"UnOrthodox: Video Log 413"
The camera flickers into life on a gray, overcast evening. Through the sporadic sizzle of static a decrepit neighborhood comes into view. The downtrodden houses are stacked like dominoes up a gently-sloping hillside. They show no signs of life. It's a ghost town. The overall impression of the place is foreboding and ominous.
A rather disgruntled looking girl stands in the middle of the frame. She reaches toward the camera and makes some minute adjustments so that the image finally comes in clear.
"How does it look through the viewfinder?" She asks.
She looks downward and her eyes start moving as if reading something unseen just out of frame. She brushes back a lock of her dark brown hair from her face as she looks back up into the camera.
"Good. Glad to see its working. It'd better be. I've spent the past two weeks trying to piece that old thing back together bit by bit with pieces of an old pager and my Roque glasses. Flick that switch; you should be able to film in high-definition."
"Alright, now let's start the log. I can edit out all the unnecessary bits at the beginning later when I get back to the apartment. This way, Mr. Cameraman." She commanded, pointing in the direction of the houses with a gloved finger.
They began to move toward the foot of the hill, passing by several houses that had seen better days. A sudden gust of wind makes the girl's trench coat fly out behind her as she walked, giving the impression of a wizard's cloak. The unseen cameraman follows behind her at an even pace, trying to keep the camera steady as possible in the sudden windstorm.
They came to a house that was somewhat isolated from the others and set a ways back from the road. It had a long driveway that was in a horrible state of disrepair. In some places, there were entire chunks of pavement missing. The house was encircled by a peeling, white-washed fence that had posts missing in some places. The house itself was so overgrown with sprawling webs of ivy that you could hardly see the worn bricks underneath.
Then there were the sculptures. When the tall girl opened the gate of the fence to step into the yard, piles of twisting, demented contraptions were spread throughout it with no rhyme or reason whatsoever, forming abstract designs that couldn't be deciphered by any sane mind. They seemed to be made of old, rusted tools that could no longer be put to any other use. Pipes, shears, metal rulers, and gears could be found amongst the towering piles of oddly crafted bric-a-brac.
The girl exhibits a looks of intense interest and fascination as she surveys the scene before her. She lets out a small "Cool." under her breath as she turns to face the camera once again.
"Hello once again, internet. You may be familiar with my other webcasts where I talk about the things that have happened to me over the course of my previous investigations, but I recently built a portable recording device to replace my webcam. Today, I will take you to the home of one Mr. Derelict who complains of a rather unruly poltergeist wreaking havoc in his attic. You'll get to witness my process of investigation from beginning to end. Let's get started by heading to the house and having a short chat with the owner before we proceed towards the attic."
There is rapid cessation of clicks as the camera shakes slightly. The girl once again reads something off frame.
" Don't worry! I think the sculptures are very aesthetically pleasing. You won't get tetanus as long as you give them a wide berth. Shut up. He seemed like a nice enough guy when I talked to him online Thursday. Come on."
They stride towards the faded front door of the house (being careful to put a few feet between them and the lethal looking contraptions) and rang the doorbell. No answer. They had rung the bell three times before they heard a scuffling deep within the house that grew louder as a heavy mass made it's way toward the door. The footsteps stopped directly behind the heavy wooden door and something seemed to scrape against the flooring rather violently.
"Who's there?" Came a gruff, annoyed voice from the other side of the barrier.
The girl looked back towards her wary cameraman and gave him a look that clearly said: "Everything is going to go smoothly. Stop giving me that look." She then replied to the disembodied voice, "Hello. Are you Mr. Derelict?"
"Yeah. Ain't no one else around that I can see." Came the curt answer.
"Yes, well…I'm Ray Hollow. You spoke to me last night about coming to investigate the strange occurrences in your attic. I brought my cameraman along with me. I hope you don't mind if I film the investigation for my website."
"It's about time you got here!"
The lock turned and the swung open swiftly, revealing a short, plump man in a plaid shirt. He seemed to be around sixty years old. His brown hair was graying and the top of his head was starting to bald. The hand on the doorknob had nails bitten to the quick and the palms seemed to be stained with oil. He was wearing a what-used-to-be-white bathrobe over his pajamas. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the robe and blinked. It seemed he had just been awoken from a nap.
"That menace has been tearing up the old photo albums! Every time I go up there it looks like a hurricane hit the d-" Mr. Derelict stopped mid-rant and looked around with a look of bewilderment on his face. He took off his glasses and cleaned them thoroughly before placing them back on his nose. "Where's the cameraman you said you had with you?"