

--

The woman lays down on her sheet, weary of life itself. When the door was knocked upon, she couldn’t even muster enough strength to get up. Faintly, “Come in” was heard. The door knob turns and admits the young Doctor. He held out his palm and let the cool coin slip from his hand back to hers.
He smiles as he beckons for a few friends outside. In a few hours time, holes in the ceiling had been repaired, meals for a week were fixed, and two beds sat in the room, all at James’ expense.
The woman, overwhelmed, in her search for words uttered only four “You’re a good doctor.”

--

He walks back to his office feeling exhilarated. The streets are full now, but James walks right past the people with only the occasional nod in acknowledgment of a stranger’s hello.
He opened his office door and collapses into his chair. For several minutes he just sits there, absentmindedly scratching at the candle burn in his desk top. Quite suddenly, however, he drew a quill a parchment to himself.
He dips the quill momentarily in the ink bottle. It then hovers over the paper before gliding across it in elegant black lines. The lines transform to create words upon the tablet. Its progress stopped on the occasion to refuel on the deep black liquid that filled the quill’s gut.
James’ eyebrows meet now in extreme concentration. So deep is his concentration that the clang of the door bell does not interrupt his thought. His visitor studies him for a few minutes through vivid blue eyes, full of laughter. The visitor ran one hand through his silk blonde hair. He grins down at James. “I think there’s a smudge of ink on the tip of your nose judging from the distance of it and the paper.” He grins broadly, his eyes dancing in joy.
James jumps and falls out of his chair. “Oh!” The stranger hurries over to him. He apologizes for startling the young doctor, yet his eyes betray him.
“Jason?” James still looks shell shocked.
“At your service,” Jason did a mock bow and sweeps his hat from his head.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, how do you do, too?” Jason laughed. “Mary sent me.”
“Figures,” James mumbles.
“What?”
“That you wouldn’t come here on your own accord.”
“Now,” James ponders “, what kind of friend would I be if I did come to visit you?”
“The good kind?” James grins in spite of himself. Jason has that effect on people. “What’s Mary want?”
“Hmm, money, a house, a good man, and you and I to come to dinner.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“…. At Mama LaVerne’s.”
James looks up horrified. “What?! That woman hates me!”
Jason just smiled, completely nonplussed. “She hates everyone, mate.”
“You know what will happen, right?”
“Same as always…”
“We’ll walk in and take off our hats…”
“Mama will criticize every hole in them…”
“Then we’ll play musical chairs until she is satisfied with the seating arrangement…”
“Then the dreaded conversation…”
“About my drunken no-good father…”
“About my career choice…”
“And why we aren’t yet married!” They finished together and laughed.
James shook his head melodramatically and says “How could Mary do a thing like this to us? What did we ever do to her?”
Jason laughs, “Put a spider and snake in her bed, put mud in her shoes…”
“That didn’t require an answer, mate.” James, Jason, and Mary had been best friends since childhood. Jason lost his mother and father in a fire, therefore, Mama LaVerne took him in. James' story is also one of sadness that led him to Mama LaVerne’s care. Mary on the other hand, inherited the old vulture against her will. Mama LaVerne is Mary’s grandmother.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, James,” Jason said as he jovially waves goodbye. James sits at his desk much happier than he had been; Jason also had that effect on people. He folds the letter on the desk, seals it, and closes his eyes.


Last edited by Generalpicture on Sun Jun 24, 2007 1:16 pm; edited 1 time in total

Post Sat Jun 23, 2007 9:15 pm 
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Allison



Joined: 12 Oct 2005
Posts: 4216
Location: Florida


Excellent start...............now where's the rest? Grinning at ya!

Alli
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Alli

Post Sat Jun 23, 2007 10:14 pm 
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Tracey



Joined: 30 Dec 2005
Posts: 1489
Location: Ayr, Scotland


awesome start

looking forward to reading more!!!
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I know I'm in my own little world, but it's ok. They know me here.

sometimes i wonder... ' why is that frisbee getting bigger'... and then it hits me

Post Sun Jun 24, 2007 11:10 am 
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ghost



Joined: 06 Nov 2005
Posts: 2828
Location: MIA


nice start, gp! please continue..

regards
ghost
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MIA

Post Sun Jun 24, 2007 11:16 am 
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Generalpicture



Joined: 26 Oct 2005
Posts: 82


Very Happy Thanx guys... I'll try to type up more of it... eventually however, I will have to actually write more to my story...
*sigh* Here's to hoping this one's creative juices decide to flow by that horrid time...

But I'll try not to leave you hanging... Smile

I heart you ladies!

Love always,
GP

Post Sun Jun 24, 2007 1:13 pm 
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Generalpicture



Joined: 26 Oct 2005
Posts: 82


Also, there is a correction to the story... And essential one...

I wrote that it was James that lost his parents in the fire, when it is Jason that lost his parents. This is essential information and a big mishap on my part. I fixed it in the story but thought I'd point it out. James' father plays a big part later one in the story. It doesn't suit my purpose to have James' daddy dead. Oops.

Post Sun Jun 24, 2007 1:18 pm 
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