Chapter IV: Tales from the... uh... Sepulcher?

The day began relatively normally. Burnt toast, weak coffee. I don't know why, but for some reason, my coffee is always weaker than everyone else's. Except Marvin's.

Marvin's coffee always sucks.

But, then again, from everything I've heard, Marvin's whole life sucks.


Alex announced this morning, that the rent was due tomorrow. "Okay." Marvin said. "Give me a minute." He went up to his room, and came back down with a shoebox.

When he opened it, there were checks, and little stacks of cash paper-clipped together. "Here's my pay from McDonalds... here's my pay from Lumberjack John's Clam Shack... here's my pay from Magic City Pharmacy and Surgical Supply..."
"Dude, how many jobs have you had?"
"How many days have there been?"
"...You've had a new job every day?"

He nodded. "Yes. They're all miserable people to be around. And I can't stand being around them for more than a day."

He turned back to the shoebox.

"Here's my pay from Mad Mack's Maskerade... here's my pay from Nordstroms... here's my pay from Burger King..."


"Alright, that's nice," cried Robin, loudly, "but, y'know, we have a slightly more pressing issue at hand."
"We do?"

She nodded, solemnly. "The batteries in the remote died," she declared, and then, pointing to me, "You! Go in the hall closet and get some batteries. Double-A."

I just nodded, and shrugged a bit, and headed toward the hallway.

I know I should have been worried, though, when I heard Sid blurt out, "No, now see, that was mean. You can't make him go through that." I didn't think anything of it, really. I didn't really think anything of it when I heard Robin say, "No, it's okay, I'm sure he can handle the closet."

So, I go to the closet in the hallway. There's nothing terribly abnormal about it. It's a good, solid wood door, it's painted white, and has wallpaper in the center panels to match the rest of the wallpaper in that hallway. Of course, the fact that there was a constant cool breeze coming from underneath the door didn't really mean anything to me. And wire that runs along the floor, down the hall, and into the closet really didn't seem like a big deal, either.

So, I reached for the doorknob.

Sid ran out into the hallway, screaming, "Wait! I have batteries right he--"

But it was too late. I had already gotten the door open.

Chapter III: Mr. Normandy must not be disturbed! (Or should he?)

I still maintain that it was all not my fault. No one believes me, but that's to be expected. I plead ignorance.

How was I to know that Alex Normandy was a name to be feared within the marble and bureaucratic sanctum that was Magic City Hall? At home, he's considerably normal.

Remarkably normal, in fact.

It didn't seem like he'd be that, what's the word... grandiose. You don't expect him to command that much respect. But, apparently, he does.

At any rate, half way through my escapade at City Hall, a secretary came out, and started to chastise me. It wasn't even something terrifically important. She started screaming at me because I didn't initial a little box next to my signature.

I apologized, and shrugged, and tried to take the paper back from her, but she refused, and tore it into pieces, screaming even louder that since I had already signed it, I couldn't go back and change it, and the old form had to be voided, and I had to fill out a new one.

It was at this point that the massive Oak and Mahagany door, labelled "Deputy Mayor" opened.

Alex stepped out. In hindsight, I probably should have found it odd that he was holding a duck in his arms, but when you're staring down a psychotic secretary, ducks are the last things on your mind.

"Alex, man, listen, she's, like, insane, y'know?"

Everyone who was watching just backed up a few feet. Alex stood there, and twitched. The secretary dropped all of the remaining pieces of my form, and turned white. "Mi- Mister Normandy?"

Alex put the duck down, and patted him on the tail.

Feathers. Bill. Sharp, pointy bill. More feathers. Duck feet. Pain.

I think I went through the entire box of band-aids.