Dating : The Cranium Files Part 2.1: Anna, Version One

The Cranium Files Chapter 2.1

The Winter Solstice Effect let up around ten minutes to midnight. The townsfolk began to slowly shake away the haziness and return to their senses, and the mist had all but disappeared. I quickly ran back to the stage and placed the guitar back in the band member’s arms, then dashed around to get the rope down. Now, more than ever I wished humans didn’t kill each other for no reason. I mean sure, it brought our side more souls, made the boss happy, bonuses all around, yada yada yada, but I was at a loss here. I was the first being in history to witness a Solstice survivor. Or rather, Solstice survivors. I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was wait and see.

Consciousness began to return to their eyes and I could see them looking around, wondering what happened. I expected them to break out into a hysterical frenzy as they tried to remember what they were doing and where they were, but they all just went back to singing and dancing and chatting.

The town’s grandfather clock, our own version of the Big Ben, chimed midnight and everyone cheered and toasted. Alex Simmons, a retired veteran who spends his days at the docks with his platoon, dragged me to toast with them. I always liked that man and his platoon being affected was the least surprising. War doesn’t generally create memories powerful enough for the Solstice, but I figured it could do the trick.

I allowed myself to be led to the group, still confused by how normal everyone was acting. They hadn’t realised they’d spent the last couple of hours as zombies instead of partying. I toasted with the town and laughed along merrily, but my mind was elsewhere. Oh, I just had to get into their minds.

After the toast, everyone shuffled back home murmuring things like “Well, got work in the morning”, “Damn, I wish the night didn’t have to end”, and “Time to hit the hay”. Rather predictably, I also caught word of an afterparty some nineteen-year-old home for the holidays was throwing. I went back to my place and waited patiently for dawn. Of course, I would much rather get on with my investigation right away, but the mind is more receptive to outside entries when it’s well-rested.

In the morning, I headed down to James McCoy’s. I was going to use his body anyway, so figured he was a natural start point. James is a rather old man who lives alone. He’s easily well past retirement age, but retirement doesn’t sit well with him. Needs something to keep him busy, he does.

His daughter is a bigshot consultant at some firm in New York — James can’t stop talking about her; he loves her to death — and she visits for the holidays from time to time. Other than that, it’s just him and his shop. Oddly enough, he never talks about his wife. All we know is that she died a long time ago, when Saddie was just a child.

A CLOSED sign hung at the entrance to the shop — probably taking the day off after the Solstice — so I went round the back and rapped on his front door. He took his time answering the door — human old age will do that to you — but I could hear him coming so I knew he was at home.

“Ah, Ferox! What a nice surprise.” Yeah, I picked Ferox as my fake name.

“Hey James. Have a nice time last night?”

“Oh yes, it was lovely. Saddie would have loved it. I told her about it this morning and she said so herself.” “Oh please, please, come in,” he said realising we’d been standing outside the entire time.

“Oh thanks, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure she would have. I mean who wouldn’t?” I said, laughing.

“Quite right, quite right.”

James led me into his living room and asked me to take a seat. “Want something to drink?”

“I’ll never turn down coffee, if you have it. Want me to get it?”

“Oh yes, thank you. There should be enough for two glasses left over in the pot I made this morning. I like to make extra in case I’m in the mood later on.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I get that. Be right back.”

I went into the kitchen and made sure I was out of view for this next part. My eyes rolled backwards until you couldn’t see them any longer; when they came back, the browns had been replaced by sparkling purples. Of course, I couldn’t actually see my eyes with no mirror around, but I knew it had happened. It does every time I switch from human-passing to demon.

See, contrary to popular belief, demons aren’t winged humanoids with horns and our bodies aren’t drenched in red. In fact, the easiest way to spot a human-passing demon is our eyes — most of us just forget to switch that little detail. As a result, you’ve got people walking around with pink eyes, red eyes, orange eyes, purple eyes — all manner of colours, really.

But I digress — back to the transformation. After the eyes, my body folded in on itself at the same time as my pupils grew. Then, altogether, everything dissipated into a mist of my own unique tinge of purple. Used properly, the demonic mist form can wreck mass havoc. But then again, used properly, it can also just be harmless fog; that is how I manifested in James’ kitchen.

I floated out into the living room — humans can’t see the mist — and levelled with his head. I took a deep breath (or whatever you take when you’re basically air) and pushed in, entering the mindscape once again.

I emerged into complete darkness, the only light in the area coming from my own mist. I morphed back into my humanoid form — I’m probably one of the only demons to prefer it over the mist — and a light flicked on across me.

My Benz. I smiled and sauntered across to it, eager to get behind the wheel again. There’s just something about the mindscape version that doesn’t quite translate into the one I have in the real world. This one had a better hum, it purred along the road more smoothly, and, well, it just felt more alive.

I got in and the door swung shut behind me. That’s another benefit of the mindscape Benz: it does the small things on its own. I twisted the key helpfully already in place and the engine hummed to life as I hit the button to roll the roof back. I actually like the smell of burning petrol (yeah, yeah, weird, I know), so I sat there for a couple more seconds, taking it in, then spurred the Benz on and began down the road, lights flickering on as I went.

Back in the real world, James hadn’t noticed I was missing. I could spend decades in his mind if I would so please, but no time would have actually lapsed in the real world: it’s as if everything I do takes but a second.

I drove past Screening, Seeding, and a few others, and turned right to Memories. The only exit beyond me was Controls, but I’d get to that later. The road led to an enormous vintage library; and when I say enormous, I mean gargantuan. That thing is huge. And well, rightly so. This library isn’t full of books and journals — it contains the memories of whoever I’ve inhabited.

The doors swung inwards on their own as I approached, and the lights blinked on instantly. Demon eyes don’t need time to adjust to lighting changes, so I continued forward unfazed. To the right of the entrance, there was a staircase leading up and another one right beside it leading down. The library ground floor contained neutral memories — neither happy nor sad. The upper level has happy memories and the lower level has sad ones. Most humans’ ground floors are the largest. By contrast, whales’, for example, upper floors are the largest. I don’t get why humans are always so unhappy. But hey, who am I to complain? It’s good business for me.

Anyway, what I was looking for wasn’t on any of these floors. And none of these staircases were going to help me. I crossed over the entire expanse of ground floor memories and opened a window on the other side. I climbed out into a garden almost as huge as the library itself and crossed it too. Juxtaposed with the library, the garden was startlingly plain. There were no flowers or trees, not even a squirrel skirting about. As you went further and further away from the library, the grass began to get more unruly. Weeds would start cropping up, maggots would cover the landscape, that sort of thing. But then that too stopped. Everything stopped.

At the very end of the garden, there was nothing but ash, everything enveloped in black carbon. It was here that I found what I sought. A small shed, painted an ugly shade of yellow, squatted at this end of the garden. Its door did not swing open for me and the lights didn’t turn on automatically. The door creaked and moaned after laying abandoned for all its life. The lights slowly heated up, emitting a low hum as they gradually came to life for the first time.

The library has a screening room where you can take a memory and view it on a cinema-level screen and surround sound system. I could have even heard James’ thoughts — they’d sort of echo all around me, all the speakers firing off simultaneously. Thank Satan I could use technology in here.

This shed had an old VCR and a cassette to go along with it. Yeah, that’s one thing I don’t miss from back in the day. There was no surround sound from what I could make out either. At least there was still a comfy armchair.

I slid the cassette in and settled into the chair, waving my arm to summon a notebook and pen to take notes for the retelling you’re reading right now and some nachos because, well, I like nachos.

Before I begin with the memory, let me explain how this works. I’ve already told you how to view a memory and how thoughts are heard, but there’s one important thing that I haven’t yet discussed — emotions. Perhaps the most uncomfortable part of the entire experience is understanding the emotions that are running through the memory. See, whoever designed this place didn’t want to leave anything ambiguous, so you share every one of the memory holder’s emotions. If you pick a happy memory, that’s great. Unfortunately for me though, these were Solstice memories, so I got ready for a world of pain.

Oh, and yes, I said whoever designed the place. It’s a well-known secret that the big guy didn’t actually make everything. Or even much. He just made one island in the middle of the sea — think they call it Singapore today — and outsourced the rest while he sipped fermented coconut water. Guess that’s another thing he created — alcohol. Go figure.

The last thing you need to know is that people’s names and their relation to the memory holder, while not explicitly stated, are somehow always known. Some kind of intrinsic knowledge system.

And that’s it! You’re all caught up. On to the memory.

The words ANNA, VERSION ONE flashed across the screen and I titled the page of my notebook. I’m assuming James has a memory called ANNA or ANNA, VERSION TWO, or something along those lines, but I didn’t bother investigating. It would just be a boring replacement memory anyway. Following that, the date February 16th, 1967 quickly flashed, and then made way for the memory to begin.