Young Writers Society

The outer envelope had been innocent enough. A clear postmark from Florida with a neat little tangerine stamp in the corner and a clean script in blue ink against a manilla envelope.

Upon opening it there was no concern but the envelope inside was curious. It was most likely to send back the RSVP based on the included postage and replacement of the return address.

The invitation itself followed in the tangerine theme with citrus blossoms that curled around the edge of the parchment. Smooth but bumpy as the design rose out of the paper. As interesting as the particular of the stationary design were the contents of the letter itself was even more interesting.



Examination of the second envelope revealed that you didn’t have a choice in the matter of attending the party as your own location disappeared to reveal a grand house on the beach. And you’re standing right in front of it.

He said that she wasn't supposed to leave the shop on her own when he was gone, and that she wasn't even supposed to go into the shop part of the shop. But she was bored, and he was always talking about how important it was to get the mail in case someone was old-fashioned and needed his advice very, very soon.

She also knew that a Proper Lady was supposed to wear fancy dresses, and that only guys were supposed to wear pants. But she really didn't feel like changing any aspect of her that would make the pants acceptable - or make her, as the Proper Lady she was supposed to be, acceptable. But it couldn't really hurt if she just snuck out to check the mail.

...Right?

She flickered between shadows, heading towards the elevator. Then she stopped, mulled it over, and decided the stairs would be a lot more fun. So down the stairs she went, hopping over a few of the stairs so her coat would pop up behind her. A little giggle escaped her as she jumped down from the last very step to the very last floor, and as she burst out into the rest of the shop.

The shop was empty.

Which wasn't really that surprising, but she still felt relieved. He couldn't scold her for doing something she innately knew was against the rules; she didn't like getting in trouble with him. Especially when she heard his tone and saw his face.

But he wasn't here right now, so she didn't have to worry about that.

She darted out, got the mail, and then darted back inside.

It wasn't until she was back in the safety of her bedroom that she started flipping through the mail.

There were some letters from names she recognized, and some from ones she didn't. But then she saw the one from Florida. She had heard about Florida - he promised to take her there someday, but he was always so busy. She didn't know much about it. She just knew it was pretty, and was really warm.

She knew she wasn't supposed to open his mail, but it was from Florida. If it was work-related, then he'd have to go! And she just had to know if it was.

So she opened it, screwing her face in concentration as she read the invitation. The Bartway family? He had never mentioned them before. A fancy party from a family. They had to be really rich. And she knew they were well off, too, but just the thought made her excited.

Putting the invitation beside her on her bed - legs crossed - she started to investigate the second envelope. But then suddenly she realized she wasn't sitting on the really soft comforter he had gotten for her, and was instead standing on a beach in front of a really, really big house.

She blinked.

She stared.

And then her lip quivered.

He might not have been upset at her for getting the mail before, but now she had left the shop! And he said to never leave the shop without him. The world was too dangerous and too scary, and it was much safer for her to stay on the eleventh floor of the shop where no one could find her unless he wanted them to.

All Bobby could think about was food. He was usually hungry, very hungry, but today it was worse. He tried to remember the last time he ate.

...was it one that lady gave him a sandwich. Guilt pooled in his stomach. She'd given him that on the condition that he went to the shelter for the night. It's too chilly for a kid like you to be out here all night, she had said, and he remembered that she leaned in close. She smelled like cigarettes. Go to the shelter for me, sweetheart. Stay safe.

And Bobby hadn't. He'd curled up on a park bench and slept there. That was three days ago.

He sat down on the ground and pulled his knees into his chest, shivering. It was late fall, and the ground had started to frost overnight. No one noticed him. The people of the city continued to walk by, none giving him so much as a pitying glance. He didn't notice them either. He was just thinking about how nice it would be to have a sandwich right now. One that french bread, whatever that was called. All different kinds of meat and cheese, with lettuce and onions and tomatoes and every kind of sauce they had. He'd have it toasted just so it would be warm and there would be a large cup of pop and some cookies to go with it.

His stomach growled.

He sniffled and wiped his nose, which had started to run from the chill, and got to his feet. As he took a step out of the alley, someone rushed past, almost bowling him over in their hurry. A started glance at their retreating back showed a blue-grey uniform and a letterman's bag stuffed to bursting with mail.

Bobby happened to glance down and saw that one of the letters had fallen to the ground at his feet. He stooped to pick it up, and someone else knocked him over, sending him onto his butt with the letter in hand.

He got quickly to his feet and scurried back into the alley, casting a wary glance at the other kids who just entered from the other end. A couple of flashes told him that they were trying to get a lighter to work, most likely so they could smoke stolen cigarettes, or maybe so they could set fire to one of the trashcans that were shoved against the walls of one of the restaurants that bordered this alley. If it was something else, Bobby didn't want to know.

He turned his back on the other kids and fiddled with the envelope. It was really fancy, maybe a birthday card? Those had cash in them sometimes. Bobby imagined what he would do with a ten, or twenty dollar bill. He could make it last at least a couple of weeks. His stomach growled again with more urgency and he carefully opened the envelope. There was a letter inside, and he took it out and read it, his heart sinking when he discovered that it was just an invitation to a party. No money.

He read the letter again, trying to decide what to do with it. He could give it to the right people? But then they'd see it was opened and they'd be mad, especially if they saw who opened it. Bobby could see a chain of events that would end with him back in a foster home. There was no telling if he'd be able to get away again.

He bit his lip. He'd just throw it away. Guilt twisted inside him just thinking about it, but he had to. If he didn't want to get in trouble, he had to.

He turned to throw it away in one of the garbage cans, only to not see them. Or the kids. Or the alley.

Suddenly, guilt was replaced by panic.

She wasn't alone anymore.

She stopped her sniffling when she realized that a boy had suddenly appeared near her. He always said to be wary around other people, but the boy wasn't really that old. And he looked just as panicked as she felt, too, so he had to be safe, right?

Besides, it'd be really, really rude to pretend like she hadn't noticed him.

(As an added bonus, she could totally get a friend out of this! She'd always wanted one, and this was the perfect opportunity. So even if he was mad at her later, she could feel happy and proud for herself about getting her own friend.)

She bridged the little distance between them and tapped the boy on the shoulder.

"Hi!" she exclaimed, giving him a big friendly wave and grin. "You look lost, too-"

She froze and stared at him, eyes wide in horror. He said that Americans didn't like Germans after the war, and that it wasn't a good idea for people to hear her very strong accent. She bit her lip, thought long and hard, and tried to salvage the bad first impression she had given the boy.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked. She was concentrating really hard, trying to copy his British accent. It always sounded so fancy, and he always laughed when she tried to copy it. It was a good British accent - he had promised her that - but there was just something about it that he thought was funny. "I don't know. I just know that one moment I was in the shop, and the next I was here!"

She gasped, eyes alight with excitement.

"Do you think we're in Florida?" she whispered. Her voice returned to its original volume. "I've always wanted to go - I hope we're there! Then it makes leaving alright, because 'it's always important to learn more about the world'!"

Something in the air was different.

Karen had been confused but excited by the invitation she'd received on her doorstep. Not by the 20s theme, and not by in being postmarked from Florida. She figured some eccentric in Hollywood loved The Great Gatsby and was having a flapper themed party for the fun of it. And besides, she'd always attend a party if given the opportunity.

But she wasn't in California. At least, she didn't think so. And the dress. It was beautiful, but she hadn't seen a dress like it since she was a little girl. Short, white and with sparkly fringe. Long white gloves. Her hair fixed in waves and with a sparkled headband. She liked this outfit. A little old fashioned, but it was nice. There were two other people ahead of her who looked just as confused.

"Hi," she said, getting their attention. "I'm Karen."

Ugh. Karen was such an awful name. Once she was signed by a studio it would have to be changed. But to what, she wasn't sure yet. She always liked Jordan, if keeping with the Great Gatsby theme. Or Scarlett, like Scarlett O'Hara.

Michael Bartway looked at themself in the mirror with rosy cheeks and their lips coated in a seductive red. They had already taken the cleaning solution to the blue toned eye shadow, the polish on their nails, and the tiniest bit of contour powder. No matter how tempting it was to keep their sparkling black dress on...

Well for tonight Michael would remain as Michael. Madeline already got to attend her own party last night, but now they were in a rush to fix their face. A quick look out the window revealed that guests had already started arriving and the spell was working perfectly. They knew their parents were quite eccentric about inviting random, mysterious people.

There was a sharp knock at the door followed by, "Michael, dear, are you ready for the party? Our guests have begun to arrive, my child."
"Yes, mother, I'll be there in just a moment. A button popped off my shirt."

With their mother's final check on their timeline, Michael finished wiping the tint from their lips. There was some thanks to be said for their mother's ability to give them privacy. They left the mascara and the blush on their cheeks. One final check in the mirror was followed by the placing of their top hat.

"You, M. Bartway, are quite the killer," they said as they looked themself in the mirror and slipped their white gloves on. "Now get out there and give them a magical run for their money."

When she realized that they weren't alone anymore, she quickly used her brand new (hopefully) friend as makeshift shield - ducking behind him at the sight of the lady a few feet away.

"Hi," she squeaked. She wasn't supposed to talk to people. He was going to be really upset with her. The boy might have been alright, but the lady was an adult. That was really bad! "I'm...I'm..."

She thought long and hard on it, even though she was only really thinking for a few minutes.

"I'm Irene!" she offered. "I'm Irene Adler Baines! I'm Alexander's...relative. We're definitely related."

She made sure to enforce that last lie - it had come into question before, and she wasn't going to risk it when she was supposed to fit in now.

Bobby hadn't gotten a chance to respond to anything. He was looking frantically around, looking for a way out, away. He backed up a couple of steps and bumped into the lady who had darted behind him. He looked back at her, then at the other woman.

"I-I...Where am I?" he asked at last, biting his lip. The ladies didn't look dangerous or anything, but even the nice-looking people would sometimes spit on him in the street. He immediately went to smooth out his clothes, to make himself somewhat presentable, then stopped. Blinked. He had never in his life so much as been near something like what he was suddenly wearing.

His breathing became unsteady, or maybe it was unsteady before and he just didn't notice, and his hands shook slightly. A dream. It was a dream. He'd wandered somewhere he wasn't supposed to be and gotten knocked out again, is all. He'd wake up soon. There were still bandages in the attic of that old house on Safty Street, maybe Nin would let him borrow some.

The thinking calmed him down slightly. Just a dream. He could deal with a dream.

The day had been quite boring for Amrie, starting with the fact that her parents said she had to stay at the house. At eighteen years old, she was still being homeschooled and couldn't get a job for herself, all cause of her family's ridiculous traditional beliefs.

She did not feel dressing up much besides throwing on a pair of old clothes, and then wander downstairs. Her ma would yell if she left the main room dirty, even though it was her siblings that laid wreckage to the table and floor. Amrie shook her head while she cleaned, her eyes scanning over a stack of envelopes.

Nothing new there, she noted, since her pa was never good at responding to messages. Amrie reached down to organize them in order of importance to absolutely random, while she paused on a weird one. It seemed simple enough, with a little tangerine stamp at the corner.

Maybe that had some meaning? She didn't know why that fruit was selected. The envelope opened to a short note, and a second, smaller one peeked out. Amrie rubbed her finger over the nicely written passage about some party with a person she had never heard about, when in a blink of an eye, her surroundings changed dramatically.

Something soft was under her feet, far softer than the rough wooden floors of her home, and a light wind was pushing at her clothes. Amrie glanced down over herself, confused why she was wearing a fancy dress, somewhat short to above her knees, and a pitch black color. She felt her head, expecting her hair, but in fact a hat sat on top.

What in the world just happened? Sand? A dress? A hat? And it seemed she was in the middle of nowhere? Amrie rubbed at her eyes, trying to wish this nightmarish vision away from her. There had to be an explanation for this.

A few voices a ways away caught her attention, three different voices in particular. Maybe they could help her figure out what could have brought her here. She set out to catch up with them, her feet sliding on the sand as she went.

Karen wasn't paying attention to the others as they began to gather. She thought she heard someone singing Buffalo Gals from within. She used to play that in Michigan with her little sisters and they used to badly sing along on their gramaphone.

She took a deep breath. "Should we go in?" She did a little twirl in her dress. She liked it. She wondered why she of all people had been invited. But she wasn't going to question it.

She was ready to dance the night away at this eccentric's house.

Irene bit her lip.

She had to be smart. That's what B-Alexander (because that was the name she was supposed to use around people not like them) always said. You had to be smart when you were some place new, or else bad things could happen. He hadn't exactly been talking to her then, but he had turned to her when she started asking questions. No answers were actually given about what he was talking with his special friend about, but he did rub her head in a way that always felt nice.

But Alexander wasn't here right now.

And even though she was pretty sure he'd tell her to stay outside and not interact with people, Irene was quickly realizing that being smart meant taking the first step.

She tried her best to ignore her fear.

Then she marched right on up to the front door, trying her best to imitate how Alexander walked, too. It looked a little funny - they were very different people size and shape - but she didn't even notice.

Taking a very big breath, she knocked on the door.

No one was answering him. No one was telling him anything and he was lost. He bit back any more words. If they didn't answer, they didn't want him to talk, so he should be quiet.

Hesitantly, he trailed behind the bubbly lady who had gone to knock on the door. She was nice, kind of. She'd said hi. Everyone else...he didn't know what to think of them. He wanted to leave. Just get home and not be here.

Michael made their way down the side staircase, stopping at the second floor landing to see the assembling crowd on the front step. They all looked equally confused about their situation but only a few of them had the look of murder in their eyes. They would be somewhat safe from their family’s plans.

The last two flights went by in just a moment and they was greeted at the base of the staircase with an, “Oh Michael, do be more careful on the stairs, darling.” It was the trademark announcement of their mother that they needed to take the lead in whatever the situation might be.

They stepped over to the mirror just inside the door, straightening their tie once more and cocking back their hat. And then as they opened the door they gleefully announced, “Welcome to the 1920s in Perdido Key!”

Bobby yelped and lept back, staring wide-eyed at the figure in the doorway, ready to bolt. He had no idea what the figure's words meant, and he didn't want to know. He wanted to go home.

Then he noticed the smell. He was suddenly very, very aware of how hungry he was.

He tried to steady his breathing. There was food inside, and they had just been welcomed, maybe...

"Hi," he said quietly, shrinking into himself.

Part of her was hoping that no one would open the door, so she was very surprised when it was suddenly opened. She was even more surprised by the person standing behind it, even though people and opening doors generally went together.

A startled cry/borderline scream left her lips as she stumbled back. The noise was interrupted partway through by a very, very loud, "Scheisse!"

Irene wasn't sure what was worse - the swearing, or the fact that she had just sworn in German instead of English. She hadn't even used the fancy British accent she was copying from Alexander!