If I told you that I planned for this story to be this way I'd be lying. It is what it is, and, as usual it isn't finished. So much for endings. To hell with them!
Mr. and Mrs. Beacon owned a dress shop on the corner of Park and 75th. The couple also owned the flat above the shop so every morning all they would have to do was walk down some stairs and they’d be at work. It was a lesser known fact that Mr. Beacon who did the sewing. Mr. Beacon was something of a mystery to people. He always stayed in the back room during business hours. You knew he was there because of the motor buzzing from the sewing machine. He even went as far as having a small bell that he would ring if he needed something and either Mrs. Beacon or the sales girl, Caitlin Marsh, would go back to see what he needed. That was the other half to the weirdness of Mr. Beacon. Other people who worked in the shop, like Agnes the girl who ran the flower counter and Denise, but it was just those two were the ones allowed in the back room of the shop, thus the only people who ever saw him. He never attended town functions. Mrs. Beacon, whose first name was Matilda, would make excuses for him saying that he had a bad back or a head ache or something equally benign. No one ever really raised any fuss about it.
Between the hours of nine in the morning until eleven the back room was always quiet. If people thought that that was because Mr. Beacon liked to sleep in, they were mistaken. Mr. Beacon awoke without alarm or rooster at nine minutes after seven every day. The reason it was so quiet until eleven every morning was because Mr. Beacon spent those hours doing something other than sit behind his sewing table. Mr. Beacon was actually an inventor, or at least he would like to call himself that. He had a separate space in the back room, a table really, where he would sit and sketch plans for various little oddities. His projects, as he called them, were always top secret, though he made no aims at keeping them so, nor did he have to. Mrs. Beacon never bothered to even look and it never occurred to Caitlin to care. It was during those hours that he worked diligently on those projects and at exactly eleven o’clock he went back to his sewing table for an hour and began the work for the shop before taking his lunch.
Sally Winterlock had an appointment at ten o’clock on Wednesday to have her bridal gown fitted. She was standing on a platform box while Mrs. Beacon bustled about her pinning things here and there when a loud howl came from the back. Everyone froze. Mrs. Beacon calmly and very politely excused herself and walked quickly, though tried to appear no to do so, to see what had befallen her husband. Caitlin snatched a handful of jelly beans out of the glass dish left out for patrons and looked over to Agnes. She smiled shyly. Agnes jutted her head, willing Caitlin to go back and see what all the fuss was about. Caitlin tilted her head back and dropped the jelly beans into her mouth, pushed the chair back and sauntered back past Sally Winterlock.
“’scuse me,” she mumbled. She disappeared. A moment later a loud cackle was heard and Caitlin reappeared with a smile on her face, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Is everything alright?” Sally Winterlock asked. Caitlin flopped back in her chair and swiveled it back and forth.
“Oh sure!” Caitlin said, “Everything is just fine.”
Mrs. Beacon reappeared and went back to pinning up the hem in the back of the white satin gown. “There, now, that should do it” Mrs. Beacon said. “You can take this off now and we’ll handle the rest. You’ll be a lovely bride!” Sally Winterlock changed and thanked Mrs. Beacon as she walked quickly out of the shop.
“What happened back there?” Agnes asked.
“Nothing to worry about.” Mrs. Beacon replied sounding nervously at ease. “Mr. Beacon just had a bit of an accident with a machine. No doctor required.”
Mr. Beacon was tightening a bolt on his latest project, a mechanical squirrel he was putting together with bits of tin and scrap metal when his hand slipped and he jabbed his thumb into the table. But that wasn’t what made him howl. The howl, you see, wasn’t a cry of pain but one of joy for when he finished that last pull of the wrench he realized that his little project was then complete. Now it was just a matter of bringing it to life.
As Sally Winterlock was back in the dressing room changing out of her wedding dress Mr. Beacon was there holding two electrically charged cables over his Frankenstein. As the door swung shut he lowered the cables and the power surged and hummed from wire to metal. The lights of the shop flickered and then instantly went out. In the darkness Mrs. Beacon’s voice could be heard.
“Charles!” She cried. Charles was Mr. Beacon’s first name. “What on earth have you done now?”
Mr. Beacon stumbled over to one of the dusty shelves and found a lantern. He carried it over to the table and lit the wick. In the candle light, he stood unmoving over his creation, barely breathing, waiting in anticipation to see whether he had finally had success. And then it happened. The little tin squirrel moved, just a little. It lifted itself up just slightly and then collapsed back down again. That was it. That was all, but it was enough. Mr. Beacon was overjoyed!
“Weee-whoo!” He cried. “I did it!” And he burst out the door of the backroom and into the dress shop dancing. His hair gray and wild, like his eyes. He wore a dingy blue bathrobe and matching slippers. He ran up to his wife, Matilda, and lifted her in a spin, kissing her square on the lips. “I did it,” he cried again. “This time, I really did it!”
“Charles!” Matilda cried. “What are you going on about? What have you done?” Charles set her down again but left his hands on her hips. It was so queer, not just seeing Charles Beacon, but seeing him standing there in his bathrobe with his wife. Such a contrast, such an odd pair. Mrs. Beacon never looked heavy or particularly beautiful but standing so close to that man, he made it so. She really was heavy, heavy and beautiful.
Charles looked Matilda square in the eyes and said, “It moved!”
Mr. and Mrs. Beacon owned a dress shop on the corner of Park and 75th. The couple also owned the flat above the shop so every morning all they would have to do was walk down some stairs and they’d be at work. It was a lesser known fact that Mr. Beacon who did the sewing. Mr. Beacon was something of a mystery to people. He always stayed in the back room during business hours. You knew he was there because of the motor buzzing from the sewing machine. He even went as far as having a small bell that he would ring if he needed something and either Mrs. Beacon or the sales girl, Caitlin Marsh, would go back to see what he needed. That was the other half to the weirdness of Mr. Beacon. Other people who worked in the shop, like Agnes the girl who ran the flower counter and Denise, but it was just those two were the ones allowed in the back room of the shop, thus the only people who ever saw him. He never attended town functions. Mrs. Beacon, whose first name was Matilda, would make excuses for him saying that he had a bad back or a head ache or something equally benign. No one ever really raised any fuss about it.
Between the hours of nine in the morning until eleven the back room was always quiet. If people thought that that was because Mr. Beacon liked to sleep in, they were mistaken. Mr. Beacon awoke without alarm or rooster at nine minutes after seven every day. The reason it was so quiet until eleven every morning was because Mr. Beacon spent those hours doing something other than sit behind his sewing table. Mr. Beacon was actually an inventor, or at least he would like to call himself that. He had a separate space in the back room, a table really, where he would sit and sketch plans for various little oddities. His projects, as he called them, were always top secret, though he made no aims at keeping them so, nor did he have to. Mrs. Beacon never bothered to even look and it never occurred to Caitlin to care. It was during those hours that he worked diligently on those projects and at exactly eleven o’clock he went back to his sewing table for an hour and began the work for the shop before taking his lunch.
Sally Winterlock had an appointment at ten o’clock on Wednesday to have her bridal gown fitted. She was standing on a platform box while Mrs. Beacon bustled about her pinning things here and there when a loud howl came from the back. Everyone froze. Mrs. Beacon calmly and very politely excused herself and walked quickly, though tried to appear no to do so, to see what had befallen her husband. Caitlin snatched a handful of jelly beans out of the glass dish left out for patrons and looked over to Agnes. She smiled shyly. Agnes jutted her head, willing Caitlin to go back and see what all the fuss was about. Caitlin tilted her head back and dropped the jelly beans into her mouth, pushed the chair back and sauntered back past Sally Winterlock.
“’scuse me,” she mumbled. She disappeared. A moment later a loud cackle was heard and Caitlin reappeared with a smile on her face, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Is everything alright?” Sally Winterlock asked. Caitlin flopped back in her chair and swiveled it back and forth.
“Oh sure!” Caitlin said, “Everything is just fine.”
Mrs. Beacon reappeared and went back to pinning up the hem in the back of the white satin gown. “There, now, that should do it” Mrs. Beacon said. “You can take this off now and we’ll handle the rest. You’ll be a lovely bride!” Sally Winterlock changed and thanked Mrs. Beacon as she walked quickly out of the shop.
“What happened back there?” Agnes asked.
“Nothing to worry about.” Mrs. Beacon replied sounding nervously at ease. “Mr. Beacon just had a bit of an accident with a machine. No doctor required.”
Mr. Beacon was tightening a bolt on his latest project, a mechanical squirrel he was putting together with bits of tin and scrap metal when his hand slipped and he jabbed his thumb into the table. But that wasn’t what made him howl. The howl, you see, wasn’t a cry of pain but one of joy for when he finished that last pull of the wrench he realized that his little project was then complete. Now it was just a matter of bringing it to life.
As Sally Winterlock was back in the dressing room changing out of her wedding dress Mr. Beacon was there holding two electrically charged cables over his Frankenstein. As the door swung shut he lowered the cables and the power surged and hummed from wire to metal. The lights of the shop flickered and then instantly went out. In the darkness Mrs. Beacon’s voice could be heard.
“Charles!” She cried. Charles was Mr. Beacon’s first name. “What on earth have you done now?”
Mr. Beacon stumbled over to one of the dusty shelves and found a lantern. He carried it over to the table and lit the wick. In the candle light, he stood unmoving over his creation, barely breathing, waiting in anticipation to see whether he had finally had success. And then it happened. The little tin squirrel moved, just a little. It lifted itself up just slightly and then collapsed back down again. That was it. That was all, but it was enough. Mr. Beacon was overjoyed!
“Weee-whoo!” He cried. “I did it!” And he burst out the door of the backroom and into the dress shop dancing. His hair gray and wild, like his eyes. He wore a dingy blue bathrobe and matching slippers. He ran up to his wife, Matilda, and lifted her in a spin, kissing her square on the lips. “I did it,” he cried again. “This time, I really did it!”
“Charles!” Matilda cried. “What are you going on about? What have you done?” Charles set her down again but left his hands on her hips. It was so queer, not just seeing Charles Beacon, but seeing him standing there in his bathrobe with his wife. Such a contrast, such an odd pair. Mrs. Beacon never looked heavy or particularly beautiful but standing so close to that man, he made it so. She really was heavy, heavy and beautiful.
Charles looked Matilda square in the eyes and said, “It moved!”
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