CARWYN PRYDERI
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Pryderi Homestead
#395673
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Outside of town in the woods beyond Bellingstone Creek, the Pryderi’s humble homestead resided with an old two story house of mismatched additions at it's center. Carrie remembered moving in when she was 7-years-old; the shabby shack with peeling paint had no more than two bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs at the time.
“I can see it now.” Her father had said, his arms around his wife and child, “generations of Pryderis residing right here!”
Her mother Anita had cried when she saw the piece of crap her husband had bought with almost every penny they had. Carrie had loved it instantly though, even if her bedroom was more like a linen closet with no windows at first. Perhaps she had seen what her dad had in a less psychic way. In any case it had all the trees she could ever hope to climb as a youngster and a little stream to catch critters in.
Her father repaired the decrepit house little by little to the more liveable but still quaint abode it was today. He had added a whole new bedroom on the second floor just for Carrie (turned out her old bedroom had been a linen closet) and a second bathroom; and on the main floor an office, a sunroom, and a second living area to the back.
But optimists made poor psychics as her grandmother once said. Their predictions were less accurate than that of a pessimist. Her father would never see the completion of the house and the generations and generations that would live there, which was becoming more of a dream with Carrie’s singlehood and lack of desire to be in Bellingstone.
One thing he had definitely never installed was a proper AC system. A consequence Carrie was dealing with presently now that she was back home. The house was exclusively heated by two wood burning stoves in the front and back living spaces downstairs and the heat had not quite reached her room yet where she was staying. Instead she improvised by bundling in layers and a blanket at her old writing desk, scratching furiously away with a pen at a piece of notebook paper.
It was recently after her break up that she had picked up writing letters again. These letters, not actually intended to be delivered, was a habit she had started in middle school after her father passed away. They expressed how she felt and after she was done writing them, she would throw them into the creek tied to a rock, where she imagined they had probably formed a trail of secrets that stretched from the bridge all the way into town.
Most of them oddly enough (if this wasn’t strange already) were not written to people but to places where things had happened. She had been writing a lot to her ex lately, but she had also continued her correspondence with her old heartache, Bellingstone.
Her most recent letter went like this:
Dear Bellingstone,
You beautiful town, with your picturesque mountain views, quiet little main street, and friendly neighbors. You are what small town dreams are made of, but I am calling you on your bullshit. (It was only in her letters she ever used such expletives)
You see, most people don't know you like I do. There are some skeletons in your woods and secrets in your brick buildings, and I am catching onto you. I know about the werewolves, the vampires, the warlocks, and so on.That's nothing to be mad about in and of itself, but it is misleading.
You would think life would be a fairytale here and it's not. The werewolves? They bite hard. The vampires? They suck. The warlocks, three words: deus ex machina. But why I'm really mad is because you failed your promise. You were entrusted to protect us. As a small town you are supposed to be a safe haven from crime; in an indifferent world, you are supposed to be a place where everyone matters and knows each other’s name.
Remember Conway Pryderi? Or your latest victim, Jethro Clarke?
You probably don't, but they were people whose trust you betrayed. You told them small town life would keep them safe and their children would not know the harsh realities of the outside.These fathers mattered. They were important people to the community, and more importantly just good people. But I see now, you don't care.
So consider this my final farewell. I am leaving you. For real this time. After I solve this crime you so negligently let happen on your watch. Asshole.
Sincerely,
Carwyn Pryderi
She folded the notebook paper into a tight little triangle and stuck it into her leather side satchel where she stored her notebook, pen, and other miscellaneous detective items. Then she threw on an old over-sized barn coat to go outside and find a proper sized rock to sink her letter with.
Outside the air was refreshingly cool and the dappled sunlight through the few remaining leaves was warm, Fall’s sweet paradox. As she crossed the backyard to the garden a faint melodious humming came into earshot and she stopped at the trellis archway peering at its source, her mother.
“Oh Carrie.” her mother said once she had noticed her, “I thought you might be down here soon.”
“Oh really?”
Her mother got up from her knees where she had been tending to the last of the tomato plants and crossed the garden over to her. Her mother was a petite woman like herself and had to take big steps over each row full of vernal bounty: squash and pumpkin and rhubarb.
“Yes, and I found just the right rock for you…” she placed a medium-sized stone still covered in soil into her daughter's hand.
“MOM, you didn't--”
“No, I didn't look in your head! I just know my daughter. I've seen you out here looking for them.”
Carrie fell silent and curled her fingers around the smooth stone, feeling its weight. It was perfect.
“Thanks…”
It was hard for her not to be snippy with her mother and she felt bad for it. There was something about being around her again that made her feel like glass, that she could see right through her, powers or not. And that at any moment she could break.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you Carebear?” her mother asked. Her gaze was as true and genuine as her words. Only a woman like her mother could possess such abilities as herself and not abuse them.
“Yeah, mom.” she put the stone in her leather satchel alongside the note, deliberately not making eye contact.
Her mother knew from her response that no confessions would be happening today. Carrie had been like this over the summer since she returned home, tight-lipped and reclusive, rarely leaving the house except to go to take a walk in the woods or go down to the creek. It wasn't until Marion McWard the sheriff had shown up at their house asking for Carrie's help that any life had been breathed back into her baby girl. Nonetheless, she wanted to be of support to her daughter and took her arm, walking back towards the house with her. The leaves crunched underfoot and she wrapped her shawl closely around herself.
“So you're going into town I take it?"
“Yes, I have to start work on the mayor’s case.”
“Do you have any ideas of where to start?”
Carrie side-eyed her mother with a smirk at her nosiness. A trait she had admittedly inherited and her career was built upon.
“Oh come on! Don’t hold back details from me! You know your life is the only excitement I get. Who do you suspect, hm?” she persisted with a sly grin.
“Well… the Wolffs are number one.”
Her mother gasped with the drama of a woman off the silver screen, scandalized and intrigued.
“My word! Why?”
“As I see it, they stand to benefit the most from Jethro's death. Al Wolff just rolled back into town to run for mayor and probably take back the pack from his little brother. The werewolves are poised to run this town if he wins.”
“It’s just they are so well respected...” she said.
“They're all people I went to school with too... It's going to be weird.”
“Do you have that silver necklace I gave you?”
After a moment's surprise at her question, she laughed.
“A thin silver necklace is not going to protect me from a giant werewolf. They'd just rip it off and bite me if that's what they wanted to do.” She then realized that probably was not what she wanted to hear, “I mean, they wouldn't do that though, mom… You know, since they're respectable and all.”
Her mother sighed.
“Just be careful, honey. The Wolffs are decent people but if anyone threatens the pack…”
Her voice trailed off not wanting to say what it was she was thinking.They stopped at Carrie’s gray Prius parked in front of the stand alone garage at the end of the driveway.
“I will, no one even knows I'm on the case yet and I plan to keep it that way, at least for a little bit.”
She kissed her mom on the cheek then got into her car, throwing her satchel into the passenger seat beside her. She rolled down her window.
“Bye Mom.”
“Love you, Carebear. Drive safe.”
Her mother watched on, standing in the middle of the driveway as Carrie took off down the gravel road in her car. Carrie waved out her window to her mother before she disappeared into the thick grove of trees ahead and onto the road into town. She could already feel the adrenaline in her veins, the chase was on. But accompanied by the adrenaline was a sense of anxiety that she had never had before on a case. It was the beginning of the deconstruction of everything she knew about her little town... And to some degree she still wanted its simple facade no matter how flimsy. She wanted to still believe in Bellingstone's promise: That everyone she knew was safe and would be kept safe. Yet her disillusionment had already begun, there was no turning back now.
Whatever could be destroyed by truth had to come down... No matter who went down with it.
“I can see it now.” Her father had said, his arms around his wife and child, “generations of Pryderis residing right here!”
Her mother Anita had cried when she saw the piece of crap her husband had bought with almost every penny they had. Carrie had loved it instantly though, even if her bedroom was more like a linen closet with no windows at first. Perhaps she had seen what her dad had in a less psychic way. In any case it had all the trees she could ever hope to climb as a youngster and a little stream to catch critters in.
Her father repaired the decrepit house little by little to the more liveable but still quaint abode it was today. He had added a whole new bedroom on the second floor just for Carrie (turned out her old bedroom had been a linen closet) and a second bathroom; and on the main floor an office, a sunroom, and a second living area to the back.
But optimists made poor psychics as her grandmother once said. Their predictions were less accurate than that of a pessimist. Her father would never see the completion of the house and the generations and generations that would live there, which was becoming more of a dream with Carrie’s singlehood and lack of desire to be in Bellingstone.
One thing he had definitely never installed was a proper AC system. A consequence Carrie was dealing with presently now that she was back home. The house was exclusively heated by two wood burning stoves in the front and back living spaces downstairs and the heat had not quite reached her room yet where she was staying. Instead she improvised by bundling in layers and a blanket at her old writing desk, scratching furiously away with a pen at a piece of notebook paper.
It was recently after her break up that she had picked up writing letters again. These letters, not actually intended to be delivered, was a habit she had started in middle school after her father passed away. They expressed how she felt and after she was done writing them, she would throw them into the creek tied to a rock, where she imagined they had probably formed a trail of secrets that stretched from the bridge all the way into town.
Most of them oddly enough (if this wasn’t strange already) were not written to people but to places where things had happened. She had been writing a lot to her ex lately, but she had also continued her correspondence with her old heartache, Bellingstone.
Her most recent letter went like this:
Dear Bellingstone,
You beautiful town, with your picturesque mountain views, quiet little main street, and friendly neighbors. You are what small town dreams are made of, but I am calling you on your bullshit. (It was only in her letters she ever used such expletives)
You see, most people don't know you like I do. There are some skeletons in your woods and secrets in your brick buildings, and I am catching onto you. I know about the werewolves, the vampires, the warlocks, and so on.That's nothing to be mad about in and of itself, but it is misleading.
You would think life would be a fairytale here and it's not. The werewolves? They bite hard. The vampires? They suck. The warlocks, three words: deus ex machina. But why I'm really mad is because you failed your promise. You were entrusted to protect us. As a small town you are supposed to be a safe haven from crime; in an indifferent world, you are supposed to be a place where everyone matters and knows each other’s name.
Remember Conway Pryderi? Or your latest victim, Jethro Clarke?
You probably don't, but they were people whose trust you betrayed. You told them small town life would keep them safe and their children would not know the harsh realities of the outside.These fathers mattered. They were important people to the community, and more importantly just good people. But I see now, you don't care.
So consider this my final farewell. I am leaving you. For real this time. After I solve this crime you so negligently let happen on your watch. Asshole.
Sincerely,
Carwyn Pryderi
She folded the notebook paper into a tight little triangle and stuck it into her leather side satchel where she stored her notebook, pen, and other miscellaneous detective items. Then she threw on an old over-sized barn coat to go outside and find a proper sized rock to sink her letter with.
Outside the air was refreshingly cool and the dappled sunlight through the few remaining leaves was warm, Fall’s sweet paradox. As she crossed the backyard to the garden a faint melodious humming came into earshot and she stopped at the trellis archway peering at its source, her mother.
“Oh Carrie.” her mother said once she had noticed her, “I thought you might be down here soon.”
“Oh really?”
Her mother got up from her knees where she had been tending to the last of the tomato plants and crossed the garden over to her. Her mother was a petite woman like herself and had to take big steps over each row full of vernal bounty: squash and pumpkin and rhubarb.
“Yes, and I found just the right rock for you…” she placed a medium-sized stone still covered in soil into her daughter's hand.
“MOM, you didn't--”
“No, I didn't look in your head! I just know my daughter. I've seen you out here looking for them.”
Carrie fell silent and curled her fingers around the smooth stone, feeling its weight. It was perfect.
“Thanks…”
It was hard for her not to be snippy with her mother and she felt bad for it. There was something about being around her again that made her feel like glass, that she could see right through her, powers or not. And that at any moment she could break.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you Carebear?” her mother asked. Her gaze was as true and genuine as her words. Only a woman like her mother could possess such abilities as herself and not abuse them.
“Yeah, mom.” she put the stone in her leather satchel alongside the note, deliberately not making eye contact.
Her mother knew from her response that no confessions would be happening today. Carrie had been like this over the summer since she returned home, tight-lipped and reclusive, rarely leaving the house except to go to take a walk in the woods or go down to the creek. It wasn't until Marion McWard the sheriff had shown up at their house asking for Carrie's help that any life had been breathed back into her baby girl. Nonetheless, she wanted to be of support to her daughter and took her arm, walking back towards the house with her. The leaves crunched underfoot and she wrapped her shawl closely around herself.
“So you're going into town I take it?"
“Yes, I have to start work on the mayor’s case.”
“Do you have any ideas of where to start?”
Carrie side-eyed her mother with a smirk at her nosiness. A trait she had admittedly inherited and her career was built upon.
“Oh come on! Don’t hold back details from me! You know your life is the only excitement I get. Who do you suspect, hm?” she persisted with a sly grin.
“Well… the Wolffs are number one.”
Her mother gasped with the drama of a woman off the silver screen, scandalized and intrigued.
“My word! Why?”
“As I see it, they stand to benefit the most from Jethro's death. Al Wolff just rolled back into town to run for mayor and probably take back the pack from his little brother. The werewolves are poised to run this town if he wins.”
“It’s just they are so well respected...” she said.
“They're all people I went to school with too... It's going to be weird.”
“Do you have that silver necklace I gave you?”
After a moment's surprise at her question, she laughed.
“A thin silver necklace is not going to protect me from a giant werewolf. They'd just rip it off and bite me if that's what they wanted to do.” She then realized that probably was not what she wanted to hear, “I mean, they wouldn't do that though, mom… You know, since they're respectable and all.”
Her mother sighed.
“Just be careful, honey. The Wolffs are decent people but if anyone threatens the pack…”
Her voice trailed off not wanting to say what it was she was thinking.They stopped at Carrie’s gray Prius parked in front of the stand alone garage at the end of the driveway.
“I will, no one even knows I'm on the case yet and I plan to keep it that way, at least for a little bit.”
She kissed her mom on the cheek then got into her car, throwing her satchel into the passenger seat beside her. She rolled down her window.
“Bye Mom.”
“Love you, Carebear. Drive safe.”
Her mother watched on, standing in the middle of the driveway as Carrie took off down the gravel road in her car. Carrie waved out her window to her mother before she disappeared into the thick grove of trees ahead and onto the road into town. She could already feel the adrenaline in her veins, the chase was on. But accompanied by the adrenaline was a sense of anxiety that she had never had before on a case. It was the beginning of the deconstruction of everything she knew about her little town... And to some degree she still wanted its simple facade no matter how flimsy. She wanted to still believe in Bellingstone's promise: That everyone she knew was safe and would be kept safe. Yet her disillusionment had already begun, there was no turning back now.
Whatever could be destroyed by truth had to come down... No matter who went down with it.