This is an adaptation of the Postcards from the Past writing assignment. The idea is to take a postcard, or some old document, and contextualize it with some narrative writing. I decided to make a fictional postcard, and base it on Kim’s character, Sasha Kellogg. Kellogg’s origin story includes her parents being murdered when she was a kid, so I went with the sad trope of ‘the little girl sending a note to the PI regarding her parents’ death, asking for help’. I tied in this note and Sardic reading it with a day at the office, and meeting clients.
I just stared at the postcard for a while. It’s definitely real; people think my business is such a joke that customers hardly ever even show up, let alone pranksters. I recognized the kid’s last name, Kellogg, when I opened the card. Her parent’s murders were in the papers. This poor girl, being there when her parents’ lives were violently ended by another person. She would carry the weight of that night for the rest of her life. Eventually that weight will either make her strong or crush her, but for now she’s just a little girl who wants to know why her parents had to die. My mind drifted to my own parents, and how they died when I was a kid. I quickly snuffed out the thought, no point dwelling on my own baggage now. This girl needed help, and without it she might try to do something dumb like go looking for this murderer. I don’t know if this guy is human or an outsider, but either way, a murderer is a murderer. I’ll find him.
A loud knocking interrupted my thoughts. Looking up, I saw three bulky shadows through the semi-transparent glass window on my office door. Hmph, they’re early. I carefully fit the post card back into its envelope and placed it on my desk. “Come in,” I said loudly enough for the figures outside to hear as I took a pen from the desk drawer and scribbled “investigation pending” on the back of Kellogg’s envelope. The door opened to reveal that the three figures were not at all being obscured by my dirty office window. They were vaguely humanoid, smoky clouds floating a foot above the ground. The top of the thick swirling wisps that I assumed were their heads would have stood a full foot above me if I were standing. The three clouds drifted through the door, toward me. As they approached, I dropped the envelope containing Kellogg’s postcard into the bottom bin of the filing cabinet behind me. A deep buzz emanated from the clouds before me, growing more and more intense as they approached. It was something I almost felt rather than heard. I clenched my jaw when they got too close, to keep my teeth from audibly rattling. Just as they stopped in front of my desk, I slid the drawer shut and locked it with a small key, which I put in my pocket, before looking directly at them.
“So,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could muster, “you must be my three-o-clock. What can I do for you gentlemen?”