cfmysteries

[cfmysteries]

Scooby Doo Where are You | "Foul Play in Funland"

[cfmysteries]

where : the flying dutchman laundromat when : early december who : @anchoragestarters cap : 0/4

ALL THE EXPLOSIVE NEWS that had come out of the town's eventful Halloween celebration was ultimately good news for Zeliha who had been seeing dwindling numbers on the most recent episodes of the Midnight Thrillers Mystery Busters' gang's podcast that followed those that detailed their own events earlier in the beginning of autumn. (For as many allegations of exploitation of other's misfortune that were thrown their way, at least they could honestly say they weren't above taking advantage of their own suffering for the benefit of the show, either.) The frustration was always born when between themselves and their research expert, they were barely able to find enough interesting information to fill just fifteen minutes of recording, leading them to resort to where the brunette stood now with eyes scanning the bulletin board in the back of the laundromat after rows of washing machines and dryers to find anything worthy of their attention. "Have you ever taken notice of if this is kept up-to-date?" Their hope was that it wasn't, and some sort of flyer asking for volunteers or workers for the fateful Halloween gathering could've stuck around. "With no internet, I presumed some open jobs would've made their way onto here. One would with all the help needed with community events, they'd be all over outreach such as this, too," they mused casually, head turning to glance at the closest bystander who they had just assumed had nothing better to do while waiting for laundry than to entertain their prodding. "There's a couple for the winter events, but I don't recall seeing any for that big Halloween one, do you?"

[cfmysteries]

THE BEGINNINGS OF A SMILE FORMED ON THEIR FACE, the closest they had came for quite some time considering it was a stranger to their visage when they were locked up down below. It was a rarity to be granted without guard to another person, as they were able to count on one hand all those they would even think of offering a grin towards in the town of Anchorage, Alaska outside of their paying clients. Their sister's best friend had wormed their way onto that list, and usually they would be more questionable of those their adopted sibling extended trust to, but Angelique was one person they were in agreement with them on. Although there were times when they wished Anka would be a bit more cautious when it came to calling just anyone a friend, as much as Zeliha had tried to desperately separate themselves from all family members besides the incredibly social baker, they couldn't ignore that they had managed to inherit their mother's critical eye; the only stark difference was theirs was used against the judgement of others in reference to the questions that seemed to endlessly appear around the town while the Turan matriarch had hers overly focused on her children, Zeliha most often center stage under that microscope. "Quick and painless, or, quick enough not to be very painful, is probably the way most would prefer." Starving to death or slowly running out of breathable oxygen in the basement of a mall with otherwise heavy foot traffic just a level above didn't seem to fall into that category, but they could consider enough that were they receive a quicker type of torture then Mio's timing would have been meaningless. And considering the young woman needed their help to also get out...well, it would've resulted in a bigger tragedy overall. Zeliha didn't consider themselves much of an optimist, Anka had that skill covered for the two of them, but pragmatically, they could recognize a silver living. Their head tilted to the side as they took Ange's words into consideration, choosing then to take a sip of their tea to give them an extra pause of thought in the conversation. "I think it's more interconnected than a series of individually random coincidences, even if the connection is more," There was another momentary pause, as if they wanted to be careful about their words as to not be misinterpreted over a topic as delicate as the current one. "-that there's a pattern of covering up rather than investigating. You don't have to imagine the type of people a place that doesn't ask questions or expect answers would attract." Even with the document that was now in their possession, a suspicion had always landed on those in power from the hobbyist investigator for similar reasons. "I suppose that would be a different type of environmental curse than what first comes to mind." Their hand lifted a bit, conclusionary with her comment. "But that's why I prefer to make a career out of keeping track of it. There's never a shortage of content." Which could've been a cold and impersonal way to speak of things, but that criticism had never phased them before. "With that said, even if my line of work has some unintentional dangers, I don't plan to make a habit of going missing. It wasn't very enjoyable on my end either." Dangerous wasn't exactly a term most would affiliate with podcasting, as the biggest hazard was usually tripping over a microphone, but their penchant for sticking their nose exactly where it didn't belong was the bigger issue there. "I can't fault either of you for feeling that way; I should probably be more thankful to have such a sisterly bond and appreciate it the way you and Anka seem to. I just prefer not to be any source of stress for them."

"scout's honor," they say, holding up two fingers and crossing their heart, a promise sealed with a mockery of innocence—hope to die, and perhaps a little more. zehlia and angelique, however, were no strangers to secrets, ones that were their own, separate from anka. hell, some of those secrets were even born out of a strange, protective care for her. one was bound by the unspoken bond of adoption, while the other—perhaps—harbored the quiet certainty that they were, in every sense that truly mattered, a platonic soulmate. their connection was bound by the universe itself unable to ignore its significance. the intimate talks they shared, the quiet visits, all felt tethered to the idea of sisterhood. and if not for anka, then surely for monique, who, with her own set of complications, entered the equation—a puzzle where the lines between fact, fiction, and curse blurred with uncanny precision.

a soft chuckle escapes them as they watch the green tea cool, the steam drifting upward before zehlia even has a chance to bring the cup to their lips. "honestly, you're right," they say, the irony threading through their voice. "the bear trap seems almost… less invasive." the mere thought of plunging into a pit of needles contorts their features into a grimace. no, not without ink or substance could a piercing be tolerated. but a bear trap? one, two, three, and it’s done, the ugly transformation into a metal-laden smile and the constant, taste of iron on the tongue.

zehlia ponders the idea for a brief moment before conceding, their voice thoughtful yet edged with reluctant truth. "hmm, perhaps ‘curse’ is a bit too maledict of a word." the malevolent aura of the town did not truly account for the staggering shock value that certain residents carried like a badge. their audacity clung to the possibility of tropes too familiar, too tired—big bads, unlikely heroes, and cursed destinies. "what i mean," they continue, with a touch of wry amusement, "is that this town is far more convoluted than any singular supernatural problem. there’s just too much to keep track of." as if there was any hope of keeping up with it all. "but i suppose," they pause, their voice dropping into a sardonic rhythm, "if there's one thing anchorage does right, it’s… well, it’s never a dull fucking day, is it?"

they scoff, the idea of a 'sane' anka hanging in the air like a stale joke. "sane is the tricky part, isn't it? but i can’t blame her for worrying about you." sisters, after all, were a delicate and often confusing thing. and then, the lie—a soft, but firm smile accompanying it. "i would have reacted the same way if it were my sister." liar, liar pants on fire. "it just means you can't go missing again, dear."

[cfmysteries]

THE HOLIDAY OF HALLOWEEN HAD BEEN RUINED for the amateur investigator once it became synonymous with the day they had been attacked in an escape room, the foolish game losing all its enjoyment the moment they had lost a finger off their left hand that was unable to be reattached once the doors were unlocked. As one could imagine, the thirty first of October was no longer a day of representing a lot of a fun when it instead marked such an anniversary. It was also the reason Zeliha planned on staying far away from the community event happening later that night, even if that made the daring risk-taker come off as unusually paranoid; luckily, for them, they always had the excuse of following a hot lead to get out of any plans they didn't wish to attend. A luxury tote bag hanging from their shoulder carrying the documents they planned to look over during their solo lunch, there was no costume adorning their body as they pushed opened the doors of the brunch place, interrupted before they could give their name and reservation time to the hostess. It could be said the brunette was terrible at walking away once their interest had been piqued by something, as did her desperation for someone to join them for a meal. "Is this your usual strategy for finding a date because, if so, I feel I should inform you about this activity called blind dates. Essentially the same concept with a lot less begging."

@anchoragestarters saylor + ? : october 31, midday @ brunch-a-nonsense cap 0 / 4

Saylor Strangelove was an unforgiving force of nature. Anyone who stuck around long enough to understood this typically fled shortly after. Few were exempt from her wrath, alas, on this incredibly humbling day — she was starved for human connection. It was one thing to waste your own precious free time sending letters back and forth like Mary fucking Wollstonecraft, who had relinquished her maidenhood to Percy Bysshe Shelley upon the wet olive grass of her mother's grave and then proceeded to keep his calcified heart in a desk drawer for decades, and it was another thing entirely for all of it to have been a complete misjudgment of character. So, as you could imagine, Saylor was humiliated whenever she arrived to their date spot first and waited an entire hour before a waitress approached with reluctance and inquired whether or not she'd like to order yet. Sure, I fucking guess, she spat in return, feeling the lining of her stomach curl inwards with guilt. Regardless, she maintained her composure and melted in her seat, shoulders unwinding and legs splayed out far enough to where she could prop her pumps upon the opposite chair. She was quite prepared to admit defeat — before she caught sight of someone approaching the hostess stand. "Psst," she whispered out, eyebrows raised expectantly at the stranger. "Come sit here. I'll comp your food, I just — I need someone to be my date. Please."

[cfmysteries]

Aslihan Malbora ✿ for Anon #469

[cfmysteries]

THEIR OVERSIZED DESIGNER SUNGLASSES were predictably sat across their face, still able to hide the under-eye circles that were now healing and much less noticeable than when the podcaster was first admitted to the hospital. Their already intensive self care routine had been amped up into overdrive since they found themselves finally back in the land of the living instead of being stuck underground with the rats and ghosts of the past. Pushing the glasses up to sit atop their brunette locks that had been curled with care to fall in ringlets around their visage, their brown eyes looked around as if the other mentioned godparent could be easily spotted. "No, I actually just walked in the front door; I was held up at the bakery. I was worried they managed to lose my order at first." Sliding the paper box that the baked good was being transported in onto the counter in front of them, they popped it open to take a peek in on the Happy Birthday, Crash that was expertly penned out in white icing. "I was hoping it had made it here safely." As much as they would consider themselves an artist when it came to having eyeliner or an eyeshadow brush in their hand, the same could not be said for crafts involving food. "Coffee would be great. I'm trying to restrict eating much sugar after 11 am, or I would try one of your..." Their voice trailed off an ounce of judgment could be seen in their eyes as their gaze peered at the smoothies. "creations," they finally settled on. As much enjoyment as the investigator got out of pushing the buttons of their best friend's spouse, they weren't cruel enough to taint a celebration dedicated to their godson. "A cake fit only for royalty," they clarified, righting the crown upon his head to straighten it, even if it immediately fell back to its previous position right after. "Hopefully I haven't missed too much already. You seem to have everything still under control for now." Placing one hand on the toddler's back to quell their concern of him falling backwards off the stool, they looked back at Dusty. "Is there anything you need help getting ready? Do you already have all the goodie bags set up?"

@cfmysteries at his home in rabbit creek, october 1st

"Hey Zel, have you seen Fallon yet?" Dustin's head poked around the kitchen, wrangling with a blender and the array of non-alcoholic beverages for the guests. It was reminiscent of an inquiry made of their own disappearance, though neither of them had addressed that his worries stemmed from more than a mutual connection with the love of his life — their bond had... sort of deepened, you know, from being fucked mentally, getting lost in that Terminal. A cardigan hugged his frame, a chill in the air as October descended upon Anchorage, and with it, more eerie ongoings — escaping animals weren't an uncommon conundrum, but the incident at Criminal Records sounded... fucking brutal. ( Not to mention, his marriage counseling appointments were indefinitely canceled for two months, but they were attending less and less. ) Though he'd idled on asking Zeliha whether they would be looking into it, he had decided that a kid's birthday party wasn't the time for digging into Alaska's unique depravities. Or mysteries. "Can I make you coffee or one of these smoothies?" Some of the smoothies in question were still floating with fruit chunks, and in his defense, he'd been left unattended with the blender when Sera floated off to spend time helping Crash open the presents. ( Rule numero uno: Under no circumstances should Dustin Graves-seong be allowed to handle anything that couldn't be popped in the oven or served with ease. ) Leaning on the kitchen island, he poked his pierced tongue out at his two year old waddling around the stools toward him, an oversized crown on top of his head. "Heyyy, little man, did bumoui dress you up like the king you are?" he gushed, bending down when Crash swung his arms up and squealed bumoui, I want up! "How's that? Auntie Zee brought your cake, huh? They brought your favorite." Choccy? "Chocolate," Dustin affirmed, pressing his index finger against his son's nose as he placed him to sit on the stool beside Zeliha.

[cfmysteries]

ZELIHA LIFTED THE MUG OF GREEN TEA TO THEIR LIPS, which still were, despite returning to a routine of nightly lip masks, still chapped around the edges, as they considered exactly how to answer the loaded question. It would have been easy to respond with hostility were they truly bothered by it, claiming it too be too soon to be approached with such nonchalance, but as their own curiosity frequently lead them to poke their brunette head into other's business that consisted of sensitive subjects, it would have been awfully hypocritical to claim sensitivity now when it was rarely ever afforded anyone else when the tables were turned. Besides, there was a part of the podcaster that did enjoy the attention, noticing some flyers still taped or plastered to poles and walls of bulletin boards of places of business with their own face, somehow already trying to think of how instead of tearing them all down, they could instead be used as a method of leading back to their pride and joy, the Midnight Thrillers Mystery Busters. In all actuality, coming face to face with the risk to their own mortality was a feat Zeliha was previously unfamiliar with. Even in Halloween past when they had gone through the excruciating pain of losing their own finger to an escape room gone wrong, they didn't truly think their entire life was hanging in jeopardy, just the appendage that was now nothing more than a ghost of where it was previously attached to their hand However, being stuck down in the undergrounds of the city of Anchorage with nothing but rats and the dripping of mostly safe water supplied much more time to recount everything in their life and, for once, having some wavering confidence if they had actually done it all right. Was all their endless chasing after mysteries really worth it if this was how they went out? But it wasn't how they went out. So, their trailing for answers would continue. "I wouldn't take the needle pit over it. Clearly, that didn't end as well for whichever character had to deal with that." It was possibly quite stupid to gain confidence from their own survival, and yet, the Turkish socialite was finding a way. "I think I would have to equate it to the reverse bear trap, if I were to pick one." It was hardly a reliable scale, nor a serious topic, but they supposed both of those factors made it easier to speak on that an emotional discussion regarding their sister or parents of their God child. Zeliha was hardly one for emotional reunions, but seeing the panic in the eyes of their loved ones when in the hospital solidified just how close of a call it had been for them, as much as they had tried their best to deny it. "Don't tell Anka that, not that I think they would understand such a reference regardless." They didn't believe their sister could sit through one even if they were hiding behind their hands the entire time. "I think a curse makes it sound more fantastical than most would like to believe." As much as they would've liked to base their ideologies in something more realistic, the knowledge gained of the experiments was still sitting heavily on their mind. Their deep brown eyes studied Angelique's face for a moment from across the table outside of the coffee shop, before daring to ask, "Do you believe such a thing exists? That there's more going on that isn't as easily explained?" In regards to their podcast, they had never ventured to imply anything that would lead those to heavily distrust their word, only leaving slight implications for those who wanted to pick up on them. As if needing an out should their question be met with doubt, they took one more small sip of the warm tea and journeyed to a differing topic. "I assume you helped keep Anka sane for those couple of weeks. I appreciate that. Hopefully they're able to bounce back quickly now that everything is fine." Or, seemingly fine, as their own wounded mind was something they refused to burden anyone else with.

@cfmysteries

"on a scale from one to saw ii's syringe needle pit trap, how bad has it been since?" angelique’s words slithered from their lips. they lingered in that delicate space between curiosity and intrusion, deliberately vague, their character often too meddlesome for its own good yet tempered now by an uncanny distance—a practiced restraint. their slender wrist, pale and almost skeletal, flicked with languid grace, sending the ember of their cigarette spiraling into the ashtray. the glowing tip, once vibrant with life, was now reduced to a swirl of ash, lifeless and cold, disintegrating into the bone-dry remnants of what once smoldered. smoke unfurled from their nostrils like the whispered breath of a dragon, curling in ephemeral tendrils around their gaunt visage, obscured behind the impenetrable shield of thick-rimmed, black sunglasses.

their face—a study in contrast, where smooth skin stretched thin over high, angular bones—bore the hollowed mark of grief, as though death itself had kissed them with cruel intimacy, leaving behind not just sorrow, but the eerie stillness of someone who had already been touched by the grave. the sunglasses, dark and unyielding, concealed sunken eyes that no longer reflected the living world but rather seemed to peer into some other, shadowed realm where the boundary between the living and the dead had long since dissolved. their fingers, those long and delicate digits, trembled ever so slightly as they brought the cigarette back to their lips, the motion deliberate, every breath a quiet rebellion against the relentless decay that seemed to pursue them.

some time had indeed passed since their last encounter, but angelique made it a point to thread themselves into the lives of anka's familial connections. like a shadow, they were always present, yet never fully seen until Anka needed that pillar of support the most. it was easier that way—to insert themselves into lives burdened by their own tragedies rather than face the gaping maw left by monique’s absence. their twin’s death, a hollow echo that reverberated through every movement, every thought, lingered in the air like an unspoken curse. death had not only taken monique but had also brushed against angelique, leaving a stain that could not be washed away, no matter how much smoke they exhaled into the dying light.

"the curse feels like it's spreading, no?" they whispered, voice laced with dark amusement, though behind it, something deeper simmered—an understanding of the way death wove its web around them. "the curse of anchorage… i mean, if we're believing such a thing exists." a small chuckle spills from lips that are painted in void-like color, black. "i wonder if death's hunger is sated yet, or if there’s another round it’s willing to indulge upon."

[cfmysteries]

Aslihan Malbora at the 81st Venice International Film Festival

[cfmysteries]

ZELIHA'S WORDS WERE USUALLY COATED IN A BLUNT CASING, off-putting to those who didn't know them well and tolerated by the few they allowed close. Anka knew well enough it was a response to being a verbal punching bag under the guise of constructive criticism by their mother, and Sera didn't seem to have any issue accepting it once the two of them had gotten close after trading brothel rooms. That same frank attitude was fighting with their tongue at the moment to ask what exactly something like that meant, a response that was not helping their mounting intrusive thoughts about being one left to wander the mall forevermore after falling to the conclusion before Mio had made her way down into the tunnels, an unintentional hero. But their better judgment decided to make a rare appearance in that moment, and the investigator for once didn't ask for a clarification, instead swallowing the words. The person in front of her didn't seem to be in a frame of mind for that type of questioning. Their head turned, brunette locks effortlessly made into relaxed curls that morning (truly, they didn't realize how much they needed their skincare and haircare routine until they were robbed of it for weeks) to look in the direction they had been pointed, before their gaze returned. "Thanks." At the mention of needing a moment, their head nodded behind the other, over their shoulder, to the few assortment of benches that were littered between shops. "Why don't we take a seat at one of those? It'll stop any rogue strollers from running you over." They could've easily left, return on their mission for jewelry to allow a bit of retail therapy fill the void of thinking they were left for dead. But hadn't they had a good enough fill of being alone from those slowly passing days? So, instead, they found themselves properly dropping down on one end of the bench, legs crossing at the ankle in front of them. "I'm Zeliha."

You look like you've seen a ghost. The stranger's words were a cliché and it was a phrase that Annisa had been asked several times before--but that didn't make the statement untrue. In a quiet voice, eyes finally meeting the stranger's, they said "Something like that..." You look more lost than me. The words sort of rang in Nisa's ears for a moment, almost as if time had slowed down and was now moving at half-speed. Looking around, desperately trying to orient themselves and also avoid looking at the mirror again, they said "Uh... The jewelry store is...a few stores down, I think. I p-passed it on the way here..." Jesus, it's as if they were a fucking zombie or something--but they didn't know how to feel any other way. They'd just zoned out in a random fucking store and now a stranger was asking them for directions--or at least, kind of. "Sorry, I just... Need a minute," they said, closing their eyes and then opening them again, trying to get the image of that fucking clone out of their head.

Perhaps the most jarring part of this whole thing was the familiarity of it all. They'd certainly blacked out before--lost time, not realizing that they were zoning out into nothing--and once the realization did sink in, they'd felt as if they were in a daze, confused about what was happening. But this hadn't happened in ages and they didn't know why it was happening now. Was their own visage really so triggering? Perhaps, maybe it was... After all, ever since that night in February, it was hard to look in the mirror and not see that dead-eyed monster instead of themselves staring back through the glass.

[cfmysteries]

IT WAS ODD TO BE ON THE RECEIVING END of a rare quietness from their sister, as usually the rancher had more than enough to say during their conversations with Zeliha interjecting any time they thought of something worthy of doing so. Anka was the charisma between the two of them, full of kindness that they managed to keep from being snuffed out by their adoptive parents, Zeliha's biological...Well, they really and truly refused to refer to them as their parents anymore, still harboring a deep-seated resentment for them that the podcaster wasn't sure would ever truly go away. Even after the years of never seeing them, never even giving them a hint that Zeliha was fine but practically just disappearing Gone Girl style on them. It probably wouldn't have been helpful if it weren't for Anka's help, even if they were weary at getting them involved at the time it was happening. The fact that they did have an immense amount of trust to allow them to be the only family they kept ties to was a testament to how unusual it was to feel the need to keep much from one another. Which is why they were perplexed now that Anka seemed to be struggling to spit out whatever was on their mind. Amateur detective skills were proving not to be much of a help at the current moment. "It's certainly been eventful, I think that's accurate to say." Much more than their own, and Zeliha preferred to keep it that way. Anything that distracted them from their work was an unwelcome addition to their life, which is why they put little effort, if any at all, into having a love life. "Why, has something happened between you and Haerin?" If anything, maybe that was the reason behind the hesitance Anka was currently displaying, as it didn't take a genius (nor detective) to see the bundles of love that were between the two wives, so much so that the younger of the sisters couldn't imagine there being a single thing that could tear them apart. They easily followed Anka into the kitchen, not ignoring how it seemed the other needed something to do with their hands as they worked on getting the words to what they wanted to say out, and in a rare moment, Zeliha was able to muster up a small amount of patience that was rarely held for anyone in the world except for their best friend, and now, God son. When the words finally were spoken, their heels clicked across the tile floor of the kitchen to close the distance and wrap their arms around the thin shoulders of their one tie back to their family, the strongest one that wasn't even unravelled by everything else they had gone through, and such, they believed never could. "Oh, Anka. You were worrying me." They took a step back to tuck some hair behind their ear in a true moment of soft affection, another rarity for them but necessary in the moment. "I'm honored to be the first person you've told, and I'm proud of you for wanting to say it out loud." When their hand fell away from their face, it took theirs in their own, not unlike when they were younger kids who could find some safe haven away from the rest of the family to actually be carefree and have fun the way children were meant to. Tugging them to the kitchen table to take a seat, they kept the small amount of gentle contact. "How long have you known? You know you can always tell me anything."

The walk up the path to their homestead was filled with an unusual silence from the belle, an internecine beginning to rift of where they should start, what they should say, and how Zeliha would possibly react. Anka had never been one to prepare or anticipate the possibilities of their actions, swinging in impulsively and ducking out again as an outdoor feline would. This was different than the whimsies that had been a centerpiece of their young adulthood, and perhaps one of the utmost important conversations they thought they'd ever had, following suit only after the terse discussion with Diego of whether to keep their firstborn son. ( No surprises: a terminally ill man with so little life to live was not heartfelt to the prospect, at first. ) They took care not to drag their feet, nor slow the other down, waiting until the pair had come upon the door before they let their stream of conscious rip free. "So, um... I've had a lot'a hubbub in my love life, an' all." They'd not been one to show any kind of preferences, and an openness to accept people as they were into their heart — that had been them, with or without their parents' restrictive upbringing. Ambling into the house and stomping the mud off their boots, discarding them at the door and trashbags in hand, they sat them in the foyer to be collected by their spouse later. Hands on their hips, they couldn't decide what to do with themselves initially, and instinctually, they ushered toward the kitchen to put on a kettle of hot water — tea, that would warm them both up. "I've been doing a lot'a thinking on it after I had Matevos come a-knocking again an' thinking back on all kinds'a stuff I used to do... You know, I spent all those years married to Diego, but sometimes, I think — maybe I got my own signals wrong an' misinterpreted..."

Trailing off after they'd filled it up and flipped the burner on, Anka finally forced themselves to sit at the table, fingers running through their ponytail self-consciously and pulling the elastic band free. Dark locks adorned by their extensions crescendoed over their shoulders, volage preventing their eyes from meeting their sibling's as they tried to compose their confession. They'd never been one to beat around the bush, but there was a veritable weight that accompanied the statement. No guilt found, merely an apprehension of how they could be deemed an imposter for their past romances or foibles in confusion. Coming into oneself had been facile until this moment. Their acrylics scratched at a stain on the tabletop, inhaling through their nose and letting it settle in the bottom of their chest.

"What I'm tryna say is that — I'm... gay."

They had dreamed up this moment, coming out to their closest sibling, and how it would be a rush of relief lifted away from their shoulders and cast out the windows. The sun would shine again and they wouldn't feel this mass of a raincloud taking up real estate inside of their body, as if they had been possessed by the unusual heaviness that came and went every time Diego's passing or his birthday came about on the calendar. Instead... they were heavier, like they'd tied bricks to their feet and they were sinking with the anxiety in their stomach — that in spite of Zeliha's every buck against the reigns when it came to conservativism that their home country was deeply rooted in, their sibling could choose to walk out the door and never see them again. Incertitude was sown faster than planting seeds in their spice garden, a rising heat to their cheeks borne out of this, rather than sheer embarrassment. It was an almost frivolous fear — they'd been married to someone who'd proclaimed themselves as much for years, but that didn't mean they were ready to come to terms with it themselves. In fact, Anka would contend it kicked them in the head like one of their broncos one day. Perhaps, it was that tense conversation with Matevos that had sunken the final nail in the coffin, dawning a realization in them. Nevertheless, they had mounted the courage now, and there was no turning back.

"At least, ya know... romantically."

The pruning silence couldn't have been sliced with their kitchen knife, shoulders sagging as they deflated from the leap of courage it had taken. Still, no magical wings to carry them away from the plight. "I haven't really... come out to anyone, yet. I wanted you to be the first," they confessed, amber eyes meeting Zeliha's.

[cfmysteries]

IF ZELIHA WAS A MORE RISK-ADVERSED PERSON, they never would have made the decision to go back to the place they had been trapped for days on end--what could have been their last days if Mio hadn't gotten herself trapped in that train car. Really, they refused to think more deeply about what exactly were to happen to them if the events had gone differently. Normally, the detective relished in their own solitude, unbothered by echos that every noice made in their high-ceiling apartment that reminded them just how much of their time they spent alone. Zeliha had no issue keeping their own circle small, with just a handful of friends and cutting off all but a single family member. But after over a week of nothing but pure solitude, of believing they could possibly never see another person again, and maybe their body would never be found so no one would ever see them again either. Well, that repeated line of thinking was just enough to leave the usually solitary to think that maybe a very crowded public place would be best for them. Even if they still had their sunglasses on in the underground mall, because the sunken eye look was so not working for them. When their words weren't getting much of a response, though, they had to wonder if their earlier thought had possibly been correct. Until a tap to the shoulder worked. "You look like you've seen a ghost." The comment may have been brutally honest, but they weren't sure if it was more of an insult to themselves. Maybe this was one of those stupidly horrible mystery thrillers where it turned out they had died down there. Not only could the podcaster always see the twist coming, but couldn't they at least be given somewhere more fashionable to haunt were that to be the truth? "I was going to ask if you knew where the jewelry store was in here. But you look more lost than me."

date: august 24

location: down the rabbit hole underground mall

@anchoragestarters

To say that there'd been a lot on Annisa's mind lately would be an understatement. They'd spent months trying to forget the events of that frosty February night, tried to forget the image of that face. And to think, they'd almost forgotten, almost moved on. And then they'd received that call from Leo. And then a call from Ava. And then Cy and then Marisol and the whole lot. Everyone asking them over and over and over 'Are you okay?' To think they'd almost graduated from being the frail, fragile baby of the family. Of course, they knew it was out of fear and love. They knew that their loved ones were afraid for them, afraid for their safety. But Jesus. Their anxiety had been festering for months but now it was fucking skyrocketing, at an all time high. Slowly but surely, the urges had started to creep back into their head, though they tried their best to ignore them. But still, the thoughts were there, lingering.

They'd taken themselves to the mall, of all fucking places, to try and distract themselves. Maybe they just needed some retail therapy. But then, while they were looking at some band tees in some random shop they'd wandered into, they caught a glimpse of themselves in the mirror. Walking towards it, they took their reflected visage in, suddenly scrutinizing each little imperfection, something that they'd tried so hard to train themselves not to do anymore. They almost didn't recognize themselves. It was them but at the same time, it wasn't... But it was their face that was the real problem--because every time they looked at their face in the mirror, they just saw the dead eyes of the clone that had attacked them at the hospital all those months ago. The same face--or rather, decapitated head--that had been left on Leo's fucking back porch. It just didn't look right. Nothing looked right. It was like a dysmorphia they'd never experienced before. You should call your fucking therapist, they thought. They were supposed to reach out to their support group when they felt this way. But... Could they actually do that? How could they put even more of a burden on their siblings who were already worried sick about them? Jesus, this shit never ends. It's just one big fucking cycle, isn't it?

Lost in thought, they didn't even realize someone was trying to speak to them until they felt a light tap on their shoulder. When they finally snapped out of it, they felt disoriented, even though they hadn't moved an inch. They weren't sure how much time they'd actually lost standing there--they're not supposed to lose time anymore, not on a full stomach. That hadn't happened in years. Shit. "What?" they blurted out. "Sorry, I... Sorry.."

[cfmysteries]

ZELIHA HAD NEVER BEEN ONE TO LABEL their plans as a good or bad idea. It had never been truly useful for the investigator, who would much rather base what they did next by comparing what was most or least likely to lead to the most profit--in this case, as many were, that profit was information. Sure, some ideas were riskier than others, but as long as the outcome deemed the risks worth it, then they would usually follow through without hesitation. Maybe some would call it stupid, but they thought of it as determination. Or at least, they did, before they had plenty of time to further think it over while being locked underground. If anything, the thought that was most prominent in their head was that it was a damn shame they were the one locked up. Who the hell was going to find them if Anchorage's best amateur investigator was the one missing? If they had more energy, they probably would have laughed out loud at the irony of the thought, but as the days continued to tick by (or, at least what they assumed to be days, as it was getting a bit hard to tell time without any electronics and a lack of sunrises and sets) and the abundance of water in their stomach failed to satiate the hunger any longer, the energy reserves were quickly depleting. They had to curse themself for only keeping a granola bar in their handbag that had already been crumbled into pieces from being left in the bottom for long. The first few days hadn't been too bad, and the brunette supposed they had their overpowering mother's strict eating guidelines that overruled their childhood and early adulthood to thank for being able to ignore the hunger for a bit, instead much more focused on gathering anything that could have possibly been of use. If Zeliha was going to die down there, they were going to die with at least some mysteries solved. Even if the knowledge would be lost with their life. Eventually, weakness had set in, though. By the time the muted alarm had started sounding in the laboratory, they were fighting to keep their eyes open, unsure if it was sleep or a loss of consciousness that made their eyelids feel so heavy. But it kept going off enough that they found the strength to come to their feet and figure out where it was coming from, moving enough papers and dust around to find a screen with a large crack from one side to the other, static and fuzz distorting the image is was portraying. But there was just enough visibility for Zeliha to make out the compartment and the water that was quickly filling it. It was when her pleas rang out through the static of the speaker were they able to recognize her as someone they had met at the mall. Under very different circumstances compared to now. "How the hell did you get in there?" Hopefully, their assumption on which switch turned on the intercom was correct to open up two way communication. "Don't answer that. Not important. Don't waste the air." The control panel seemed like a mess of buttons, switches, and cords, but the blinking on another screen that was requesting a password to stop what they could only assume was some kind of triggered booby trap. "Is there anything written in there? I need a password, something not too long, something..." The rush of adrenaline now rushing through them did at least keep the lightheadedness away. "Something to do with this." It was scribbled on some kind of post-it note, and once Zeliha was able to make out the handwriting that was barely a step above chicken scratch, they read the hint out loud.

WHERE: abandoned train terminal WHEN: around late july, early august WHO: zeliha turan ( @cfmysteries )

When Mio had set out to explore the abandoned tunnel system that lay beyond the Underground Mall, she hadn't expected the whole place to be quite so wet. She had been trudging through the partly-flooded subway system, in a manner that could only be described as sloshily, for what was starting to feel like an eternity. This estimation had, of course, a great deal more to do with Mio's go-getter impatience than it did the actual length of the place. This whole ordeal had begun, of course, when she'd received a message from a stranger proclaiming to know something of her sister's whereabouts. She'd had her doubts about it, of course, and had immediately regarded this promise with great scrutiny but, because this wasn't the first time this had happened to her since she'd come to this town, she hoped that she may at very least figure out who had been screwing with her all this time. With some strained effort, Mio had deciphered the coordinates she'd been given. This time, she avoided asking anybody for help and shouldered the burden herself. Having finally figured out where to go, at least , she had come to the mall in what she believed to be her most practical outfit (the sports bra, crop-top and leggings combo she used for dance practice, paired with a sturdy hoodie) and set off towards the abandoned train tunnels. And, so, we return to our original point. Urged on only by the seemingly bottomless deposits of her own determination, Mio powered on. Sloshily.

It had not taken her long to notice the rats scurrying along, alongside her and in front of her. Some had taken to higher, dryer ground and were speeding along the raised gutters and ledges that jutted out the tunnel walls, while others splashed busily through the shallows. For the most part, they kept a reasonable distance from Mio. She had started out ignoring them but as soon as she figured she had no clue where she was going and had been overcome with the feeling she might be about to lose herself in an unending labyrinth of tunnels, Mio had reasoned with herself that the rats likely knew where they were going better than she did. They might not lead her anywhere useful but chances were they wouldn't take her to a total dead end. Under her feet, Mio could see the rippling image of the subway track stretching on, waiting for the wheels of a train to run over it and light it with sparks of electricity and grinding metal. The rust caking every steel inch of it promised that this wait would never end. A distorted green light glimmered in the water's reflection and Mio's eyes were drawn upwards to large scrawl of graffiti: EMERGENCY ENTRACE HHER E. The internal translation of these garbled words took a moment or two. Wading through waist-deep waters had a way with scrambling a person's thoughts.

Before her stood the neglected carcass of a disused subway train, its many cars still mostly intact as though frozen in time. It was only the faint coatings of rust and gatherings of moss around the edge of the windows that betrayed the train's age. Mio had believed, for a moment, that the rats had led her to a dead end after all and that she had been foolish to forget they were so much smaller than her, able to slip under the belly of the train without obstruction but, somewhat curiously, the sliding door at the side of the car had been left open. Drawing in a deep breath and pumping a cautious fist by her side in an attempt to steel her nerves and encourage herself, Mio waded through the deep waters until she reached the train. The car itself sat at a tilt, creating an artificial hill for Mio to climb once she got inside but guaranteeing that the entrance itself was close enough to the ground that she could climb up to meet it without too much difficulty. She slipped through the open door and, reunited with dry ground, grew suddenly very aware of how wet her feet were. Her shoes and socks were soaked through and every step through the series of train cars was punctuated with a quiet squelch. It might have been embarrassing had anybody else been around to see or hear her. Instead, she was alone for the very first time, her sole company until now having been the rats who had already moved on. Had the choice to go this alone really been the right one?

She had been all too prepared to slump down to the floor and mope for a while, taking what she might call a well-earned break but, at the last moment, a loose panel in the tunnel walls caught her attention through the door of the very last door. She could have reached it from the outside but she would have to squeeze through the gap between the train and the wall. The old train left a lot to be desired, that was to be sure, and the fabric coating the seats was old and moth-eaten and damp and the smell permeated the air, but she fancied herself lucky the door had been open. She'd never been a fan of cramped spaces. As to why it mattered that she could reach the panel at all, Mio hadn't paid much consideration to that. She was just glad that she could do so with ease. In a place like this, she figured everything was worthy of investigation and especially when she'd been given such vague instructions. Mio stepped through the door and reached over to slide open the panel. It came free without struggle but, as she continued to lean forward, she felt the train shift and creak beneath her feet, the gurgling sound of moving water following soon after. At first, she thought nothing of it, for nothing around her had changed, but when she looked down at her feet and the gap between the lip of the door's entryway and the wall, she could see the very water she'd just escaped shifting as though drawn to life. Mio could have sworn it wasn't quite that deep a minute ago. Stepping away from the window and turning to face the door at the other end of the car, she watched with wide-eyed horror as the water begin to lap at the threshold. The tunnels were filling with water.

Out from the panel a sharp hiss of static like a radio or walkie-talkie. An intercom? For a moment, her heart swelled with hope but it sunk to her gut just as quickly. This place was abandoned and had been for a long time. If there was anybody on the other side of this radio, the chances of which were already slim to none, they'd likely just be another aimless wanderer like her and they'd have no way to help her. But that was still better than nothing. Mio leaned in close, leaning forward on tiptoes and pressing her palms against the tunnel wall, so as to ensure the microphone, wherever it was, would catch her voice. She was unaware of the camera that was also transmitting this less than elegant pose. “Hello? Uh...what do you say into a radio? Roger? Incoming transmission? Houston, we've got a problem?” The nerves were getting to her. She was rambling. And she prone enough to doing that when she was calm. “Uh, whatever, that's not important. I just need to know if anybody else is out there. If you're hearing this, please don't ignore me 'cause, uh...this is weird to say but I think I'm gonna drown? And I think I might be trapped. Honestly, I'm really scared and I don't wanna be on my own right now.”

[cfmysteries]

"DON'T QUESTION MY MASTER ABILITIES AT SLEUTHING. I still am, but it doesn't mean I'm relying on a lot less technology and usual avenues right now. As you can imagine." For just a moment, their eyes turned to slits as if to warn their friend he was walking on thin ice by even questioning their abilities, even if it was spoken sarcastically. Luckily, their access to the internet was not lost like most of the town, and Zeliha knew they needed to do something for their hacker for being able to keep the podcast, and many research platforms, open for the amateur investigator. "I choose to keep my insults interesting." Running their fingers through their hair while trying not to grimace with annoyance at the way the damp underground was starting to produce some frizz despite the expensive products they used to fight against it, their lip instead curled downwards at Dusty's comment. "I don't think I give them too much credit. If anything, I'm trying to make sure none of them get away with their wrong-doings." Growing up wealthy wasn't only detrimental to their opinion of themself as their mother constantly reminded them of just how many judgmental eyes could be on them at any given moment, but their opinion of just how much virtue was left in people. Scheming, lying, backstabbing. It was no surprise that after running away, they found themselves in multiple careers where one could expect to see the worst in people at times. Each time, though, it didn't surprise them very much at all. "Well, I thought if it was interesting enough for you to bring it up." The podcaster quickly cut themselves short, though, as the bickering that the two had been doing up to that point clearly hadn't gotten them very far. Taking the flashlight from Dustin, their eyes scanned the missing poster, any previous contempt melting from their face. "Those haven't been hung in years. That was...one of the first missing people I ever looked into." Confusion intertwined into their voice throughout the conversation. "I can't imagine a missing poster is very helpful down here." Although, who knew had taken to inhabiting it over the years. "Let's see if it's something we can recognize from the mall, that should give us a good clue if it is actually that direction."

"Well, if you knew what direction we came in from, it'd be helpful. Aren't you supposed to be a master of sleuthin' by now?" he remarked dryly, holding up the flashlight to scour the markings on the wall and letting out an exasperated snort, "You can insult me without the fescennine, you know. You've done it plenty of times before." He moved away from the wall to examine the tatterdemalion that had become of the phone booth, and surrounded by dripping water and the faint whiff of sewage secreting into the abandoned subway's passages, he determined it was something out of a dystopian novel. "Electricity companies forget to shut shit off all the time, that's why abandoned hospitals still got power sometimes. You give humans too much credit." To that end, he figured that if extraterrestrials had paid visits at one time, as evolution toiled, they'd found the human race to be wasteful. Growing up destitute and transient, one learned to spread out their resources evenly. Thus, he didn't overlook anything, and when the phonebooth spat out an automated recording, something else had captivated his attentions. Tremulous eyes fixed on the opposite pane, shining his light through the glass as he mumbled, "It says the line's been disconnected — did you think I meant it was leavin' us cryptic love notes when I said it doesn't work? Take a look at this. You seen these around town?"

The light flashed on the missing persons poster, graying in the mildew, and the bright red marker glaring back at them: WHERE WILL YOU HIDE NOW ?

Offering them the flashlight to take a closer look, the light of the flip phone illuminating his equanimous visage. "Thanks," he told them, shouldering their critical commentary off as he walked back to the wall, taking a flash photo. "I think we should go further. It looks like there's some litter on the ground, that might be the way back to the mall. I heard they had a ramp to it that got closed off with that investigation. You know, of the girl."

[cfmysteries]

ASLIHAN MALBORA as ELA ATAMAN in YABAN ÇİÇEKLERİ (2024)

[cfmysteries]

THIS CONVERSATION HAD TURNED TO OUT to be much more interesting than whatever entertainment they had expected when walking into the haunted house. It wasn't common for Zeliha to manage to just stumble in a conversation that was relevant to all the strange happenings over town, mostly because they were always sticking their nose where it didn't belong, insistent on prodding whatever information the brunette believed to be there out of someone if possible. If such behavior gave them a less-than-favorable reputation, it wasn't at the top of the list of their concerns if their professional reputation didn't suffer. This, contradictorily, was a rarity for them (and also brought the question to their mind of how something that could be related to the murders they had been tracking for so long could fly under their radar.) The mental note to suggest to Thrillers' research expert that they needed to take more subvert avenues popped in their head. "You've been thinking about this from every angle, haven't you?" It was a thought process Zeliha could appreciate. "Or they want you to think they're unable to say more. Trying to decipher the reasoning behind why it was left for you could be more important than what they left. I'm guessing you didn't take it the cops? Maybe they knew that." Then again, they considered the list of people who wouldn't contact the cops in Anchorage to be quite long; either they were biased based on the circle of people they kept around themselves, but there seemed to be a good chunk of those who held a distrust for the authorities. Wracking their brain, as it was full of details pertaining to not just the most recent cases but even ones that went further back to before they had even moved to the chilly Alaskan town, their brown eyes looked up towards the decorated ceiling in a moment of thought. "Monique, that's what it was. Monique Jackson. Do it look like something that could've been owned be her, or did it look brand new?" They leaned on their hip, solidifying their interest in the conversation and intent to stay in the discussion. "I don't trust that place one bit. And that's not just because of what I found when I got my hands on some financial records." Illegal as it may have been, suggested white collar crime wasn't what Zeliha was after. "I don't recall any obvious connections, but I imagine a new redesign and opening could cover up a lot. There's always been something suspicious about the deliveries made by that place."

If ignoring threats from a faceless stranger was as easily done as it was said, Tomo wouldn't even be living in this horror show of a town. He'd still be back in Tokyo, living the life of a star. Indeed, this advice was reaching him much, much too late but the least he could do was learn from his past mistakes. Over the years, he'd gotten good at climbing back up from rock bottom. Even if the climb was gruelling and left scars, he'd make it back to the surface somehow. That was what he believed. But, because the last stalker had caused an extremely public nervous break, it was hard not to worry someone was fucking with him on a very personal level. “Guess they didn't wanna make it too easy,” Tomo said, half-scoffing, “Or maybe this was as clear as they could be. Maybe they couldn't say too much.” Although he doubted it was a concern the average person had, it was one that had been drilled in Tomo's head from a young enough age that it was hard not to consider it. Of course, for him, it had been different; they'd wanted to force him into a certain mould, shaped him to fit what would sell and not what was real. Tomo was an idea, a product, and products who said too much made no profit.

At the mention of murder, he raised an eyebrow. He had to throw his thoughts back further than he'd expected but he just about able to recall the news of the body that had resurfaced about a year and a half ago. He'd still been relatively new to Anchorage at the time and most of the more particular details of that news had gone over his head. “No kidding...what was her name, again?” asked Tomo, head cocked to one side, a quizzical expression on his face. Monique...something. He thought he might have heard Min's cousin talking about it. Was he going to have look into her whole situation too? A faint dizziness threatened to take hold. “This parrot thing kinda reminds me of that pizza place. You know if there's any connection there?” He held the parrot keyring up again, this time to the height of his own eyeline, and pursed his lips. If nothing else, it was something to focus on.

[cfmysteries]

Aslıhan Malbora in Üç Kuruş (2021 — 2022)

[cfmysteries]

"WHILE IT MAY BE RARE, my loyalty is reserved only for my close friends and hairdresser," they jested back, voice full of its natural charming ease that Zeliha was known for having by fans of the podcast and clients of work alike. While it had been a joke, there was a certain amount of honesty behind it; the number of people they had any allegiance to could be counted on one hand, and there was a reason her family wasn't included even in a joke. Anka was in their own category, but the rest of them, they would happily throw under the bus if the brunette was ever given the chance to, as horrible as the thought sounded. Fingers adorned with long french tips ran through the ends of their hair as it was the topic, that same amused grin turned on their face at the micro-bang comment. "If I ever come to with that request, then we truly will know that there's some kind of creature here that can pretend to be whoever they want, as I would never! The same goes for if I were to ever say I tried some kind of at-home haircut; I would never risk my appearance by trying my own hand at it." Zeliha's appearance was very important to them, and even if it could make them come off as vain or high maintenance, they couldn't really care enough to spend any time on that. Their expensive attire, strict skin and hair routines, and the abundance of money, which was not always their own, spent to keep them looking their best was when they felt their best. If petty opinions of others had the ability to penetrate the armor of their confidence, they would've dropped out of podcasting long ago. "Hmm," their eyes studied Ava for a moment instead of their own reflection, one manicured nail tapping against lined lips. "I think you need something that sparkles. Something flashy that will catch the sun outside now that it has actually returned to us for a few months. But I could see some pinks or blues in your hair looking nice as well."

"Say no more, I've gotcha. You know your hair is in the best hands with me," Ava assured her client as she assessed the stylish (if only a little shaggy) bob, a knowing grin on her glossy lips. "Hey, at least you're saving money on conditioner with this cut. That, and you look absolutely stunning with it. Very chic." She remembered all too well what a big deal it was for Zeliha to go for a shorter style, something that the blonde was downright giddy with excitement over when they'd let her make the big cut. For as long as she'd been their hairdresser, Ava had only ever known Z with long tresses, so it never lost it's novelty to see them embracing a new look (and one that suuited them so well, no less). The young Adler could relate to their perpetual struggle to look their best. Most residents in Anchorage mistook her love of fashion, hair, and makeup as pure vanity, but to Ava, it was all self expression (that only occasionally doubled as armor). "We'll go slow cutting your bangs until they're exactly to your liking. I know you well enough to know that if you ever request a microbang, something is seriously wrong." At the topic of her own hair, she quickly examined her blonde locks in the mirror across her station. After a plethora of conditioning treatments, her bleached hair had recovered remarkably well following the lapse in judgment in October that lead to her new look, and with every passing week, she found that she'd grown to like the color on herself more and more. "I might save the extravagance for my clothes... although, it could be fun to do some temporary colors, just to spice things up for pride. What do you think would look best on me?"