To whom it may concern

She was Miss Tornado Day, Syndi reminded herself, Maiden of the Twisting Winds, Queen of Whimsical Destruction, an actual, bona fide God of Specific Violent Weather Events. And therefore, she was not going to squeal in shock and discomfort just because the driving rain had turned into an icy air-borne slush that had just hurled itself with malevolent joy and malice aforethought down the back of her collar.

She took a deep breath, clenched her teeth to stop the chattering, and concentrated on building a small pocket of warm air around her exposed face and hands.

God, she hated November.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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It had been five weeks of blinding sunshine, and since the mysterious and no doubt Bureau-related loss of his last unbroken pair of sunglasses, Marshall Teller had been squinting for all of it.

Simon had offered him first pick from his own small collection, but as Simon’s taste ran to bright colours and cartoon dinosaurs, Marshall had politely declined. Even Dash, apparently sick of the complaining which accompanied the sight of every sun-soaked line of parked cars, had shoplifted him a handful from the World o’ Stuff bargain bin, dumping them on the kitchen table one night with an admonishment to “just pick one and shut up”.

Marshall wasn’t sure if he’d deliberately picked the ugliest ones on offer, or if the World o’ Stuff didn’t have many good options, or if Dash just had very, very bad taste in eyewear. In any case, none of them were a good fit, and he’d had an awkward moment when Mister Radford caught him trying to sneak them back into the shop and offered to let him keep the lot, since, in the shop-keeper’s own words, nobody in town wanted to pay actual money to wear a single one of them.

Come to think of it, that whole encounter probably added weight to the “nothing decent there to steal” side of things. Marshall, who’d been planning on yelling at his least-trusted associate for one, his horrible fashion sense and two, forcing him to keep Mister Radford’s unsellable trash, decided he might keep quiet about it after all.

Now, staring out the grimy window of their small kitchenette, Marshall Teller took in the grey skies and wet sidewalks, and sighed in relief.

He slipped his hands into his jacket pocket, freezing as his fingers brushed against the smooth, round plastic of an earpiece.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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The King of the Summer burned with the heat and light of an August afternoon, and in the little room Syndi found his presence stifling. She summoned a cool breeze that twisted about her, lifting the hair from her neck and raising little goosebumps on the exposed skin of her arms, but it didn't help much.

"Sorry," said the King of the Summer, grimacing apologetically and inadvertently dazzling her with the refracted glare of his white teeth.

"It's okay," she said, blinking rapidly and wishing she'd sat next to the Lady of the Cold instead.

Or at least, worn sunscreen.


Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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The Teller siblings stood side by side in their parent's darkened living room, a thin lace curtain pulled across the window they stared out from. In the road beyond, a single trash can lay on it's side, the remains of a Saturday night takeaway spilling onto the black asphalt.

Syndi's brow furrowed with concentration as the metal can began to shift back and forth, slowly picking up momentum as it rolled towards the nearest streetlight. Behind it, a gangling figure coated in gingery fur followed, drawn by the scent of leftover chow mein.

Marshall Teller raised his camera, and waited.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Outside the sun was shining, though it remained bitterly cold in the shade and patches of ice still formed crisp, whitish skeins on the previous night's puddles.

Weatherman Wally stood on his newly-repaired and, thanks to a mutually beneficial agreement with the man from the Eerie Dairy, uniformly-aged wooden veranda, a mug of coffee clasped in gloved hands as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

The rusted iron tracks where the Ghost Train ran at Midsummer were just starting to form indents in the soft black earth, and he could hear the spectral rumble of sleepers yet unrealised.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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It was a beautiful summers' day despite being the middle of February, and the carnivorous roses were in full bloom, their petals lush and vibrant and gloriously pink after a full morning feasting on the trapped and shrivelled corpses of a half-dozen joggers.

Weatherman Wally sat on one of the white-painted benches that lined the path through the rose garden, eating a sandwich while being careful not to make any sudden movements. All around him, signs warned of the risks posed by undertaking any high-speed activity while in the presence of man-eating plants.

A shame the runners visited before dawn.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Smooth jazz was playing from the loudspeakers mounted atop tall poles all across Eerie, and in the climate-controlled and lightning-proof vault beneath WERD-TV, Weatherman Wally was panicking.

"Are you sure you didn't summon something?" he asked, for at least the third time since she'd arrived.

Syndi Teller smoothed down the puffy blue-grey skirts of her Miss Tornado Day outfit, hastily retrieved from the back of her closet when the summons came.

"No," she said, taking a deep breath that raised tiny zephyrs even in the sealed room. "I don't even like jazz. Whatever's haunting the warning sirens, it isn't me."

Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Outside, the storm was raging. A rumble of thunder shook the windows in their soft and rotting frames and, moments later, there came a crack and a flash of lightning split the sky. The white flash burnt strange black shapes across Marshall's retinas, and he blinked to clear them as the dull grey light of day rushed back in.

The black shapes remained. One of them waved. Another cleared a stack of paperwork from the overloaded sofa and took a seat, immediately filling the air with the faint smell of scorched upholstery.

"Uh?" said Marshall.

The shadow figures looked unimpressed.


Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ice crackled in the branches overhead, and long summer grass frozen and dead from fright snapped and splintered underfoot as Syndi followed the path through the trees. The Lady of the Cold must have come this way, and fairly recently if the killing frost in the middle of August was any indication.

A nervous flurry of half-melted snowflakes sprung up around her ankles, and she forced herself to quiet them, pushing down the rising apprehension and the miniature zephyrs along with them. Her jitters might look like weakness to the things that waited up ahead, and she couldn't afford that.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Lightning flashed overhead, and for a moment the sky was all aflame, the land beneath it lit bright as day though midnight had come and gone long since.

Thunder rumbled, shaking the single-pane glass in the soft and rotting wood of window frames up and down that long-abandoned street.

Dash X stood in the middle of the weed-cracked road, borrowed clothes plastered to him by the driving rain. This was his least-favourite outfit, the colours too bright and the whole thing several sizes too big, but it was still clothing he could ill-afford to lose.

His feet were bare, and in the light of the storm the scars on them were red, livid and shining. Beneath him, a thick rubber mat of the kind used in offices to lessen the chance of static discharge glistened like living oil.

Lightning cracked again, closer now. At the edge of town, something was burning. The new Weatherman didn't yet have Wally's level of control, and property damage happened more often these days.

The door to one of the houses banged open, caught by the rushing wind. In hand-me-down oil-slickers and heavy-soled rubber boots, Sara Sue and Harley said nothing as they joined him.

Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Syndi's hands were chapped and dry from constant washings, and still the swirling funnel clouds of ten miniature twisters clung to her fingers.

She glared at the heavy-duty plastic mixing bowl in front of her, half-full of water and for the rest, brimming over with a cool damp mist that should have banished her troubling case of tornado-mittens.

"This isn't working," she informed the empty meeting room where Wally had left her. To her left, the pages of a cheap pad of A1 paper clipped to a whiteboard fluttered in a breeze that sprung up out of nowhere.

She sighed.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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The day dawned, wet and overcast. The rain, which had started the previous afternoon and hadn't let up since, was now so heavy that the drops falling on the hard asphalt almost sounded like someone knocking.

On the fourth floor of a run-down apartment building, the lights were on. The windows were open just a little, and the Milkman knew it was to let in the sound and smell of the rain. He caught the scent of coffee and bacon, and the faint, muted roar of the MGM lion.

He smiled, remembering that day the first time around. Good times.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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The sun had risen hours ago, and though it was still early in the morning by every single one of Marshall's watches, the heat in his bedroom was stifling.

He rose, flinging off the thin coverlet with it's hand-scrawled mathematical notations designed to induce a deep sleep while also keeping the Sandman's gritty fingers out of the sleeper's dreams. Apparently it's protective qualities didn't do anything to combat the lack of air conditioning.

When he pulled back the curtains, the light outside speared through the glass like one of Algernon the Invincible's finishing moves. Marshall ducked back, cursing the summer.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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The scaffolding stretched in front of the windows, blocking light and air yet somehow managing to let in every mechanical shriek and whir from the power tools being wielded outside.

The desk fan that Dash had stolen years ago on his first ill-fated forays into office temping now held pride of place, propped on a cushioned footstool in the middle of the room. Marshall and the Manticore both lay prone before it's rapidly-oscillating blades, their previous enmity set aside in the face of a mutual enemy - the summer heat.

"Do you think Wally takes bribes?" Marshall asked.

The Manticore purred.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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The hot spell had finally broken, and the cooling rain pounded down on parched earth and baking asphalt.

Marshall pushed open the old-fashioned sash windows, feeling the soft give of rotting wood under a lumpy coating of thick white gloss. The air was full of the smell of wet pavement and the susurration of falling water and he leaned out, breathing deep as heavy droplets quickly soaked his skin and hair.

"Looks like Wally managed to catch that frog after all," said Simon, who was performing much the same ritual at the other window. "Or get him a date, anyway."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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As it turned out, Fred could shuffle, deal, and absolutely fleece his co-worker at Gin Rummy, all while holding his ridiculous mask-on-a-stick firmly in place.

"Thank the corn we were playing for ketchup packets," said Janet, sliding a fistful of sauce sachets his way. "Otherwise I'd be handing my wages over to you for the next couple of weeks."

"Ketchup holds it's value better than currency," Fred informed her solemnly as he scooped his winnings into a masquerade-themed fanny pack at his waist. "Though not as well as mustard, obviously."

"Obviously," Janet agreed, privately wondering which stock-market condiments traded under.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Janet

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It was times like this, when the things in the storm had cut the power and only the backup generator in it's sealed casket of lead kept the storeroom cold and the sushi tanks filtered, that Janet liked best.

There was no point in cleaning until the wind died down, and any would-be customers would be scoured to bloody bone before they darkened her door in search of fresh seafood. Occasionally she might find an especially obvious weakness in the Baitshop defences, watching the invading sand slow to a trickle as she caulked the gaps.

Mostly she sat, and waited.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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The wind was coming in off the lake, knife-sharp and howling as it clawed at the metal shutters drawn tight across the Baitshop windows. Already there was a fine layer of sand over the tables, the chairs and the worn and salt-warped floorboards.

Something banged against the front door, causing Fred Suggs to squeal in fright and drop the carnival-style mask-on-a-stick he'd worn to work that morning. He scrambled to retrieve it in the gloom of the closed-down restaurant, hastily raising it up over his face again.

"Probably just debris thrown up by the storm," Janet suggested.

She was lying.


Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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It takes almost an hour for the Kingswood to depart, the last twist and barbed curl of bracken slipping out of the still-open window and slithering away off the street.

Marshall's room is full of leaf litter, dead leaves and broken branches and wildflowers crushed underfoot, though there's no longer a root system binding them to the thick pile of his Jersey Giants-blue carpet.

"I'm not helping you clean this up," says Syndi, even as zephyrs scurry this way and that amongst the debris, pushing it into manageable piles that can be easily tackled with a dustpan.

"Thanks," says Marshall.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Syndi scoffs.

"I'm going," she said. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm making pancakes for breakfast, and also to tell you to get rid of those trees outside before Mom and Dad wake up."

Marshall looks out of his window at the now-silent forest. The trees have no faces, but still they stare back through a thousand knotted eyeholes.

"Um," he says, and Syndi rolls her eyes.

"Look," she says, forcing the sash window up and snapping a thin mesh of ivy growing over it. "I'll show you."

She leans out and the breeze ruffles her hair.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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"He went into the Kingswood," Simon confesses, and then, since the metaphorical cat was out of the metaphorical bag and the cat in this case was made of vines and emerging from a bag also made of vines and threatening to engulf the town, he added, "And he was wearing his Harvest King crown."

Syndi's eyes widened, and just for a moment she looked honestly, truly worried. Then what Simon always thought of as her "big sister" expression slid back into place, and she was full of rueful amusement once again.

"What an idiot," she said, and stepped past him.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The door is heavier than it should be, sticky with pine sap and swelling with new life that presses it hard against the still blessedly-inanimate frame.

"You'll need to push it," Simon calls. "On three?"

He hears Syndi counting down - you can always hear her, now, if she wants you to, the air so loves to carry her voice - and he yanks hard as she shoves from the other side, the door making a sticky sound as it wrenches free.

Her eyes are storm-cloud grey, but the raised eyebrow and the half-smirk is all her.

"What did he do now?"

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Her hands move to push back the covers, and a draft that comes from nowhere rips them from her bed and hurls them into the far corner of her room. The cold whistling air raises no goose-pimples on her bare skin, though it had been a warm night and she'd slept in a thin nightshirt.

Well-loved paperback romance novels riffle their pages as she stands, and the glossy cover of a heavy textbook rises and falls with her every breath.

Syndi opens the door of her bedroom, crosses the landing in three silent strides, and bangs on her brother's door.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Now, as she wakes in green-tinged darkness and hears above her the creaking of branches that should not be there, she reconsiders.

Eerie is a strange place. A fun contest that comes with a sash and a ride on a parade float comes with other things too. Marshall won a cow, and the next week she'd seen all their mother's houseplants bend towards him when he walked into the kitchen.

Her clothes never blow loose from the washing line strung over their backyard. Her heaviest sweaters are crisp and dry within minutes of being hung out, even on damp days.

Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Syndi took the bottle from him. Squeezing out a little drop, she rubbed it between her thumb and index finger, warming it.

"Cockatrice egg," she said, "For hold and sheen. Ground fulgurite, to capture a moment of incandescent brightness. Coconut oil, for detangling and smoothing. Jasmine, for scent. And the tiniest kiss from a tornado, to help blend it all together."

Marshall thought about his hair had looked after his run-in with Old Bob. He looked at Simon's red-gold curls, matted and snarled after their misadventure with the comb.

Couldn't hurt, he thought.

"That sounds kinda neat, honestly," he said.

Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History

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